You can't go home again....

This weekend I felt rotten. Yet again my crappy immune system has failed me and I have caught some sort of virus. I am at work and pottering about through London simply because I do not have the time to take to my bed and sleep for a week (which is probably what would ultimately repair my broken health). I am not seriously ill but I am walking about feeling under the weather. (sad face)

So instead of enjoying the amazing sunshine that shone over this weekend, I lay in bed and moaned to my husband, who very good-naturedly put up with it and cooked soup and cottage pie from scratch. I am one lucky woman. I also watched a shed-load of old movies that I have not seen since I was a teenager. And some episodes of The X Files (god I LOVE that show). But more on that later. For today's post I am going to concentrate on the movies. Those movies that I adored as teenager, that I thought would stand the test of time and..well...have...not. I am not sure whether it is that I have developed 'taste' over the years or if they were always bad and I just did not have enough experience of watching films in order to recognise their badness. The first film I watched was Kissing Jessica Stein, which if I am honest is not actually such a bad film, But it is a not a great one either. I loved this film when it first came out in 2001 (I was 18, so young! Sigh) and it was the first film I had ever seen, that portrayed homosexuals in a positive and well-adjusted light rather than closeted and emotionally damaged (which seemed to be the norm for most TV shows or films that contained gay characters in the late 90s, early 2000s). I had not seen the Channel 4 TV series Queer As Folk at that point and I did not, to my knowledge, actually know any gay people. I had little understanding of same sex attraction and seeing Kissing Jessica Stein opened my eyes to the idea of lesbianism. I saw the film in the cinema and I loved it. I thought it was witty, romantic, intelligent and moving. To recap briefly, the film is about Jessica Stein, an uptight and neurotic New Yorker, who tired of all the failed dates she has been on, answers a personal ad in the newspaper under the 'Women Seeking Women' column and has an affair with a woman (called Helen). Despite believing that she could never be attracted to someone of her own gender, she falls in love with Helen and moves in with her. And then it all goes pear-shaped.

Helen and Jessica have fun packing a handbag

Years later things have changed. I now have gay friends, have worked with gay people and gay marriage has been made legal in my country. I have more of an understanding of sexuality and the many ways people can feel attraction for each other. Sexuality seems to me to be a sliding scale and not always easily defined, which is sort of the message that could have been portrayed in Kissing Jessica Stein if it had been a smarter movie. Jessica is attracted to Helen the individual, rather than her gender, but by the end of the film simply can't ignore that Helen is not the right gender for her. Which is why I think the ending is a bit of a cop out. Because of a lack of a sustained sexual attraction between the two women, Helen breaks up with Jessica, stating that although they may love each other, they are more like room-mates than actual lovers. Jessica is heartbroken and the film ends with the two remaining as friends.

When I was 18, the film seemed witty and profound to me. But now it seems very unrealistic and confusing. Are we supposed to believe that two women would move in together and become lovers because one has exhausted her search for a male partner by eliminating all the men in Manhattan through her incredibly high standards and the other woman is bored with heterosexual sex? This is not a love story between two people attracted to each other's personalities rather than their genders (or even about two lesbians), it is about two people experimenting with relationships. At one point during the film a gay friend calls Helen out as just trying on homosexuality like a coat because she feels like trying something new. Of course, people should be able to be who they want to be, but it does seem to me that this character has a valid point. The film feels like a story about two heterosexual people trying to be gay for a few months and then deciding that they are really still heterosexual (except Helen, who does go on to start a relationship with another woman at the end of the film and I think she is a more authentic character than Jessica anyway). As if sexual orientation is simply just a choice or that sexual attraction is not as complex a factor as it really can be. When the film was first released it received some criticism from the gay community for not dealing in depth with the difficulties of being openly gay, but it was also praised for portraying a same-sex relationship in a positive light. I suppose that it is positive in ways, both women are happy for a while and their friends and family treat them both with love and respect and they receive very little resistance to their relationship, which was nice to see. But I feel the film chickens out because it is not actually about homosexuality. A better film would have had the two women remain together and just be gay together and it not be a big deal. To portray something as normal, you have to introduce it as just normal within the narrative world of the film. Jessica never treats her attraction or feelings for Helen as normal. She panics when a friend bumps into her and Helen on the street and lies about dating a woman. This is Jessica's story and so we see most of it through her eyes and she is not comfortable with being gay. What I thought, when I was 18, was a positive story about same-sex relationships is actually a film about an anxious woman experimenting. Added to the fact that as a 32 year old, I find Jessica's unrealistic expectations of the men she dates, very annoying and not remotely funny, I found the film irritating and I felt like telling the main character to just 'grow up' and 'calm down.' Perhaps I have a lower tolerance for neurotic characters than I once did. It might be all the Woody Allen films I have seen over the years or I may have reached a stage in my life when I am less neurotic myself. I don't think that Kissing Jessica Stein is a really bad film, but I don't think it has stood the test of time either.

Which brings me on to the film I watched on Saturday night on Netflix. Empire Records. I loved Empire Records as a teenager. I was 12 years old when it was first released and I must have seen it when I was around 15. The film did poorly at the box office and was given pretty bad reviews but garnered a cult status later on VHS (remember those days? The days of VHS and cassettes!). If you fancy reading about the history of the film and more about its cult status, it is completely summed up in the below Buzzfeed article:
http://www.buzzfeed.com/annehelenpetersen/how-empire-records-became-the-unlikely-film-of-a-generation#.crQmkvbvqe

A very young Liv Tyler and Renée Zellweger in Empire Records.

I was not aware of the bad reviews when I first watched the film and I instantly loved it. The film is a story of one single day at an independent music store and its mismatched, quirky and dysfunctional teenage store clerks. Over the course of the film the staff fight to keep the store from being sold to a large music chain, dance around to different alternative and indie songs and generally air out all their angst and teenage pain. I loved the soundtrack and I actually thought Renée Zellweger, who sings in the film, had a pretty good voice. I wanted to be cool, alternative and quirky and sell music and wear grungy clothes. I felt inspired by the rebellious characters and touched by their emotional plights and dilemmas. Watching this years later as I lay in bed with a fever and my husband sitting beside me (doing a crossword from the newspaper), I wondered what the hell I was initially thinking when I thought Empire Records was a great movie. The plot is a mess (a bunch of random and rather unconnected scenes plunged together), the characters are stereotypes, the dance sequences disjointed, pointless and too contrived and the dialogue is ridiculous and too self-aware (or pretensions in a youthful way), And it is all kind of boring. Watching teens emote does not do it for me anymore. And I HATED the soundtrack this time around and turned the volume down. And Renée Zellweger seemed to be shouting, not singing.

'You like some weird films.' by husband murmurs beside me, looking up from his crossword as one of the characters delivers another bizarre line of dialogue and flails about like a blubbering fish.

'I was 15! I had no taste! I was full of angst!' I cry trying to justify my earlier comments to him (which were; 'This is a great film. I loved it. It is really quirky, you'll like it.')

There was also another aspect to the film that I did not enjoy this time around. The three main female characters are all damaged. One is self harming and shaves her head in an act of rebellion, another is pressured by her father to be a straight A student and throws herself at her music idol in an extremely embarrassing scene and the character played by Renée Zellweger is basically billed as a slut. In fact I think someone actually calls her a slut at one point. God! Are there no other ways of portraying teenage girls on screen! I was none of these three characters when I was 15. As an adult woman and a feminist who has grown up over the years and gained confidence and independence, I find portrayals of girls like this boring, oversimplified and unrealistic.

But is it really a bad film? Or have I just grown up? Actually I think it is a really bad film. But I have also grown up and I can't go back. You can't return to that naive part of your life once you have left it. You can't return to that teenage angst, that childish self importance and that joy in finding something really stupid profound, instead of recognising it as really stupid. That teenage innocence. And to be honest, I am not sure I want to return to that era of my life. I like being more discerning. I like intelligent films. I like being an adult. My cultural taste-buds have evolved. Which is why I might stick to the entertainment of my adult years and avoid my adolescent obsessions.

Except for The X Files of course. Which I don't think I ever really understood when I was 15 anyway.

August Break Photo 3: Skin

So today's theme was 'Skin. ' I wanted to capture the skin of more than one person to emphasise that we all possess this essential material. I chose the skin on hands because I actually think that we look at the skin located there more than any other part of our body. I asked my work colleagues to pose their hands in a circle and then added my own and took this snapshot with my phone from above.

With this year's August Break I am trying to use both my digital SLR camera and my phone depending on the photo and the location. I am experimenting with both and with editing software (the amazing PicMonkey!).

August Break Photo 2: Air

So today's theme was 'Air.' Since I am trapped at home with a virus my choices were limited. So I experimented with the air in my lungs and drew a heart in the condensation from my breath on the window pane.

August Break Photo 1: Breakfast

The first August Break photo is up! My breakfast on a very crowded plate! (the plate was purchased by my mother at a car boot sale years ago and somehow I have ended up with it) Does make arranging food very fun :)

The August Break Returns!

The  mindfulness blogger and photographer Susannah Conway is yet again introducing her annual August Break photography challenge and I intend to take part. It starts on 1st August and I have my camera and iPhone ready. Bring on the last month of summer and all the wonderful things I can photograph! :)

To Geek or Not To Geek?

I have a confession to make. It probably won’t come as much of a surprise to my friends…but I am Geek. Yep. I love Science Fiction. I LOVE IT. When I was a child I was obsessed by the genre and I used to dream of traveling through space in a ship exploring new planets and species, usually accompanied by Mr Spock. It started when I was 7, perhaps even earlier. I blame my father. I think I inherited it from him. He has an obsessive streak to him. Once he becomes interested in something it becomes an all-consuming obsession. Whatever it is that grabs him, he does a degree in the subject. He reads voraciously on the themes of his chosen hobby. Or if it is a sport, he practices it repeatedly. At the moment he is taken with drawing and he works at it so hard and for so long that he has ended up producing some gorgeous pieces of art. Most of his chosen hobbies, he has some natural aptitude for. After years of barely picking up a pencil, he has discovered in his retirement that he actually has a previously undiscovered natural talent for drawing. He is naturally graceful and so is good at sports. He is inquisitive and curious so he is drawn to subjects such as philosophy, current affairs and literature. He is also a very good cook and has after much effort managed to produce a great meal without reducing the kitchen to a bombsite. But I have no doubt my father would be fantastic at anything he devoted his time to, regardless of natural ability. He does not play video games but he could probably ace all the levels of Angry Birds in an afternoon if he tried. He does not play a musical instrument, but I am sure after a month he could sufficiently play the guitar or piano and if he fancied giving poetry a try I am sure he would be reciting me his epic work to me over the phone by September. He is obsessive about the things he enjoys but it is more than that. He is persistent. He strives for personal bests and self-excellence. He is a driven man.

Unfortunately I inherited the obsessive streak of my father but none of his persistence or dedication. I fear that I am a lazy creature by nature. Sure I obsessively listen to the same song again and again, just like he used to (he used to love Pachelbel’s Canon – which is, let’s be honest, just one long repeated tune over and over again. It drove my mother mad) and I read all the books I can get on a subject I am interested in just like my father. For him it was ancient Greek philosophy, human rights law or Russian gulags, for me it is feminism, Tudor history, Scandinavia and animal behaviour (not all in the same book of course). We both have an addiction to TV. We can watch hours of it very easily and we both love to Google actors to find out who they are and what happened to them. My father looks up actors from old movies and westerns. I research actresses from science fiction and TV shows. We are alike in so many ways my father and I. We have the same judgemental analytic way of looking at the world, we are both anxious and alarmist, optimistic and yet cynical, vivacious and friendly, loving, honest and fiercely loyal. I even have his dark hair and long large nose. But we differ in one very different way; my father is more driven than I am. He is ambitious. He succeeds and then goes on to excel. I can’t think of a single thing he has failed at. Ever. I envy this part of his personality. I wish that I also possessed it. Perhaps if I had, I would be a published author by now or a professional photographer or a proper oral historian. My achievements are always half-assed. I work in relatively low-level jobs and I have never earned much money. I fear being tied down to any one thing for too long and I struggle to find a single thing to focus on. I always try to do too much. A jack of all trades and a master of none.

Except for one thing. Being a geek. I have always excelled at this. It sort of came naturally to me. I may never have written a science fiction novel but I have read pretty much every one I could find. Name a science fiction TV show or movie and I have seen it. I could tell you all about the characters, their stories and their motivations. It would be my specialist subject on Mastermind. I have just about stopped short at dressing as a science fiction character at a convention, but had I not been distracted by a Classical Studies degree at University, I have no doubt that was the way I was headed. For 3 years I was consumed by Ancient Greek and Roman myth, poetry, history and art. I was Classics-obsessed. And I must admit I did really try at Uni. I worked hard, but not hard enough. I could not apply myself enough in the first year of my course and I always do think I could have done better. People wish they could go back in time to change all sorts of mistakes, but for me I would return to Uni and work harder. I could definitely have spent less time chatting to my flatmates about Lord of the Rings and done more reading on Ancient Greek Ethics. I graduated with a good degree, but I could have graduated with a better one.

It’s not all bad. I have been a faithful friend, an okay daughter and a very loving wife. I do pour my whole heart into making other people happy, so maybe that’s my persistent cause. And if that is all I ever contribute to the world, well, then that is not such a bad thing. So why do I feel frustrated? Why do I always feel like I want to do and be more? Is it a symptom of our modern times that we constantly strive to do and be more? Are we never satisfied? It is definitely a ‘first world problem’ and therein lays the issue. I am a very very lucky woman. I live in a country where I am safe from violence, fear or hunger. I want for nothing. I sleep soundly in my bed at night with no worries about the fate of my family or friends. They also live this charmed existence with me. Sure, we sometimes face illness, bad luck and emotional strife, but we do not need to flee our homes to escape a war or scratch out a meagre living in some dangerous and demeaning profession just to feed ourselves. Our time is not spent struggling to survive. I have all my immediate needs and concerns taken care of, so my restless mind is free to wander. I have copious amounts of spare time, a luxury not awarded to the majority of people living on the planet. I can do whatever I want (within reason obviously! As long as it is legal) and I can spend however long I want doing it. I can be whatever I like and try out anything. ‘The world is my oyster’ as the saying goes.

I met a woman earlier this year. I met her through a friend and on a whim I invited her to my birthday dinner. I was struck by her. She is polite and kind and very friendly. And she is brilliant. She is really talented. She has skills in all sorts of areas and she has applied persistence to her aptitudes and excelled. She was also very modest and she did not crow about her achievements. I liked her immediately and I was inspired by her quiet success. It made me think, I have been taking my freedom and spare time for granted. If I applied my obsessive nature to really doing well at something, goodness knows where it could take me. 

On the few occasions when I have been really persistent and dedicated I have felt a keen sense of achievement when I have met my goal and my fear of failure has just melted away. I once climbed a mountain in the UK with little more than my mind driving me forward and I descended the peak in a rain storm with hail stones the size of golf balls bouncing off me. I sometimes forget it was me that did this. But I was determined at the time, I wanted to know that I could successfully climb the mountain, I wanted that achievement for myself. This summer I surprised my husband by swimming in the Adriatic Sea all by myself. He watched open-mouthed as I took a deep breath, jumped off some rocks, swallowed my fear and a considerable amount of very salty sea water. He was impressed and I felt brave. And ultimately that is what it is all about. Fighting fear. Because underneath the laziness and the lack of persistence is fear. The fear that I will fail. The fear that I won’t be good enough. The fear of what other people will think of me. As a teenager I used to fear people finding out that I was a geek. I thought people would make fun of me for liking science fiction. But to quote from a film (very geeky of me I know): A life lived in fear is a life half lived. And in a life where we don’t have much to fear because we are so lucky, we should not take our good luck and opportunities for granted. So…I am going to go for it. I am going to be fearless, persistent and driven. Oh, and yes, as geeky as I can be.

Broadcast from a Part-Time Fried Chicken Taster...

There has been some significant change in my life recently. After more months of stress than I care to think about, I have left my job and I am about to start on a new one this Monday. My new job will be much more interesting than my last one with more room to be creative and develop. I will also be working with a close colleague who also happens to be a lovely friend so I am massively looking forward to getting started on this new chapter in my life and leaving all the stress of previous experiences behind me. Also, the new job is part-time! Yes! That means 4 days a week during which I will not be working! I know what you are thinking: 'Lazy Arse!' But I can't deny I am ridiculously excited about the prospect of devoting more time to my hobbies. Of course I could never afford to work part-time for the rest of my life, but after more than 10 years of long hard slog in the world of work, I feel depleted, tired and really ready for a change of pace. A different working schedule is just what I need to recharge my batteries and get my creative juices flowing....and..hopefully it will also mean more blogging hours!

So, things I learned this week are:

• A childhood idol of mine died. Yes, I am referring to Leonard Nimoy. Obviously I knew he would die someday and that he was old enough to be my grandfather, but nevertheless when I heard the news I was shocked. I had been watching him on TV since I was 6 years old and he felt like a very permanent part of my imagination while I was growing up. Mr Nimoy had a good life and he had achieved a lot, so really we should celebrate his life as much as we mourn his passing. I started watching Star Trek many years ago and it was the Original Series with Kirk and Spock that I watched the most in those early days. I loved Star Trek and it may sound silly but the show and the characters provided a refuge for me when I felt insecure, anxious or depressed. If I could not fall asleep at night, I imagined walking the corridors of the Starship Enterprise. If I was having a trouble staying calm during an exam, I would ask myself, 'what would Spock do in this situation?' I can't say I am the most logical of people, but the character of Spock was always my favourite and I even had a pair of rubber pointed ears when I was kid and novels about planet Vulcan that I read and re-read. I did feel this was inherently geeky and I can't say I felt comfortable broadcasting my love of science fiction around either my primary or secondary schools, but science fiction and the many stories that accompany the genre have always made me feel excited and happy. Mr Nimoy, although I was aware he was not actually Mr Spock, was inexplicably tied up with the identity of the character and I had read both his autobiographies as a teenager. Of course I did not know the man personally, but from his writing he seemed like a nice person who was kind to co-workers and fans alike. Science Fiction is an unusual genre because it contains such fervent and faithful fans and followers, who care deeply about the source material and are also creative with their own ideas. Science fiction actors have been some of the most fan-focused and pleasant people in the acting world that I have met and read about. This is especially true of Star Trek actors, who take the time to meet fans at conventions, answer fan mail and really get involved in the creative process of building their characters and the Star Trek canon itself. This was very true of Mr Nimoy who helped to build the character of Spock and his famous traits such as the Vulcan Nerve Pinch, the Vulcan salute and the famous Vulcan motto 'Live Long and Prosper'. So from one small long-time scifi fan to Mr Nimoy: Rest in Peace up there among the Stars.

• My husband is on first name basis with his car mechanic and is very fond of him. The fellow does the MOT for my husband's car and is named Bobby. Last year when our car broke down on the way to Cornwall (a mere two hours away from a small town called Marazion), we spent the rest of the journey riding in the front of a recovery truck with a cheerful and very talkative 19 year old rugby obsessive repair man. Later that afternoon when we finally arrived at Marazion, our defunct car was nosily and unceremoniously dumped next to our holiday cottage in full view of 30 or so curious pensioners. We were the talk of the complex of holiday cottages for the entire next week and were forced to have the same repeated conversation with everyone we met about our now useless and smoking car. One of these overly eager pensioners (it is true what they say, people outside London are massively more friendly to strangers) recommended a garage nearby that would be able to fix our car. My husband faithfully called the guy up and he fiddled and tinkled with the vehicle until he assured us it would work. We paid a large amount of money and shakily drove the car on the long journey back to London at the end of the week. Around a week later, the car broke down again. We felt swindled and a bit desperate. Then came the epic task of deciding what to do. Our car is an old car. But we love it. It is small, silver and totally unimpressive, but it is our 'Trusty Steed' and it gets us everywhere we need to go (except for Cornwall apparently). We consulted our parents (both sets), our friends, our work colleagues and everyone had a different opinion: 'trade it in for a new car, sell it, scrap it, repair it, don't pay the money, pay the money for repairs and improvements' etc. Everyone also had even more extreme views about mechanics: 'they cheat you, the break your car even more, they cannot be trusted, they don't pay proper tax, they charge too much' etc. We literally had no idea. Then my husband met Bobby our local mechanic. Talking to Bobby was like having a counselling session and getting your car fixed at the same time. An experienced car mechanic with a trusted business in our local area for many years, he had good online reviews, promised faithfully not to lie or cheat us and he reminded my husband of Tony Blair.....the way Mr Blair had been in early days when he was all about improving the UK and not bombing Iraq. Bobby fixed our car quickly and efficiently, he was honest about the price (which was painful but expected - like an appointment for root canal at the dentist) and he was so nice that all my husband could talk about for a week after was Bobby and his friendly conversation and our fixed car. So it was no surprise that this morning when Bobby called, my husband answered the phone as if we was talking to an old friend. 'See!' he said to me enthusiastically on his way out the door, pleased as punch that the car had passed its MOT, 'It is all about the people. You get the right people, who are good at their jobs and you can always get stuff done.'

• This weekend we are experiencing a heatwave in the UK because of a 'warm wind' that is blowing over our lovely Sceptred Isle that has traveled all the way from the Caribbean. This is nice as it means warmer temperatures and sunnier skies, but I feel as if it is not quite the same thing as being in the actual Caribbean, which I imagine would be a lot more tropical and would involve a cocktail of some sort contained within a coconut shell sipped on a beach while wearing a sarong. Unfortunately doing this on Wandsworth Common in South London on a Saturday would make look like a weirdo.

• Fried chicken, cheese and onion waffles and maple syrup do not make a good dinner. Last night I rode the bus all the way from work in Central London to the funky East End of London to eat dinner with three friends at a new fried chicken restaurant called Bird (http://birdrestaurants.com/). My friend Ashley expressed a worry that perhaps she was not young or cool enough for East London nowadays, something I have long suspected about myself , since I have never been that cool. Everyone in the restaurant could not have been older than 25 and our nice waitress looked like she might actually be 12 years old. I still feel pretty young at heart, so to suddenly find that you are among one of the oldest people in the room is a bit of a disconcerting shock. The couple on the table next to us had fashionable haircuts and cutting edge outfits and halfway through dinner decided to sit laconically on each other's laps oozing East London coolness. Ashley, Charlotte (who could pass off easily as a stylist due to her impeccable fashion sense) and Jen (miles younger than all of us) all studied the menu. After much internal debate, I decided on the two pieces of fried chicken on a cheese and onion waffle with maple syrup. I love waffles, I love meat with sweet sauces and if I could eat maple syrup everyday I gladly would, so I thought this was a good choice. The food arrived promptly, was hot and smelled delicious. Now, when I say that this dish was not a good dinner, it was not because anything was cooked badly. I do not fault the chef or the restaurant. It was just not quite my cup of tea. The chicken was nice, the waffle was nice and so was the syrup but together they made an odd and not entirely pleasant taste sensation. I could not quite cope with the cheese and onion flavour mixed with maple syrup. It seemed to coat my mouth and obliterate any other taste sensation. As I munched away, regretting not ordering something more normal like chicken wings, we listened to a series of loud late nineties and early noughties hits played across the restaurant bringing back memories of teenage dances and years of awkward obsessions with rap singers and pop stars. After a while we felt as if the restaurant staff were not playing these songs simply because they like TLC and The Notorious B.I.G but because they see them as retro hits. Jen, as young as she is, shuddered at the idea of songs from the nineties being retro. How old does that make us? If music we listened to as teenagers is considered retro?

• Speaking of music, while I was in the bright yellow tiled bathroom of the above restaurant gazing at my distinctly yellowed appearance in the mirror while washing my hands in a cool retro-looking sink, I noticed they were playing different music in the toilet than in the restaurant. The song was nice, so I made note of the tune and lyrics and then sang it rather badly in the privacy of my own flat into my SoundHound app on my phone later that night. After several minutes while my high-tech and impressive phone did its mysterious thing, the song popped up in YouTube ready for me to view. It is called 'Budapest' and is by a new artist called George Ezra. I have always been puzzled by people who have a first name as their surname (such as Will Andrew, John Jacob etc) but I am not one to judge, so I gave the song a second listen and I love it! The video sort of makes me think of the daily commute on the London Underground, with everyone crowded in together and I like the sentiment of the song; giving up everything for the person you love.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VHrLPs3_1Fs

The other news is that I am gearing up for International Women's Day tomorrow, starting a Scandinavian themed fan club with my friend Ashley, looking forward to two new BBC period drams about to start on TV and eating pea soup for lunch. But more on all that later...

Have a great Saturday one and all!