Soup, Socialising and Seriously Good Ideas

I have just returned from the first ever Southend Soup event!  For those of you not in the know, the idea came from Detroit Soup (see here) and is a chance for communities to come together, share experiences (and soup!) and pitch ideas for all sorts of projects which the community then vote for; the winning pitch receives the money donated by the people attending the event.  It really was such a fantastically inspiring evening; people came from all different areas of life and yet there was a real sense of community and goodwill in the air by the end of the evening, it was marvellous.  Credit has to go to the lovely Sherry for organising the entire shebang; she truly is one of life's genuinely beautiful Human Beans and I consider myself incredibly fortunate to know her.

So yes.  Simple idea, really.  You turn up at the venue, pay your donation/entry 'fee' and settle down for an evening of creative community spirit.  With delicious soup thrown in.  Seriously, people, what's not to love?  In an age where it all seems to be about "me, me, me" it's kind of nice to see that actually community spirit is still alive and well, and that people care enough to make the effort to come together and support one another.  Tonight, for example, I went along initially because I was curious and thought it sounded like a great idea, but then at the eleventh hour (well, yesterday afternoon) people were dropping out of pitching their ideas, so I 'volunteered' and made a pitch for funds to go towards buying presents for the kids at SHARE so Santa could give them out at our Christmas party.  The other project, which was absolutely brilliant and involved helping with the running and further development of a community allotment in a particularly-deprived area of Southend, bringing people together and giving them skills and a sense of wellbeing, was the victor on the evening (and thoroughly well-deserved, I have to say), but because I turned up to raise awareness of the SHARE project and our plans I was fortunate to receive some extra donations from people and made some potentially useful connections to help the cause.  All this from one evening chatting to people I did and didn't know!  It just goes to show you that, in spite of a vast swathe of evidence to the contrary sometimes, most people are in fact Thoroughly Good Eggs who are kind and lovely and want to come together for good, not bad.  One of the most important things I took away from tonight's gathering was that, actually, it's not all about growing people as individuals but growing them as a community, something which can often seem sadly lacking in this day and age.  The creative energy in that room as people mixed and mingled and exchanged information and ideas was remarkable; I feel genuinely blessed to have been a part of it.

For more info on Southend Soup, go here

Time To Unblur The Lines

So I've attempted to steer well clear of the whole "Blurred Lines" thing this summer; I heard the song once and was so repulsed by what I managed to decipher (and what I saw on the video - because of course every song needs a topless girl crawling around on a leash in it, this is 2013 after all!) that I basically refused to even acknowledge its existence.  It's the most vile and basic misogyny and quite frankly I've now lost all respect for Pharrell Williams after his association with it. I heard all the furor about it being basically a Hymn to Rape but hadn't examined it closely enough to really get to the bottom of it.  Until now.  Since autumn is almost upon us and the utter repulsiveness of the song is once more in the headlines thanks to this utterly wonderful article, I thought I'd examine it in a little more detail...

Well.  Quite frankly I wish I hadn't bothered as it's even more vile than I'd first thought.  How, in the name of all that is right and good in the world, can radio stations which bleep out the word "fuck" in rock songs and refuse to play gangsta rap because of its violence and misogyny (and violent misogyny) seriously give this song airplay?!!  "Oh no, we couldn't possibly let Slipknot say 'fuck' in a song but let's play the Rapist Anthem because it's catchy and summery, yo!"  Odin on a popsicle stick, the normalisation of sexual violence and the objectification of women is further gone than I thought; abandon hope, all feminists who enter here, because quite frankly we're never going to get out of this bloody mess!!

If you examine the song on a line by line/verse by verse basis, the full horror becomes glaringly apparent.  I can deal with the initial "hey, hey, hey" thing because, sure, it's catchy and summery and has been used in about a million songs before, so although you could suppose it acts as some catcall requiring a Hollaback! we'll let that one slide.  If only the rest was so easily explained away...

"If you can't hear what I'm trying to say

If you can't read from the same page

Maybe I'm going deaf
Maybe I'm going blind
Maybe I'm out of my mind"

Or maybe the woman you're trying to talk to here is actually just not interested in you, Robin.  I'm not sure your ego could handle such a thought but still, it needs to be said.  You aren't God's Gift to women, mate; it is possible that the female of the species isn't going to fall at your feet and let you do whatever you want.  Date Rapist Score Number One: Unable to handle being ignored/rejected by the object of your desire.

"Ok, now he was close
Tried to domesticate you
But you're an animal
Baby, it's in your nature
Just let me liberate you
You don't need no papers
That man is not your maker"

So the fact this girl maybe has a boyfriend is no obstacle either?  Wow, Robin, you're quite the considerate lover, aren't you?  "Boyfriend - pffft!  Let me drag you away from your clearly humdrum cozy little existence with your current boyfriend and show you just how wild you could be if you were with a real man!  He doesn't own you; we're only animals, after all, so let's unleash our wild side!"  Date Rapist Score Number Two: not giving a flying fuck about the wants/desires/situation of your intended victim and projecting your own wants/desires onto her instead.  Classy.  Oh, not to mention the fact that this is the 21st Century and so most girls are actually quite capable of 'liberating' themselves, thanks.

And so to the bridge/chorus.  God help us...

"And that's why I'm gon' take a

Good girl"

Oh look, the Madonna/Whore dichotomy!  How depressingly familiar...

"I know you want it

I know you want it
I know you want it"

...said every single Power Rapist ever.

"You're a good girl

Can't let it past me"

Because of course it's all about what you want, Robin...

"You're far from plastic"

Actually, this line is just plain weird.  It could be construed as the fact the woman in question hasn't had a boob job or whatever, but is completely and utterly irrelevant either way.  Maybe this is Thicke's "MacArthur Park" moment...?  (Incidentally, it's taking all the maturity I have as a writer to not point out the connotations of this guys surname.  Be impressed at my restraint...)

"Talk about getting blasted
I hate these blurred lines
I know you want it
I know you want it
I know you want it
But you're a good girl
The way you grab me
Must wanna get nasty
Go ahead, get at me"

Dear god, where to even begin?  Saying "no, fuck off and leave me alone, you creepy pervert; I don't want to have sex with you" is 'getting blasted' is it?  Rather than, say, a woman's right to assert control over her own sexuality?  Well, thank god you cleared that one up for us, Robin; we women would have spent the rest of our lives thinking we had the right to say "no" to sex otherwise!  Then there's the whole "blurred lines" thing, which is just misogynistic code for "she was dressed in a mini-skirt/had been drinking/kissed me in the club and then refused to fuck me because she's a goddam slutty tease", also known as Bullshit, Victim Blaming, and The Rapists Excuse List.  And finally, after the whole "I know what you're thinking" Power Rapist thing again, we have another stab at the Madonna/Whore dichotomy coupled with an assumption that the girl clearly wants to "get nasty".  Only if it involves castrating you with a pair of blunt nail scissors, Robin.  Otherwise I'm fine with ignoring you.

And so to verse two!

"What do they make dreams for

When you got them jeans on
What do we need steam for
You the hottest bitch in this place
I feel so lucky, you wanna hug me
What rhymes with hug me?"

Firstly, the use of the word "bitch".  *shudders*  Unless he's referring to the fact his female dog is suffering in the extreme heat of the summer we just had then this is nothing more than a drearily-familiar pejorative attempt at debasing the female population.  Jay-Z and Snoop-Dogg were doing this 15 years ago and it wasn't big or clever then, so get a bloody grip on yourself and refer to women as, er, women why don't you?  Moron.  I'm ignoring the first three 'masturbation-fantasy' lines of this verse because there isn't enough hot water in the world to scrub me clean of the feeling that conjures up, but then we hit the piece-de-resistance: I feel so lucky, you wanna hug me.  What rhymes with hug me?  'Bug me', actually, which is what you do, Robin.  'Fuck' doesn't rhyme with 'hug', which is what you were clearly insinuating.  Maybe you'd have more luck with the ladies if you could write poems that rhyme; it seemed to work for that Lord Byron, after all...But inept rhyming aside, these two lines make me want to vomit.  It's that whole Victim Blaming thing again: "she hugged me therefore she must have wanted me therefore it wasn't rape even though she was screaming at me stop".  Yeah, obviously.

Luckily for you, Dear Reader, you are spared having to go through an analysis of the bridge/chorus again because, after all, it's just "same bullshit, different place in the song".  Unluckily for you, and indeed for all of us, we come to the 'rap'.  Fasten your seatbelts, it's going to be a bumpy night...

"Hustle Gang Homie
One thing I ask of you
Lemme be the one you back that ass up to"

On the plus side, he is at least asking if he can have anal sex with us...

"From Malibu to Paris boo

Had a bitch, but she ain't bad as you
So, hit me up when you pass through
I'll give you something big enough to tear your ass in two"

Wow.  Just...wow.  Yet again the implication the girl is 'bad' and therefore must like rough sex.  Also make your mind up - earlier it was all "good girl" and now no one's as "bad" as her?  Jesus wept...oh, and let's not forget the graphic implication of that last line.  Because nothing says "I love you" quite like anal rape.  (Also spot the typical bragging about how big he is.  Classy again).

"Swag on 'em even when you dress casual"

Yes, he means your tits.  No, he will not be "swagging" on them, casually dressed or otherwise.

"I mean, it's almost unbearable
In a hundred years not dare would I
Pull a Pharcyde, let you pass me by"

Face it, girls; what we want doesn't matter.  he's gonna have us anyway.  Oh look, that makes him *gasp* A Rapist...

"Nothin' like your last guy, he too square for you

He don't smack that ass and pull your hair like that"

No, that's because a) he's a gentleman and b) he gives enough of a damn about me to make sure when we have sex he's not raping me.  I'm all for people expressing themselves with a bit of rough sex if that's what turns them on; it's the implication here that any guy who doesn't do that automatically isn't a "real" man because that's what all women want which annoys the fuck out of me.

"So I'm just watching and waitin'
For you to salute the true big pimpin'
Not many women can refuse this pimping
I'm a nice guy, but don't get confused, this pimpin'"

So, you're a pimp?  You know that's illegal, right?  Also again with the ego - "not many women can refuse this pimping".  Right, because most women want nothing more than a man who treats them like a whore and forces them to have sex with strangers for money.  Who in their right mind would rather be with a guy who treats them with respect and dignity?!  All women are ho's, yo! *facepalms*

"Shake your rump
Get down, get up-a
Do it like it hurt, like it hurt
What you don't like work"

This is just inane babbling with a vicious streak of misogyny and sexual violence thrown in for good measure.  Oh, and apparently during this vicious sexual assault, girls, we are going to have to "work", presumably to get him off because otherwise we haven't done our "job" properly.  At least we know, right?

And so to the last verse where, after all those implications that you're a whore who likes it rough and is going to have sex with him whether you want to or not, Robin Thicke attempts to drug you with some date-rape drug he got from Jamaica so you can enjoy the start of a beautiful relationship together...

"Baby, can you breathe
I got this from Jamaica
It always works for me
Dakota to Decatur
No more pretending
Cause now you're winning
Here's our beginning
I always wanted a..."

(repeat inane rape-y bridge/chorus and fade out until the end)

Oh well, now that I've looked at it line by line I can completely see it's not a Rapist Anthem at all...for the love of...how the fuck did this get passed for release?!!  I feel sick just reading it; my skin's crawling and I feel like I want to go shower in bleach.  Now I know there have been plenty of gangsta rap songs, and songs in other genres (maybe not easy listening...), which debase women and glorify sexual and physical violence towards them, but you sort of know what you're getting with those.  I mean for gods sake, no one is going to listen to "She Swallowed It" by N.W.A and be surprised by the content, right?  But that sort of violent bullshit seems to a) have fallen out of favour and b) not get airplay these days, on mainstream stations at least, whereas this summer you literally couldn't move for radio stations and TV music channels placing "Blurred Lines" on heavy rotation.  Did they just not listen to it?  Not see the video?  or do they just genuinely not give a damn about the glorification of sexual violence towards women?  

Now I've analysed this song, I'm never having anything to do with it ever again.  It's disgusting.  If it ever comes on my radio, I'm turning it off.  I will not talk about it.  I will not have it played in my hearing.  I will walk out of any shop which plays it.  It's abhorrent and should never, ever have been released...

Faith and Trust and Pixie-Dust...

On Facebook yesterday I made the observation that I truly love the sense of wonder children seem to have; how we, as adults, tend to look beyond the smoke and mirrors to find the mechanics of a thing or the man behind the mask, whereas a child believes absolutely and irrefutably in the sheer magic of the moment.  It's a thought which always comes to me - as it did yesterday - when watching the Doctor Who Prom; as much as I love the absurdity of the event and the absolutely brilliant and beautiful music, (yes, all right, and Matt Smith), for me the Doctor Who Prom is worth watching for one reason and one reason alone: to see the faces of the children when the monsters suddenly appear.

Now I don't doubt for one second that, were I to be lucky enough to attend said Prom one year, I too would be ecstatic with glee at the sight of a Cyberman or Dalek coming towards me; I'm a big geek/kid when it comes to that stuff and I don't deny it, but deep down inside I know at the end of the Prom the Cybermen et al take off their masks and their costumes and go back to being normal people with a really cool day job playing Cybermen.  The joy I get from seeing them is always tempered with that knowledge; it's the fundamentally sucky part of being a grown up.  I'm also reasonably convinced that every single kid in that auditorium knows, deep down inside, that the Cybermen and Sontarans and Daleks and Silurians and what-not are really people-in-costume, but for one shining moment all disbelief is suspended and you can see it on every single face of every single child: oh my god, that's a Cyberman.  Right there in front of me is a real live Cyberman...

It's the singularly most magical thing about the entire event for me.

It saddens me to see how fast children grow up these days.  Childhood seems such a fleeting, momentary thing; gone before you even really grasped its existence or celebrated its sheer, lyrical potential.  Some kids have to grow up fast of course, forced by circumstances beyond their control, but the vast majority just seem to reach a point where they just aren't kids any more.  My niece only turned eleven last week but already she's putting away her soft toys and her Sylvanian Family collection because shes 'too old' for them; something I find incredibly depressing.  Where's the law that says you have to 'put away childish things' once you reach some arbitrary age limit, even if you still really love them?  Why is having her favourite Build-a-Bear bear on her bed suddenly seen as some crime?  I know they can't stay kids forever but these days they seem to be getting older at a much younger age...

Now the sociologist in me wants to do some study here of the correlation between kids growing up too fast and the teenage pregnancy rate or something, but since this is a blog rather than a journal I'll control my inner researcher and refrain from doing so.  (Still, there's gotta be something in it somewhere along the line, right...?)  But working in the fields I do/have done, I've seen an awful lot of kids 'old before their time'; kids who, for whatever reason, have had the magic disappear.  So I want to make a plea here.  Firstly, if you're a parent or an auntie or an uncle or have any contact with little kids at all (legally, obviously) then I want to ask you to do whatever you can to keep the magic and innocence of childhood going for as long as possible.  Write them letters from Santa.  Sprinkle pixie-dust on the pillow when the Tooth Fairy pays a visit.  Believe in the monster living under their bed or in their wardrobe, and make sure they see you giving it a stern talking-to every night so they won't be afraid.  Childhood is a magical time and it should be nurtured, cherished and celebrated, so run with it for as long as you can and let the children in your life be children.

My other plea is to you.  Yes you, the grown-up-type person reading this very blog right now.  I want you to do me a favour.  The next time you see the mechanics behind the smoke and mirrors, or catch sight of the man behind the mask, I want you to close your eyes and count to three before opening them again.  When you do, I want you to see, even for a moment, what a child would see and to enjoy that fleeting moment of wonder.  Life is far too full of stresses and strains and waaaaaay short on wonder for the most part; take it where you can find it, my friends, and never be afraid of it.  Unless it actually IS a Cyberman...

As one of my heroes J.M Barrie once said, "if growing up means it would be beneath my dignity to climb a tree, I'll never grow up, never grow up, never grow up!!"

20 Fun Facts About Kate

I saw this headline in the sidebar of a page on the Independent’s website and was bitterly disappointed when it turned out to be about Kate Middleton or whatever we’re supposed to call her these days. Since the Indy refuses to acknowledge my all-round wonderful quirkiness, I figured I’d do it myself…so here are 20 fun facts about me...*

*Please note the use of the terms “fun” and “facts” may not be strictly literal...

1. I once owned a goldfish called Kelly.
2. When she died and I got a new goldfish, I named her “Kelly 2”.
3. Clearly names are not my forte...
4. I dance whenever and wherever I please. In my front room, walking down the road, on public transport...I don't care. I just dance.
5. I get giddy with glee over the most ridiculously childlike things.
6. For example, feeding the ducks is THE best thing in the world. Ever.
7. I can't grow anything. Not even weeds.
8. I know what happened to Jeffery Dahmer's brain and can identify serial killers and their victims from the oddest snippets of information.
9. I sometimes sense dead people. Not Jeffery Dahmer though; that would be weird even for me.
10. I collect old books.
11. I still own the pink-and-white mouse toy Father Christmas gave me at playgroup when I was 3.
12. He's called Pinkie.
13. I told you names were not my forte.
14. I love dressing up for things, like 30's film nights or Medieval Re-enactments.
15. My vintage Ducky Dress is the most cherished item in my wardrobe.
16. I scribble things occasionally.
17. I invented the all-singing, all-dancing Ringwraiths in a Lord of the Rings fanfic.
18. I apologise to anyone who read said fanfic and is now traumatised by the experience of the Ringwraith's Smile-Time Variety Show.
19. I co-invented online/virtual shoe-throwing as a sport.
20. I am weird and quirky and celebrate this by saying and doing really random things...