Blog 129. Katie Hopkins & Trending Trauma...

‘She accidentally got in my video’

As blogs go – this one’s been traumatic.

Deciding once again to venture outside my comfort zone (a small area three feet removed from what passes for where-it’s-at in modern Britain) I decided to point my modest blog in the direction of what’s trending. This foolish decision brought me into cyber space vicinity with a creature so ghastly in character she could be a plasticine monster in a Ray Harryhausen film.

And then things got worse.

I skimmed some youtube footage.

This Hopkins thing - top of Monday morning’s ‘trending’ list, is known not just for spewing vile poison but revelling in a sort of carcinogenic, internalised misogyny.

Then it got surreal. I realised that this social sister to Clarkson and Farage with her revolting attitudes, playground bully persona and toilet spirit was vaguely familiar. She’d snuck into my video for last week’s blog (Magazine Misery). 

She is one of the pointless celebrities scrumpled up in the background and just visible towards the end.

Apart from the usual thing that depresses me about these gremlins (i.e. WHY are they given so much media time) she seems to have made a name for herself criticising the appearance of other women. The teenager in me wondered why this moose-faced social dishrag who dresses like a 1970s granny, feels she has the right. I mean on any level?

Although irretrievable minutes of my life were gone, at least here is part of the answer to why the rich and powerful get to do pretty much as they please in this ancient democracy. The populous is too drugged up – almost OD’d on celebrity detritus and brain-clogged with the sewer end of media overflow to form rational thoughts.

The impulse, even for research purposes, to observe what was trending died a quick, miserable death just as this woman was replaced on the top spot by someone else I didn’t know who HAD A NEW PAIR OF SPECTACLES.

So here is a ditty about Richard III instead – whose monster status is at least a matter of conjecture. He only murdered potential competition – not the nation’s soul.

Discontented Richard

Richard of York gave battle in vain

Shakespeare wrote him off

But he turned up again!

(by my inner child!)

Blog 128. ‘New Boobs’ & Magazine Misery.

14 ways to get into celebrity magazines...

If you've ever wondered what gets a woman into a glossy magazine, some of the most likely reasons are listed below.

‘Research’ for this blog entailed leafing reluctantly through dog-eared, cast off copies of celebrity magazines.  I am now certain that there is a recognisable condition we should call Magazine Misery – a state induced by the relentless, masochistic, misogynistic poison peddled by these rags.

From the psychotic obsession with dieting to the normalisation of unnecessary cosmetic surgery (talking about  ‘new boobs’ now seems to take on the same tone as discussing the latest pair of shoes), these glossies sponsor women’s wretchedness.

Picking one magazine at random it appeared that – whatever your height - you were supposed to weigh around 8 stone. In one article featuring a dozen celebrity women ranging from 5ft 3 to 5ft 11, the majority were in the 8 stone bracket (including the one who was 5ft 11). Two were at or close to 7 st (yes SEVEN STONE) and one – the only one not baring flesh – weighed in at 9st 7lb. It’s weird because I recently had a medical, was pronounced healthy and yet would weigh in at about 2 – 3 stone heavier than most of these women – even the ones taller than me.

While torturing young females with images of popular women who have the BMI of an average 10 year old, these rags dangle the idea that if you just spend a little more money/effort, apply this make-up – if your tits were just that bit bigger, you too could be between these bright shiny pages and your life would be worthwhile.

And while young men are increasingly under pressure to live up to unrealistic body images, the main target for the sugar-coated image Kalashnikov remains young women.

This is particularly depressing because - well its 2015. Why do we give a shit that ‘Marnie’ “...lost 17lbs in 4 weeks” when we know she will only be note worthy again if she is “guilty about sugar-fuelled weight gain” or is looking “worryingly thin”.

The magazine mind miasma also explains why a recent campaign was able to label women brave for going without make-up (which I do 99.9% of the time) and why women like me who go round with their hair obviously turning grey might get the impression we are letting the side down. Getting older and not having a perfect appearance is definitely starting to feel like a crime.

We all know the list of events that will get a young starlet in the glossies and it’s not her talent.

1. Shagging a famous bloke still seems to be top of the list
2. Looking gorgeous / awful
3. Being too fat / thin
4. Exposing private body parts
5. Having non-medical plastic surgery or speculation about same
6. Having a public spat with another ‘celebrity’
7. Finding Mr Right
8. Getting married ostentatiously
9. Being pregnant in trendy clothes
10. Looking fabulous immediately after the birth
11. Publically acknowledging he was Mr. Wrong
12. Getting divorced
13. Having another boob job
14. Proclamation of ‘availability’ for the next Mr Right

It’s depressing just making the list. From a soap actress with her “Towie Hunk” (is that a brand of canoe?) to a princess with a “blooming bump” it seems that getting hooked up and knocked up – which I thought everyone did all the time -  is somehow noteworthy if you've ever been on the telly. And if you are female – regardless of whether your fame is earned or accidental, you are an object to be judged primarily on physical appearance before, during and after any life event - Help.

For a minute of silly fem-fun check out BG comedy poem for this week –

Magazine Misery

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nshj_cvX3zM

Blog 127. UKIP Black&Asian membership clemency – via Amnesty Inter-rational

Farage has ridiculed being PC preferring to be PD (politically disgusting). Surely a rescue/clemency campaign for Black and Asian members of UKIP is desperately overdue.

“I didn't realise I was black” cried one panicked ukipper.

Like the disaffected youngsters drawn to BABAL (the Blair and Bush Armageddon Legacy), these folk need some untangling. They were obviously not thinking clearly - or listening or looking or registering or comprehending. Far from condemning our brown and black brothers and sisters for joining the Big-on-Bigotry party, they should have the benefit of the doubt. Maybe they were suffering from mental illnesses, fantasies or racial amnesia causing them to forget they’re black.

Internet search UKIP and you’re overwhelmed by examples of racism, homophobia, misogyny and dangerously inflammatory islamophobia. But the mainstream media continues to allow poster boy Farage to paper over the chasms.

Surely it follows that ethnic minority members must be at best delusional.

Would sane Jews join the Nazi party?

One of the things I love about living in Scotland is that when Farage crawled out from under his rock south of the border, a significant vocal minority went ‘Hooray  – it’s OK to be politically disgusting - wohoooooo - party time’. Up here Farage was pretty much told to piss off.

Black and Asian Ukippers must be offered treatment at the Betty Ford clinic for Delusional Bigotry & Prejudice Addicts (De Big-Prejudics).

Post recovery they should be rehabilitated and accepted into society. Alright – neither you nor I would ever trust one of them to babysit the cat or go to the shop for a pint of milk but we can be kind and tolerant. They should be objects of our sympathy and mercy not our embarrassment, derision, disgust, disparagement, discontent, displeasure, detestation, disbelief, disapproval, dislike and disdain.

And – especially for the Big-on-Bigotry crew we really have to have this again...

Comedy performance poem by yours truly -

HOW TO BE A BETTER BIGOT

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vhVBSvac52c

Blog 126. Cameron Vs Brown Girl - solves the TV debate debate.

Cameron can represent privileged out-of-touch white blokes who think a sound-bite is a policy, have dodgy mates with wildly inflated ideas of their own worth, who think a ‘moral dilemma’ means considering whether or not you will get caught out tax dodging - and I’ll have a go at representing EVERYONE ELSE.

Sorted.

We saw in 2010 what a soap opera a ‘leaders’ debate was (isn't that how we ended up with Clegg?) But if we must have one, I propose the solution above.

Ok

Like me you may already feel a guilty desire to be distracted from the looming depressing horror show which is May 7^th and the unedifying votes bidding war. Here then is a little BGOTR smorgasbord of random alternative short diversions from the archives;

For Bonkers Bigotry click here https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vhVBSvac52c

Something to keep the kids calm for half an hour or get them to sleep (!) visit www.caseyandthesurfmen.co.uk/

And if you’re worried you’re going crazy – rest assured you are quite normal – relatively speaking - this is what I did last half term, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aK8soOeNkqQ

For Funny Feminism go to blog 69.

And free membership is still available for - The Crap Gap Club - see blog 113.

I hope that helps keeps you sane till next Tuesday...

Blog 125. Good God-zilla, Enola Gay and Haemorrhoids!

Ignoring what my film buff mate calls ‘the Oscar circus of public school boys getting mantelpiece metal for playing establishment figures’, film choosing went a bit random at the end of last week. My partner and I did that hand -in-the-tub pick-any-video for a Friday night veg. thing. In the end it came down to finding something that didn't have either a a guy with a gun on the cover, a ‘worthy’ film where ordinary folk who aren't yet dead are portrayed as saintly creatures or the slaver we've come to know as the Rom-Com. We chose the one with the large lizardy thing on the front.

What I found in Godzilla was a metaphor for modern life that may even outdo my doggy pooh comparison (see blog 49. Dog Pooh in Scented Bags).

Bizarrely, at the end of the film, main characters and extras are seen idolising the large destructive lizard with the very small head that appears to ‘save’ them while leaving mass mayhem in its wake. It seems uncannily like the current world where we are left craving improbable unexpected salvation out of the death and chaos we have wrought.

There were other more immediate eye-catching parallels to our regressive modernism buried in the rubble of this blockbuster. In terms of sexism it went right back to the early days of popular cinema with the personality-only-vaguely-formed but pretty blonde providing hero worship for the slightly gormless hunk who staggers from scene to scene mumbling and looking perplexed. The less sexy, dark haired ‘other’ woman in the film skitters round behind the sciencey men whining – yeah – just whining.

(As a nonsense side-dish – the dad in the film who we are supposed to believe is living like a tramp – in the grip of grief – nevertheless manages to keep his hair-dye job in good order throughout!!!!)

There is also that remarkable re-writing of history which Hollywood loves so much. Remember, according to Hollywood, Tom Hanks won WWII. In this film it’s hinted at that the experimental atomic explosions that damaged so many unwitting servicemen were not what they appeared. Also the Enola Gay blot on humanity’s landscape was actually a nuke aimed at Godzilla, not Hiroshima. WOW!

In the end the silly monsters that could have been done way WAY better in plasticine by Ray Harryhausen, became a backdrop to the supposed ‘tension’ of the film (the only real tension was the irritation about the fact my guy spent £7 on this shit so I was determined to see it through but  wishing we’d played tiddlywinks instead).

The mess otherwise known as a plot ended with our hero unable to do a James Bond and defuse the big, big blowy-up thingy. Instead, he towed it out to sea on a boat with himself rolling round the deck presumably suffering from the various injuries he received earlier that didn't seem to bother him at the time. Or maybe he had haemorrhoids. Judging from the constant growling and stunted walking, Godzilla definitely had em. (I am sorry – I think that is the second week on the trot I have mentioned piles). Then hunk is rescued by helicopter and although the big blowy up thingy is a nuclear warhead – somehow the little helicopter manages in a couple seconds to get him far enough away from the central blast that he’s all ok and can go meet the blonde with no more than a bit of attractively placed grime and some stiffness (!)

This mooney claptrap can be applied with a pretty broad sloppy brush to what is going on right here right now. Just listen to the bluster of politicians as they pitch for votes with vague promises of tweaking this and being tough on that which – they say – is going to solve the huge problems such as debt, inequality and social lack of cohesion. It’s just as much of a messy unsatisfying fantasy. Godzilla and the instecty/alien things are smashing about in the background while in the foreground we've created silly problems with our own stupidity and then pretend they can be fixed with a bit of tweaking – or towing them away a few feet!

I begin to see why Godzilla became the real champ in this ridiculous flack flick.

Give me a mindless plasticine monster breathing nuclear charge with vaguely good intentions to the nonsense going on in the foreground any day.

Even with haemorrhoids, come back Godzilla.  We need a huge dose of prehistoric honesty.