Put down the phone.

Picture this: you are at the theatre, a beautiful gilt and red velvet one no less; you are watching an amazing ballet with music that makes you want to weep; you are with someone you love, or at least like a lot presumably if you are on an evening out with them. How lovely.

Why then, as soon as the curtains go down and the lights go up, do you whip out your phone? WHY!?

The other day at work, I looked down over the auditorium and half the audience were lit up by their phones, ipads etc. A couple right beside me were both scrolling blank faced through their Facebook feeds and not talking to each other. I don't understand. If they like each other enough to spend an evening at the theatre together, why aren't they talking? Or should I say, why aren't they talking to each other, as it's likely they were both in communication with the rest of the world.

Perhaps they weren't together. I assumed they were because they were having a snog in the back row at the end. But maybe they were strangers who got so caught up in the romance of Romeo and Juliet that they just got carried away. That would be a nice story. 

Two days before I had to tell someone off for using their mobile during the first act of Parsifal. Yes, ok, it is really really really long, but you obviously want to see it or why would you have bought a ticket? Wagner is expensive: too expensive to ignore.

Basically that's just rude. It's so annoying to have the person next to you burst your otherworldly bubble by shining the light of the internet in your face when you had managed to forget they were there for a moment despite the fact they have the sniffles. 

But if you don't care about other people's enjoyment then think of the performers. Those people on the stage, they have been singing not just for hours this evening, but for months in rehearsal. Why is it ok to act like they aren't worthy of your attention? That they are less worthy of your attention than Gus, someone you vaguely remember from school, who has posted a funny picture of his dog in a shark costume. You couldn't possibly miss that.

It just makes me sad, you know, that these phone people never seem to be happy where they are. That they can't just be with who they're with, but have to hang on to the connection with the rest of the world.

Don't you think that maybe, by always being plugged in, you miss something. The world looks so much better through your eyes than on the screen of whatever device you have now. 

And that's another thing. Why so people film stuff...shows I mean. To remember it? If you are filming, you aren't seeing it properly so what are you remembering? A grainy dark image and the concentration of holding the camera straight whilst hiding it from ushers.

Or are you filming to put it online and tell the world how much you are enjoying your life?

Hmmm...

Just stop it. Instead, why not watch, and listen, and see the person next to you.

Here's a little video because this is what you look like:

Big Brother is watching.

"It was a bright cold day in April, and the clocks were striking thirteen."

Yes. I'm reading 1984. First of all, what a weird world. Second, how does it seem believable somehow? Clever man, that Orwell.
Of course there are many things to say about this book including:
"Hurrah for freedom of the press!"
"If there really are spies reading my mail, why do they want to know who needs to swap shifts with me?"
"How nice it is to have things for no reason."
But what I will actually say is that Telescreens are a bit creepy and make me realise that when the lift doors close and I start pulling weird faces at the polished metal walls, there is probably a security guard laughing at me somewhere.
Because I do weird things like that a lot. At work, when the lights go down and the show begins, I do foot exercises or copy the dancing but only with my head. When I cycle I speak out loud in other accents. Sometimes I stop in the street suddenly and for no clear reason and walk back the way I came.
If Big Brother was watching me he'd probably think me highly suspicious.
I think though that probably everyone does secret crazy things when they think no one is watching. Weird is normal. So it stands to reason that there's probably thousands of hours of CCTV footage of us all doing stupid stuff. What is the point of that? To keep security people entertained? Or as ammunition to keep us humble when we have our 15 minutes of fame?
In the book, the next step is thought-control. But you'll never be able to read my thoughts, will you? Actually, there are people working on it. Watch this.
Of course it's hardly telepathy at the moment. But it's the same as hidden cameras observing me skip down an empty corridor. By looking into someone else's mind, you're just going to find they are as bizarre and inexplicable as you. And then what?
There is no telepathy in 1984 (so far) just an assumption they know what you're thinking, and an attempt to twist your thoughts to their means. Scarier. And even scarier that it has happened, and does happen. And it works...every time a bus passes, I want to immediately book a holiday to wherever is advertised. Egypt most recently, even though I suspect there are reasons they are having a slow tourist season and need all the advertising they can get. It does look golden though. And I would be like a pale Cleopatra, meditating in the breeze from the Nile....
Where was I? Oh yes, not talking about what I started talking about. Classic.
But in conclusion, as there are cameras everywhere, and nothing useful could possibly come of the footage of me, perhaps whichever minor spy is watching my empty-room-dance-improvisations could put me together a showreel. And throw in some of the comedy if you like. It would be much appreciated and clearly you have nothing better to do.
Thanks Big Brother.

The Revolution

I'm a little late on the commentary but did you see the Paxman-Brand interview? It's here if you missed it.

So...is there going to be a revolution? And will we all sing, like in Les Miserables? Because that is my only knowledge of how a revolution would be, and every time I hear the songs I wish I believed in something as passionately as those characters. 

It seems like Russell Brand does care. It's difficult to tell at first...like when he uses too many fancy words (like he is vomiting a thesaurus) I'm not sure I believe him. It's too scripted. Too pretentious. But then he gets angry and I'm convinced. 

I read an article later, calling him "daft and dangerous" for telling people not to vote. That it does make a difference. But really he isn't saying not to vote, is he? He's saying don't vote unless there is something worth voting for. It seems fair enough really, but I like voting and my history teacher drummed it into us girls that it's an insult to the people she taught us about to waste that right. We studied 'Women's Role in the 20th Century,' where there was much throwing of self under horses and hunger strikes. And then 'Popular Movements' where men protested about all sorts of stuff, but the general aim was a better life and a say in the country they lived in.

And now? Pshhh! Who can be bothered? I'm not sure my life would be massively different if the government changed.

Which is Russell Brand's point. I should care shouldn't I? I should vote because I believe it will make a difference, not because it makes me feel like a grown up.

The thing that he isn't giving me an alternative. What is this new system he has in mind, now he's had time to consider it? I'm no politician or person of knowledge but I don't think there is any good way. 

What a pessimist!! But it's true...people are selfish. And there's the rest of the world. This Utopia would have to be worldwide or it is impossible. We can't exist alone. 

And at this point my brain explodes. No wonder the government are rubbish. It's a quite the headfuck, this world. Where do you even start? 

Sometimes I wonder what I would do if I was Queen of the World, but I would be terrible. I'm almost positive the only way everyone would be equal is if I wound back time to when we were hunter-gatherers. No one with power...they can't be trusted. On the other hand, there are too many people now and we'd all end up with bad teeth and no cake. So it's back to the drawing board.

Thankfully, I don't need to think about it. I don't have any kind of say. What I can do is be vocal when I want something changed. Like that time I wrote a blog about potholes ruining my enjoyment of cycling. You'll all be pleased to hear that bit of road is smooth now and I (vainly and without any evidence) would like to claim artist responsibility for that happening. Boris probably reads my blog, no?

It seems a concern of the writer of the Brand: Daft and Dangerous article that Brand is like the Pied Piper, leading the young into apathy. Probably though, he is not telling anyone what to think, but saying what many people already think. 

I wish I thought it would make a difference. But maybe I'm just being part of the problem. When the revolution comes, I'll join in at the chorus of Do You Hear the People Sing.

We need to talk.

I try my best to avoid the fact but I'm just going to come out and say it. I am bad at confrontation. There. I admitted it. It wasn't so hard, was it?

Unfortunately, in real life though, it really is. It's all very well to complain about stuff in an online blog that people may or may not read; a place where I am both queen and an anonymity; it's quite another to tell someone face to face that I got a problem with them. You got a problem with that, huh?!

Instead of telling people carefully and tactfully that I would like them to be on time please, or wash up please, or make an effort please, I just tell other people my tale of woe. Basically I bitch. And because I find this an appalling trait I'm going to bitch about it to you. 

I don't even know what the point is. The people I complain to can't do anything about it, and they probably don't care at all. I, however, get to have my little rant without provoking the possibility of an argument, which I will always lose because I forget my very rational feelings and opinions and will want to cry. It's a problem. In fact the only person I can argue successfully with is my sister and that is only through years of practice. Besides, that's how we say I love you so it doesn't count at all. 

One of my best friends, who is the most honest person I know, has no qualms about telling me when I'm being an idiot. And then it's fine again. Problem solved because I know about it. But no matter how many times she tells me to man up and have a conversation with someone...I just can't do it. Massive fail. How does she do it?!

What I do do, is have the conversation, argument, whatever, in my head several hundred times as a rehearsal. I'm always stunningly articulate and convincing and it ends beautifully with me wiping away a single glistening tear before my adversary admits their wrongdoing and has my forgiveness generously and moving bestowed... 

But I can never quite remember how I started... Then it starts seeming like a good idea to write it down. Like a script, you know? I do that when I have to leave a voice message so I know it works. Means you get to have a proper practice before, and don't forget to say something crucial like what your name is. 

On the other hand, if you were interrupted mid-speech, you might loose track. You could have a list of prompts of course, but that would be weird and I would be tempted to just hand over my bullet pointed list and run away. And if I'm going to do that I might as well write a letter of complaint, right? 

Wrong. 

Seems a shame but I cannot become a leaver of notes (SEE: I Lick My Cheese, And Other Notes From the Frontline of Flatsharing (I'm not saying I'm complaining about my flatmates...I should put that out there!)). That would make me a sorry individual and unnecessarily passive-agressive. We don't like those people.

Note to self: we also don't like a bitch so stop it.

What is the point, I ask myself, of relationships without communication? You see, I know in theory how it works, but in practice I'd rather the communication be about what would happen in the roof caved in, or how to make crumble. Did you know that when Jack the Ripper...?

What would be ideal would be if people regularly asked me what was bothering me about them, and as an incentive told me how I was annoying in return. Bish bash bosh...everyone's happy, chests cleared, laundry aired. 

The worst of it is that sometimes I want to say something nice to someone and I can't do that either. It sticks in the throat. I'm very much a fan of the neutral. The safe. The impersonal. 

It is personal though I suppose, life. I should probably admit it eventually. 

So I have a question: you want to talk?

Selfies

Here is a picture of me:

I took it myself. You can tell this by the right arm at a weird angle, clearly holding up the camera; the flattering downward shot; and the blank expression (why would I smile, I'm alone?).
This, for those of you blissfully unaware, is a Selfie: a self portrait usually taken on a camera phone and uploaded to Facebook or Twitter or...
This is from my Instagram: friend of bad photographers and the un-photogenic (of which I am both). Select a filter, make your face a bit blurry and TA-DAH! You have a photo that is half-decent. Hurrah!
So why did I take this selfie? I was sitting on my sofa, not doing anything memorable or interesting. I was home alone and bored. And there you have my reason. Boredom. I felt like making a nice Instagram picture to amuse myself for 5 minutes, that being a new toy I'd recently discovered. Nothing of note around me so used myself as a subject of art.
That and I wanted a new profile picture. I get bored of my face if I keep the same photo too long.
But also (I'll be honest enough to admit) I like it when people say I look nice occasionally.
<LIKE>
But I notice that some people take this to an extreme. Why do you post a picture of yourself every day? Does that mean you are confident enough to think you look nice all the time and want to share that? Or does it mean the opposite, that you crave approval?
And then there are other kinds of Selfie that say other things about you. For a start, the ugly Selfie where you pull a stupid face to show you don't take yourself too seriously, that you have a 'Good Sense of Humour.' Or the group Selfie. Or a shot of your feet, or newly tattooed hand, or the beach with your suntanned legs in shot.
The last is to make you feel jealous of the magical view I have while I'm on holiday...clearly in my case I'm not looking for compliments on my non-existent tan.
I know someone who is a fashion blogger. She loves a selfie for business purposes, to show how clothes look and how you can put them together. Other people use them as a bit of promo.
But the thing is, they are no new thing. Here's an Edwardian Selfie taken with an early camera:

There you are: vanity is not a new phenomenon. It goes back even further than this actually, past early portrait painters, to people painting on cave walls. We humans have a bizarre need to leave a record of ourselves. The easier that is to do, the more prolific it is, and that's why we notice it so much now. If this lady had had Facebook this would be her new profile picture, showing off her latest and most technologically advanced toy.
Weird creatures humans, aren't we?
Now, I have been known to take a Selfie or two, but within reason people! Are you really enjoying yourself if you want to stop and take a photo of your fun-having self all the time? So yes, show us the dress your fairy godmother made you for the ball, but then just go and dance Cinderella! 

More procrastination

Yesterday I was having a discussion about my writing. In particular the picture book that is in my head but hasn't quite made it on to paper yet.
Do you know the reason I gave for having done nothing with it yet? That I need to buy a notebook first.
A notebook?!
How many blank notebooks do I have already? But none of them inspire me. I want a bigger one. And some colouring pencils. Until the moment these tools are sitting in front of me, I couldn't possibly channel my genius into a useful form.
Ridiculous, yes. But I do it all the time, and I know you are a culprit too reader.
Instead of finishing the knickers that I'm supposed to be sewing for myself, yesterday I bought lots of new fabric to make a maxi-dress and something else that I haven't decided yet. Why do I not work out how to attached the elastic first before embarking on a new project?
On a much grander scale, I have pretty much written off this year as one of experiments. Get myself back in shape just in case dance work materialises; work as much as possible to save some money; embark on varying work experience placements to see if I actually like anything; write as much as possible.
Then next September, or before if I'm lucky, I'll actually pick something.
This is the shiny side of the coin that I'm presenting to the world but here's the truth:
This morning I could have got up and gone to ballet but I'm actually sitting on the sofa in my pyjamas (at least I'm writing!); I'm going on holiday in a couple of weeks (yayay!!) spending much of what I've saved recently; having done two publishing placements I'm stuck about what to try next- apparently my ideas began and ended with publishing; I make excuses about not having the correct type of notebook to explain my lack of actual written writing.
So what do I do? Procrastinate. Read. Tidy up. Play the ukulele. Look up where I'll go on holiday next. Look at my blog stats to see where people are reading my blog (this week UK, Russia, Peru).
The thing is that I love potential. The magic in a shapeless piece of fabric that could become a ball gown. The energy in an idea in my head that cold be beautiful but might lose steam as soon as I put it on paper. The nobility of my good intentions.
And I guess it all gives me an excuse for my great indecision.
It just occurred to me how often I have mentioned how indecisive I am about my life in this blog. I'm procrastinating by talking about why I'm procrastinating.
So this is where I'll leave you today. I need to sew my pants. No more distractions!

Celebrities

Yesterday I was at the GQ Awards. Obviously I wasn't a guest: I was in prime people watching position. When you work at these things, even if you are standing somewhere very obvious, you are mainly invisible. Understandably so?
They are just so weird, these celebrity events. Shiny people walk in, look sultry for the camera, air kiss the cameraman, then answer questions about their outfit and man crush. Free drinks, a meal. Then the awards, which over-run by an hour because no one can stop mentioning the nazis.
Then I go home.
My first job was red carpet watch (if that is a job). People, I was in smelling distance of Eddie Redmayne, Michael Douglas, Noel Gallagher, Pharrell Williams, Samuel L. Jackson... I did not recognise them all. Far from it. But this started a game.
People who I recognised immediately: Emma Watson, Claudia Winkleman, Russell Brand.
People who I thought I'd met before: Matt Smith.
People who I couldn't remember the name of but knew immediately because they look just like my friend Abi: my friend Abi's brother. I would have loved to tell him to say hi to her from me but a) that would be a bit weird, b) we weren't allowed to let the famouses know we existed.
People who's names I heard later and hadn't recognised at all: Rosie Huntington-Whitley, Rita Ora, Ellie Goulding.
People I thought looked like I should know them and I probably should have if I had any ounce of cool: the man from The Who, Wilko Johnson...this is difficult because I still don't know their names.
People whose lackies are very rude and make furious gestures for me to move out of the way lest I offend the great man's eyes: Elton John.
People who actually seem quite nice and say hello to you: Elton John.


Yep. I just did a blow by blow of who I saw. What a name-dropper eh?

So there was the red carpet. A place to look chic, to show the world that you are friends with Justin Timberlake. A place to only smile when there wasn't a camera pointed at you.
And then there was my second location, smoker's terrace.
Humans are so odd. I often think this about stuff we do: walking on two legs, hair, hands and feet, exercising in front of the telly.
But I mean, places like this seem so much like a watering hole. But instead of sipping water in the cooling shade of an oasis, people smoke and sip champagne and compliment each other on their dresses. But they suddenly don't look like famous people. They look like an office party, which is essentially what these things are, no?
So why so people find them so fascinating? They weren't even very interesting. I know, I heard a lot of speeches. The only vaguely exciting moment was Russell Brand making a joke about Hugo Boss dressing the nazis very elegantly; and every third speech after condemning him for it.
Oh and Elton John gave his award to Wilko Johnson. That was nice.
So that's what I did yesterday. I grew bored by some people. Standard day at work really, except that I wasn't allowed to sit down.