The Art of Self (ie)

I'm not sure I have an opinion on Kim Kardashian. I am torn between 'oh good on her, what harm is she doing' and 'Oh for the love of Pete bog off and take Kanye with you'. (On a side note is it CAN-yey or KAHN-yey? It would seem that which ever one I say people laugh). She seems to have made a fortune out of getting married and being followed around by a camera crew. It's difficult to type that sentence without it sounding judgemental but I honestly don't care. I wouldn't want to do it (and no one is offering) and it looks flipping awful but she seems to be good at it and we're the ones buying photos of it. But now she has a book out. A book of selfies. 

I haven't read it, I shall wait for the local library to get a copy, but it has been handily condensed in many newspapers and websites. For example this one:  Buzzfeed Kim Kardashian.  Now we've all seen the Paper Magazine pictures which broke the internet and we could be justified in wondering what on earth there is left to show us. The answer is about 3000 pictures of herself. In cars, in loos, in changing rooms, that's a lot of self. But, damn it, she takes a good selfie. 

She must have the arms of Mr Tickle. Every normal person (Non internet breakers) attempts to take a selfie, drops the phone, tries to get their whole head in plus a little bit of background, fails. At the same time you try and remember if it is taking the picture from above or from below that makes you look all cheekboney and sultry. You end up taking one from both angles. From above you have an enormous forehead and have accidentally included an acre or two of cleavage in the photo. From below you have seventeen chins and the view of an ENT doctor straight up both nostrils. 

You find the right angle and then blind yourself with the flash. 

Whilst still dealing with the temporary cataract you've given yourself you flick through the 72 photos you took. You have one usable one. But what the bloody hell are you going to do with it. Us mere mortals can rarely get away with posting a picture of our faces on the internet and captioning it 'Make up looked good today' or 'LOL' (Both classic Kim captions) we therefore have to include something interesting in the background to justify why we have taken the photo. Which leads us back to the massive head problem and Mr Tickle arms. Why we think a picture of the Eiffel Tower would be improved by us shoving our head in to shot is debatable. 

If there are a group of you these problems are multiplied by the number of people trying to get in the photo. At some point you will realise it's easier to simply take it turns to take the photos. These photos are also easier to display. Unless you have a wall of photos of yourself in your house. Which I kind of suspect Kim does. 

And on that note here is my favourite selfie of Kim and Kanye. It is brilliant for many reasons. 
1. They are in a public (or badly decorated private) bathroom. 
2. The photo is rubbish, half the sink, towel dispenser all in shot. 
3. Kanye. He looks like Tony the Frosties Tiger forced in to clothes. 
4. Kanye. He has voluntarily worn that. 
5. Kanye. That's an eagle vest top from Harlow market and a necklace that was last seen on the Queen Mother. 
6. Kanye. From his stance he was in that bathroom to use it not have his photo taken. 
7. Kanye. This is his 'cool' face. 

Mentoring

There's a new post coming (honest) but in the meantime here is something I wrote for Bridget Whelan's Creative Writing website. I can't recommend her website enough as a resource for writers. 

Here's a link to the article I wrote, enjoy. http://bridgetwhelan.com/2015/05/01/what-the-opportunity-of-a-life-time-did-for-me/ 

The Wonder of the Modern Age

Inevitably when I came to write this post, a post extolling the wonders of technology and all it can offer us, my computer crashed. I thought it had died and as I stared at the black screen I was vaguely impressed that I had backed up everything. I had only backed it up as someone had shouted at me, but still everything was backed up. My itunes has backed itself up to the cloud. I do not understand the cloud. Please don't explain it to me as I simply don't care. From my understanding it means that every time I want to purchase some kicking tunes (perhaps some Paula Abdul) my itunes will insist on transferring all purchases to my computer so that each song is saved a million times and 'my documents' folder is filled with weird album artwork. Nothing can be done to stop this. It also means that no purchases will actually be put on my ipod, presumably because it's all in the cloud. Still there seems to be no solution to this problem. It is similar to the time I managed to make an entire post production script my default word template. There was no point trying to find a solution, it was far simpler to start every session by deleting 40 pages of work. 
This wasn't meant to be a rant, I just happen to be multitasking and trying to buy some music and failing. (I am buying 'Uncle' the music by the way. An excellent purchase that I recommend you all make). I think I have bought it. I just can't access it. What I actually wanted to say when I began was that technology is marvellous. Pretty much every technological term I used in the first paragraph didn't exist five years ago. If my computer died, which it did after I poured a cup of tea in to it, I had to wait for it to dry out before I could see if anything had been saved and accept that perhaps it had all gone. Now, I'd have to dry it out again but in the meantime 

Sorry to interrupt but Itunes is being an absolute bastard. I hate it, I hate it, I hate it. 

Anyway. But in the meantime I would be able to access it EXCEPT ALL MY BLOODY MUSIC WHICH IS TRAPPED SOMEWHERE BY FUCKING APPLE. 

I have now lost everything. No music for me. As this is with Apple I am not allowed any actual help. So I have sent some feedback. I would imagine this feedback has gone to an unmanned help desk. 
Perhaps it has something to do with drones. 

I was going to write a post about how I have been enjoying Skype chats with children in Canberra who are reading a book I wrote as their class reading book. This post will now be delayed while I groan and wail in to a cushion. 
Technology is sick and wrong. It is the enemy. Bring back cassettes. 

A Strange Return

Before flying back to the UK from LA I warned my friend that there are reasons why I normally travel alone and try to always fly alone. This is because in the run up to the flight fellow passengers are treated to me moping around with a look of impending doom plastered across my face. I also only have one topic of conversation. Correction; I only have one sentence of conversation "I really don't want to get on to that plane." I really, really didn't. As we left our hotel I was offered a complimentary whiskey. I took it. It was disgusting, I now know why I've not drunk it before. I then took three sleeping tablets. I then stopped self medicating as I was about to do a Marilyn Monroe. 

I was awake for the entire flight. I have the constitution (and arse) of an ox. 

Just before take off my friend tried to take my mind of the journey by showing me news stories on her phone. Sadly she showed me pictures of dolls. I saw no need to replace one intense fear with another so carried on fretting about the flight. Fretting so much that I ignored the announcement that said we would have a flight time of just over nine hours rather than nearly 11. I took it as good news. 

What it meant was that we were powering along at the speed of light on the bumpiest trajectory known to man. We were clearly caught up in some 'fronts' that were blasting Canada and the Eastern US so we skipped and hopped our way across the Atlantic. I had a breakdown (and a revolting dinner) and wondered what on earth I would have been like without the drugs and alcohol. 

Now I am home and I am not going to fly for a while. 

However I would recommend the above combination as preparation for going on the radio. Fifteen hours after landing I went to Three Counties Radio to talk about my book (STILL available on Amazon). I loved it. I think not really having time to think about it helped and I would imagine jet lag and drug comedown also played it's part. The DJ was such a nice man and I hope I came across OK. They asked me back and I went back again on the Wednesday to take part in a panel discussion show. All in all a weird way to spend your first week back in the country. 

It's also probably worth pointing out that despite what it says in the photo above, I am not an audiologist. But I am happy to shout at you to check you can hear. 

Women Aren't Funny

I went to two comedy nights in LA. One was at the 'Upright Citizen's Brigade' in LA and the other was at a comedy festival in LA. The comedy festival was a weekend event and we went to see a show on the Saturday evening. Being a good ten years older than most of the audience I am guessing it wasn't particularly aimed at us, but it is worth pointing out that we were still a good ten years younger than either of the comics we saw. It was described as an evening of mayhem combined with hilarious anecdotes and guests. What it actually was was a 40 year old man telling knock knock jokes interspersed with "hilarious" tales of wanking. Then he introduced his friend (who depressingly has just been given his own comedy show on television) who told hilarious stories about wanking. In quite an angry manner. Oh and he told a very weird story about a dad in a shop where he explained why the story was funny and how he felt about it in interminable detail. Oh and he did all this explaining before he got to the punch line. It almost made you long for a wanking story. 
I was hating it but didn't want to drag my friend away if she was loving it. I looked over. She was checking her work email on her phone. We left. 
We went home and due to an inability to work the television we looked for something to watch on Netflix. We found a documentary about why women aren't funny. It was by a female comedian who interviewed male and female comedians to get to the bottom of why women aren't considered funny. Inevitably most of the males she interviewed (not all) seemed to consider humour a unique and wonderful gift that was bestowed only on men, normally white men. The women she interviewed gave an alternative (normally funnier) viewpoint. Then the woman making the documentary became obsessed with what her comic husband thought of her and how he felt threatened by another male comic she may or may not have slept with ten years ago. She may not have been the right person to make the documentary. She sort of shot us all in the foot. Thanks. 
Are women funny? I think some are. Are men funny? I think some are. I don't think humour is linked to gender. But I think humour is more celebrated in a male. There is the idea that humour in a female is to make up for a lack of other (looks based) qualities. I think men that say women aren't funny are generally threatened by women and want to belittle them, they also know that if they come across a funny woman then she'll be able to beat him in an argument and be funny whilst she's doing it and then he'll have to go and think about his natural superiority bestowed on him by virtue of him simply having a penis. And if that isn't true - what is? Society would crumble. Back in the kitchen women. Tell your knock knock jokes to the kettle. 
The problem is there aren't enough women who are visible in comedy. On a panel show for example there is one woman and maybe three or four men. If one of the men isn't funny, no problem, he's just not funny but there are three others to prove that men are. If the woman isn't funny she is simply not representing herself she is representing all women and therefore women shouldn't be on panel shows as they 'aren't funny'. There's no three funnier women also on the panel to show that they are.
I am not sure when 'women' started operating as one big unit. I personally don't get up in the morning and think 'How am I going to represent women today?' "will all the other women in the world think that the trousers I am wearing do us ALL justice?". I tend to operate as an individual. My views on everything are only representative of me, not 50% of the population. I also don't want to be in a group with every other woman on earth. I don't like some of them. 
Why are men allowed to speak for themselves but women have to speak for a gender? Why do women have to speak for anyone at all? Why can't they go on a panel show or perform comedy and talk about what ever they want? Why is whatever they do biased by them packing a vag? 
I apologise for that last sentence. I spent a while trying to construct it nicely but was aware that I had used the word 'gender' a lot and didn't want to use it again. 

I would like to make it clear that I only apologise on behalf of myself. Not all of womankind. 

Another argument raised by the male comics in the documentary was that all women talk about are women's issues. Periods, men not calling them (is that a woman's issue or VERY much a man's issue - take a good look at yourselves boys), diets. Seriously? You're throwing that at us? I can not put a number on the number of shows I have sat through where men talk about wanking, about how they treat women, about all kinds of things that are generally considered to be 'male'. But ... if they are funny I will laugh. If they are not I won't watch. I won't form the opinion that all men aren't funny and only talk about masturbation. On another note - have none of them thought of locking the door? 
Based on what I sat through in LA, a lot of television and sometimes just in general - American's aren't funny. They over explain jokes, they feel the need to add 'Just kidding!" to the end of statements which are clearly not true. But then again I love American comedy, I love Saturday Night Live, Rich Hall, Amy Poehler, I had a great night at The Upright Citizen's Brigade watching stand up. Bum. Maybe I can't make huge sweeping generalisations of a whole race of people. 
Or perhaps we can. Women aren't funny because a man may once have met a woman who wasn't (or worse perhaps he once met a woman who was and it made him feel uncomfortable). By this logic all men are perverts because I once got flashed by a man. Therefore all men are flashers. Just kidding! 
See American's adding 'Just kidding' REALLY doesn't work. 

Flowers in Your Hair

We arrived in San Francisco and dropped the car off at the airport. I can't speak for my fellow traveller but I never wanted to see that thing again. Public transport is very much my friend. Especially when the public transport is cable cars! These need to make an appearance in London. Especially when you can ride for free if they haven't got the right change (this possibly only works once).  I think we made the right decision abandoning the car - I really wouldn't have wanted to do a hill start in our hire car and San Francisco is pretty much all hills. On the plus side it gave us a much needed two day 'bums and thighs' workout. 
We were only in the city for two days so we needed to cover as much ground as possible within that time. We got a good deal on a "hop on hop off tour" and so set off to see the city. All tours came with a guide who gave you details about what you were seeing. The information and presentation was excellent but it did seem that every anecdote ended with the words 'destroyed in a massive fire'. 
They were also quite keen on mentioning huge, destructive earthquakes. These seemed to be mentioned just as you were going across a bridge or past some particularly hefty sky scrapers. I began to wonder what I would do in an earthquake and what my escape plan would be. I soon stopped wondering as inevitably my plan would be: 
1. Wonder what on earth was going on
2. Crap my pants 
3. Earthquake ends 
4. Deal with consequences (from the sounds of it - a massive fire) 

Luckily we never had to deal with either an earthquake or a massive fire but it's good to have a response planned. 
I went to Alcatraz, I am very glad I didn't sign up for the night tour. It was incredibly atmospheric and the audio tour was excellent. As seemed to be my way in San Francisco I made my plan as to what I would do if I was to be sent to Alcatraz. This plan was simpler, it just had one step. 
1. Die of fear the first night I was there. 

I can't say I fell for San Francisco the same way I fell for LA. I enjoyed it, I would certainly go back but I didn't get the same 'feels' I got from LA. Maybe it was the constant referencing of earthquakes and impending death. LA gets earthquakes too but they didn't seem to revel in it quite so much. It seems a strange claim to fame, in a way I admire the way they've embraced it. If they own it then they control it? Perhaps we could start a tour of sewage works and proudly boast of typhoid outbreaks. 

Driving

We left LA to go to San Francisco and we went on a roadtrip. This was mainly to see the sights and stop off along the way and partly so I didn't have to get on another plane. We were up early and got our hire car which was some kind of monster truck. After repeatedly getting in the wrong side to drive it, we sorted ourselves out and hit the road. If 15mph can be called 'hitting'. We stopped for breakfast in Malibu. We knew Jennifer Aniston lived there but she didn't invite us round so we instead we settled on a venue based on where had the biggest car park. That way we could abandon the car and not have to think about reversing it. 

Then we drove all the way there on the Pacific Coast Highway. At least that was the plan. I started things well by throwing a U turn on the highway. In my defence we needed to be on the other side of the road and we were at some lights and the car in front did it. I assume we were alright but I did rather alarm my passenger. We then cruised along for a bit. Cruised along with quite a bias to the right. I never knew how much you aligned yourself in the road based on where you sat. All our driving was accompanied by the passenger flinching, gripping the seat and murmuring with varying degrees of panic 'you might want to move over to the left a bit'. I was gaining confidence when suddenly we came up against a road block which announced the highway was closed. There was no diversion signs. A couple of cars went round the signs and carried on but given my ability to get fines for driving in foreign countries we decided to put it in to the sat nav and trust that. 

The sat nav saw an opportunity. 

It told us to turn left. I did (accompanied by a cry of 'you're on the wrong side of the road') we then went up the steepest hill in the world. With a sheer drop to one side of us and hairpin bends every four feet. This went on for half an hour. I led a parade of cars through the mountains. They couldn't get past me and I felt unable to go more than 15 mph. Then we got to come down the mountain again. Thankfully we then got back on to the highway intending to speed through and go and see Hearst Castle. 

We arrived ten minutes after the castle shut. Luckily we were able to use the toilets. Unfortunately they were out of order and so we got to use a chemical toilet in the car park. It is unlikely that this trip will make the guide books. We did get to see this sunset though. The thumb over the lens is all my own work. We went and got dinner and I fell in love with our waitress. She was around 100 years old and offered you food in the same way your Grandma would. "A little more Dr Pepper dear?" While I made plans to kidnap her we watched the sun fully set. It was beautiful. 

It also meant that we got to do the last two hours of the drive in the pitch black. The road was similar to the mountain roads. At least I think it was. I couldn't actually see further than the headlights. There were no street lights, no cats eyes and no straight roads. I thought my bum would never unclench. Eventually we got to our motel and I celebrated by not sleeping. 

The next day we went to see sealions in Monterey harbour and then went to Santa Cruz. Afterwards we drove to San Francisco, luckily my friend was driving when we got to the 6 lane motorway where every lane went to a different location and we had to get across 6 lanes in about 30 seconds. We made it on the third attempt. 

I don't think either of us were particularly sad when we gave the car back. Pleased we had done it but more pleased to be back on public transport.