Political Correctness Gets Mad

Growing up in the 90's meant being exposed to plenty of hideousness. Not least the fashions, shitty music and the prevailing belief that feminists were man-haters, and it was empowering to go topless in Loaded.

However, one of the most destructive sentiments in the 1990's was that political correctness had 'gone mad'. Columnists would complain that it 'beggars belief' how a disabled person could object to being referred to as a 'spastic' and why black people might object to being referred to as 'coloured'.

PC-haters fought for their right to use language which people had found offensive in the 70's and 80's, and with tacky 90's irony taking over mainstream cultured (look to Blur's Country House video for a sad example) it looked like the battle was lost.

However, what goes around comes around, and several events this week have lifted my heart that feminism is back and bigoted attitudes will not be accepted by the British public.

First up, news that the feminist website for teenage girls, the F-Bomb, is a huge success. The young girls of today aren't sitting around common rooms complaining about PC and buying into that bullshit that titty men's mags are cool, they are sticking up for the sisterhood. You go girls!

Next, was the objection to the ill-thought out joke that Dannii Minogue made about the openly bisexual X-Factor contestant Danyl. I do think that the vitriol towards Dannii got out of hand, but the fact that there is public debate about whether comments about people's sexuality/ gender/ race/ disability might be inappropriate will make for eventual positivity.

Finally, who can't have already read the outrageous comments made by Jan Moir about the terribly sad death of Stephen Gateley. It was announced this week that Gateley had an undiagnosed fatal heart condition. That caused the fluid on the lungs which resulted in his death. However, Moir insinuated in her piece that there was something 'unnatural' about his death, because he died after a night out in a gay bar with his husband and they brought a friend home to their apartment.

It saddens me when mainstream publications spout bigoted views, however, when there is an avalanche of horror at such attitudes it makes me glad to see of how far Britain has come with gay rights. The people who spout these distasteful and extremist views are in the vast minority.

Equality is a long journey, but at this moment it's gaining speed.

Channeling Autumn/ Winter 1998

In London we've had a very grey and wet summer, and it seems a bit out of step that autumn is almost here. But even though it feels like we were robbed of a season, the great thing about the days shortening are exciting winter wardrobe possibilities.

After a few recent shopping trips, I fear I've forgotten the last ten years, as I'm drawn to exactly the same fashions I was ten years ago - fake fur, knee high boots, burgundy and black leather. The only other looks I'm keen to work are Ossie Clark blouses (which I've liked since 2005) and school-girl chic (which I guess I've worked since I was four and a half). Whatever, I'm retro for my retro past, and after spending most of the last nine years obsessed with the seventies, it's familiarly refreshing to once more be inspired by Julie Christie circa Billy Liar: greasy hair, swinging handbag and low heeled boots.

Here are my trends, and my fashion muses are the same as I was when I was 14 too, Marianne and Pattie!

Faux Fur
Iconic, warm and a bit wild, a great look for cold winter nights. As long as it doesn't get wet!



Belting everything is a bit Gok, don't you think, but in this case it's just what's needed to give the ladies a more hour glass silhouette

Look at how stylish Marianne looks, sitting on her fur coat, stoned, and talking about LSD. It's so huge and dominating, it's like she's brought her own rug or sofa with her. True style follows you wherever you go.

Berets
I love the way Pattie worked the beret in the 60's

But perhaps her most essential accessory is in the navy suit next to her

Of course BB wasn't the first to rock the bob and beret look


Knee High Boots
A winter essential for everyone

Ostrich feathers not obligatory

Headscarves
I've loved this look since I saw Julie Christie make a jealous phone call in Darling


Black Leather

I guess it's a concession to the 80's revival.

School Girl Chic
When I was a schoolgirl I found my uniform so boring, yet now I am always drawn to v-necked jumpers, pleated skirts, dolly shoes and blazers. I even tried on a boater hat today. Dangerous territory really, but a bit of subversion in a wardrobe is fun.



Grown-Up Hippy
I know fashion says no, but I really want to work a maxi-dress, and keep wearing paisley.

Mad (Wo)Men:

When I watch Mad Men, I dream I had the ice-cool elegance of Betty Draper

And the confident, sexy intelligence of Joan Holloway

And even, at times, the career determination of Peggy Olson

But from last Sunday's episode of season three, where 9 year old Sally Draper is taught how to drive by her grandpa, I am most like her. Well, as far as facial expressions are concerned.
Click here and select video two and see what I'm talking about. She even gets a T-section of highlights.

If you want to know more about Kiernan Shipka, the charming lisping little actress that plays Sally, click here for an interview on the AMC website.

Layla and Majnun - the Story of Derek and the Dominoes

Eric Clapton became obsessed with the book Layla and Majnun and then went on to create the album which included this song, among many great others:

(How cool is the bit when EC sings with Carl Perkins and Johnny Cash!)

I read the book (well, it's more of an epic poem really) last year and absolutely loved it. It's visual, colourful, passionate and pure, about destructive, overwhelming unending love. Coming from a Catholic background, if you removed Layla from the story it could be about a martyr and their relationship with god and their form of worship.

Anyway, EC and Pattie Boyd crossed my mind this morning and it got me thinking about Layla and Majnun again. After a bit of googling I found out that there were a couple of films of the story made. Including this one from 1976. Here's the scene where Majnun comes to the palace to announce his love to Layla:



Here's Layla trying to protect Majnun. it doesn't happen in the poem, but let's allow some artistic liberty!

Seinfeld Meets Woody Allen: Genius or Disaster?

Larry David has the lead in the new Woody Allen film, Whatever Works.
Yeck the trailer here.

It doesn't look much cop from the advert, but I think it's worth a shot, I mean, it's Woody Allen and the co-creator of Seinfeld. Together. The plot sounds a bit lame, with David's character playing Henry Higgins to Evan Rachel Woods' Eliza Doolittle, but maybe it's done nicely.

Man About the House: Sexist Attitudes Pervade

I have just received the second phonecall in a week from a far-flung call centre asking to speak to "the male of the household".

I feel utterly patronised by these idiots' telephone manners. I live in an all-female household. Perhaps the caller would like me to rest the phone piece up to my neighbour's male dog's ear? Or put them through to my uncle who lives in Canada, seeing as they imply my female brain or style of communicating requires a man to translate for them?

I managed to say to the call-centre worker that, "This is 2009, not 1952. Why are you asking to speak to the male of the household?" He then explained he was "told to ask for the male". I told him that was a sexist attitude and not to call back.

As they say in my part of town, this has me "well narked". Bosses of subcontinental call centres should know that in western culture it is unacceptable to even think of there being patriachal figures in homes. If they want to speak to the person who pays the bills how about asking for the home owner? The implication that the term "male of the household" has is that men are the decision makers, pull the purse strings and tell the females of their households what to do is completely ludicrous.

All this comes in the same week of news that female school leavers who have the same qualifications as their male counterparts are being shunted into much lower waged jobs than their male counterparts by school career counsellors. It has even been suggested that these girls with repsectable GCSEs who enter such professions do so because they "are happy to earn less".

Considering Carly Zucker, newly-wedded to Chelsea footballer Joe Cole, has recently announced she is giving up her highly lucrative career as a personal trainer to look after her marital home, and last year Colleen Rooney, who became famous for going out with, and then marrying, millionaire footballer Wayne, was said by a teenage girls' charity to be an "excellent role model for young women", it does make you wonder why we think so little of women, young and old.

Glorifying women who aspire to be the wives of rich men and want to give up work as soon as possible, is dangerous territory for those who hopes that their daughters or sisters will reach the top of their chosen careers and achieve financial independence.

The feminist movement that came out of the 60's died out in the 90's because it was seen as being millitant and uncool. Now we are in a period of regression, where people who seek financial stability via relationships and think giving up their names, and the financial and emotional independence that comes with employment is admirable.

Today's women need to get a grip and change this as soon as posisble, or females across the western society will be subject to ill's much more abhorrent than a phonecall.

I love George

Gosh! Isn't George Harrison just intensely romantic?! When I hear his music I feel completely swept off my feet, as if I'm beng lifted up by Fred Astaire.
Here's a good one for love and dancing:

It's because he's a Pisces fish. Water signs are the biggest dreamers of the zodiac.

Best Friends: Marianne and Anita

Just found this amazing picture of Marianne Faithfull and Anita Pallenberg taken by Rankin.

The picture totally captures the energy of their friendship and why it has endured, they have fun together!
It makes me think of my nearest and dearest.
I've been away from home for 5 weeks and miss them so much!

MICK JAGGER TO THE RESCUE!

Mick Jagger. Waddaguy.
Not only does he light up my life with his beautiful music (that's some understatement).
But he's also trying to save my neighbourhood.
He wants to save this beautiful concert venue in Walthamstow, East London that the band played at during the 60's.
Read all about it here.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY CHARLIE AND WOODY!

Charlie Watts turned 68 years old on Tuesday.
Happy Birthday you spectacular man of style:





Charlie's good tonight.



Ronnie Wood turned 62 years old on Monday.



You are grooving me.

Can't Sleep? Neither Can Lev

Voices from the Ether: Erica Jong and Beck

I'm still in hibernation, but I read an article the other day with this quote and liked it:

“There is absolutely no point in sitting down to write a book unless you feel you must write that book, or else go mad, or die.”

It was actually Robert Davies who first said it, but Erica Jong re-said it about her great book, Fear of Flying.

They were supposed to make it into a film in the 70's, but it fell through because of alleged disagreements between the hollywood execs and Erica. I just can't see her letting them do a Russ Meyers, like they did to Valley of the Dolls. Then there were rumours that a screenplay was being worked on two years ago, and it was either to star Kate Winslett or Maggie Gyllenhall, and that's gone quiet.

Whatever happens to it next, no book ever looks as good as it does in your mind's eye.

As well as getting off on Erica Jong (How To Save Your Own Life, to be precise), I've been listening to lots of Beck and remembering the good old times of 1997 and 2003. And here they are again.

Silence is Golden: So's Seinfeld

I won't have many blogging ops until Midsummer's Night, so until then, here are some treats:

My New Fave Link: TheSelby.com

I've just been having a nice internet browse as I eat my porridge, and I found this great website.

It has hundreds of photographs of New York hipsters' apartments, Fascinating people like Michael Stipes, Tom Wolf and Erin Wasson, to infamous people like Peaches Geldof and then some really stylish people who are pastry chefs/ other creative careers.

Definitely worth a click, just to to get some interior design ideas. And there are hand written questionnaires which are so sweet to look at.

Barnet Woes: An end to the misery?

So just as I publish the below post about the misery of growing out my highlights etc, into my inbox pops some hope, in the form of a newsletter from Nylon magazine, telling me to soak my hair in tea for eco-cheapo-blondeness.

Here's the gist of what they say:

At Tela Design Studio, Philip Pelusi’s organic salon and tea room in NYC’s Meatpacking District, stylists actually apply teas as a conditioning treatment and color booster – a great way for clients to save money from frequent coloring visits. But, anyone can do this at home for the same great effect.

How to Use:

1. First, boil the tea of your choice. Let it cool to room temperature or below while you shampoo and rinse hair.

2. Then, working on clean, wet hair, pour tea over hair strands and work in for a few minutes with fingers.

3. The longer you leave the tea on your hair and the more frequently you apply it, the more staining the effect, so be careful not to over do it.

4. Rinse and apply conditioner for detangling.

For blondes, they recommend chamomile tea, and I actually have a big box of dried chamomile flowers I could use to make the tea. I could even do it while I sit and watch Hammer horror movies tonight when I get home from the gym.

I think I'll have a google around and see if this is safe. I don't want to end up looking like this:
(3mins 25secs in)

Growing out my highlights gets right on my wick

I’ve been uncharacteristically quiet lately. Aside from the fact there isn’t much going on in the world of the Stones, unless you count Jo Wood opening up her marital home to host weddings and have paid-for dinner parties, during Wimbledon fortnight (with the best organic food, of course), I’ve been pleasantly busy with life away from my fabulous new computer.

One thing in my life at the moment, that isn’t so pleasant, however, is my Barnet. Qu'elle problème! I still haven’t coloured it, so I’ve now got about seven and a half months of re-growth going on. I’m getting my hair cut about every 4 weeks, because I’m just dying to get those over-coloured blonde bits off, no pun intended. At least I am crazy about the new length. It’s a bit like this:

I wonder if Faye Dunaway has four inches of root growth under her beret like I do.

I miss being a full on blonde so much, I miss the ray of sunshine around my head. At least twice a day I resolve to get to my highlighter at the first possible moment. I torture myself by looking at pictures of bright blondes like these:



Then I look at the frazzled blonde ends on my hair and wonder how I’ll ever colour it again so it doesn’t look like straw.

I now have two hair types, my natural hair is wavy and a bit frizzy, my coloured hair is akin to afro hair if I let it dry naturally. My natural hair dries with a bit of volume, and sticks up around my head, which is nice, but the coloured parts stick out wide, at weird angles.

I used to wash my hair once a week, and in between I’d use a heap of dry shampoo. By the time wash day came, my hair would be satisfyingly massive. Now, if I want my Barnet to look vaguely acceptable, I have to wash it every other day, because when my natural hair looks greasy very quickly, and dry shampoo gives it an unworkable texture.

However, my hair, has never felt so good. Mid conversation I run my hands through it, then, totally distracted, insist the person I’m with touches my hair:
“Doesn’t that feel amazing! I mean my hair has never felt so thick, has it?!”
“I don’t know” responds the postman, “I’ve never touched your hair before.”

Well, I can tell you, that whatever it looks like, my Barnet feels loads thicker. I always thought I had fine hair, but I don’t! It was just the evil bleach (that gives you the most delicious shade of blonde) that made each strand about of the third of the thickness god wants it to be.

The other day I found this brilliant picture of Anita Pallenberg, with post-pregnancy two-tone hair:

One colour for her fringe, another for the length. She totally carries off those long roots. Notice how groomed her hair is too, she must have discovered that grease and roots don’t match.

Finally, another note of inspiration.. If I do manage to grow out the highlights, I could at least work this look before reaching for the bleach again:


The black and white pictures don’t show the Shrimp’s dark blonde/ light brown hair. The dark hair colour doesn’t make her seem like a try hard dolly-bird, but she doesn’t look like grunger because she wears chic clothes and nice make-up.

All very well, but what am I supposed to do while my trademark blonde hair grows out? Wear a wig?

Haunted Through iChat: Bereavement in the Modern Age

A friend of mine passed away very suddenly a few months ago. It was a horrible shock and very sad. He was one of my iChat buddies, and although we didn’t talk everyday, just seeing his name flash up when he was online made me feel good, because I knew he was okay and he was there if I needed him. The month after he died I’d glance down the list of offline buddies and see his name. Knowing that his strap would never flash up again gave me a horrible empty feeling. When I think about what an amazing person he was and how his life has so unjustly been taken away at his very young age it breaks my heart.

So you’ll understand my mixed emotions when I switched on my computer, logged into iChat and noticed that my dead friend is somehow “online now”. Somebody is obviously using his computer and has set the status to “Away”. I’ll say. You don’t get much more “Away” than being dead, do you. However, thinking of my friend just being “Away” comforts me, makes me feel like he’s still with me.

This is bereavement in the modern age. I actually found out about his death through facebook. His facebook page is still going and his friends and family write notes of love on his page for him.

I wish he was still here.

RIP Uriel Jones

Check out him talking here

The Temptations as Disney Characters: Eddie Kendricks is Thumper

The Temptations are now officially in my top three bands (what took me so long), and I've spent most of this week practising these dance moves before I leave the house:

Note the alternate side stomp on the "I".

Due to my obsession with the song, I checked out this vid. It is so CUTE! Anything that combines soul and Disney has got to be great. Also, choosing Thumper for Eddie Kendricks' voice is parfait, don't you think.

Yay! Spring has sprung!

SLIP ON THIS PASTAFACE! A Tale of Revenge and Karma

Picture the scene:

It’s spring 1999. A seventeen year old schoolgirl has a massive crush on a tall, rubber lipped, speccy, cerebral university student. She stalks him in the union, follows him when he goes to DJ at the local Po Na Na’s, where he fills the floor playing the Kingsmen’s “Louie Louie”, and her excitement and anticipation peak when they swap numbers, and she begins to think he likes her too.

A few days later, and it’s Saturday night at the local Indie disco. The schoolgirl downs pound-a-shot vodka and waits and waits for Speccy Rubber Lips’ arrival, whilst dancing to Pulp and Blondie. Finally, he shows up, they do shots together, and then he disappears.

“Where is he? Where is he?”, the school girl yelps to her Platonic Boy Chum, “Has he gone?”

“Take it easy”, says Platonic Boy Chum (such helpful and calming souls these PBCs are) “He’s probably gone for a dance. Let’s join him!”

So the teenager and her pal head to the dance-floor and, while strutting her stuff to Shed 7’s “Disco Down”, she sees something that brings her world crashing down. Speccy Rubber Lips is having a tongue sandwich with some random straight (ie not cool) girl.

“Oh my god!” our heroine squeals, “What is he doing? Why are they kissing? I thought he liked me! Why doesn’t he like me?!”

The young lady is fortunate that not all men are so caddish, and Platonic Boy Chum gallantly speeds her out of the club, without her freak-out being witnessed by Speccy Rubber Lips, who by this stage was engaging in some ghastly over-the-trouser frottage. On the dancefloor.

Sadly, our heroine’s distress did not end with her exit from the disco, and as she passed past the local 24 Hour garage, Platonic Boy Chum nobly said, “Calm down, everything’s going to be okay! Let’s go in here and buy some fruit!” Yes, fruit buying, an obvious solution to all Crise de Coeur, and as the pair walk home eating bananas the natural sugar high restores some of our heroine’s spirits.

But hang on, what road should they happen to be walking down, but the road of Speccy Rubber Lips! And what house should they be passing, just as our heroine has finished eating her banana, but the house of Speccy Rubber Lips! Right at this very moment our heroine has a flash of genius inspiration. Reaching for the trusty biro from her handbag, she wrote on the banana skin:

“SLIP ON THIS PASTAFACE”

and shoved it through Speccy Rubber Lips’ letterbox.

And if you ever saw this man, you would absolutely think “PASTAFACE”, because he is. His face did have a strong look of lasagne about it, back in 1999. Anyway, you’ll be pleased to know that our heroine survived, grew up, and started having her feelings requited by all kinds of sexy young men whose visages couldn’t be further from linguine.

However, the phrase SLIP ON THIS PASTAFACE entered the lingo of our group of friends. We always applauded our heroine for coming up with such a succinct and bizarre put-down at the right place and the right time. It makes sense because, although Pastaface probs did lead on our heroine a bit, he hadn’t done anything wrong, apart from some public dry-humping. So by calling him PASTAFACE, she doesn’t seem like an evil, malicious bitch, circa Glenn Close in Fatal Attraction, she still gets to vent her anger at the situation and comes across as a vivacious and witty eccentric. Which she is, and they are marvellous things to be!

I myself hadn’t given Pastaface much thought since the Millennium, when I heard he moved to London and was trying to set himself up as a hipster DJ. It probably wasn’t easy as “Louie Louie” is a cheese-fest of a song for most London 60’s Throw-Backs, especially in 2001. However, then tonight happened.

I was in a club, and while I was delicately twirling on the dance-floor (any of my usual moves would have meant my one-size-too-big-shoes would have fallen off my feet), I saw a familiar rubber lipped figure pouting by the bar. He was still tall, but thank god he’d thrown out that 90’s bucket hat he always sported, and was wearing a vaguely elegant coat. He scanned the room, as if he was on the prowl, looking for some lady-company. Thud. Pastaface is still at large!

Although I was dying to say a few words to the fellow, I kept schtum because on seeing his rubber-lipped smirk, I knew that those words would probably be “SLIP ON THIS PASTAFACE”, and then I’d end up slapping my thigh and buckling over, and tonight was a night for cool dignity.

However, it’s nice to know he’s single, and probably gets his love unrequited every now and then. Unlike our heroine, who is now happily besotted with a delightful boyfriend.

Oh how the tables have turned, the pasta is now the banana eater! I’m sure there’s a moral in this story somewhere, but don’t fret too much about finding it.

Reader please note: This tale is biographical, not autobiographical. Though I do think my life would be better if I could come up with putdowns on a level of SLIP ON THIS PASTAFACE.