(I started writing this at the conference itself, then added to it on the coach ride home, before finishing it in dribs and drabs over the subsequent weeks. Basically, any 'I just did [x]' phrases are probably bogus.)
I've just got back from the 3rd i-Mean Language and Identity conference in Bristol (told you), and it's been quite the i-opener for me (don't worry, I hate myself for that pun just as much as you do). My first conference was for postgrads, so on a personal level this was a step up in the terrifying stakes, being my first 'grown-up' conference - the postgrads were so lovely, and these were Proper Academics that might rip me to shreds and tell me I suck! Throw in the fact that this was the first time I'd written a paper especially for the conference itself rather than presenting previously completed research, and it's unsurprising that I didn't sleep the night before.
Of course, I needn't have worried, because everybody has been wonderful, supportive and keen, even when I managed to talk about a graph that wasn't even on screen at the time. I'm beyond grateful (and still a little staggered) that people were happy to listen to me waffle for half an hour, and I'm even more grateful to Chris for agreeing to run the survey with me and present alongside me. It's been an awesome introduction to my eventual PhD work, and a great reminder that this is definitely what I want to be doing.
But beyond that, i-Mean has been a delight in an unexpected way. With the theme of 'identity' being such an abstract concept in the first place, it's unsurprising that the talks have been varied, but the sheer diversity of approaches, specialties and ideologies has been a particular delight. I saw several talks that were directly related to my sphere of research (Emma Moore, Julia Snell, Mercedes Durham, Fernanda McDougall, and Devyani Sharma to name just a few), but the majority of my time was spent meandering between talks which have no direct practical similarity to my stuff, but which captured my interest and curiosity.
I saw the very brave Nicola Puckey talk about metalcore fan identities and conflict in YouTube comments (particular props to her for voluntarily venturing into the cesspit of the Internet). Kay Richardson examined Bigotgate and the political onstage/offstage persona; Yukiko Nishimura explained the employment of emoticons as a kind of 'virtual make-up' employed by Japanese bloggers to index a cutsey/kawaii identity; while Douglas Ponton talked on the distance-closeness aspect of the British Royal family in the media. All brilliant; all utterly unrelated to my field.
It's easy to get tunnel vision when you have a particular research interest, and of course having a dedicated focus is by no means a bad thing. But this weekend it's been lovely to dabble in wider areas of interest; to learn not to benefit my own work, but for the sake of learning.
I've also discovered failsafe areas of study where, even though I'm not working on the field myself, I'm especially keen to go along and soak up the research of the people who are. I suppose it's looking at my general interests through a linguistic lens (and in doing so, combining everything I love!). It seems to boil down to:
- Politics. There was a fantastic plenary by Ruth Wodak on the tightening grip that linguistic proficiency has on national identity, and how linguistic policing is more and more a part of citizenship issues, particularly in the UK. I think any investigation of language and politics just gives me more ammo to throw at people who say "it's only a word, stop getting so OTT about it" -- language IS politics, guys. I have a funny feeling my own PhD might get a bit ~social justice...and I'm quite looking forward to it.
- Feminism/gender issues. Well, naturally. i-Mean had a great wealth of language, gender and sexuality talks, and I wish I could have seen more.
- The Internet. Being On The Internet, watching talks about Internet linguistics is simultaneously fascinating ("ooh, I've seen people do that!"), embarrassing ("oh god, I do that!") and occasionally frustrating ("that's not what we do!"). If I hadn't fallen in love with variationist sociolinguistics, I think I'd definitely have gone into looking at language on the Internet. It's SO interesting. For now, I have to settle for blogging emotively on the subject.
- Sport. This is a surprising one, for me. I'm not hugely sporty, but I'm a keen spectator. I watch a lot of football in particular (owing to my dad's subtle indoctrination, of course - I still avoid red clothing unconsciously); despite the foulness that often surrounds it, the game and the culture fascinate me. I went to the National Football Museum in April, and it was so interesting to look at it all historically, and be able to appreciate the camaraderie and team spirit it fosters as well as analyse the abusive and sensationalist culture it perpetuates. There were a couple of sport and language talks at i-Mean, and they were incredibly interesting, too.
That last point brings me to the one thing that will most make me adore any talk anybody gives: enthusiasm. Kieran File from the University of Wellington gave a cracking talk about the linguistic makeup of post-match interviews, the performance of media identity by sportspeople, and how this differs between sports and cultures. It was my favourite talk of the conference. The linguistic content itself was stellar, but it was File's enthusiasm for sport, linguistics and the combination of the two that made me love it so much. He was so excited to have interviewed so many of his sporting heroes, and he'd taken something he loved and turned it into his bread and butter - that's basically the dream!
This is why I read people's dissertations, watch TED talks, and listen rapt when anybody starts talking about their work, no matter what it is. If someone is passionate about what they do, then it's a joy to listen to them talk about it. I refer to my favourite Road Dahl quote yet again:
“I began to realise how important it was to be an enthusiast in life. He taught me that if you are interested in something, no matter what it is, go at it full speed ahead. Embrace it with both arms, hug it, love it and above all become passionate about it. Lukewarm is no good. Hot is no good, either. White hot and passionate is the only thing to be.” -- RD, My Uncle Oswald
So, yeah. Thanks i-Mean 2013 - it was a blast!
Saturday, 4 May 2013
Sunday, 21 April 2013
On running, and a change of heart
I loathe running. I think it's possibly a mild form of PTSD after being forced to run cross-country laps in the rain for three years at high school*, but I literally can't think of a worse past-time. Running leaves me sweaty, uncomfortable and miserable. One of my main life mottos is that one should only run when one is late for something or being chased, and the fabulous Ann Perkins pretty much sums up my attitude to recreational running.
I admit, my the fervency of my anti-running agenda sometimes causes me to have quite extreme reactions to public displays of running. I'd occasionally scoff at triumphant tales of distances covered, dismissing them as smug and ridiculous, thinking that, as people obviously can't actually enjoy running, their only reason for doing so must be to make me feel bad about myself. I'm well aware how ridiculous my reaction actually is, but for so long I just thought the culture was one of lycra-clad smugness and needless self-inflicted misery.
Then came this week, where someone possessed the malice and audacity to attack the finish line of the Boston marathon. I was, of course, aghast at the needless lives lost and ruined, and spectated in horror as the manhunts ensued.
I also read about the incident. Several articles have been written by members of the running community, picking apart the particular foulness of attacking an event like the Boston Marathon - something I hadn't really thought about before.
Firstly, I read Richard Askwith's piece in the i, choice quotes from which are posted below:
Then, today, I read Marina Hyde's Guardian piece; talking of her own previously-held cynicism, it closed thusly:
I'm writing this on a six-hour coach from Bristol to Leeds, clawing through my smartphone for any coverage of the London Marathon I can get my eyes on, honestly quite gutted that I can't watch the footage anywhere (though I'm not sure how well I'd cope - I'm choked up just writing this). Who am I, and what have I done with the jogging-averse grumpus I once was? Don't get me wrong, I'm not going to take up jogging on Monday morning, because I still hate the physical act with the burning fire of a thousand suns. But runners? Consider me admonished and converted. I'm sorry I judged you without thinking. What you do is mad and ridiculous and brave and incredible - well done, you magnificent weirdos.
*I wasn't forced to run for three years without stopping, just to clarify.
I admit, my the fervency of my anti-running agenda sometimes causes me to have quite extreme reactions to public displays of running. I'd occasionally scoff at triumphant tales of distances covered, dismissing them as smug and ridiculous, thinking that, as people obviously can't actually enjoy running, their only reason for doing so must be to make me feel bad about myself. I'm well aware how ridiculous my reaction actually is, but for so long I just thought the culture was one of lycra-clad smugness and needless self-inflicted misery.
Then came this week, where someone possessed the malice and audacity to attack the finish line of the Boston marathon. I was, of course, aghast at the needless lives lost and ruined, and spectated in horror as the manhunts ensued.
I also read about the incident. Several articles have been written by members of the running community, picking apart the particular foulness of attacking an event like the Boston Marathon - something I hadn't really thought about before.
Firstly, I read Richard Askwith's piece in the i, choice quotes from which are posted below:
"It's an easy story to forget, if you're a non-runner, and your vision of marathon-running involves skeletal obsessives flogging themselves joylessly to the brink of collapse in pursuit of an arbitrary, solipsistic goal ...
I remember travelling to the start of my first marathon, in London, stomach churning with apprehension, fretting about what pace I should aim for and whether or not I was wearing the right shoes - and realising, minutes from the off, that I'd missed the point. This wasn't a race, it was a party. There were more than 30,000 of us, shuffling through the first miles at little more than a walk, chatting, joking, laughing at the runners in fancy dress - and wondering at the sheer diversity of it. There were people of every age, colour, accent and body shape; every possible charity was being supported. Best of all, every inch of the way was lined with spectators, cheering as though we were proper athletes...
Big-city marathon running is about embracing humanity. It's about enhancing life: your own and other people's, discovering how much you have to give, giving strength to those you cheer on, raising money for charities you believe in, and resolving to come back and do better next year. And here's the thing: there are millions of us, and until the bombers kill every last one of us we will keep running and cheering and urging one another on."It was after this that the particular venom in targeting a marathon started to sink in. An event where thousands of people put one foot in front of another for the joy of it, for charity, for the experience – that's something quite special. Coupled with Bostonian reports of record blood donations, incredible acts of help and bravery in dealing with the injured, and the city's residents opening their homes and hearts to anybody in need, the whole thing seemed to take the form of a metaphorical marathon: a wall of human spirit driving back any attempt at attack.
Then, today, I read Marina Hyde's Guardian piece; talking of her own previously-held cynicism, it closed thusly:
"Consider it a human Grand National on which we can all have a flutter. And it is the ultimate flutter, if you think about it, because you never know when you or yours might need to collect on the communal winnings their charitable efforts produce. Maybe some of the medical equipment that saved those injured in the Boston blasts was, by some circuitous route, funded by Bostonians running in previous marathons. Maybe the work of the medical staff who battled to save the bombing suspect was in part made possible by past donations from ordinary people doing this extraordinary, mad, 26-mile thing. If it was, I can't think of an irony more sublimely illustrative of who's on the side of humanity and right."I was so wrong. I never doubted that completing a marathon was a feat of human endeavour, but I'd completely misjudged the attitudes behind it. I thought them individualist and torturous, when they are, of course, based on community spirit, enthusiasm and pursuing a bonkers goal. A marathon looks a bit like the perfect encapsulation of the ferocity of the human spirit.
I'm writing this on a six-hour coach from Bristol to Leeds, clawing through my smartphone for any coverage of the London Marathon I can get my eyes on, honestly quite gutted that I can't watch the footage anywhere (though I'm not sure how well I'd cope - I'm choked up just writing this). Who am I, and what have I done with the jogging-averse grumpus I once was? Don't get me wrong, I'm not going to take up jogging on Monday morning, because I still hate the physical act with the burning fire of a thousand suns. But runners? Consider me admonished and converted. I'm sorry I judged you without thinking. What you do is mad and ridiculous and brave and incredible - well done, you magnificent weirdos.
*I wasn't forced to run for three years without stopping, just to clarify.
Thursday, 21 March 2013
In pursuit of happiness
As some wise soul once told me, happiness is a skill. Now, anybody who knows me will probably say that I will punch you in the face with my perpetual optimism upon meeting you, and continue this metaphorical assault 97% of the time we spend together. I'm a giddy person. I get super excited when around animals*, I sometimes cry when the night sky looks particularly pretty, and I make this face with alarming frequency:
Thing is, I don't think it's easy to be happy, and I do agree that it's a skill - one I've worked at throughout my life. It goes without saying that happiness is circumstantial, and I'm lucky enough that circumstances haven't been so dire as to prevent happiness for extended periods. I also am lucky enough not to suffer from severe mental health issues, which are also naturally incredibly detrimental to pursuing happiness. But even from a pretty neutral starting ground, I've taught myself to be happy, and it's taken some effort. And, given time, effort has become habit, and habit has become a part of who I am.
I'm hoping this doesn't come across as a wanky self-help guide, because lord knows I don't have the authority or the audacity to pretend I can advise people on their lives in any way. But these are tips, I suppose. Tips that have helped me to be a bit happier in my everyday life. And I wanted to put them somewhere.
1. Take a deep breath
It's super easy, when caught in a bad situation, to freak the fuck out. In fact, you're more than entitled to do so. Heaven knows, I'm a cryer - as Kristen Bell so aptly puts it**, if I'm below a three or above a seven on the emotional scale, I'm probably in tears. And when you're crying hysterically, if someone says 'look on the bright side...', the temptation to punch them in the throat is rather intense. But listen to them: there really are good things that can come out of bad situations, and hearing them from other people not blinded by fear or rage or sadness can really help to rationalise things. Take a deep breath, and really take in the positives, the upsides. Eventually, it means you can start providing that help for yourself -- when something shitty happens, you're able to think of your own upside. Even if it's just one, one small good thing that can come from what seems, on the front of it, to be a complete crock of shite situation, it makes the whole thing less looming. Less all-consuming. There's good there somewhere; find it.
2. Say thank you
It's often the good deeds of others that make us happy, and while I imagine most of us have even the most rudimentary manners, and would thus say thank you, making the effort to do so properly is really, really uplifting. Looking someone in the eyes and saying how much you appreciate them, giving them a hug, or even just firing off an email to a company from which you've received particularly good customer service; a proper thank you makes you realise that, hey, someone did something for you. You, specifically. And it made you happy. And by saying thank you, you're most likely making them happy, too, which radiates even more happiness back to you. Win-win!
3. Find happiness triggers
Finding something that reliably makes you feel better is an absolute godsend. I have a few fail-safes: my 'pop renaissance' iTunes playlist; the BBC's adaptation of Emma from 2009; painting my nails; and pictures and footage of the aurora borealis. Like this one, which is intermittently my desktop background.
If you can, find something concrete that makes you happy, that lifts you inside, even a little bit. Have your happiness triggers nearby, ready to be grabbed when needed. It's almost like getting a hit - injections of happiness as and when you need them. Surrounding myself with reminders of the things and people I love (and the people who love me), allows me a quick pick-me-up when things are a bit rough.
4. Be sad
Yes, this seems rather counterproductive, but hear me out. I may be giddy and ridiculous a lot of the time, but I also get super sad. Like, eat-a-whole-Easter-egg-in-one-day sad. At first I thought the key to being happier was to not be sad, to eschew grumpiness with a firm hand. Thaaaaaat...didn't work. Instead, if I feel low, I own it. I'm a cliché. I listen to sad music and cry in the shower. I retire to my bedroom for fifteen hours of mainlining Doctor Who. I'm ridiculous. But it really helps - not only does the sadness move past much, much quicker when you allow yourself to wallow and then move on, but it's the old logic: you can't know what happiness is without feeling sadness. Happiness feels all the better afterwards, rather than just the default. Embrace your emotional range! Feel ALL THE THINGS!
5. Cut rubbishness loose
This one is simple, but a bit brutal. If anyone makes you feel less than awesome, stop spending time with them. People who exhaust you, who make you apologise for who you are and what you do, cut them out. It's really fucking liberating.
6. Enjoy things unironically
Lucky for you guys, there's an entire blog post in the offing about this ridiculous bullshit culture of ~liking things ironically~ that perpetuates at the moment. Only liking things ironically means you're somehow restricting the happiness you're allowed to feel?? That is INSANE. Like things because you like them! Don't apologise for it! This whole idea that some things can only be liked ironically - Ke$ha, The Only Way Is Essex, text speak - is a manifestation of some kind of nebulous, non-specific culture police telling you that some things have to be liked in one way and some things in another. It really is nuts.
7. Count your blessings
Remember how your gran always used to say this to you, and you'd roll your eyes? Yeah, me too. Then I actually started doing it, literally counting my blessings. Sitting down and making lists of the things that have made me happy in the past week/month/year, writing them on the whiteboard on my wall, reeling them off to myself so I remembered how fucking lucky I am. In fact, I'll do one right now:
Things that have made me happy in the last week
a. My dad being well enough after his surgery to mock me when I fainted at his bedside.
b. Getting super into a new TV show, and sending screechy emails to a friend about it.
c. Not needing my bike lights in the evenings.
d. Meeting fantastic new people this weekend, and spending more time with ones I have grown to adore over the past year.
e. Eating a fuckton of great food with the above.
f. Justin Timberlake making music again.
g. Buying a Letterman jacket with my initial on it.
One great tip I read online is to write little things that have made you happy onto small pieces of paper, and pop them into a jar. At the end of the year (or whenever you need a pick me up!), you can crack open the jar and relive the little, lovely things that made you happy months before.
Sometimes these don’t work, and everyone is different. But they’ve worked for me and, as I forget to do them a lot of the time, a list like this might be, at the very least, something for me to come back to. But, you never know, it might help someone else, too.
*It takes a brave soul to take me to the zoo.
**This is the cutest fucking thing in the universe, seriously. KBell feels me, y'all.
Thing is, I don't think it's easy to be happy, and I do agree that it's a skill - one I've worked at throughout my life. It goes without saying that happiness is circumstantial, and I'm lucky enough that circumstances haven't been so dire as to prevent happiness for extended periods. I also am lucky enough not to suffer from severe mental health issues, which are also naturally incredibly detrimental to pursuing happiness. But even from a pretty neutral starting ground, I've taught myself to be happy, and it's taken some effort. And, given time, effort has become habit, and habit has become a part of who I am.
I'm hoping this doesn't come across as a wanky self-help guide, because lord knows I don't have the authority or the audacity to pretend I can advise people on their lives in any way. But these are tips, I suppose. Tips that have helped me to be a bit happier in my everyday life. And I wanted to put them somewhere.
1. Take a deep breath
It's super easy, when caught in a bad situation, to freak the fuck out. In fact, you're more than entitled to do so. Heaven knows, I'm a cryer - as Kristen Bell so aptly puts it**, if I'm below a three or above a seven on the emotional scale, I'm probably in tears. And when you're crying hysterically, if someone says 'look on the bright side...', the temptation to punch them in the throat is rather intense. But listen to them: there really are good things that can come out of bad situations, and hearing them from other people not blinded by fear or rage or sadness can really help to rationalise things. Take a deep breath, and really take in the positives, the upsides. Eventually, it means you can start providing that help for yourself -- when something shitty happens, you're able to think of your own upside. Even if it's just one, one small good thing that can come from what seems, on the front of it, to be a complete crock of shite situation, it makes the whole thing less looming. Less all-consuming. There's good there somewhere; find it.
2. Say thank you
It's often the good deeds of others that make us happy, and while I imagine most of us have even the most rudimentary manners, and would thus say thank you, making the effort to do so properly is really, really uplifting. Looking someone in the eyes and saying how much you appreciate them, giving them a hug, or even just firing off an email to a company from which you've received particularly good customer service; a proper thank you makes you realise that, hey, someone did something for you. You, specifically. And it made you happy. And by saying thank you, you're most likely making them happy, too, which radiates even more happiness back to you. Win-win!
3. Find happiness triggers
Finding something that reliably makes you feel better is an absolute godsend. I have a few fail-safes: my 'pop renaissance' iTunes playlist; the BBC's adaptation of Emma from 2009; painting my nails; and pictures and footage of the aurora borealis. Like this one, which is intermittently my desktop background.
 |
| The aurora borealis over the Eyjafjallajokull volcano in Iceland, taken by Albert Jakobsson. |
4. Be sad
Yes, this seems rather counterproductive, but hear me out. I may be giddy and ridiculous a lot of the time, but I also get super sad. Like, eat-a-whole-Easter-egg-in-one-day sad. At first I thought the key to being happier was to not be sad, to eschew grumpiness with a firm hand. Thaaaaaat...didn't work. Instead, if I feel low, I own it. I'm a cliché. I listen to sad music and cry in the shower. I retire to my bedroom for fifteen hours of mainlining Doctor Who. I'm ridiculous. But it really helps - not only does the sadness move past much, much quicker when you allow yourself to wallow and then move on, but it's the old logic: you can't know what happiness is without feeling sadness. Happiness feels all the better afterwards, rather than just the default. Embrace your emotional range! Feel ALL THE THINGS!
5. Cut rubbishness loose
This one is simple, but a bit brutal. If anyone makes you feel less than awesome, stop spending time with them. People who exhaust you, who make you apologise for who you are and what you do, cut them out. It's really fucking liberating.
6. Enjoy things unironically
Lucky for you guys, there's an entire blog post in the offing about this ridiculous bullshit culture of ~liking things ironically~ that perpetuates at the moment. Only liking things ironically means you're somehow restricting the happiness you're allowed to feel?? That is INSANE. Like things because you like them! Don't apologise for it! This whole idea that some things can only be liked ironically - Ke$ha, The Only Way Is Essex, text speak - is a manifestation of some kind of nebulous, non-specific culture police telling you that some things have to be liked in one way and some things in another. It really is nuts.
7. Count your blessings
Remember how your gran always used to say this to you, and you'd roll your eyes? Yeah, me too. Then I actually started doing it, literally counting my blessings. Sitting down and making lists of the things that have made me happy in the past week/month/year, writing them on the whiteboard on my wall, reeling them off to myself so I remembered how fucking lucky I am. In fact, I'll do one right now:
Things that have made me happy in the last week
a. My dad being well enough after his surgery to mock me when I fainted at his bedside.
b. Getting super into a new TV show, and sending screechy emails to a friend about it.
c. Not needing my bike lights in the evenings.
d. Meeting fantastic new people this weekend, and spending more time with ones I have grown to adore over the past year.
e. Eating a fuckton of great food with the above.
f. Justin Timberlake making music again.
g. Buying a Letterman jacket with my initial on it.
One great tip I read online is to write little things that have made you happy onto small pieces of paper, and pop them into a jar. At the end of the year (or whenever you need a pick me up!), you can crack open the jar and relive the little, lovely things that made you happy months before.
Sometimes these don’t work, and everyone is different. But they’ve worked for me and, as I forget to do them a lot of the time, a list like this might be, at the very least, something for me to come back to. But, you never know, it might help someone else, too.
The Divine Comedy - In Pursuit of Happiness
*It takes a brave soul to take me to the zoo.
**This is the cutest fucking thing in the universe, seriously. KBell feels me, y'all.
Thursday, 7 March 2013
Onwards!
So, as most people will have seen by now, my Series of Escalating Dares endeavour has sadly been cancelled. My dad is having surgery in the middle of that very week, and I both want and need to be at home with him and Ma. I'm disappointed of course, but there will be plenty of other opportunities to raise money in the future, and in the meantime, potential sponsorship can be directed elsewhere! My housemate Ross is running the BUPA 10k for UNICEF, and you can sponsor him here, and my (very brave!) friend Tom is doing both the London Marathon and the Three Peaks Challenge in aid of the Bobby Moore Fund, which donates to colon cancer research, and can be sponsored here. Brilliant guys, amazing causes.
Elsewhere in my life, I am hurling myself headlong into other projects, and am thus hijacking my own blog to pimp out my newest project. Myself and Dr Chris Montgomery at the University of Sheffield will be presenting a paper at the i-Mean Language and Identity conference in April (eee!), looking at accent and identity in the Potteries/Stoke-on-Trent accent.
That's where you (might) come in! We need as many Stoke folk to take this accent survey as possible - it only last about five minutes, and is completely anonymous. If you're a local, please do give it a go, and if you could share it with friends and family too, that would be amazing.
Thanking you kindly!
Elsewhere in my life, I am hurling myself headlong into other projects, and am thus hijacking my own blog to pimp out my newest project. Myself and Dr Chris Montgomery at the University of Sheffield will be presenting a paper at the i-Mean Language and Identity conference in April (eee!), looking at accent and identity in the Potteries/Stoke-on-Trent accent.
That's where you (might) come in! We need as many Stoke folk to take this accent survey as possible - it only last about five minutes, and is completely anonymous. If you're a local, please do give it a go, and if you could share it with friends and family too, that would be amazing.
Thanking you kindly!
Tuesday, 26 February 2013
Sheer, calculated silliness
On Friday night, I was lucky enough to snag a last-minute invitation to something I've always, always wanted to go to: a murder mystery party. My delightful housemate Ross was going, and there was a last minute cancellation. I'm not sure whether I'm proud or embarrassed of this, but I was able to throw together a costume in twenty minutes, and became Babs Crayfish: ex-nightclub hostess, aspiring actress, and girlfriend of an infamous gangster - complete with false beauty spot and glittery platform shoes. Along with the insatiable Oliver Steed, thespian and sleazebag (commonly known as Ross), we wandered across to our host's house (Brian Sewer, wine critic for the Times and general toff). We were joined by Charlie 'Champagne' Bunsen, aforementioned gangster boyfriend; Terence Shrimp, East-End wideboy and photographer; Tamara Fara-Bucktooth, socialite and girlfriend of the soon-to-be-deceased Lord Michael Jaggard; Mary-Jane Faithless, international pop-star and ex-girlfriend of said Lord; Martin X, American political revolutionary; and Kitty Killer, ruthless journalist and biographer.
We spent the evening around 80% in character, and everyone made a fantastic effort – wine flowed (a LOT of wine, if my head on Saturday was anything to go by), we had a fabulous three-course dinner, and worked our way through the evidence and dialogue provided. It was exceptionally hilarious, with some truly questionable accents (mentioning no names, Shrimp) and plenty of exaggerated gasps and vocal accusations. Having never been to this kind of thing before, I wondered how into it people would really get, and whether our natural, British uptightness would get in the way. I was absolutely blown away – everyone hurled themselves into it and milked the characters for all their worth; I haven't laughed that hard in a long time, it was a pure delight. And, triumphant host that he was, Andrew/Brian Sewer escaped unaccused and got away with murdering the Lord Jaggard – nobody suspected the stuck-up wine critic, despite his lack of alibi!
Through muggy hangovers, Ross and I spent a good deal of Saturday morning reflecting on just how fantastic an evening it was. Inhibitions were cast aside, embarrassment forgotten and everybody just went for it. It ended up being one of the best nights out we'd ever had. It was so refreshing, we remarked, for a group of us to just be so silly together for hours and hours.
It reminded me of why I love things like fancy dress parties -- it removes a lot of the pressure from social gatherings. I love spending time with people, but I'm often conscious of the way I look, act, and come across. Fancy dress and murder mystery parties remove that pressure, that weird sexualisation of events; they put everyone on an equally ridiculous playing field and make sure the night is fun and frolicksome as soon as it kicks off. It's odd, how I feel more comfortable in fancy dress than in my own clothes, but there it is. I just relish the opportunity to be silly.
This whole thing links into one of the best plot points from my favourite play/film: The History Boys. In Hector's general studies classes, his pupils learn the French subjunctive, the poems of Auden and the songs of Edith Piaf. However, they also learn the ending of Brief Encounter off by heart, and can perform a sterling rendition of When I'm Cleaning Windows. When explaining it, Hector says "it's an antidote; sheer, calculated silliness".
I love that. Taking the time off from the important stuff, the deep stuff, the grown up stuff like exams and bills and politics to just be silly. To recapture that giddy feeling of being a kid and not giving a toss what people thought, not caring about tomorrow. Putting on a silly costume, singing loudly and dancing wildly, cartwheeling in public. Particularly in a time where this exhausting 'ironic enjoyment' is depressingly prevalent, where it's only okay to enjoy certain things in a post-modern way, listing them as a 'guilty pleasure', I feel like time to be silly is necessary.
Admittedly, I am much more silly than a lot of people. I dance in public with alarming frequency and have mainly been listening to Little Mix's album on repeat in the last few weeks. But regardless, I feel like it's important to take the time to be immature again, to be silly, to not take things so seriously. Growing old is mandatory; growing up is optional, etc. I know being mature is important, but it's just as important to let go. Be a bit stupid. "You're only young once, but you can be immature indefinitely" - Ogden Nash.
On that note, I bring this back to my latest silly endeavour: A Series of Escalating Dares for Comic Relief. I've had a few great suggestions for dares so far, but I still need more! Some examples, for inspiration, are below:
-- Dress as a bear and find 50 strangers to take growly, bearface pictures with you.
-- Dress as a Viking and undertake a raid of York complete with (carboard) Viking long-ship/dress as an Anglo-Saxon/Roman and defend York against all comers from the walls.
-- Treat any journey you undertake as an obstacle course.
-- Act like a cod Cold War-era spy (trenchcoat, sunglasses, shifty eyes, non-sequiturs, speaking only in code)
-- You can't speak, only sing. Operatic rules apply.
-- Spend a day speaking only in One Direction lyrics.
-- Narrate your day as if you're narrating the happenings of the Big Brother house.
-- Go to work in your pyjamas.
-- Walk backwards. All day.
-- Travel around all day using increasingly ridiculous forms of transport: unicycle, rollerskates, hula hoop, cartwheels, etc.
-- Serenade One Direction with their own songs (obviously this would require the presence of One Direction)
-- Walk around all day in white clothing and carry pens, allowing everyone to graffiti anything they want on you/your skin, and you have to keep it on all day.
-- Dress up like a cat, possibly in your Top Cat costume, full face paint, ears etc and go and buy cat food and milk, you must meow at the person that serves you as you are being served.
-- Stand on a bench in a busy place, city centre or something, and sing "I'm a little teapot" as loud as you can, with actions of course.
-- Go to a pole dancing class dressed as a pole....completely covered in tin foil...and offer to be the pole.
 |
| Babs Crayfish and the insatiable Oliver Steed – and his painted nails (photo by Andrew) |
Through muggy hangovers, Ross and I spent a good deal of Saturday morning reflecting on just how fantastic an evening it was. Inhibitions were cast aside, embarrassment forgotten and everybody just went for it. It ended up being one of the best nights out we'd ever had. It was so refreshing, we remarked, for a group of us to just be so silly together for hours and hours.
It reminded me of why I love things like fancy dress parties -- it removes a lot of the pressure from social gatherings. I love spending time with people, but I'm often conscious of the way I look, act, and come across. Fancy dress and murder mystery parties remove that pressure, that weird sexualisation of events; they put everyone on an equally ridiculous playing field and make sure the night is fun and frolicksome as soon as it kicks off. It's odd, how I feel more comfortable in fancy dress than in my own clothes, but there it is. I just relish the opportunity to be silly.
This whole thing links into one of the best plot points from my favourite play/film: The History Boys. In Hector's general studies classes, his pupils learn the French subjunctive, the poems of Auden and the songs of Edith Piaf. However, they also learn the ending of Brief Encounter off by heart, and can perform a sterling rendition of When I'm Cleaning Windows. When explaining it, Hector says "it's an antidote; sheer, calculated silliness".
I love that. Taking the time off from the important stuff, the deep stuff, the grown up stuff like exams and bills and politics to just be silly. To recapture that giddy feeling of being a kid and not giving a toss what people thought, not caring about tomorrow. Putting on a silly costume, singing loudly and dancing wildly, cartwheeling in public. Particularly in a time where this exhausting 'ironic enjoyment' is depressingly prevalent, where it's only okay to enjoy certain things in a post-modern way, listing them as a 'guilty pleasure', I feel like time to be silly is necessary.
Admittedly, I am much more silly than a lot of people. I dance in public with alarming frequency and have mainly been listening to Little Mix's album on repeat in the last few weeks. But regardless, I feel like it's important to take the time to be immature again, to be silly, to not take things so seriously. Growing old is mandatory; growing up is optional, etc. I know being mature is important, but it's just as important to let go. Be a bit stupid. "You're only young once, but you can be immature indefinitely" - Ogden Nash.
On that note, I bring this back to my latest silly endeavour: A Series of Escalating Dares for Comic Relief. I've had a few great suggestions for dares so far, but I still need more! Some examples, for inspiration, are below:
-- Dress as a bear and find 50 strangers to take growly, bearface pictures with you.
-- Dress as a Viking and undertake a raid of York complete with (carboard) Viking long-ship/dress as an Anglo-Saxon/Roman and defend York against all comers from the walls.
-- Treat any journey you undertake as an obstacle course.
-- Act like a cod Cold War-era spy (trenchcoat, sunglasses, shifty eyes, non-sequiturs, speaking only in code)
-- You can't speak, only sing. Operatic rules apply.
-- Spend a day speaking only in One Direction lyrics.
-- Narrate your day as if you're narrating the happenings of the Big Brother house.
-- Go to work in your pyjamas.
-- Walk backwards. All day.
-- Travel around all day using increasingly ridiculous forms of transport: unicycle, rollerskates, hula hoop, cartwheels, etc.
-- Serenade One Direction with their own songs (obviously this would require the presence of One Direction)
-- Walk around all day in white clothing and carry pens, allowing everyone to graffiti anything they want on you/your skin, and you have to keep it on all day.
-- Dress up like a cat, possibly in your Top Cat costume, full face paint, ears etc and go and buy cat food and milk, you must meow at the person that serves you as you are being served.
-- Stand on a bench in a busy place, city centre or something, and sing "I'm a little teapot" as loud as you can, with actions of course.
-- Go to a pole dancing class dressed as a pole....completely covered in tin foil...and offer to be the pole.
Any other suggestions? Let me know! I'll be posting the polls for people to pick their favourites soon, and then...roll on March 11th! Sheer calculated silliness: the charity edition.
Tuesday, 8 January 2013
End of year 2012 -- feelings and joy
So, 2012, in many ways, has been an absolute shitter. Like, the worst. 2012 can basically go and fuck itself, all told. HOWEVER, I really don't want the crappy parts of the year to be the things that stay with me, as there was a huge amount of joy too, and I'm still incredibly lucky. I learned a lot, had some brilliant adventures, and generally enthused about a lot of stuff. And so, to finish the year in the only way I know how: a sentimental blog post about the things that were great about 2012.
My family
For obvious reasons, it's been a really tough year for the Leaches. But it's important to take good things from bad situations, and if there's anything I've learnt from all this shite, it's how to properly appreciate my incredible family. I know they say you can't choose your family, but even if I could, I would absolutely pick mine again and again. They strong and smart and fun, supportive and sweet and ridiculous, and the most wonderful stone cold pack of weirdos I could ever hope to ever share my DNA with. It shouldn't take family disasters to make you realise how much your parents and siblings mean to you, but I'll take it.
Pop music
I don't have a particularly 'cool' taste in music and never have, but 2012 was the year I finally, properly said 'balls to that' and decided that I don't give a shit any more. There's a longer, more ridiculous blog post in the offing on this topic, but in short, I could not care less that I love pop music. McFly are one of my favourite bands. Call Me Maybe is one of the best songs of the year*. One Direction's album is pretty damn excellent. Stuff it all - I'm a teenie bopper for life and I care naught for judgement. (Ohhh, you just wait for my soundtrack of the year. Consider yourselves warned.)
The Olympic and Paralympic Games
I didn't really have anything above normal Olympics-based excitement before it all kicked off, but as soon as I watched that magnificent, barmy showstopper of an opening ceremony I was hooked, and swept away on a tidal wave of sexy patriotism and crying over medal ceremonies. The celebration of working class Britain, the of endless dedication to a cause, of sportspeople not swathed in scandal and corruption. Wiggo's sideburns, Rutherford's fingers, Farah's Mobot and a veritable army of fierce, fantastic ladies doing themselves, their families, and the nation proud. It was a summer of staggering world achievement, Britain in the spotlight and a kind of enthusiasm and community spirit that's been in decline lately.
I'm going to attempt a brief top-five Olympics highlights, but it's really just five brilliant Olympics moments off the top of my head and there are probably a million I've forgotten. But anyway:
1. PAPA LE CLOS
2. Tom Daley's medal celebration
3. Epke Zonderland's bonkers-incredible high bar routine
4. Mo Farah doing the lightning bolt, and Usain Bolt doing the Mobot
5. Obama and McKayla Maroney doing the 'not impressed' face
Also, the Olympics brought us the joys of Ryan Lochte's twitter and general existence, which I will never not find entirely hilarious. WAKE UP AND SMELL THE GARDENS.
Stoke-based epiphanies
Better explained in this waffly business here, it's been wonderful to find a kind of purpose for my academic future. I want to analyse the shit out of Stokie speakers, their accents, how their speech is entwined with their cultural history, and I want to do it forever and ever amen.
Thinking about things
As has been evidenced in a fair few ranty blog posts, this year has been one for me having feelings about things and issues and serious business stuff. Well, I always have feelings about things, but 2012 has been a year for paying attention to what people are saying and writing, learning from them and trying to take it on board, as well as trying to speak up when I feel the need. The Internet is full of informed, sensible, tolerant and smart people, and I can't even begin to list the articles which have made a difference to my opinons about a wide range of topics. I hope 2013 continues the trend of reading everything, evaluating my beliefs and opinions, and trying not to be a dick.
Colours!
It's an odd one, but those of you who know me will know I have the fashion sense of a colourblind clown, aka. ALL THE COLOURS ALL THE TIME. This has...escalated this year, and my cornea-burning fashion sense has gotten more and more ridiculous. And I love it. I honestly don't feel myself when I'm not wearing some kind of obscene colour combination. It's actually gotten to the point where excellent friends will tweet/text me when they're wearing a particularly colourful outfit and it's marvellous.
Enthusiasm
Seriously, the only thing that has got me through this monstrous year is being able to be enthusiastic about little things - a new episode of Doctor Who, a trip to the beach, a pub quiz. I'm so grateful for the fun stuff I get to do, for the opportunities I'm given, for the people I get to spend my time with. I'm a lucky bastard, all told. Thanking everyone individually would be time-consuming/self-serving/boring, so I will just go for a blanket THANK YOU to every single person in my life. I love you all. Yes, even you. And especially you.
Here's to 2013, all!
*This justification of why Call Me Maybe is the song of 2012 is absolutely brilliant. "This is what pop is for, right? A Canadian Idol refugee nobody ever heard of conquers the planet with a diabolically brilliant blast of teen lust"
My family
For obvious reasons, it's been a really tough year for the Leaches. But it's important to take good things from bad situations, and if there's anything I've learnt from all this shite, it's how to properly appreciate my incredible family. I know they say you can't choose your family, but even if I could, I would absolutely pick mine again and again. They strong and smart and fun, supportive and sweet and ridiculous, and the most wonderful stone cold pack of weirdos I could ever hope to ever share my DNA with. It shouldn't take family disasters to make you realise how much your parents and siblings mean to you, but I'll take it.
Pop music
I don't have a particularly 'cool' taste in music and never have, but 2012 was the year I finally, properly said 'balls to that' and decided that I don't give a shit any more. There's a longer, more ridiculous blog post in the offing on this topic, but in short, I could not care less that I love pop music. McFly are one of my favourite bands. Call Me Maybe is one of the best songs of the year*. One Direction's album is pretty damn excellent. Stuff it all - I'm a teenie bopper for life and I care naught for judgement. (Ohhh, you just wait for my soundtrack of the year. Consider yourselves warned.)
One thing pop music is good for is remembering that somewhere inside us is the potential for unvanquishable joy." — John Darnielle
The Olympic and Paralympic Games
I didn't really have anything above normal Olympics-based excitement before it all kicked off, but as soon as I watched that magnificent, barmy showstopper of an opening ceremony I was hooked, and swept away on a tidal wave of sexy patriotism and crying over medal ceremonies. The celebration of working class Britain, the of endless dedication to a cause, of sportspeople not swathed in scandal and corruption. Wiggo's sideburns, Rutherford's fingers, Farah's Mobot and a veritable army of fierce, fantastic ladies doing themselves, their families, and the nation proud. It was a summer of staggering world achievement, Britain in the spotlight and a kind of enthusiasm and community spirit that's been in decline lately.
 |
| image source |
1. PAPA LE CLOS
2. Tom Daley's medal celebration
3. Epke Zonderland's bonkers-incredible high bar routine
4. Mo Farah doing the lightning bolt, and Usain Bolt doing the Mobot
5. Obama and McKayla Maroney doing the 'not impressed' face
Also, the Olympics brought us the joys of Ryan Lochte's twitter and general existence, which I will never not find entirely hilarious. WAKE UP AND SMELL THE GARDENS.
Stoke-based epiphanies
Better explained in this waffly business here, it's been wonderful to find a kind of purpose for my academic future. I want to analyse the shit out of Stokie speakers, their accents, how their speech is entwined with their cultural history, and I want to do it forever and ever amen.
Thinking about things
As has been evidenced in a fair few ranty blog posts, this year has been one for me having feelings about things and issues and serious business stuff. Well, I always have feelings about things, but 2012 has been a year for paying attention to what people are saying and writing, learning from them and trying to take it on board, as well as trying to speak up when I feel the need. The Internet is full of informed, sensible, tolerant and smart people, and I can't even begin to list the articles which have made a difference to my opinons about a wide range of topics. I hope 2013 continues the trend of reading everything, evaluating my beliefs and opinions, and trying not to be a dick.
Colours!
It's an odd one, but those of you who know me will know I have the fashion sense of a colourblind clown, aka. ALL THE COLOURS ALL THE TIME. This has...escalated this year, and my cornea-burning fashion sense has gotten more and more ridiculous. And I love it. I honestly don't feel myself when I'm not wearing some kind of obscene colour combination. It's actually gotten to the point where excellent friends will tweet/text me when they're wearing a particularly colourful outfit and it's marvellous.
Enthusiasm
Seriously, the only thing that has got me through this monstrous year is being able to be enthusiastic about little things - a new episode of Doctor Who, a trip to the beach, a pub quiz. I'm so grateful for the fun stuff I get to do, for the opportunities I'm given, for the people I get to spend my time with. I'm a lucky bastard, all told. Thanking everyone individually would be time-consuming/self-serving/boring, so I will just go for a blanket THANK YOU to every single person in my life. I love you all. Yes, even you. And especially you.
Here's to 2013, all!
*This justification of why Call Me Maybe is the song of 2012 is absolutely brilliant. "This is what pop is for, right? A Canadian Idol refugee nobody ever heard of conquers the planet with a diabolically brilliant blast of teen lust"
Sunday, 6 January 2013
Pop culture 2012
Ah, here it is - the most vacuous of my end-of-year blogs. Actucally, scratch that. New year's resolution: stop being embarrassed about being super into television and films and people and stuff! Here's a pop culture roundup of the year, featuring FEELINGS and mild objectification.
Telly of 2012
I know my tellyfeelings can often be a little rambly and ridiculous, and I've covered them already at several points throughout the year. Therefore, to shake it up a bit: TELLYFEELINGS HAIKUS.
1. The Hour
have faces ever
been so excellent? never.
shut up, i can't cope.
intrigue! sexiness!
glorious fifties fashion!
please just watch it. please.
2. The Fabulous Baker Brothers
hey herbert brothers
that is not how you sibling!
but ... keep on keepin' on
3. The Great British Bake Off
sweet middle-class folk
in a tent, with mel and sue
AND CAKE. count me in.
4. Elementary
jonny lee miller
and also lucy liu. that's
it. that's the haiku.
5. Teen Wolf
not as bad as the
name suggests. in fact, it's a
darling of a show!
yes it is about
teenage werewolves, but just give
it a try. go on.
6. The Thick of It
oh! what a gift, this
delicious coalition.
fuckety bye, show.
7. Fresh Meat
when did i begin
caring about these pissheads?
oh, found families.
8. Being Human
vampire; werewolf; ghost.
new faces, new feelings, and
long-held excellence
9. The Class
shows that are cancelled
in their prime, and so i cry:
case in fucking point
10. Me & Mrs Jones
more cancellations
this time depriving me of
robert sheehan's eyes!!
Oh god, this is the worst method of recommending TV shows. But seriously, these were all fab, and you should watch them if you get the chance. Highly commended: Parks and Recreation, Horrible Histories, Cougar Town, New Girl, 30 Rock (It got good again you guys!), Modern Family, The Mindy Project, Rev.
TV moment of 2012
WORLD WAR II BOYBAND PILOTS aka, Horrible Histories do a brilliant song about RAF pilots and I expire a little.
Gentlefolk of 2012
L-R, by row: Tom and Henry Herbert, Dylan O'Brien, Ben Willbond, Ben Whishaw, Jonny Lee Miller
Bobby Hicks, Jean Dujardin, That Boyband (don't look at me)
Will Featherstone, Andrew Gower, Mat Baynton, Larry Rickard
(well now, 2012 was a handsome year, wasn't it?)
Gentlefolk of 2012: the Olympics Boyfriends edition
Greg Rutherford, Marcel Nguyen, Jonathan and Alastair Brownlee, Jason Kenny, Louis Smith
Pierre Yves Beny, Michael Jamieson, Fabien Hambuchen, Epke Zonderland, Tom Daley
(medals are sexy, okay?)
Lady heroes of 2012
Amy Poehler -- I just love bossy women. I could be around them all day. To me, bossy is not a pejorative term at all. It means somebody’s passionate and engaged and ambitious and doesn’t mind leading, like, “All right, everybody, now we go over here. All right, now this happens.”
Lucy Liu -- It feels really good to be always breaking down walls and starting something new and trying something new. You never know – it’s hit and miss. It’s nice to be able to portray an Asian-American on camera without having an accent, or without having to be spoofy. And I think that’s a big step forward, because there are still representations of people that are more comedic. And that’s not what I’m playing. I’m just playing somebody who represents anyone else who would be living in America or outside of it, who is just a regular person.
Charlene Kaye -- Okay, no quote here because I can't find one, but everyone in the world should purchase Charlene's album, Animal Love, as it's absolutely stellar. I saw her live this year and it was practically a religious experience.
Emma Stone -- You're only human. You live once and life is wonderful so eat the damn red velvet cupcake.
Mindy Kaling -- I’m the kind of person who would rather get my hopes up really high and watch them get dashed to pieces than wisely keep my expectations at bay and hope they are exceeded. This quality has made me a needy and theatrical friend, but has given me a spectacularly dramatic emotional life.
Zooey Deschanel -- I’m just being myself. There is not an ounce of me that believes any of that crap that they say. We can’t be feminine and be feminists and be successful? I want to be a fucking feminist and wear a fucking Peter Pan collar. So fucking what?
Emma Pallant -- Again, no quote here. I just wish I could show everyone her Seven Ages of Man speech. Because SERIOUSLY.
Romola Garai -- I am passionate. I’m passionate about everything - people, art, politics, life in general. People find passion embarrassing. It’s more acceptable, generally, to be amusing.
*Fun fact! This is not the first time I've used my 'haikus' tag. I am so sorry that this is a blog you guys read.
Telly of 2012
I know my tellyfeelings can often be a little rambly and ridiculous, and I've covered them already at several points throughout the year. Therefore, to shake it up a bit: TELLYFEELINGS HAIKUS.
1. The Hour
have faces ever
been so excellent? never.
shut up, i can't cope.
intrigue! sexiness!
glorious fifties fashion!
please just watch it. please.
2. The Fabulous Baker Brothers
hey herbert brothers
that is not how you sibling!
but ... keep on keepin' on
3. The Great British Bake Off
sweet middle-class folk
in a tent, with mel and sue
AND CAKE. count me in.
4. Elementary
jonny lee miller
and also lucy liu. that's
it. that's the haiku.
5. Teen Wolf
not as bad as the
name suggests. in fact, it's a
darling of a show!
yes it is about
teenage werewolves, but just give
it a try. go on.
6. The Thick of It
oh! what a gift, this
delicious coalition.
fuckety bye, show.
7. Fresh Meat
when did i begin
caring about these pissheads?
oh, found families.
8. Being Human
vampire; werewolf; ghost.
new faces, new feelings, and
long-held excellence
9. The Class
shows that are cancelled
in their prime, and so i cry:
case in fucking point
10. Me & Mrs Jones
more cancellations
this time depriving me of
robert sheehan's eyes!!
Oh god, this is the worst method of recommending TV shows. But seriously, these were all fab, and you should watch them if you get the chance. Highly commended: Parks and Recreation, Horrible Histories, Cougar Town, New Girl, 30 Rock (It got good again you guys!), Modern Family, The Mindy Project, Rev.
TV moment of 2012
WORLD WAR II BOYBAND PILOTS aka, Horrible Histories do a brilliant song about RAF pilots and I expire a little.
Gentlefolk of 2012
L-R, by row: Tom and Henry Herbert, Dylan O'Brien, Ben Willbond, Ben Whishaw, Jonny Lee Miller
Bobby Hicks, Jean Dujardin, That Boyband (don't look at me)
Will Featherstone, Andrew Gower, Mat Baynton, Larry Rickard
(well now, 2012 was a handsome year, wasn't it?)
Gentlefolk of 2012: the Olympics Boyfriends edition
Greg Rutherford, Marcel Nguyen, Jonathan and Alastair Brownlee, Jason Kenny, Louis Smith
Pierre Yves Beny, Michael Jamieson, Fabien Hambuchen, Epke Zonderland, Tom Daley
(medals are sexy, okay?)
Lady heroes of 2012
Amy Poehler -- I just love bossy women. I could be around them all day. To me, bossy is not a pejorative term at all. It means somebody’s passionate and engaged and ambitious and doesn’t mind leading, like, “All right, everybody, now we go over here. All right, now this happens.”
Lucy Liu -- It feels really good to be always breaking down walls and starting something new and trying something new. You never know – it’s hit and miss. It’s nice to be able to portray an Asian-American on camera without having an accent, or without having to be spoofy. And I think that’s a big step forward, because there are still representations of people that are more comedic. And that’s not what I’m playing. I’m just playing somebody who represents anyone else who would be living in America or outside of it, who is just a regular person.
Charlene Kaye -- Okay, no quote here because I can't find one, but everyone in the world should purchase Charlene's album, Animal Love, as it's absolutely stellar. I saw her live this year and it was practically a religious experience.
Emma Stone -- You're only human. You live once and life is wonderful so eat the damn red velvet cupcake.
Mindy Kaling -- I’m the kind of person who would rather get my hopes up really high and watch them get dashed to pieces than wisely keep my expectations at bay and hope they are exceeded. This quality has made me a needy and theatrical friend, but has given me a spectacularly dramatic emotional life.
Zooey Deschanel -- I’m just being myself. There is not an ounce of me that believes any of that crap that they say. We can’t be feminine and be feminists and be successful? I want to be a fucking feminist and wear a fucking Peter Pan collar. So fucking what?
Emma Pallant -- Again, no quote here. I just wish I could show everyone her Seven Ages of Man speech. Because SERIOUSLY.
Romola Garai -- I am passionate. I’m passionate about everything - people, art, politics, life in general. People find passion embarrassing. It’s more acceptable, generally, to be amusing.
*Fun fact! This is not the first time I've used my 'haikus' tag. I am so sorry that this is a blog you guys read.
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