Individuality is a Myth- PROOF

A while back I hit on this site, thought it was amazing, then promptly forgot about it as you do. Then I found it again, and I demand that you check it out. I think the idea of taking these different 'sub-cultures' of people and collecting their images together is genius and I wish I'd thought of it myself [although seeing as the two artists who produce these works formulated the idea in 1994 when I was 8 I would've had to have been a child prodigy, and while I think I'm pretty good, I'm not that good]. I've posted a few of my favourite ones, which remind me of nights out in Camden, Shoreditch and Soho, but the main page of the site is seriously impressive and definitely worthy of a procrastination session.

A Theatrical Adventure in Communist USSR

So last night I went to the 'Nash' [National Theatre Dahling] to see "Burnt by the Sun", a play which has been receiving 5 star reviews from various publications. The plot goes something along the lines of:

It's Russia. It's 1936. There's this family that used to have lots of money and stuff because the dad was a composer. Then that whole revolution thing happened so now they sit around their Dacha- which isn't theirs anymore, natch- and reminisce about the old days and sing a lot of operatic songs and are generally a bit annoying and make you think they maybe deserved to not have all the things they used to have because they're douche bags. The daughter of the composer is married to a General from the Bolsheviks which is why they can still stay in the Dacha, and he's a total philistine so they all dislike him, but all the peasants in the village like him and he loves the daughter a lot and he doesn't seem that bad if you ask me and he's very nice to his daughter and puts up with the aforementioned douchebags. Then this guy turns up and he looks a bit like Fagin from Oliver with the long hair and the glasses and he's playing the trumpet and being weird and then suddenly he takes off his *gasp* disguise and who should it be but a former student of the composer dad [who by the way is dead and died ages ago and whose name was Boris] and former lover of the daughter who is now married to the General. So the whole family are all happy because he is cultured and douchebaggy like him, although the daughter isn't happy because he left without a word for 12 years and the General isn't happy because this guy used to bang his wife and clearly she is affected by his return.

[Then there was the interval]

So then there's lots of talking about why did he leave, why didn't he tell the daughter he was leaving, etc etc and turns out he got sent away BY THE GENERAL to be a spy for the Russians in Europe because he had fought for the White Army after the revolution, and if he hadn't have gone he would have been killed, and the General totally ruined the cultured guy's life and it is all very sad isn't it. But the daughter still decides that actually the cultured guy is a bit of a douchebag and didn't come back to the Dacha because he loved or missed her but because he missed the way of life he used to have there, and that the General loves her loads so she'll stay with him. But what she doesn't know is that actually cultured spy guy came back to collect the General and take him to Moscow so he can be tortured and killed because Stalin was, as we all know, a paranoid lunatic and thinks that the General is plotting to kill him. So then these guys come from the police and take the General away in his uniform- although first the whole family sing a song which is weird- and then the spy guy kills himself and then that's the end. Wow.

So. That was two and a half hours worth of plot. There were moments which were great, but it seemed to drag on a lot, there was a lot of shouting, and most of the characters just seemed to feel sorry for themselves all of the time, but they weren't particularly empathetic. Not really worth 5 stars if you ask me. And the fact it's at the NT means most of the audience was made up of people who were quite similar to the family in the play- a.k.a. douchebags with abrasive, braying laughs- who thought all the singing and piano playing in the first 45minutes of the play was positively charming and oh so amusing and brayed away, giving me a slight headache and the taste of sick in my mouth. Ooof.

New facebook?

Facebook is one of the most important things in my life, alongside my family, my friends, and the daily consumption of cheese and highly caffeinated energy drinks, so an alteration to facebook is an alteration of my life, and I don't generally like change.

I remember when Facebook last had a revamp; there was uproar. You'd have been forgiven for thinking that by altering the layout of the social networking phenomenon, Mark Zuckerberg had simultaneously ripped a hole in space and allowed large groups of ravenous, angry, large headed aliens with a lust for blood, destruction and running around clubbing us poor humans over the heads with the limbs of our loved ones. Seriously, people were NOT happy. There were groups set up announcing "1,000,000 against the new Facebook", it was in the NEWSPAPERS for gods sake; then about two weeks after the change everyone forgot what the old FB looked like and realised that the new layout was spiffing and allowed for even more procrastination activities, whilst also making a good spot of FB stalking easier than ever before. Gee whiz!

So what can we expect from new Facebook? It went live about 30mins ago and so far I can't see much difference to be honest, apart from that the layout is more reminiscent of Twitter [yes, I'm now highly knowledgeable about Twitter having joined up 4 hours ago], and the wall now mainly consists of wall posts with little bits about events/groups you join, which is fine by me as I normally delete that stuff anyway for fear of people finding out where I'm going and going there too- I'm not a fan of people in general, and as I don't know about 50% of my FB friends I'm not taking any chances. I've already seen a few status changes declaring they HATE NEW FB ZOMG :( [or something along those lines], but time will tell if this will lead to more uproar or if people will just suck it up. I'm just glad there is more emphasis on the status bar, which is now the publisher, as it allows me even more opportunities for rambling. BONUS.

Yeah Boy

Right, after a bit of a false start it's time to get down to some SERIOUS BLOGGING ACTION. That totally deserves capitalisation, because it is going to be sort of my life for the next few weeks as I attempt to avoid the increasingly daunting piles of work which I am supposed to be undertaking. It's an easy escape really; what's better, writing essays on:

1. The treatment of the body by Hans Baldung Griern
2. The artist I would nominate for the Turner Prize and why
3. Can the art of the female YBA's concerning gender and sexuality be politicized?

or RAMBLING about things on the internet? That was a rhetorical question. Duh.

Such is my need to distract myself from these essays, I've done the unthinkable- I joined twitter. I thought my constant facebook status updating was bad enough, but with twitter at my fingertips, there won't be a single movement I make which isn't well documented. See a fat person walking down the street? twitter it @nickmward; Drink a cup of coffee? THE PEOPLE NEED TO KNOW. I may even resort to twittering about my essay topics, discussing the intricate details of the subjects in 140 characters rather than ACTUALLY JUST READING A FUCKING BOOK AND WRITING AN ESSAY.

ahem.

So lets discuss Herr Baldung; A German engraver and painter from the early 16th century, Baldung was taught by Durer, the most famous German artist EVER [apparently, I'd personally never heard of him until January of this year, but then as Art Historians go I'm not particularly up on knowledge of, oh, you know, the Art world... Problematic]; The reason I chose to [not] write my essay about Baldung as opposed to Michelangelo, Da Vinci, or a more well known artist of the period is simple- Baldung mainly produced erotic woodcarvings of witches.

...

What is not to love about this man?! It's the early 16th Century, the Reformation is well under way, you're from Germany- a country with a rich history of pagan tales; of course the art you produce is going to be images of naked hags riding on goats and plotting to kill people! I just question why there weren't more artists creating this kind of stuff. And why I don't own any pieces by the man, the legend, Hans BG.

Essay number two is slightly more problematic in that it's for my contemporary art course and I literally have no clue about contemporary art because I came to the conclusion that every time I go to an art gallery to see a new show I'm left pretty numb inside by the blatent desire for commercial/financial success of the majority of artists. I'm not stupid, I know that since the dawn of time artists have produced works in order to sell them, but I feel like in a time when the majority of the Western world's population has the autonomy to critique government actions, international wars and the like, surely artists should be jumping to use their work as political statement? Or at the very least attempting to say SOMETHING with their work instead of creating an aesthetic. Which is why for this essay I'm planning on suggesting that no-one should be nominated for the turner prize, as the prize itself is redundant in a period where art has no effect. The Turner Prize was named after the artist who in his day was considered controversial and shocking but became well-loved for his work; Art no longer courts controversy; after the 90's boom of the art world brat pack of the YBA's, with the 'Sensation' exhibition featuring on the front covers of all the red-tops, the artists have stopped creating anything new but churn out the same ideas, ideas that the public has become immune to. The last Turner Prize to actually court any sort of controversy was in 2003 when Grayson Perry won, but even that was only due to the fact that he likes to wear dresses and call himself Claire.

Number three is my dissertation, and I'm not even going to attempt to ramble about that because honestly? I have no idea what the title really means, if that is even going to be the title, or what it is that I want to say. I took a course in art and sexual politics last year and was really enthused and interested by the ideas of post-feminism, but I think that's because I didn't pay enough attention in class and thought it was simpler/less WANKY then it actually is. I guess this goes back to my issue with contemporary art in general- everyone who writes about it writes in such a high-faluting, pretentious way, littering their texts with buzz-words and psychoanalytical phrases which have no real MEANING behind them, that it becomes impossible to interpret what they're trying to say about the work; instead you just get angry at how cryptic and self-indulgent their writing is, and then you scrunch it up into a ball, or write notes at the side like "this is a load of tripe, you should rot in hell you cunt", or you find out where they live and leave a steaming pile of dog shit on their porch, or you just have a mental breakdown and weep and wonder why oh why you ever chose to study HISTORY OF ART instead of, oh I don't know, Maths, or French, or Animal Husbandry. You live you learn.

Well there's my essay update, I hope you now understand why I'll be blogging rather a lot in the next few weeks [for after essays comes exams, but don't get me started on those just yet]. Time to update my twitter- the washing machine repairman just left and had found about HALF A CAT's worth of fur in the drum- THE PEOPLE CANNOT WAIT FOR THIS PRESSING NEWS.

Fat Teens In Love Review

Now I need to start by making an admission- I hate fat people. No sugar coating that one, I can't stand them, I think they're unsightly, lazy and figures to poke fun at. Cruel but fair- If they have a problem with my open mockery/hatred of them they can go LOSE SOME WEIGHT and stop eating ALL OF THE TIME. So a show called "Fat Teens in Love" sounded like the perfect humorous documentary for me and my equally fattist friend to sit and guffaw at. We weren't disappointed, but it wasn't just because of the obvious comedy perks of seeing obese sixteen year olds attempting to star jump, oh no- It was actually an engaging and heart-warming piece that made me, just for a minute, question my prejudice against these chubby cheeked members of society. No mean feat for an ITV show.

The premise was simple- Following a handful of the teenage attendees at a summer weight loss camp in the Lake District and talking to them about their feelings, their self image, and- as the title suggests- their prospects and hopes for finding love. I think it helped that we were eased in gently with Katie, a girl who was on the smaller end of fat, and who was also VERY attractive. For a fat person. Despite her pretty face, Katie had absolutely no self-confidence or self-worth, believing herself to be an "ugly hippo". She was the main focuse throughout the show, alongside Leah- a very sweet middle-eastern girl with a slightly stomach churning story about her excess body hair- and Max, an American boy who really was clinically obese [a quick aside here: Why would an American choose to go to this sort of camp in the Lake District when as far as I was aware there are fat camps on every street in America; Empty ones if the average size of Americans is anything to go by, but plenty to choose from for sure].

The opening activity involved climbing up a giant log and crying once you get to the top and then jumping off. It also involved one of the most comedic and disturbing images I've ever seen, one which is now indelibly burnt onto my brain- A fat person in a harness. More rolls than a bakery doesn't even begin to describe it. Anyway, gang spent 8 weeks doing exercise, going for hikes and eating healthily- oh, and fancying each other. I always find it slightly disconcerting when I see two fat people who are a couple, it's a bit like seeing two ugly people as a couple, I always wonder how they can actually be attracted to each other, but then I remember that it's better for them to be together then to try and take away from the limited numbers of attractive people in the dating pool so I don't question it too much. Anyway, hormones are rife amongst teenagers and each of the group takes a liking to different people with mixed results. By the end of the summer they've lost weight, made friends and gained confidence. Lovely.

The fact is, I found these teens incredibly endearing- they were sweet, funny, self-deprecating and I really wanted them to succeed in their desire to lose weight, and not just because it would make them more aesthetically pleasing. All in all this was a brilliant mixture of comedy and charm. Who would've thunk it?

Might as well face it...

It's time for me to come clean- I'm an addict. It started innocently enough when I began University, but now I'm nearing the end of my course my problem has kicked up a notch and what started as a bit of fun has become a full-blown, life consuming addiction. I, Lucy Chambers, am addicted to playing Minesweeper.

I need help, but I don't know where to turn. I was considering going to my doctor, but I can just imagine the conversation- Well, I say conversation, it'd be more of a laugh-fest, for her at least. It really has developed into a serious concern- Whenever I have an essay I think to myself "oh I'll just play one game", then before I know it I've been playing for two hours and have wrist ache from furious limp wristed clicking. I think I've managed to find the root of my problem though, the reason it has become such a major part of my day, and it's this video:



THIRTY SEVEN SECONDS. HOW does ANYONE manage to complete expert in that time?? So of course, I decided that *I* would be the one to beat this world record. All I need is to practise practise practise. I won't lie, it's not going well, my best time is 150 seconds and most of the time I'm trying to go so fast I just hit a mine and then my percentage of wins goes down and I get angry and shake my fist at the screen in the style of an old man who has been knocked into by a gang of unruly school boys who, full of sugar and excited about the summer holidays, weren't watching where they were going in their rush to get to the local grocers and shoplift chocolate bars and porn mags. But I figure the guy who holds the record must have been training constantly from the age of 0 to get that fast- His parents probably decided whilst he was in the womb "our son SHALL be the fastest mine sweeper in all the land" and home schooled him, and all of his lessons were taught in relation to mines, so for example his maths lessons were "if I plant 12 mines in a 10X10 square and a man steps on 2 of them after stepping of 11 other squares, what percentage of the area still contains a bomb?". AND I bet he has no friends, and has bad eyesight from staring at a computer screen too long, and a bit of a slack jaw so he dribbles all the time, so he'll never get a girlfriend, and even if he did he wouldn't know what to do because he has been so busy playing minesweeper he has never been on the internet and therefore has never seen porn and thus has no idea about sex whatsoever. Or something like that.

As you can see it has become an unhealthy obsession- I've dreamt up a freakish but curiously alluring mortal enemy whom I must destroy by beating his minesweeper world record. I need serious help. I'll research it right after I finish this game.

New Year, New You?

So it's a new year. I'm running about a week behind thanks to too many festivities in the festive period, so my body clock is adamant it's New Years Day today. This is fine for now, but could prove troublesome when it comes to birthdays, essay deadlines and so on.

Anyhoo, we all know what a new year means- resolutions! I don't think there is anyone who doesn't subscribe to this yearly attempt to become a better person, an attempt that invariably leads to misery and self-loathing around the February mark when it all comes crashing down and you realise that you can't in fact exercise five times a week, diet, quit smoking, learn a language, teach yourself ballroom dancing, find the love of your life, adopt any abandoned animals you find on the street and clean your house every other day without giving yourself a coronery. So instead you sit on the sofa eating take-aways, watching reality television whilst chain-smoking and proclaiming that resolutions are a mugs game anyway.

This year, I tell myself, it's going to be different- I'm going to stick like glue to my resolutions, in a metaphorical sense, as I think most of my resolutions are concepts rather than tangible things capable of being adhered to. I am graduating from University in the summer and it is THE START OF THE REST OF MY LIFE, which means now is the perfect time to become THE PERSON I WANT TO BE. With this in mind, I have made a list of achievable resolutions which I feel I can stick to:

1. Graduate from University this year
2. Exercise in some form [this does include running for the bus, walking up and down the stairs instead of taking the lift, and buying Davina's exercise DVD and lifting it up and down off the shelf occasionally]
3. Eat sensibly [As in don't go to the 24hr shop on my way home from a night out and spend £20 on frozen pizzas, multi-packs of hula hoops, family size packs of profiteroles and Ginsters pasties]
4. Keep writing [Seeing as I have a dissertation to write this is more of a neccessity, as obviously I will be writing ANYTHING BUT MY DISSERTATION]
5. Move to London [A bit of a given once I complete number 1]
6. Find a job once I graduate [I hear McDonalds are still hiring despite the credit crunch, so I should be fine]
7. Keep up with current affairs [I have a new alarm clock which is potentially my favourite object EVER- it wakes you up by gradually getting lighter and slowly increasing the volume of Radio 4, so I am woken up to hear intriguing tit-bits; this morning it was in relation to the male/female readership ratio of the Beano, which is 3/1. Fascinating]

Not too difficult. I was going to add #8- watch every episode of Masterchef goes Large, but seeing as I managed to achieve that last year it's not really any sort of challenge. Wish me luck.

Deja Vu?

I was awoken this morning by Radio Four delivering the interesting news that a national billboard advertising campaign found at sites around the country which asks passersby "do you want longer lasting sex?" has recieved over 400 complaints from disturbed members of the public and may be taken down by the Advertising Standards Agency after the company which [sorry in advance] erected the posters refused to removed them. I say that this is interesting because during my recent festive jaunt home in London these posters STALKED me; I couldn't go anywhere without seeing one of these visions in yellow and red staring back at me. It got so bad I had to take a photo of one of them just to prove they were real and ALWAYS THERE- Look at it:
And it wasn't just this one, no no- I went shopping in Spitalfields and BAM! "do you want longer lasting sex?"; I was out for the night in Old Street and KAPOW! "do you want longer lasting sex?"; every day I was confronted with this bizarre vision until I became convinced that I was the sole target of this sexual crusade. Turns out it's an advert for a prescription only nasal spray for men, which shows how wide of the mark my delusions were, and that you should always read the small print as the sign does mention the nasal technology and my passages are clean as a whistle thank you very much. I now hope they remain plastered across the country in all their garish glory, if only to remind men of their hopeless inadequacies. Haha men, you need to spray something up your nose to improve your sexual performance, and somehow I don't think Vicks Sinex is a suitable substitute. Gutted.