Just noticed some really stupid typos in my last post. Damn it.
Anyway, I wasn't sure what to talk about today, so I'll just witter about my Driving Lesson for a bit. Yes, I took my first one this afternoon, and despite the drama in the morning, it didn't actually go too badly. Yes, I stalled the thing- once a matter of seconds after being complimented on my clutch control, the other whilst trying to stop anyway. Yes, I mounted the pavement. Yes, the gear lever took a while to earn my trust, the stupid bloody thing. No, I didn't crash, not even when my brother wandered past and started shouting and waving, making me lose all sense of what I was doing. Yes, I was completely amazed by how much is involved in driving a car. You have to pay attention to about four or five different things at once, and I'm still at the stage where I can't do anything without getting in a muddle, and really have no idea how anyone manages to drive fluently. I'm just hoping that it doesn't take me too long to get the knack, whatever it may be, because this early stage is a bit frustrating, especially with my hand/eye co-ordination. It's more like juggling than anything else.
Oh, but I did manage to drive in glasses that only had one lens without suffering painful repurcussions. This had worried me prior to the lesson, after my mad dash into Hedge End in search of emergency last minute specs failed miserably and I was left with the most battered and broken pair on earth. I actually feel a lot more worldly than I did this morning because of this one journey. It was only today's experience that taught me that it's impossible to buy - glasses off the rack. Any glasses you see in a shop will be for reading, and opticians own nothing you can just buy. And there was stupid me, wandering around Marks, asking the shop assistant in increasingly desperate tones if there was anywhere that sold what I needed, taking the long walk up to Hedge End village... and then walking back down 10 minutes later after a brief, and very sheepish excursion into the opticians. I remember the mad panic I was in walking back to the bus, wondering how much I'd legally be allowed to do and should I risk a white lie if it came down to it.
Turned out I had nothing to worry about.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Day 3: When did you come out of the Goth closet?
Well... I didn't, really. I had other people referring to me as a Goth before I'd worked out that I was one. If you mean 'when did I start calling myself Goth', then... pretty recently, but I wrote a whole post on it not too long ago, so I won't really go into the details. If you mean 'when did I admit to being a Goth'... well, again, that doesn't really apply. I'm not one for avoiding doing things 'in case someone makes fun', and besides, I was already the year weirdo long before I even started wanting alternative clothing, so it wasn't as though I had anything to lose. You know what, just stick me into the 'grew into it gradually so no coming out was needed' club. That fits well enough.
Wednesday, 17 August 2011
Monday, 15 August 2011
Sfammton.
I don't live in Southampton, but I do spend five days a week attending college there, and I often end up making trips into the city during Weekends and Holidays as well. So, when I found a "You know you're from Southampton if..." list on Facebook, and I thought I'd brush technicalities aside and see how much of it rang true.
You were GUTTED when they closed Charlie Chalks:
And to get off to a good start... I wasn't. I have no clue what Charlie Chalks is. For all I know I might be too young to remember it. Sorry.
It's The Marlands, not "The Mall Southampton", no matter how hard they try to rebrand it!:
This one rings more of a bell. I'll always think of it as Marlands.
There's something slightly sinister about the Bargate shopping centre, and the only reason to go in there is to get a shakeaway:
Eh... this is a tricky one. I see what they mean- Bargate always reminded me more of a Nightclub after closing time than anything else, with it's bad lighting and vacant lots. However, it has to be said that out of the shops that are left, a lot of them are quite nice ones. There's an independant alternative clothing shop in there that I've bought many a fantasy art-adorned top from, and the little cafe's ideal if you want to have a quiet drink. Also, there's a sweet shop, which is about as sinister as Bambi.
You resent the Boat Show:
Nah. Although, knowing what the traffic's like in the City Centre at the best of times, it doesn't surprise me that it's very existence gets on people's nerves.
You're aware of the game of musical shops that's going on in the city centre at the moment:
If by 'musical shops' you mean 'things closing, sometimes only to re-open in the next street', then yes, I am. AND JE NE COMPRENDE PAS.
You've referred to our glourious city as "Skankhampton"
Nope. 'Chavhampton'.
You've been thoroughly confused by the half arsed attempt at a one way system in the city centre:
Yeah, there are bits of road that definitely qualify as 'a bit daft'.
You've played pitch 'n' putt at Woodmill:
Nope. And I have no intention to, either.
You've stood on Weston Shore wondering who in their right mind would go in the sea there:
Never mind Weston Shore, the thought that people see any part of the Southampton coastline as prime beach material boggles the mind. It's an industrial port, for crying out loud! The water's grim as hell!
You remember when we had The Dell and not St Mary's Stadium
No, but that's probably just because I never paid attention to football.
You or your immediate family have worked for British Gas, the council, Skandia, HSBC or Ordnance Survey (or all of the above)
No. Both my parents work for the Norwich Union- I mean, Aviva.
You've smelt the desperation emanating from Portswood High Street and have noticed how pretty much everyone there looks like they may be homeless:
Well it's not exactly Shangri-La, but I wouldn't go that far...
You remember when Bitterne Park triangle had a bank:
No. Don't think I've ever been up that far- not properly, anyway.
You immediately know what someone means when they say "the triangle":
No. (Never heard anyone mention 'the triangle', so... yeah.)
You know that Southampton should really be spelt Sfammton:
YES.
You've rolled down the hill at Mayflower park, rather than using the slide provided:
Again and very regrettably, no.
You've had ice cream from an ice cream van in February:
I can't remember, but it wouldn't surprise me. The van probably wouldn't have been in Southampton, though.
You've jumped off Mansbridge, Cobden bridge, Northam bridge or all of them (disclaimer: I'm not advocating this, especially not Northam...):
No, because Northam's the only one I've been over on foot, and I don't have a death wish.
You know that any area with more than 1000 residents has a Charcoal Grill takeaway place:
This is completely new education. I'd change 'Charcoal Grill Takeaway' for 'Sklep Pod Orlem'. They're everywhere!
You've walked along the low wall that goes around the civic centre:
I don't think so. But then, I haven't been in there very often.
You slag Southampton off no end but still get offended when anyone from another area does:
... maybe. **shiftyeyes**
You involuntarily tut (or worse) whenever you see someone wearing a Portsmouth shirt, even if you couldn't care less about football:
The intensity of the Saints/Pompey rivalry has always been lost on me. Football was only a game last time I checked.
You got lost in the maze in Mayflower Park as a child:
**Has just found a bottle of herbal cooling gel with Best Before End 2007** WTF- eh... oh, no. No, I didn't.
You scraped your knee on said maze attempting to escape:
I'm intrigued about this maze, now.
You know the difference between "scum" and "skate":
I'm guessing this is an in-joke I've never come across. I think I'd better leave it alone...
You've been in West Quay at least four times when they've evacuated everyone:
That's only happened to me once, and we were only just inside the door at the time. I feel left out.
You know about ninety Amys, extra points if they're an Amy Louise:
Yeah, there are a lot of Amys around. And I'd wager at least one of them's an Amy Louise, because around here, at least 50% of everyone have Louise as a middle name. Don't know of many other people who have it as a first name, though, which is a bit odd.
You know it's only a matter of time before SouthCity/The Saint/Radio Hampshire changes its name again:
Oh, so THAT'S what happened to The Saint!
You've come very close to being hit by a pigeon in the city centre:
Yes. I've also seen many pigeons almost get hit by things. They're a bit thick.
You've been in the Daily Echo at least once, usually looking slightly "special":
I genuinely can't remember. Might have blocked out the memory...
You're not sure whether you should like Craig David because he's one of us, or hate him because of his terrible music:
No, I'm sure. I don't care where he's from, the guy's music really, really isn't my cup of tea.
You know what I'm talking about when I say "go in Itchen, come out scratching":
Yeah, this is advice I ignored- the Itchen in question is my college. It's not actually that bad, though- the biggest problem is the complete lack of organisation. At Itchen, everything gets left to the last minute.
Two words - Regents Tarts:
Non comprende, sorry.
You're familiar with the tramp who hangs out by The Square (used to be the Square Balloon):
Not sure where it is, so... no.
You still call it the Square Balloon:
Well, it sounds more interesting than just 'The Square', so once I work out where it is I will indeed call it the Square Balloon.
You remember when Ocean Village was good:
Think this is one of the places I've either never visited, or have visited but didn't form much of an impression of.
You were forced into the paddling pool on the common during summer, no matter how cold it was or how much you protested:
I'm the opposite. I remember really wanting to go in but never being allowed/able to.
You've seen the huge rats in the city centre parks near Debenhams:
No. Again, I feel left out.
You can't understand how East Street shopping centre hasn't been pulled down yet:
I actually can't. What was even more baffling was that there was a plan, at one stage, to pull the Bargate down. How does a half-empty shopping centre get targetted over a one containing nothing but a lonely furniture shop up the far end? I quite like that they've left it, though. Give the urban explorers something to do.
You regularly see tourists posing in front of the Bargate and wonder why they're so fascinated by it:
All the time. I know why they're there, though. Old City Gate and all that.
You're gutted whenever they scrap plans for an ice rink, yet still get your hopes up every time they re propose it:
Never felt quite that strongly about it, but basically yes.
Every year you think they can't get someone worse to turn on the Christmas lights, yet they still pull it off:
Don't really pay attention who does this anywhere. Maybe I should start. Hmm...
And the lights/decorations get worse and worse each year:
Eh, I don't know. From what I've gathered, they basically get the same ones out every year.
You've been on a school trip to the Tudor Museum:
I don't think I have, which surprises me, actually. I vaguely remember being taken to the art gallery in year one, though.
You know Southampton FC used to be good:
I vaguely remember them being in the Premiership.
You've seen Matt Le Tissier or James Beattie around town and actually felt a bit star struck:
Is now a good time to mention that I have no clue what either of them look like?
You've felt the urge to put washing up liquid in the fountain by the Jury's Inn:
That's never occured to me. Great idea though, thanks.
You were surprised at how quickly the Jury's Inn was built:
Now I come to think of it... yeah. It's huge, how'd they get it up so quickly when it takes 3 months to fix a hole in the road?
St Mary's fills you with a sense of foreboding:
Yes. It means Football. **le gasp**
You've been accosted at least four times by some nutter in St Mary's:
I haven't had that happen once, actually. Maybe I just haven't been in the area enough. I did once get some guy peer over the side of the Itchen bridge at me as though I was a unicorn with the body of a puffin, though.
You know who Paul Miller is, or even better, you've phoned up and been on his show:
Eh, name sounds familiar, but I can't quite place it. I think it's a radio thing, and I'm stupidly radio-illiterate (wait, is radio-illiteracy technically possible? Answers on a postcard).
You've met Chris Packham at least once:
... not to my knowledge.
You went on a school trip to Meridian Studios:
Sadly, no. Oh, and I've just realised that the Meridian logo isn't the little multi-coloured sun anymore. Aw, shame.
You've got an opinion on Fred Dinenage and/or Sally Taylor:
I can't remember precisely what Fred Dineage does and Sally Taylor... reads the news in a nondescript, perfectly acceptable way. So no.
You look upon Carl Tyler (weather man off the telly) as an uncle, even though you've never met him:
No other weather presenter matters when there's one who went to your Junior School, and brought the local news crews to film it when you were about seven.
You're secretly quite jealous that Portsmouth has the Spinnaker tower, but you'd never admit it:
Don't be daft, of course I'd admit my mild jealousy!
You were born in the Princess Anne Hospital:
Winchester, I think.
You've been to a birthday party at Ollie's Ocean World:
I don't think so, but come on... how do you expect me to remember?
You've wondered how on earth it takes an hour to get to the Isle of Wight by ferry:
No, but I am now.
You've been at a concert in the Guildhall when an argument's broken out about football with Pompey fans:
No, thank God. Surely a football fight is the last thing you want when you're trying to pay attention to a band?
You wonder why the Marlands even bothered getting renovated when West Quay's about seventy times better:
OBJECTION! Marlands has The Market Gallery and CEX.
You've braved the dual carriageway between West Quay Retail Park and Leisure World:
What, that sea of traffic islands? I've crossed there several times... somehow.
You remember the days of Tyrell and Green
Only very vaguely, but this makes me sad somehow, as if the name brings back a long-buried memory of joy that I wish I'd held on to. Chances are it's just my brain being strange, though.
Your year six residential went to Calshot or Stubbington:
Nope, Fairthorne Manor, where we learnt an annoying song about a crazy moose who drank a lot of juice. Why annoying? Because even now it occasionally gets stuck in my head for no reason. I have been to Calshot, though.
Your parents hated you going to the Joiners Arms:
Is it really really depressing to admit that I've never been in the Joiners Arms?
IKEA = Traffic:
Never been there in the car, so I couldn't tell you.
You've been on the train round Royal Victoria Country Park:
Yep. I think I was quite young, though,
You used to go to Power in the Park, until they started charging for tickets:
Nope. Can't remember whether I ever went to Power in the Park at all, actually. I had a deprived childhood.
You just know it's a Hoot Hoot at Paulton's Park:
When you're eight, it most certainly is.
You think it's ironic how all the places in Swaythling with the nice names (daisy dip etc) are the worst places to live:
Swaythling never struck me as being that bad, but I do know that Daisy Dip's dodgy and it did make me laugh when I found out.
I think you can sort of apply this rule to Southampton in general, actually. St Mary's. Shirley Warren (which includes roads with street names like 'Tremona' and 'Jessamine'). The Flowers Estate (which Saisy Dip may or may not be part of, I'm not sure). Oasis Mayfield Academy.
"Cantell can't spell!"
Another in joke I'm going to leave alone for fear of saying something stupid and looking like a Charlie.
You know of the Bevois Valley cheese grater:
I don't think I... Oh, wait, that thing? The 20 foot tall cheese grater at the side of the road on the way into town? Yes, yes I do know that. So, that's where Bevois valley is.
You think that the Itchen Bridge must surely be paid for by now:
Isn't it? Blimey.
Mutant mile - you know where it is and avoid it like the plague:
I had to look this one up. Wasn't surprised to learn that it's in Shirley.
You know of the "05 H1T" mini in Bevois Valley:
No. I'm intrigued now.
You don't think anything of getting stuck at traffic lights every 200 yards:
YES. YES, thankyou! This is why I hate going into Southampton on the Number Two bus- it goes down all the main roads, every single one of which has enough traffic lights for a small country. And if you get a red once, you'll be getting a red every time.
You know Portsmouth have a better football team but you won't admit it:
Meh. Football.
You got excited about playing Southampton Monopoly but after a few games concluded it was a bit rubbish:
I... don't need to have played it to guess that it was a bit rubbish. Monopoly games tend to be.
You hate how you have to have your network on Facebook as Portsmouth, especially as there are more of us!:
Do we? I didn't know we did XD
Also: You know you're from Eastleigh/Chandler's Ford when nothing happens really... at all:
Sad but true, my friend. Sad but true.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Question 2: Share photos and experiences from your Babybat days.
I'll have to duck out on the photos. Partly because I don't have any to hand and quite frankly, don't really have time to go hunting about for some right now, and partly because I'm not really embarassed by what I wore. True, I wouldn't wear half of it now, but I don't sit and cringe. My haircut, on the other hand... **shudder**
So... experiences. Well... there isn't really much to say. In terms of what I wore, two things stand out. One is the Claires jewellery and 50badges.com badge that I bulk-bought and did all sorts fo weird and wonderful things with. I seldom left the house without badges stuck to my T-shirt, my wristbands, even my trousers from time to time. The other is the virtually all-alternative clothing shop wardrobe. I was picky about what I bought, so hopefully I avoided the doom cookie look, but for a few months around the age of 14 I had it in my head that I had to buy from these places or else I was a poser- Ironic, ne? Anyway, these places were generally either independant shops or part of small chains, and therefore they weren't very polished inside. Half the time you'd be the only customer in the shop, and the assistants, when they weren't staring irritatingly at you, thought nothing of talking on the phone, wandering off into the back room or, one on occasion, standing in front of the counter discussing Judas Priest. They weren't always as unobservant as they seemed though. The Sikh guy in Underground Clothing recognised everyone who'd ever been in the shop, or so it seemed. I recall being more than a bit startled when when I paid my second or third visit to the shop and realised he knew who I was.
The changing rooms could also be a bit scary. Half the time there was only one, facing right out into the shop, which meant that if the curtain didn't cover the entrance properly (as it often didn't), you'd find yourself feeling woryingly exposed.
I remember the very first time I bought an alternative article of clothing. I was thirteen years old and shopping with my Mum. When I selected the top- a plain black T-shirt with an X-ray style skull and wings on the front, I felt nervous about showing her, knowing full well she'd wonder what I wanted that for. I also bought a white top emblazoned with rainbow musical notes, because I really didn't have a clue what I was going for at that stage. All I knew was that I wanted something **gesticulates wildly** different.
I remember my Mansonite stage. Well, I say Mansonite stage, I never once claimed the band were Goth. On the contrary, I'd always leap to correct anyone who made that mistake. Also, my Marilyn Manson T-shirt fell top bits after no time at all, and never got replaced.
My fondest babybat memory... no contest, when I got my first pair of New Rocks. I'd wanted some for over a year by that point, but hadn't been able to afford them and didn't know where to purchase a pair from. After a while, when the converses I'd been going around in finally got a bit cruddy (I still own them, mind. They're my back up for whenever I need 'sensible' shoes), I finally struck got my arse onto the computer and gold online. After a brief protest from my Mum, who hadn't been in a very good mood for unrelated reasons, I ordered a pair and had them arrive within a few weeks. I loved them from the start, and they served me well for the next three or so years. Even when they finally fell to bits and had to be replaced back in May, it took me ages to find the heart to throw them out.
You were GUTTED when they closed Charlie Chalks:
And to get off to a good start... I wasn't. I have no clue what Charlie Chalks is. For all I know I might be too young to remember it. Sorry.
It's The Marlands, not "The Mall Southampton", no matter how hard they try to rebrand it!:
This one rings more of a bell. I'll always think of it as Marlands.
There's something slightly sinister about the Bargate shopping centre, and the only reason to go in there is to get a shakeaway:
Eh... this is a tricky one. I see what they mean- Bargate always reminded me more of a Nightclub after closing time than anything else, with it's bad lighting and vacant lots. However, it has to be said that out of the shops that are left, a lot of them are quite nice ones. There's an independant alternative clothing shop in there that I've bought many a fantasy art-adorned top from, and the little cafe's ideal if you want to have a quiet drink. Also, there's a sweet shop, which is about as sinister as Bambi.
You resent the Boat Show:
Nah. Although, knowing what the traffic's like in the City Centre at the best of times, it doesn't surprise me that it's very existence gets on people's nerves.
You're aware of the game of musical shops that's going on in the city centre at the moment:
If by 'musical shops' you mean 'things closing, sometimes only to re-open in the next street', then yes, I am. AND JE NE COMPRENDE PAS.
You've referred to our glourious city as "Skankhampton"
Nope. 'Chavhampton'.
You've been thoroughly confused by the half arsed attempt at a one way system in the city centre:
Yeah, there are bits of road that definitely qualify as 'a bit daft'.
You've played pitch 'n' putt at Woodmill:
Nope. And I have no intention to, either.
You've stood on Weston Shore wondering who in their right mind would go in the sea there:
Never mind Weston Shore, the thought that people see any part of the Southampton coastline as prime beach material boggles the mind. It's an industrial port, for crying out loud! The water's grim as hell!
You remember when we had The Dell and not St Mary's Stadium
No, but that's probably just because I never paid attention to football.
You or your immediate family have worked for British Gas, the council, Skandia, HSBC or Ordnance Survey (or all of the above)
No. Both my parents work for the Norwich Union- I mean, Aviva.
You've smelt the desperation emanating from Portswood High Street and have noticed how pretty much everyone there looks like they may be homeless:
Well it's not exactly Shangri-La, but I wouldn't go that far...
You remember when Bitterne Park triangle had a bank:
No. Don't think I've ever been up that far- not properly, anyway.
You immediately know what someone means when they say "the triangle":
No. (Never heard anyone mention 'the triangle', so... yeah.)
You know that Southampton should really be spelt Sfammton:
YES.
You've rolled down the hill at Mayflower park, rather than using the slide provided:
Again and very regrettably, no.
You've had ice cream from an ice cream van in February:
I can't remember, but it wouldn't surprise me. The van probably wouldn't have been in Southampton, though.
You've jumped off Mansbridge, Cobden bridge, Northam bridge or all of them (disclaimer: I'm not advocating this, especially not Northam...):
No, because Northam's the only one I've been over on foot, and I don't have a death wish.
You know that any area with more than 1000 residents has a Charcoal Grill takeaway place:
This is completely new education. I'd change 'Charcoal Grill Takeaway' for 'Sklep Pod Orlem'. They're everywhere!
You've walked along the low wall that goes around the civic centre:
I don't think so. But then, I haven't been in there very often.
You slag Southampton off no end but still get offended when anyone from another area does:
... maybe. **shiftyeyes**
You involuntarily tut (or worse) whenever you see someone wearing a Portsmouth shirt, even if you couldn't care less about football:
The intensity of the Saints/Pompey rivalry has always been lost on me. Football was only a game last time I checked.
You got lost in the maze in Mayflower Park as a child:
**Has just found a bottle of herbal cooling gel with Best Before End 2007** WTF- eh... oh, no. No, I didn't.
You scraped your knee on said maze attempting to escape:
I'm intrigued about this maze, now.
You know the difference between "scum" and "skate":
I'm guessing this is an in-joke I've never come across. I think I'd better leave it alone...
You've been in West Quay at least four times when they've evacuated everyone:
That's only happened to me once, and we were only just inside the door at the time. I feel left out.
You know about ninety Amys, extra points if they're an Amy Louise:
Yeah, there are a lot of Amys around. And I'd wager at least one of them's an Amy Louise, because around here, at least 50% of everyone have Louise as a middle name. Don't know of many other people who have it as a first name, though, which is a bit odd.
You know it's only a matter of time before SouthCity/The Saint/Radio Hampshire changes its name again:
Oh, so THAT'S what happened to The Saint!
You've come very close to being hit by a pigeon in the city centre:
Yes. I've also seen many pigeons almost get hit by things. They're a bit thick.
You've been in the Daily Echo at least once, usually looking slightly "special":
I genuinely can't remember. Might have blocked out the memory...
You're not sure whether you should like Craig David because he's one of us, or hate him because of his terrible music:
No, I'm sure. I don't care where he's from, the guy's music really, really isn't my cup of tea.
You know what I'm talking about when I say "go in Itchen, come out scratching":
Yeah, this is advice I ignored- the Itchen in question is my college. It's not actually that bad, though- the biggest problem is the complete lack of organisation. At Itchen, everything gets left to the last minute.
Two words - Regents Tarts:
Non comprende, sorry.
You're familiar with the tramp who hangs out by The Square (used to be the Square Balloon):
Not sure where it is, so... no.
You still call it the Square Balloon:
Well, it sounds more interesting than just 'The Square', so once I work out where it is I will indeed call it the Square Balloon.
You remember when Ocean Village was good:
Think this is one of the places I've either never visited, or have visited but didn't form much of an impression of.
You were forced into the paddling pool on the common during summer, no matter how cold it was or how much you protested:
I'm the opposite. I remember really wanting to go in but never being allowed/able to.
You've seen the huge rats in the city centre parks near Debenhams:
No. Again, I feel left out.
You can't understand how East Street shopping centre hasn't been pulled down yet:
I actually can't. What was even more baffling was that there was a plan, at one stage, to pull the Bargate down. How does a half-empty shopping centre get targetted over a one containing nothing but a lonely furniture shop up the far end? I quite like that they've left it, though. Give the urban explorers something to do.
You regularly see tourists posing in front of the Bargate and wonder why they're so fascinated by it:
All the time. I know why they're there, though. Old City Gate and all that.
You're gutted whenever they scrap plans for an ice rink, yet still get your hopes up every time they re propose it:
Never felt quite that strongly about it, but basically yes.
Every year you think they can't get someone worse to turn on the Christmas lights, yet they still pull it off:
Don't really pay attention who does this anywhere. Maybe I should start. Hmm...
And the lights/decorations get worse and worse each year:
Eh, I don't know. From what I've gathered, they basically get the same ones out every year.
You've been on a school trip to the Tudor Museum:
I don't think I have, which surprises me, actually. I vaguely remember being taken to the art gallery in year one, though.
You know Southampton FC used to be good:
I vaguely remember them being in the Premiership.
You've seen Matt Le Tissier or James Beattie around town and actually felt a bit star struck:
Is now a good time to mention that I have no clue what either of them look like?
You've felt the urge to put washing up liquid in the fountain by the Jury's Inn:
That's never occured to me. Great idea though, thanks.
You were surprised at how quickly the Jury's Inn was built:
Now I come to think of it... yeah. It's huge, how'd they get it up so quickly when it takes 3 months to fix a hole in the road?
St Mary's fills you with a sense of foreboding:
Yes. It means Football. **le gasp**
You've been accosted at least four times by some nutter in St Mary's:
I haven't had that happen once, actually. Maybe I just haven't been in the area enough. I did once get some guy peer over the side of the Itchen bridge at me as though I was a unicorn with the body of a puffin, though.
You know who Paul Miller is, or even better, you've phoned up and been on his show:
Eh, name sounds familiar, but I can't quite place it. I think it's a radio thing, and I'm stupidly radio-illiterate (wait, is radio-illiteracy technically possible? Answers on a postcard).
You've met Chris Packham at least once:
... not to my knowledge.
You went on a school trip to Meridian Studios:
Sadly, no. Oh, and I've just realised that the Meridian logo isn't the little multi-coloured sun anymore. Aw, shame.
You've got an opinion on Fred Dinenage and/or Sally Taylor:
I can't remember precisely what Fred Dineage does and Sally Taylor... reads the news in a nondescript, perfectly acceptable way. So no.
You look upon Carl Tyler (weather man off the telly) as an uncle, even though you've never met him:
No other weather presenter matters when there's one who went to your Junior School, and brought the local news crews to film it when you were about seven.
You're secretly quite jealous that Portsmouth has the Spinnaker tower, but you'd never admit it:
Don't be daft, of course I'd admit my mild jealousy!
You were born in the Princess Anne Hospital:
Winchester, I think.
You've been to a birthday party at Ollie's Ocean World:
I don't think so, but come on... how do you expect me to remember?
You've wondered how on earth it takes an hour to get to the Isle of Wight by ferry:
No, but I am now.
You've been at a concert in the Guildhall when an argument's broken out about football with Pompey fans:
No, thank God. Surely a football fight is the last thing you want when you're trying to pay attention to a band?
You wonder why the Marlands even bothered getting renovated when West Quay's about seventy times better:
OBJECTION! Marlands has The Market Gallery and CEX.
You've braved the dual carriageway between West Quay Retail Park and Leisure World:
What, that sea of traffic islands? I've crossed there several times... somehow.
You remember the days of Tyrell and Green
Only very vaguely, but this makes me sad somehow, as if the name brings back a long-buried memory of joy that I wish I'd held on to. Chances are it's just my brain being strange, though.
Your year six residential went to Calshot or Stubbington:
Nope, Fairthorne Manor, where we learnt an annoying song about a crazy moose who drank a lot of juice. Why annoying? Because even now it occasionally gets stuck in my head for no reason. I have been to Calshot, though.
Your parents hated you going to the Joiners Arms:
Is it really really depressing to admit that I've never been in the Joiners Arms?
IKEA = Traffic:
Never been there in the car, so I couldn't tell you.
You've been on the train round Royal Victoria Country Park:
Yep. I think I was quite young, though,
You used to go to Power in the Park, until they started charging for tickets:
Nope. Can't remember whether I ever went to Power in the Park at all, actually. I had a deprived childhood.
You just know it's a Hoot Hoot at Paulton's Park:
When you're eight, it most certainly is.
You think it's ironic how all the places in Swaythling with the nice names (daisy dip etc) are the worst places to live:
Swaythling never struck me as being that bad, but I do know that Daisy Dip's dodgy and it did make me laugh when I found out.
I think you can sort of apply this rule to Southampton in general, actually. St Mary's. Shirley Warren (which includes roads with street names like 'Tremona' and 'Jessamine'). The Flowers Estate (which Saisy Dip may or may not be part of, I'm not sure). Oasis Mayfield Academy.
"Cantell can't spell!"
Another in joke I'm going to leave alone for fear of saying something stupid and looking like a Charlie.
You know of the Bevois Valley cheese grater:
I don't think I... Oh, wait, that thing? The 20 foot tall cheese grater at the side of the road on the way into town? Yes, yes I do know that. So, that's where Bevois valley is.
You think that the Itchen Bridge must surely be paid for by now:
Isn't it? Blimey.
Mutant mile - you know where it is and avoid it like the plague:
I had to look this one up. Wasn't surprised to learn that it's in Shirley.
You know of the "05 H1T" mini in Bevois Valley:
No. I'm intrigued now.
You don't think anything of getting stuck at traffic lights every 200 yards:
YES. YES, thankyou! This is why I hate going into Southampton on the Number Two bus- it goes down all the main roads, every single one of which has enough traffic lights for a small country. And if you get a red once, you'll be getting a red every time.
You know Portsmouth have a better football team but you won't admit it:
Meh. Football.
You got excited about playing Southampton Monopoly but after a few games concluded it was a bit rubbish:
I... don't need to have played it to guess that it was a bit rubbish. Monopoly games tend to be.
You hate how you have to have your network on Facebook as Portsmouth, especially as there are more of us!:
Do we? I didn't know we did XD
Also: You know you're from Eastleigh/Chandler's Ford when nothing happens really... at all:
Sad but true, my friend. Sad but true.
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Question 2: Share photos and experiences from your Babybat days.
I'll have to duck out on the photos. Partly because I don't have any to hand and quite frankly, don't really have time to go hunting about for some right now, and partly because I'm not really embarassed by what I wore. True, I wouldn't wear half of it now, but I don't sit and cringe. My haircut, on the other hand... **shudder**
So... experiences. Well... there isn't really much to say. In terms of what I wore, two things stand out. One is the Claires jewellery and 50badges.com badge that I bulk-bought and did all sorts fo weird and wonderful things with. I seldom left the house without badges stuck to my T-shirt, my wristbands, even my trousers from time to time. The other is the virtually all-alternative clothing shop wardrobe. I was picky about what I bought, so hopefully I avoided the doom cookie look, but for a few months around the age of 14 I had it in my head that I had to buy from these places or else I was a poser- Ironic, ne? Anyway, these places were generally either independant shops or part of small chains, and therefore they weren't very polished inside. Half the time you'd be the only customer in the shop, and the assistants, when they weren't staring irritatingly at you, thought nothing of talking on the phone, wandering off into the back room or, one on occasion, standing in front of the counter discussing Judas Priest. They weren't always as unobservant as they seemed though. The Sikh guy in Underground Clothing recognised everyone who'd ever been in the shop, or so it seemed. I recall being more than a bit startled when when I paid my second or third visit to the shop and realised he knew who I was.
The changing rooms could also be a bit scary. Half the time there was only one, facing right out into the shop, which meant that if the curtain didn't cover the entrance properly (as it often didn't), you'd find yourself feeling woryingly exposed.
I remember the very first time I bought an alternative article of clothing. I was thirteen years old and shopping with my Mum. When I selected the top- a plain black T-shirt with an X-ray style skull and wings on the front, I felt nervous about showing her, knowing full well she'd wonder what I wanted that for. I also bought a white top emblazoned with rainbow musical notes, because I really didn't have a clue what I was going for at that stage. All I knew was that I wanted something **gesticulates wildly** different.
I remember my Mansonite stage. Well, I say Mansonite stage, I never once claimed the band were Goth. On the contrary, I'd always leap to correct anyone who made that mistake. Also, my Marilyn Manson T-shirt fell top bits after no time at all, and never got replaced.
My fondest babybat memory... no contest, when I got my first pair of New Rocks. I'd wanted some for over a year by that point, but hadn't been able to afford them and didn't know where to purchase a pair from. After a while, when the converses I'd been going around in finally got a bit cruddy (I still own them, mind. They're my back up for whenever I need 'sensible' shoes), I finally struck got my arse onto the computer and gold online. After a brief protest from my Mum, who hadn't been in a very good mood for unrelated reasons, I ordered a pair and had them arrive within a few weeks. I loved them from the start, and they served me well for the next three or so years. Even when they finally fell to bits and had to be replaced back in May, it took me ages to find the heart to throw them out.
Sunday, 14 August 2011
Myself and Maurice were just having a very serious discussion about books and such. Also, I found another survey.
I'm setting myself a challenge. I found another survey, and because I bloody love surveys, I decided there and then that I just HAD to do it. Only problem is, it's a long runner. You have to answer one question a day for the next 30.
Which means I'll have to blog every day for the next month, and, as you can see, this isn't exactly something I'm used to doing. Furthermore, the survey is all on the same subject- Goth- and it goes without saying that endless posts centred squarely on my personal experiences with my subculture would be horribly tedious, both for me and for anyone who happens to be reading this.
So, I've made a decision. For the next 30 days, I will post, and in each post I will answer the Question of the Day. But also, in each post, I will write about a different topic. So, it'll be Question of the Day and a Poltical Rant. Question of the Day and a Musing. Question of the Day and Snark. Question of the Day and a Silly Anecdote. Question of the Day and whatever I feel like. But never just Question of the Day by itself.
It's time to dust out the cobwebs. I present... **dun dun dun**... Day 1!
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
And so I kick off with a great big fuck-off nerd-ramble about literature! Sorry guys.
I first read Lord of the Rings when I was about fourteen, and at the time, I wasn't overly enchanted. I mean, I didn't dislike the series and a lot of it captivated me, but there were other parts I had to battle through. As the trilogy wore on, I found myself resenting, in particular, Tolkien's habit of neglecting character interaction in favour of long monologues about dead Kings, which I couldn't really bring myself to care about. I also struggled to get to grips with the endless similar-souding names taht got thrown around, and found myself having to really think in order to keep up as background characters blended seamlessly into one another.
Despite this lukewarm first impression, however, late last year I was struck by the urge to re-read the trilogy, and I borrowed the battered college library copies and began to read again. When I'd finished, my opinion had completely changed. A few years in age had taken me from thinking the series overrated to really fucking loving it.
Weird.
It is. It isn't that the niggles I had the first time round have completely gone away. Tom Bombadil is still annoying, the Black and White morality still gets on my nerves and I still have no idea how the Orcs even still existed what with all the in-fighting they got up to. I still took my time through the slower bits of plot. I've found that if you lose your pace at the wrong bit- where the more whimsical and fast-moving Fellowship meets the slower and drier Two Towers- you'll have a hard time getting it back. I even managed to get annoyed by something I'd managed to overlook the first time around- the role of women.
By that, I don't mean the bog-standard traditionalism. Tolkien wrote this book in the 50's and 60's at a fairly old age, what else could you expect? No, my problem is a mixture of logic, and women being mysteriously absent where they shouldn't have been.
For logic, take the Gondor situation: Their city were under severe threat, and they had to give absolutely all they had if they stood a chance of holding Mordor back. It was a do or die situation, screw anything else, anyone who could hold a sword had to fight. Well, in theory, anyway. Despite their dire desperation, after all, they were still sending 50% of their able-bodied adult population off into exile because chivalry.
I... can't make that make sense. No amount of reminding myself of Tolkien's background makes the exclusion of women seem any less silly in-universe. By that stage in the war, the normal rules about who fights were already shown to have widened out of necessity to include old men and teenage boys, and with full awareness that this is coming from my 21st century mind, it would have made so much more sense to have conscripted at least some of the women too. Or, failing that, just given those women who were willing to fight the chance to do so.
As for the mysterious absence... Jesus. For one thing, according to Tolkien's Royal timelines, Queens don't exist in Middle Earth. There has never been an instance where any throne, anywhere, has had to go to a woman, and only one or two women seem to have been in positions of power full stop. Now, while it's probably my feministic tendencies that are making me notice this, it isn't sexism I'm complaining about here. It's more that this goes against all laws of averages. Surely, there would have been at least a few Kings who had only daughters? A few childless Kings who'd died, leaving the throne to a wife or sister? How is it possible that that could just never happen? Also, it often seems that every background character was male unless there was a specific reason for them not to be, to the point where entire races and societies were left with half their population shrouded in mystery. Again, not really sexist, but the effect was definitely a bit awkward, and it left a lot of unanswered questions. You can't automatically blame Tolkien's worldview for it, either- there's no doubt that he knew Queens and female tribespeople existed. Why they never made it into the novels... pfft, anyone's guess.
But, as I said, despite how much it annoys me at times, I love this series. For a while, I wondered about this- this trilogy contains every cliche I read Mieville to avoid. But I think I've worked it out. You see, even though there are many aspects of it that make no sense, Lord of the Rings feels real. The worldbuilding is of that rare quality where the setting and characters just come immaculately to life. It's true that more character interaction would've been nice, but the character development was effective, if subtle, and that's what really matters. Speaking of the characters, I can't think of very many I dislike. This is something I've only noticed since the re-read, but the vast majority of the cast is likeable, interesting, or both. The big exception to this is Bombadil, but he only shows up for a couple of chapters early on, so it isn't like I had to put up with him for very long. I can care about this world and these people and what happens to them. There's also something more personal to me that makes me love this series. I'm about as far from an integralist as it's possible to be, and books that contain a lot of padding spark my interest rather than make me switch off. If the author goes off on tangents just to showcase extra events or details, it not only increases immersion in the story but shows an impressive level of dedication. If there are entire tie-in books full of background information, it's even better.
I suspect it's this love of extras that led me to dislike another book- the Lovely Bones, which I studied in English last year. Just like I didn't at first understand why I liked LoTR, it took me a while to understand why I disliked this. The concept was OK, I had nothing against the genre. Nothing was obviously wrong. It was only when I read a few negative reviews on it that rang incredibly true that I understood... the worldbuilding was pants. The setting was Anywhereville, and while that was clearly kind of the point, it made it difficult for anyone to connect with the setting. The characters were either bland or charicatures, impossible to relate to, and the main character lost her narrative voice completely after the first couple of chapters, being reduced down to a vehicle with which to convey events through.
The hollow romanticism of everything backfired on the author, as well. By trying to make everything deep and profound, she ensured that nothing was. When a murder is described with the same levels of sentimentality as someone walking the dog, it's hard to care about anything that happens. The entire book ended up as stuff happening in silly purple prose, with the exception of a sex scene that stood out just because of how creepy it was: A grown man (who hadn't shown romantic interest in anyone since his teenage crush died- yeah, Single Target Sexuality was the norm in this story. Everybody's first love interest was their One and Only) gets propositioned by the ghost of aforementioned teenage crush who is posessing his best friend. He accepts instantly. Even though this is a thousand kinds of wrong. Of course. In fact, the fact that Susie chose to have sex rather than help catch her killer when she was returned to Earth is slightly... off. She knew he was at large and was likely to kill again, after all. I'd ask where the logic was, if I could give a monkeys. Which I don't, because there was just no character or charm to this book, depite the author's many desperate efforts to shoe a load in.
TL:DR: Lord of the Rings makes me facepalm at time but is still awesome because of the thorough worldbuilding. Lovely Bones is a bit rubbish because worldbuilding is nonexistant + it tries to hard to be profound. Yes they're weird books to compare and contrast. No, I don't care.
((Looks up and wonders how many geek points I got from that))
Which means I'll have to blog every day for the next month, and, as you can see, this isn't exactly something I'm used to doing. Furthermore, the survey is all on the same subject- Goth- and it goes without saying that endless posts centred squarely on my personal experiences with my subculture would be horribly tedious, both for me and for anyone who happens to be reading this.
So, I've made a decision. For the next 30 days, I will post, and in each post I will answer the Question of the Day. But also, in each post, I will write about a different topic. So, it'll be Question of the Day and a Poltical Rant. Question of the Day and a Musing. Question of the Day and Snark. Question of the Day and a Silly Anecdote. Question of the Day and whatever I feel like. But never just Question of the Day by itself.
It's time to dust out the cobwebs. I present... **dun dun dun**... Day 1!
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
And so I kick off with a great big fuck-off nerd-ramble about literature! Sorry guys.
I first read Lord of the Rings when I was about fourteen, and at the time, I wasn't overly enchanted. I mean, I didn't dislike the series and a lot of it captivated me, but there were other parts I had to battle through. As the trilogy wore on, I found myself resenting, in particular, Tolkien's habit of neglecting character interaction in favour of long monologues about dead Kings, which I couldn't really bring myself to care about. I also struggled to get to grips with the endless similar-souding names taht got thrown around, and found myself having to really think in order to keep up as background characters blended seamlessly into one another.
Despite this lukewarm first impression, however, late last year I was struck by the urge to re-read the trilogy, and I borrowed the battered college library copies and began to read again. When I'd finished, my opinion had completely changed. A few years in age had taken me from thinking the series overrated to really fucking loving it.
Weird.
It is. It isn't that the niggles I had the first time round have completely gone away. Tom Bombadil is still annoying, the Black and White morality still gets on my nerves and I still have no idea how the Orcs even still existed what with all the in-fighting they got up to. I still took my time through the slower bits of plot. I've found that if you lose your pace at the wrong bit- where the more whimsical and fast-moving Fellowship meets the slower and drier Two Towers- you'll have a hard time getting it back. I even managed to get annoyed by something I'd managed to overlook the first time around- the role of women.
By that, I don't mean the bog-standard traditionalism. Tolkien wrote this book in the 50's and 60's at a fairly old age, what else could you expect? No, my problem is a mixture of logic, and women being mysteriously absent where they shouldn't have been.
For logic, take the Gondor situation: Their city were under severe threat, and they had to give absolutely all they had if they stood a chance of holding Mordor back. It was a do or die situation, screw anything else, anyone who could hold a sword had to fight. Well, in theory, anyway. Despite their dire desperation, after all, they were still sending 50% of their able-bodied adult population off into exile because chivalry.
I... can't make that make sense. No amount of reminding myself of Tolkien's background makes the exclusion of women seem any less silly in-universe. By that stage in the war, the normal rules about who fights were already shown to have widened out of necessity to include old men and teenage boys, and with full awareness that this is coming from my 21st century mind, it would have made so much more sense to have conscripted at least some of the women too. Or, failing that, just given those women who were willing to fight the chance to do so.
As for the mysterious absence... Jesus. For one thing, according to Tolkien's Royal timelines, Queens don't exist in Middle Earth. There has never been an instance where any throne, anywhere, has had to go to a woman, and only one or two women seem to have been in positions of power full stop. Now, while it's probably my feministic tendencies that are making me notice this, it isn't sexism I'm complaining about here. It's more that this goes against all laws of averages. Surely, there would have been at least a few Kings who had only daughters? A few childless Kings who'd died, leaving the throne to a wife or sister? How is it possible that that could just never happen? Also, it often seems that every background character was male unless there was a specific reason for them not to be, to the point where entire races and societies were left with half their population shrouded in mystery. Again, not really sexist, but the effect was definitely a bit awkward, and it left a lot of unanswered questions. You can't automatically blame Tolkien's worldview for it, either- there's no doubt that he knew Queens and female tribespeople existed. Why they never made it into the novels... pfft, anyone's guess.
But, as I said, despite how much it annoys me at times, I love this series. For a while, I wondered about this- this trilogy contains every cliche I read Mieville to avoid. But I think I've worked it out. You see, even though there are many aspects of it that make no sense, Lord of the Rings feels real. The worldbuilding is of that rare quality where the setting and characters just come immaculately to life. It's true that more character interaction would've been nice, but the character development was effective, if subtle, and that's what really matters. Speaking of the characters, I can't think of very many I dislike. This is something I've only noticed since the re-read, but the vast majority of the cast is likeable, interesting, or both. The big exception to this is Bombadil, but he only shows up for a couple of chapters early on, so it isn't like I had to put up with him for very long. I can care about this world and these people and what happens to them. There's also something more personal to me that makes me love this series. I'm about as far from an integralist as it's possible to be, and books that contain a lot of padding spark my interest rather than make me switch off. If the author goes off on tangents just to showcase extra events or details, it not only increases immersion in the story but shows an impressive level of dedication. If there are entire tie-in books full of background information, it's even better.
I suspect it's this love of extras that led me to dislike another book- the Lovely Bones, which I studied in English last year. Just like I didn't at first understand why I liked LoTR, it took me a while to understand why I disliked this. The concept was OK, I had nothing against the genre. Nothing was obviously wrong. It was only when I read a few negative reviews on it that rang incredibly true that I understood... the worldbuilding was pants. The setting was Anywhereville, and while that was clearly kind of the point, it made it difficult for anyone to connect with the setting. The characters were either bland or charicatures, impossible to relate to, and the main character lost her narrative voice completely after the first couple of chapters, being reduced down to a vehicle with which to convey events through.
The hollow romanticism of everything backfired on the author, as well. By trying to make everything deep and profound, she ensured that nothing was. When a murder is described with the same levels of sentimentality as someone walking the dog, it's hard to care about anything that happens. The entire book ended up as stuff happening in silly purple prose, with the exception of a sex scene that stood out just because of how creepy it was: A grown man (who hadn't shown romantic interest in anyone since his teenage crush died- yeah, Single Target Sexuality was the norm in this story. Everybody's first love interest was their One and Only) gets propositioned by the ghost of aforementioned teenage crush who is posessing his best friend. He accepts instantly. Even though this is a thousand kinds of wrong. Of course. In fact, the fact that Susie chose to have sex rather than help catch her killer when she was returned to Earth is slightly... off. She knew he was at large and was likely to kill again, after all. I'd ask where the logic was, if I could give a monkeys. Which I don't, because there was just no character or charm to this book, depite the author's many desperate efforts to shoe a load in.
TL:DR: Lord of the Rings makes me facepalm at time but is still awesome because of the thorough worldbuilding. Lovely Bones is a bit rubbish because worldbuilding is nonexistant + it tries to hard to be profound. Yes they're weird books to compare and contrast. No, I don't care.
((Looks up and wonders how many geek points I got from that))
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Question 1: How did you come across the subculture?
I've been aware of it as far back as I could remember, but I never really understood it, and it took me until my early teens to realise I wanted to try alternative fashion, never mind develop any sort of affintiy with Goth in particular. I see pictures of young Goths who look like they understand exactly what they're going for at 12, 13, 14 years old. That wasn't me. I did not have the faintest idea what I was doing. I was more or less emo at first, but with too much DIY jewellery made from stationery to really count. Then I started erring towards a rock chicky kind of thing, but I associated a tough, rock 'n roll personality that I simply did not have to that, and inevitably dropped it fairly quickly. Somewhere along the line I became what would be described by many as a Mansonite, except I never claimed that either they or I were Goth, so... yeah. Then I learnt more about the Goth subculture, and after a while realised it fitted me pretty damn well. Yeah.
So, TL:DR summarised, I did not have a longstanding affintity for Goth. What I did have, however, were a lot of the early signifiers. I was a creative child, always inventing imaginary worlds and writing stories. I enjoyed reading. I had a brief but intense interest in Greek mythology. When I got scared by a picture of Kali in an encyclopaedia, I conquered my fear by making up stories where she was 'one of the goodies', and developed a fascination with the Goddess that still holds to this day.
When I was a toddler, I decided several Disney Villains and Medusa were perfect imaginary friend material.
The main thing that sticks out for me, though, is my attraction to weirdness. Right from childhood, if it was visibly outside the norm, I'd like it. If other people shunned it because it was weird, my curiosity would be sparked. Occasionally, when I was really young, I'd become flat-out contrary and decide to like something just because some authority figure didn't. Luckily I've long grown out of that last one, but the first two seem hard-wired into me, and have held true from early childhood to the present day. Granted, sometimes the ostracism that tends to come with growing up aspie got to me deeply enough to cause cracks in my love of the bizarre, but that love always came back. I'm a sucker for creativity and boundary-pushing. Being outside the norm and pushing boundaries in the face of severe negative judgement is one of the quickest ways to earn my respect. In books, in music, in people, in places... weirdness is a virtue. Now, I don't know how many Goths have a similar history, but I am certain that for me, my love of the unusual played a big part in leading me into alternative fashion.
Sunday, 31 July 2011
Ooh look, a survey.
I've seen this around. I like surveys (stop sniggering at the back, I do!). I thought... why not?
1. Grab the book nearest to you, turn to page 18, find line 4 and write the sentence here: With his free hand, Mackie reached for the suction catheter and plunged the tip into the abdomen. ((Well, isn't that just delightful.))
2. Stretch your left arm out as far as you can. What's there? My radio alarm. Switched off.
3. What is the last thing you watched on TV? I can't remember, I don't watch much of it. Think it was various oddments at my mate's house this morning. We ended up flicking from Formula One to The Big Bang Theory to Nickelodeon. There really was nothing on. XD
4. Without looking, guess what time it is: 1:30
5. Now look at the clock. What is the actual time? 2:04 ((Displaying my wonderful sense of timing there))
6. With the exception of the computer, what can you hear? I can't hear anything besides the computer, so I'll cheat. A song called Au Revoir by Malice Mizer, being played on YouTube.
7. When did you last step outside? What were you doing? This afternoon. My other half's Dad had a flat tyre, and I went out onto the front step to have a look and offer useless but well-intentioned advice.
8. Before you started this survey, what did you look at? A blog belonging to someone who did this survey. And youtube.
9. What are you wearing? Pyjamas :3
10. Did you dream last night? Yes, but I can only remember fragments. An old folks' home where people kept getting ill and dying; big buildings that... I think we were driving away from them? A load of Police sniffer-wolves we had to barricade ourselves indoors to avoid; and getting heckled by chavs whilst doing something with wool on a bridge.
11. When did you last laugh? This evening, no idea what at. Could have been anything XD
12. What is on the walls of the room you are in? Wallpaper on one wall. And possibly an insect or two. ((Yes, my walls are dull. Shoot me :p))
13. Seen anything weird lately? Plenty. Anything anyone did at my mate's picnic on Thursday, for instance. Also, an insect with a rudder.
14. What is the last film you saw? Lord of the Rings- the Two Towers. I was on a LoTR rush, and wanted to compare with the book.
15. If you became a multi-millionaire overnight, what would you buy? I'd probably be annoyingly practical and use it to buy a car, somewhere to live and cover my university fees. I'd then stick a load in my savings account and give a fair bit to charity, before taking what was left and spending it on... shoes and ships and ceiling wax, and cabbages and kings. And a top hat.
16. Tell me something about you that I don’t know. Some people already know this, but what the hell. When I was little I had a much-beloved giant plastic brachiosaurus called Nora. I used to take her into bed with me, and attempt to dress her up as Mary Poppins from time to time. ((I was an... imaginative child))
17. If you could change one thing about the world, what would you change? Let's unleash our inner hippy and make the world a less judgemental and more tolerant place...
18. Do you like to dance? If I could dance, I'd probably enjoy it a lot more. But I can't, so I just find it a bit awkward really. The best I can hope for is to do an Axl Rose and dance badly in a way that sort of works somehow, but I'm not holding my breath even for that.
19. What do you think of the Prime Minister? Cameron? Let's just say he's safely ensured that I'll never even consider voting Tory for a long, long time, and leave it at that.
20. Imagine your first child is a girl, what do you call her? There are a lot of names I like, so I'm not sure. I''ll just sum it up: Unusual- good. Traditional- won't rule it out. Tacky- bad. Cutesy- very bad. So popular my kid will share his/her name with four classmates- very bad.
21. Imagine your first child is a boy, what do you call him? See above ^
22. Would you ever consider living abroad? Yes. I don't want to go anywhere right now, and I'm not sure it would be ideal at any time in my life, but I would if I had to. Which I will if I get onto a decent languages course...
23. What do you want to say to God when you reach the pearly gates? If I arrive in front of a God, my first reaction would be surprise, followed by a grudging apology for being wrong. :3 ((atheism GO!))
2. Stretch your left arm out as far as you can. What's there? My radio alarm. Switched off.
3. What is the last thing you watched on TV? I can't remember, I don't watch much of it. Think it was various oddments at my mate's house this morning. We ended up flicking from Formula One to The Big Bang Theory to Nickelodeon. There really was nothing on. XD
4. Without looking, guess what time it is: 1:30
5. Now look at the clock. What is the actual time? 2:04 ((Displaying my wonderful sense of timing there))
6. With the exception of the computer, what can you hear? I can't hear anything besides the computer, so I'll cheat. A song called Au Revoir by Malice Mizer, being played on YouTube.
7. When did you last step outside? What were you doing? This afternoon. My other half's Dad had a flat tyre, and I went out onto the front step to have a look and offer useless but well-intentioned advice.
8. Before you started this survey, what did you look at? A blog belonging to someone who did this survey. And youtube.
9. What are you wearing? Pyjamas :3
10. Did you dream last night? Yes, but I can only remember fragments. An old folks' home where people kept getting ill and dying; big buildings that... I think we were driving away from them? A load of Police sniffer-wolves we had to barricade ourselves indoors to avoid; and getting heckled by chavs whilst doing something with wool on a bridge.
11. When did you last laugh? This evening, no idea what at. Could have been anything XD
12. What is on the walls of the room you are in? Wallpaper on one wall. And possibly an insect or two. ((Yes, my walls are dull. Shoot me :p))
13. Seen anything weird lately? Plenty. Anything anyone did at my mate's picnic on Thursday, for instance. Also, an insect with a rudder.
14. What is the last film you saw? Lord of the Rings- the Two Towers. I was on a LoTR rush, and wanted to compare with the book.
15. If you became a multi-millionaire overnight, what would you buy? I'd probably be annoyingly practical and use it to buy a car, somewhere to live and cover my university fees. I'd then stick a load in my savings account and give a fair bit to charity, before taking what was left and spending it on... shoes and ships and ceiling wax, and cabbages and kings. And a top hat.
16. Tell me something about you that I don’t know. Some people already know this, but what the hell. When I was little I had a much-beloved giant plastic brachiosaurus called Nora. I used to take her into bed with me, and attempt to dress her up as Mary Poppins from time to time. ((I was an... imaginative child))
17. If you could change one thing about the world, what would you change? Let's unleash our inner hippy and make the world a less judgemental and more tolerant place...
18. Do you like to dance? If I could dance, I'd probably enjoy it a lot more. But I can't, so I just find it a bit awkward really. The best I can hope for is to do an Axl Rose and dance badly in a way that sort of works somehow, but I'm not holding my breath even for that.
19. What do you think of the Prime Minister? Cameron? Let's just say he's safely ensured that I'll never even consider voting Tory for a long, long time, and leave it at that.
20. Imagine your first child is a girl, what do you call her? There are a lot of names I like, so I'm not sure. I''ll just sum it up: Unusual- good. Traditional- won't rule it out. Tacky- bad. Cutesy- very bad. So popular my kid will share his/her name with four classmates- very bad.
21. Imagine your first child is a boy, what do you call him? See above ^
22. Would you ever consider living abroad? Yes. I don't want to go anywhere right now, and I'm not sure it would be ideal at any time in my life, but I would if I had to. Which I will if I get onto a decent languages course...
23. What do you want to say to God when you reach the pearly gates? If I arrive in front of a God, my first reaction would be surprise, followed by a grudging apology for being wrong. :3 ((atheism GO!))
Friday, 22 July 2011
I suppose I can call it my subculture.
My decision to identify as Goth didn't come lightly. For four years after I first became attracted by alternative clothing, music and viewpoints, I refused to label myself, mostly because no label ever fitted. In my early teens I looked emo and got referred to as emo from time to time, and yet I... wasn't. Not really. I remember being told I looked too 'planned'- that is to say, the emos looked like they just threw on whatever was on the floor at the time, I looked liked I made conscious choices about what to wear and put some effort in. I wasn't the same.
After a while, I began to move on from that, and I briefly shifted into a not-mallgothy stage. I was one by a lot of people's definitions, but I never called myself 'Goth', didn't act the oh-so-angsty part (on the contary, I spent a lot of time Stepford Smiling in an attempt to hide my actual depression), and was really too aware of how I came across to count. I was quite self-disparaging of it too, never feeling I'd got 'it', whatever 'it' was. quite right. It was from this moment on that I really started to understand the differences between the various subcultures and consciously shun them. I spent ages describing myself as generically alternative, not really belonging to any particular group.
However, as I pulled away from my more Mallgothy image and started listening to a wider variety of music, I noticed I was a lot closer to Goth than I was to anything else. In fact, the looser descriptions of what Goth is seemed to fit me pretty well. It took me a while even then, and I think in the end I only started self-identifying as a Goth because I ran out of reasons not to. Once I'd realised that labels were shorthand, and that you didn't have to be restricted by them; that I fitted too many of the so-called 'criteria' to get out of it on that account; and that my taste in music, while still eclectic, was drifting ever closer to Goth and Goth-friendly genres, I started to feel as though I may as well just... well... go with it.
"Screw it, I'm Goth." Not the most elegant way to join a subculture, admittedly, but that's basically how it happened, and I don't think anything's the worse for it. It certainly didn't stop me walking uncertainly into the Head of Equality and Diversity's office to point out some subcultural discrimination in a French exam paper and ask if something could be done about it, please. I say uncertainly because I half-expected to be laughed out. My relief when she took my complaint seriously was immense.
"Screw it, I'm Goth." Not the most elegant way to join a subculture, admittedly, but that's basically how it happened, and I don't think anything's the worse for it. It certainly didn't stop me walking uncertainly into the Head of Equality and Diversity's office to point out some subcultural discrimination in a French exam paper and ask if something could be done about it, please. I say uncertainly because I half-expected to be laughed out. My relief when she took my complaint seriously was immense.
A lot of people think joining a subculture means conforming, but it doesn't, not if you don't let it. While it's true that people will try to impose their standards, but there's no rule stating anyone has to pay heed to them when they do. It's also a fact that some people regularly try to bluff themselves extra cred. They listen to bands they've never heard of out of insecurity, or a desire to appear 'in the know' or fear of setting off the spider sense of some self-important git who fancies zirself as the Poseur Police. They do things for no reason other than that most of the rest of their subculture does it. But they're a minority. Most people who join subcultures do it because it already fits them, not because they aspire to fit it. I mean, when I became Goth officially, I already liked the music. I already felt like 'me' when I wore the clothes. I was creative, and have spent the vast majority of my life making up stories, if only for my own entertainment. I have a love of weird and subversive things that can be traced back to early childhood. I'd shied away from major attempts DIY fashion for due to a lack of hand-eye co-ordination, but I'd been doing little bits and pieces for years completely of my own accord, and I genuinely want to go for more ambitious projects in the future.
I, like most people who made the same decision as me, fit without even trying. I don't fit perfectly, no, but then again, who does?
I, like most people who made the same decision as me, fit without even trying. I don't fit perfectly, no, but then again, who does?
Friday, 24 June 2011
Some 2 AM jibberish
There's this emotion I have felt from time to time since childhood, yet have never been able to describe. "Numinous" is the closest single word, but because of the religious connotations it carries, it's still not quite right. Full sentences have failed me completely- I can string together enough to give people the general gist, but fully articulating what I'm feeling is incredibly difficult. I've never even managed to clarify it to myself in proper words, never mind to others.
I'll explain the easy bit first. The emotion itself is a mixture of sentimentality, a feeling of being moved, intrigue, wonder, and nostalgia, with maybe a touch of wanderlust sometimes. Normally, some of these emotions are more prominent than others, and nostalgia regularly occurs where it makes no sense for it to. I'll feel nostalgia when I'm seeing or doing something for the first time; or when I'm thinking about something I've never done, or could have done had I made a different decision somewhere along the line. Sometimes it's even as though I'm feeling it on behalf of other people, getting nostalgic over something because I know it is or will be nostalgic to someone, somewhere, sooner or later. Whatever the combination, however, the result is always powerful, and I often end up with a burning desire to go somewhere (if it was a place that triggered it off) or do something (if it was people).
Ah, yeah... that thing about places and people. That's what really complicates matters. You see, the feeling itself I think is pretty common. It's just... how easily it gets triggered off with me. If I can see a long way into the distance, or have a panoramic view of somewhere, I'll probably feel it, even if the place I'm looking down into isn't the most pleasant of places. For instance, there's a road opposite Bitterne High Street that goes down a steep hill. If you are at the top of it, you will get a good view of... a football stadium, a rather grimy part of the solent, several dodgy council estates, and possibly fragments of Southampton city centre and the business district. It's not a pretty view, nor is there anything of much interest to me down there, but I still get moved. And this is the part that's hard to explain. For me, just knowing that there are possibilities, and a million types of potentia, and an intricate web of people going about their many lives, and just... the world happening... over there, in that place I can see. That's enough. That sets it off. As it ever did. I have memories from when I was a child of three or four, getting moved by looking out my Brother's bedroom window and seeing, rooftops, then, fields, then the skyline of Southampton. I also remember a distinct interest in passages and footpaths and what was down there. If I didn't know where a pathway led, I'd invariably want to find out, even if just for a moment.
That's the bit about places. The bit about people is tied in, but a lot harder to explain. Basically, the very idea of close relationships, of people knowing each other, of people being unique... of, I suppose, people having privilege to know things about other people that remain a mystery to the vast majority, or people being a part of something, triggers off serious intrigue and nostalgia. On a couple of occasions I've ended up paying attention to the goings on of friendship groups I wasn't part of, because I could relate to the people in them somehow and was fascinated by how they interacted with each other and were just... familiar with each other. I also frequently think about the families and friends of, for instance, musicians, wondering what they know and feel.
In my head I named the (to me) fascinating closeness between people as 'familiarity' or 'proximity'. This... basically fits, and maybe goes some way to explaining something. I have lots of memories of feeling on the edge of things, and not really part of a group, yet wanting that to change. I suspect my fascination stems from that. Me feeling curious and drawn in when confronted with something I didn't feel I had and didn't know how to get, but wanted.
Anyway... it's now nearing half three in the morning, so I'll bring this ramble to an end, and hope it wasn't entirely incomprehensible, and didn't make me sound like too much of a nutcase. But if it did, I suppose it doesn't matter much. When I started writing this post, I was beyond caring much about how it turned out. So... goodnight, I suppose. :)
I'll explain the easy bit first. The emotion itself is a mixture of sentimentality, a feeling of being moved, intrigue, wonder, and nostalgia, with maybe a touch of wanderlust sometimes. Normally, some of these emotions are more prominent than others, and nostalgia regularly occurs where it makes no sense for it to. I'll feel nostalgia when I'm seeing or doing something for the first time; or when I'm thinking about something I've never done, or could have done had I made a different decision somewhere along the line. Sometimes it's even as though I'm feeling it on behalf of other people, getting nostalgic over something because I know it is or will be nostalgic to someone, somewhere, sooner or later. Whatever the combination, however, the result is always powerful, and I often end up with a burning desire to go somewhere (if it was a place that triggered it off) or do something (if it was people).
Ah, yeah... that thing about places and people. That's what really complicates matters. You see, the feeling itself I think is pretty common. It's just... how easily it gets triggered off with me. If I can see a long way into the distance, or have a panoramic view of somewhere, I'll probably feel it, even if the place I'm looking down into isn't the most pleasant of places. For instance, there's a road opposite Bitterne High Street that goes down a steep hill. If you are at the top of it, you will get a good view of... a football stadium, a rather grimy part of the solent, several dodgy council estates, and possibly fragments of Southampton city centre and the business district. It's not a pretty view, nor is there anything of much interest to me down there, but I still get moved. And this is the part that's hard to explain. For me, just knowing that there are possibilities, and a million types of potentia, and an intricate web of people going about their many lives, and just... the world happening... over there, in that place I can see. That's enough. That sets it off. As it ever did. I have memories from when I was a child of three or four, getting moved by looking out my Brother's bedroom window and seeing, rooftops, then, fields, then the skyline of Southampton. I also remember a distinct interest in passages and footpaths and what was down there. If I didn't know where a pathway led, I'd invariably want to find out, even if just for a moment.
That's the bit about places. The bit about people is tied in, but a lot harder to explain. Basically, the very idea of close relationships, of people knowing each other, of people being unique... of, I suppose, people having privilege to know things about other people that remain a mystery to the vast majority, or people being a part of something, triggers off serious intrigue and nostalgia. On a couple of occasions I've ended up paying attention to the goings on of friendship groups I wasn't part of, because I could relate to the people in them somehow and was fascinated by how they interacted with each other and were just... familiar with each other. I also frequently think about the families and friends of, for instance, musicians, wondering what they know and feel.
In my head I named the (to me) fascinating closeness between people as 'familiarity' or 'proximity'. This... basically fits, and maybe goes some way to explaining something. I have lots of memories of feeling on the edge of things, and not really part of a group, yet wanting that to change. I suspect my fascination stems from that. Me feeling curious and drawn in when confronted with something I didn't feel I had and didn't know how to get, but wanted.
Anyway... it's now nearing half three in the morning, so I'll bring this ramble to an end, and hope it wasn't entirely incomprehensible, and didn't make me sound like too much of a nutcase. But if it did, I suppose it doesn't matter much. When I started writing this post, I was beyond caring much about how it turned out. So... goodnight, I suppose. :)
Wednesday, 18 May 2011
Of various things...
OK, so I'll own up. I still have no idea what I'm doing with this thing. It's easy enough to say I'll use it for whatever I want, but getting into that mindset is trickier than you'd think. Especially when you take into account the fact that this little pony show was originally meant to be a functional political thing, and still is in part. I mean, do I stick to constructive posts, or can I relent and waffle on about my life, name-dropping my friends and sticking inside jokes in left, right and centre? I keep telling myself 'bit of both, bit of both', but... really? Could that even work?
Let's find out... at long bloody last.
Primark.
I've decided I don't like it.
I only went in because I needed hot weather oddments for Spain, I'd left it too long to order from catalogues, and Primark was dirt cheap. Pick up a couple of pairs of trousers for a tenner, doesn't matter if you never wear them again, right? So I thought, as I trundled through Woolston on the 8A, armed with 50 quid and surreptitiously eating a doughnut, which for some reason tasted of fish. "Maybe get some trainers, sunglasses... how hard can it be?"
I held that thought as I crossed the Itchen Bridge for the first time ever. I like the view from up there, but it doesn't change the fact that in the past, when I've heard the Itchen Bridge get mentioned, it was usually because somebody was trying to throw themselves off it. If I ever manage to break the resulting association, I'll be amazed.
Now, it isn't that I have any weird objection to big mainstream shops in general. I comb them end from end every Christmas, I've wandered around M&S many a time, and Peacocks has served me well many a time. It's just... Primark. I don't know what it is, but the second I went in this afternoon I felt like a duck wandering around the surface of the moon, or a caretaker barging into an important board meeting. It wasn't particularly pleasant, and as I descended the esculator, a slight feeling of unease crept over me. I became painfully aware that I didn't really know where I was going or what I was doing. I was tackling shoes. Shoes were downstairs. Didn't want pumps... or heels... damn, is there anything in here that isn't pumps or heels? Yes- over there. No, no... maybe, I'll have a look. Perhaps over there- no, that's the children's section...
After about ten minutes, I made a hasty retreat, deciding I'd just wear my old converses. Instead I went to look at sunglasses, eventually managing to pick up a pair for a quid. This was only part of the trip that might be called successful, and even then I almost managed to walk out without paying for them, and probably looked plain ridiculous selecting them. In fact, I daresay I looked plain ridiculous full stop: a lone Goth wandering around in a haze of bewilderment, picking clothes up and putting them back two minutes later, poking things about as though they'd attack if I wasn't careful.
Eventually, I made my way to the changing rooms, armed with a pair of shorts, a skirt, and some trousers. After two brief encounters with staff members who spoke to me as though I was something dodgy they'd trodden in (OK, so I was being a bit of a ditz, but still...), I eventually managed to locate the one set of cublicles that wasn't closed and made my way in. It was here that I discovered something else about Primark: Their sizing's a bit weird. In most shops, I'm an 8, and had picked up 8s accordingly, but after two minutes in the changing room I realised that there was no way I was getting into a Primark 8 without ending up looking like a cross between a vacuum-packed Simon Cowell and a Christmas Turkey. Doubtful, but wanting to be sure, I tried on the last item- the trousers- and watched as they almost fell down. They were size 12, and had been put back on the wrong hanger.
I shamefacedly handed everything back, apart from the sunglasses (which I remembered to pay for in the nick of time), and ran for my fucking life.
After an interim period involving more successful excursions into Peacocks, delayed buses, traffic lights with a grudge against humanity and a mad dash through Eastleigh, I arrived, 15 minutes late, for the counselling appointment I sort of need and sort of don't. Sort of need because I do still have problems I want to work through, sort of don't because... well, I'm generally OK these days. Nonetheless, I turned up, and talked, and listened, and at one point attempted to argue with my counsellor about the nature of anxiety in Aspergers individuals...
He was pretty awesome about that. I felt a bit guilty, considering I'd just tried to undermine what I'm sure are many years of experience, and started apologising over and over again. Peter just brushed the whole thing off, said it was OK, and offered me a cup of tea.
I walked back from Eastleigh. My legs still hate me for it.
Anyway, that's my experimental personal post, and this is me signing off. Which I probably should have done ages ago, since I'm spending tomorrow morning sitting in a hall writing about Nazis for an hour and a half. Oh well, at least I'll be coming out to a big break, unlike Monday, when my exam and double English were separated by a ten minute gap, which I spent failing at finding people.
Ja, ne
Let's find out... at long bloody last.
Primark.
I've decided I don't like it.
I only went in because I needed hot weather oddments for Spain, I'd left it too long to order from catalogues, and Primark was dirt cheap. Pick up a couple of pairs of trousers for a tenner, doesn't matter if you never wear them again, right? So I thought, as I trundled through Woolston on the 8A, armed with 50 quid and surreptitiously eating a doughnut, which for some reason tasted of fish. "Maybe get some trainers, sunglasses... how hard can it be?"
I held that thought as I crossed the Itchen Bridge for the first time ever. I like the view from up there, but it doesn't change the fact that in the past, when I've heard the Itchen Bridge get mentioned, it was usually because somebody was trying to throw themselves off it. If I ever manage to break the resulting association, I'll be amazed.
Now, it isn't that I have any weird objection to big mainstream shops in general. I comb them end from end every Christmas, I've wandered around M&S many a time, and Peacocks has served me well many a time. It's just... Primark. I don't know what it is, but the second I went in this afternoon I felt like a duck wandering around the surface of the moon, or a caretaker barging into an important board meeting. It wasn't particularly pleasant, and as I descended the esculator, a slight feeling of unease crept over me. I became painfully aware that I didn't really know where I was going or what I was doing. I was tackling shoes. Shoes were downstairs. Didn't want pumps... or heels... damn, is there anything in here that isn't pumps or heels? Yes- over there. No, no... maybe, I'll have a look. Perhaps over there- no, that's the children's section...
After about ten minutes, I made a hasty retreat, deciding I'd just wear my old converses. Instead I went to look at sunglasses, eventually managing to pick up a pair for a quid. This was only part of the trip that might be called successful, and even then I almost managed to walk out without paying for them, and probably looked plain ridiculous selecting them. In fact, I daresay I looked plain ridiculous full stop: a lone Goth wandering around in a haze of bewilderment, picking clothes up and putting them back two minutes later, poking things about as though they'd attack if I wasn't careful.
Eventually, I made my way to the changing rooms, armed with a pair of shorts, a skirt, and some trousers. After two brief encounters with staff members who spoke to me as though I was something dodgy they'd trodden in (OK, so I was being a bit of a ditz, but still...), I eventually managed to locate the one set of cublicles that wasn't closed and made my way in. It was here that I discovered something else about Primark: Their sizing's a bit weird. In most shops, I'm an 8, and had picked up 8s accordingly, but after two minutes in the changing room I realised that there was no way I was getting into a Primark 8 without ending up looking like a cross between a vacuum-packed Simon Cowell and a Christmas Turkey. Doubtful, but wanting to be sure, I tried on the last item- the trousers- and watched as they almost fell down. They were size 12, and had been put back on the wrong hanger.
I shamefacedly handed everything back, apart from the sunglasses (which I remembered to pay for in the nick of time), and ran for my fucking life.
After an interim period involving more successful excursions into Peacocks, delayed buses, traffic lights with a grudge against humanity and a mad dash through Eastleigh, I arrived, 15 minutes late, for the counselling appointment I sort of need and sort of don't. Sort of need because I do still have problems I want to work through, sort of don't because... well, I'm generally OK these days. Nonetheless, I turned up, and talked, and listened, and at one point attempted to argue with my counsellor about the nature of anxiety in Aspergers individuals...
He was pretty awesome about that. I felt a bit guilty, considering I'd just tried to undermine what I'm sure are many years of experience, and started apologising over and over again. Peter just brushed the whole thing off, said it was OK, and offered me a cup of tea.
I walked back from Eastleigh. My legs still hate me for it.
Anyway, that's my experimental personal post, and this is me signing off. Which I probably should have done ages ago, since I'm spending tomorrow morning sitting in a hall writing about Nazis for an hour and a half. Oh well, at least I'll be coming out to a big break, unlike Monday, when my exam and double English were separated by a ten minute gap, which I spent failing at finding people.
Ja, ne
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