The Masses vs The Classes

Even when it’s all finished, the X-Factor can’t help but stay at the forefront of public consciousness. Simon Cowell is riled. Dave Gorman is fed-up. And 798,446 others are excited. But why?

That’s right, it’s the race for the Christmas number one which (shock, horror) for the firt time in years may not be as cut and dried as you would think.

For those of you who are not aware, some bright spark came up with an idea to stop the X-Factor winner’s single getting to it’s inevitable place at the top of the UK charts this Christmas. The idea is simple….. try to outsell the X-factor single. So a suitable track was chosen, namely Killing in the Name by Rage Against the Machine, and a Facebook group was set up encouraging people to buy it in the weeks leading up to Christmas. Pretty much like Cliff Richard did in order to get Millennium Prayer to the top of charts several years ago. The aim is, obviously, to sell more copies of RATM than the X-Factor, thus publicly voicing our disapproval at Simon Cowell and his monoly of the charts, particularly around Christmas. A fine sentiment, I’m sure you agree. But will it make any difference?

Even if (and it is a big if) the X-Factor song is not number one at Christmas it is unlikely to make Simon Cowell sit up and say “hey, do you know what. Public opinion is obviously strong so I’ll stop churning out these pop songs each year”. No. He’s more likely to punish us inventing a mind control device and beaming the X-Factor directly into our brains for 52 weeks every year. Via needles through our eyeballs. While killing a puppy. The evil bastard.

So what is the point you might say? Especially when you consider that Killing in the Name is released on Sony Records, so any money made goes directly to Sony and Simon Cowell anyway. This means we are venting our frustration at Simon Cowell by giving him loads more money. Huh? There’s a fail waiting to happen. It’s a good thing that Simon Cowell is more interested in nurturing talent than making a quick profit. Oh, wait, hang on, I’ve just found that fail.

Anyway, back to the point. The arguments against this campaign are mounting up. But we already know that it won’t change things, so why do it? Because, unlike in X-Factor land, it’s not about the money. It’s about people coming together for a common goal, and uniting, and being heard. 10 years ago something like this would have seemed impossible. But thanks to the power of the internet it is now possible to gather vast numbers of people together in a short space of time. Social networking? I bloody love it. But it’s up to us how we choose to use it.

We can use the internet to whine about things, or we can join together and take action, no matter how small, and make that point. Yes it’s insignificant in the grand scheme of things, but so was “that” Daily Mail article by Jan Moir and look what we achieved there. What is significant is the ability of people to come together and unite for a cause they believe in and each contribute, no matter how small the effort, towards the outcome.

Whether the campaign works or not remains to be seen, but whatever the outcome I’ll be proud to say I tried to buck the system. Long live people power.

The Revenge of the Pineapples

So, the Jedward bandwagon marches on once more and I, for one, am over the moon at this.

Shows like the X-Factor, and Pop Idol before it, have been systematically churning out identikit pop stars for so long, that I can’t remember the last Christmas number 1 that wasn’t Cowell produced. The sole purpose these shows seem to serve is to pump out a happy-smiley retard to make a quick bit of cash and who will have dropped from public consciousness by Easter.

Jedward provide an antidote to this. Yes, they’re still smiling retards (possibly more so that any who have come before them) but they are not your average X-Factor finalists, let alone winners. They can’t sing, at least not by any semblance of professional standards, and they struggle to dance, particularly in time with one another. They can’t even jump through a paper barrier without almost falling over.

They have divided opinion and have shown the public as the spoilt cry babies they truly are. Boo-hoo, Jedward are through instead of some other non-entity. Boo-hoo, it’s not fair. That’s democracy my friends, read it and weep. If you don’t like it exercise your vote and do something about it, don’t bitch to me via your whiny Facebook status.

Now, it’s taken a while for me to actually start enjoying this years X-Factor and to be honest, if Jedward had not been involved I probably still wouldn’t care. I’m not ashamed to say that I tend to watch X-Factor every year. Not because I care about the acts, because I don’t. But because I love the auditions and anyone who says they don’t enjoy watching a bunch of deluded cats anuses make monumental tits of themselves is clearly lying. Two words; Onka Judge. If you don’t remember him, type those words into YouTube and see what comes up.

Once the auditions are over and the sensible business starts, the appeal starts to wear off. However, I am bound by my wife to watch until the bitter end. I’m not convinced, but she tells me it was part of our wedding vows. The saving grace is that there are usually two or three acts left who have something about them. The so called ‘X-Factor’ that the show promises. This can make the show a little more bearable and worth staying in for. However, this year I can’t even say that. I can’t say that there is anything other than bland acts left, and that has been the case since day one. No-one stands out. No-one is special. No-one except Jedward, and for all the wrong reasons. Not because they are so good, but because they are so bad. Do you think they would have got so far if there was actually any decent talent left in the competition? No. They have got this far because of the lack of any credible alternative.

The X-Factor’s appeal is starting to wane. The cracks are starting to show and the public have noticed. They are guilty of producing so many identical acts over the years that it has become stale and boring. Jedward are the antithesis to this. The shot of drugs in the ball-bag that we have been craving for. Love them or hate them they are the only act that anyone has been talking about this year. The only act that the average person in the street could name. And, I expect come April next year, the only act anyone will remember.

So hats off to the grinning buffoons. They’ve taken so much abuse this year, from the judges and public alike, that most other acts would have run home crying to their mums. But they haven’t complained. Not once. They’ve come back week after week for more. So as far as I’m concerned, they deserve any success they get.

And whether they go out next week or make it to the final, you can guarantee that revenge will be sweet as their version of Ice Ice Baby sails to the Christmas number 1 spot. Hurray for Jedward.

I’m Not Gay, But My Boyfriend Is

Last week, a post on Twitter caught my eye. It went like this:

“Fucking hell, Maine. You shot down gay marriage? http://is.gd/4N4jk If someone told me I couldn’t marry the person I loved, I’d be pissed.”

The article referenced concerns a recent state vote in Maine, US, which could have effectively removed the law banning same sex marriages. A vote that ended with 53% of voters successfully appealing against removing the ban.

My initial reaction was one of surprise and disappointment. Surely in this day and age where we are encouraged to be as open and understanding of others as possible, even to the extent that our own rights often take a back seat, surely no-one would object to two people who love each other getting married, regardless of sexual orientation?

I decided to look into this further. In the article, as well as details on the Maine vote, it also indicated that California has recently held a similar vote with an identical result. That’s a straight two for two for the morally repressed. But wait, how many of the other 48 states have similar laws that ban same sex marriage? This may surprise you, I know it did me, but only five of the US states allow same sex marriage, and in these five states legislation has been amended to allow it. In contrast 31 states have in recent years put the gay marriage issue to the public vote and in each and every instance the vote has resulted in a ban. 31! All this from the so-called ‘land of the free’.

Now, I’m not an idiot. As sad as it is, I fully understand that there will always be prejudice against homosexuals. Nor do I think that this is a problem restricted to America. But I thought that we had progressed enough to realise that people are different in all walks of life, and that tolerance of others should be encouraged. But it seems like the good people of America are standing up and saying ‘fuck tolerance’. Not only are they saying that, but they are teaching their children that it’s OK to say it. Surely this isn’t right on any level?

With the storm and subsequent fall-out caused by the introduction of Proposition 8 in California in 2008, it would appear that the common argument against legalising gay marriage is that it might mean teaching it in schools. People don’t like this. But why not? Schools these days go out of their way to teach children about religions other than Christianity. We are all being encouraged to be more tolerant of people irrespective of age, sex and colour. In fact, there are laws in this country that not only support this, but that make it a criminal offence to discriminate on this basis. So why is it still OK to discriminate on the basis of sexual orientation?

Teaching children about gay relationships can only be a good thing, so what are the parents worried about? Are they scared that teaching their children that gay people exist will turn them gay themselves? But that in itself is a ludicrous thought. You can’t change someone’s sexual preference by suggestion. It’s not like getting them to try broccoli. I learnt about the World Wars when I was 11, but I don’t go around assassinating royalty or attending Nazi rallies.

Not only do I think that teaching same sex relationships in schools is a good thing, I think it is essential. The news is full of acts of hatred and violence against gay people based solely on the fact that they are gay. It seems to be the last bastion of the bigot. The only hate crime that is not classed as a hate crime. The only way to change this is through education. Making it legal for gay people to marry will not in itself change this, but by educating young people that gay couples exist, and that being gay is not wrong, or taboo, will hopefully be enough to make them question their parents when they preach against same sex relationships.

It makes me sad and ashamed that we still live in a world that discriminates against people on such a widespread and acceptable level. And don’t even get me started on the religious argument. If God could see us, he’d be turning in his grave.

Easy to Smile

I’ve always had this problem, and I’m sure I’m not the only one, but it does seem to put me at a disadvantage in social situations. The problem is that I don’t smile.

Now I’m sure this is not an uncommon problem. There must be thousands of people like me who also have trouble expressing their joy in a conventional way. My brothers and sisters in seeming misery. So why is it always me that finds myself in those awkward social situations?

It happened this weekend at a club. I was minding my own business having a chat with one of my normal smiling friends, when a girl walks past and says “Cheer up and give us a smile”. Hang on, just because I’m not smiling it doesn’t mean I’m not happy. I just choose to express my happiness differently. She goes on, “It could be worse”. What could be worse? I’M NOT UNHAPPY. In fact if there’s one thing guaranteed to ruin my mood, it’s someone accusing me of being in a bad mood.

Now, this happens quite a lot and the conversation is always pretty much the same. In my head it goes like this:

Her: Give us a smile, it’s not that bad
Me: Yeah, I get that a lot
Her: Really? So why don’t you smile more then?
Me: I may look miserable, but underneath this scowl I’m really interesting and fun
Her: Wow, you’re really deep and complex. Let’s party

But invariably it tends to go something like this:

Her: Give us a smile, it’s not that bad
Me: *forces creepy false smile*
Me: *mumbles something incoherent*
Me: *runs away*

This happens probably because I’m neither interesting or fun, but nonetheless I’m not unhappy. OK, so I used to dress in black a lot when I was younger, and I like bands traditionally considered depressing. But I don’t find Nick Cave or Leonard Cohen or The Smiths or The Cure remotely depressing. If I did I wouldn’t listen to them. I don’t take pleasure in making myself unnecessarily unhappy. To me they’re uplifting and inspiring. I have more trouble with your average teenybopper boy band and talent show one-hit-wonder. To me, that is truly depressing.

I guess I just have one of those faces. I don’t walk around under a black cartoon raincloud, and I’m not always full of doom and gloom. I JUST DON’T SMILE. And that’s the problem. So get off my back and leave me be. All I ask is that I am allowed to go out and have a good time, without having to look like I’m enjoying myself. Is that too much to ask? I don’t think so. If you can do that, you never know, you might just make me smile.

Parenthood and the Temple of Impending Doom

The trouble with becoming a new parent is that is it the first brand new thing you will do since, well probably since you started working. You have no idea what to expect. No experience to refer to. No silo of knowledge to draw upon. And this can be very, very daunting.

To make it worse you are relentlessly bombarded with the same phrase, usually from smug parents who have already successfully managed to raise a child or several without any signs of lasting trauma, visibly at least; “Don’t worry. It will all come naturally”. How exactly? How will dealing with a brand new baby come naturally? It’s hardly comparable with our other natural instincts like, say, walking. We all learnt to walk. That was easy. But the most serious consequence of getting that wrong is you get a cut knee that hurts for about three minutes. Actually, that can be pretty painful come to think of it, but temporary nonetheless. You get it wrong with a baby and the results could be catastrophic.

Your brain becomes your worst enemy and constantly dreams up ways that you can fail, and these thoughts hurtle round and round in your head all day until eventually they crash into each other causing your brain to implode in on itself in a shower of baby debris. How will I know when he needs feeding? How do I feed him? What if I can’t breastfeed? What if he is sick? How will I know whether to call a doctor? What if he has colic? What if I can’t stop him crying? What if I can’t stop crying? What about getting jabs? Is it safe? What if, what if, what if.

The other thing that doesn’t help is the lack of consistency from healthcare workers. You ask the same question to 5 different people, be it nurses, doctors, midwives, health visitors, pre-natal teachers, whoever, and I guarantee you will get 5 different answers.

It is easy to suffocate under the worry and stress that being an expectant parent can bring. But guess what? There’s no need for all this worry, because it really will come naturally. Seriously. I’ve done it. I’m one of those smug parents I mentioned earlier, and I remember people telling me the same thing then and dismissing it as some sort of post-natal hocus pocus. But weirdly it’s true. There really is some sort of secret hidden knowledge that you don’t even realise you have that mysteriously manifests when you have a baby.

So don’t worry. Enjoy your pregnancy while it lasts. Embrace the beauty that is impending motherhood safe in the knowledge that you really can’t go wrong. And even if you do, at least one of the raft of healthcare workers that you will be inevitably surrounded by will agree with you.

OK. So, no pressure then?

Wow. I have to say that I am a little overwhelmed by the response to my first blog entry. The downside is, it kind of builds up the pressure to deliver again next time!

I have been toying with the idea of starting an online blog for sometime, but there were always two things holding me back:

• My lack of knowledge about how to acheive this. There seem to be so many tools, some free, some paid for, some that use templates (like this one) and some that you would have to create and host yourself. For someone who works in IT I have very little knowledge of how these things work!
• What if no-one read what I had written? Or worse still, what if they read it and didn’t like it?

Then one day I had an epiphany. Why am I writing what I am writing? Am I writing to tell others? Or am I doing it for myself. I realised it was the latter, as I would guess is the case for most people. That would explain why there are so many unpublished blogs floating around in cyberspace. It’s the process that’s enjoyable. Of course, as I have discovered, it is an unexpected and welcome bonus when people do read it and can take something positive from it.

Anyway, I digress. My original plan was to post random musings about my life, my family, parenthood, you know all the usual things. I also wanted to share the things I enjoy, be it music, films, tv, comics, whatever. However, because my first post was such a behemoth and tackled what I would guess most people would consider quite a serious issue, I now feel under pressure to continue in the same vein. You’ll be pleased to know that I won’t!

I will continue to post random blogs on random subjects at random times, but expect it to be interspersed with all sorts of other crap that may interest/amuse/revile/bore you.

A friend of mine told me that when I was younger I was always too worried about what other people thought of me. Well, this is me standing up and saying “Yeah, here I am and this is what I’m about. Come and give me your best shot”.

But please don’t shoot me.

The Trouble with Pre-Teenage Angst

My eldest woke up in a foul mood this morning. The kind of mood reserved for stroppy 16 year old adolescent boys. She’s eight. And a girl. Nevertheless she proceeded to stomp and huff her way around the house making it clear to everyone that she was not happy to be up.

And so to the challenge of breakfast. First up, she asked for raisin bread (with jam). My wife duly obliged but no, she didn’t like that after all. Despite having the exact same thing for breakfast yesterday. She wanted chocolate spread on toast. Again, my wife obliged but no, that had one tiny piece of paper on it. The kind you get from the protective covering when you open a jar of chocolate spread for the first time. So the whole lot had to be thrown away. Not wanting my daughter to go to school hungry I gave her a banana and, in no uncertain terms I told her to eat it. So she peeled the skin, put it on the table and told me she doesn’t like bananas (all of a sudden).

So breakfast isn’t going well, and I can feel my blood starting to boil. Actually, it’s a full on cauldron of lava at the moment. I remember from yesterday morning that the very same daughter mentioned that maybe now as the weather is getting colder that she might like to wear one of her still-packaged new long sleeved shirts to school, rather than her usual short sleeved shirt. So I got a long sleeved shirt from the packet in her wardrobe (despite there being several short sleeved shirts ironed and ready to wear) and took it downstairs to iron. Once ironed, I gave it to my daughter and was met with a cry of “I don’t want to wear a long sleeved shirt” as she threw it on the floor. This was the moment I snapped. I’m ashamed to say that I shouted at her to go upstairs, sort herself out and stop being a little shit.

The thing is, and this is my problem with shows such as Super Nanny, it’s very easy to judge and to stay in control when they are not your kids, or when you don’t even have kids of your own, but when you are in that pressure cooker situation yourself - you’ve got to get yourself ready for work, and the kids ready for school, and make their breakfast, and brush their hair, and help get them dressed, and make sure they brush their teeth, and prepare their packed lunch, and get them out the door on time, not forgetting their school bags, water bottle, violin, p.e. kit and all your own stuff as well. Well, it’s tough and it wears away at you day after day.

Had I taken the time to step back then I’m sure I would have done things differently. If I had been able to detach myself from the situation, maybe it wouldn’t have got that bad. If, rather than shouting instructions and assuming that I knew best, I had listened then maybe we wouldn’t’ have got through three breakfasts and two shirts. If, if, if….

The walk to school started slightly easier. She held my hand and things returned to some normality. That is, until I decided to push things further. I asked her why, having been so horrible all morning, she now wanted to hold my hand. At which point she let go. Again, in my infinite wisdom I proceeded to tell her how upset she had made me and how her behaviour had been so appalling yadda yadda. I know I should have let it go, but as my wife will tell you I don’t know when to shut up and let things go. I expected some sort of an apology, but I was sorely mistaken and the upshot was that she proceeded to fall silent and walk several steps ahead of me. This came to a head when I wasn’t with her when we crossed the car park in front of her school, and she turned round to see where I was, saw me and turned straight back without even a wave goodbye and took herself into school.

I was hurt by this. Despite all that had happened I still would have given her a hug and a kiss goodbye, as I always do. It’s what we do as a family. Always. As my Mum used to say, you never know what’s around the corner. I was also angry. What a bitch. How dare she go without saying goodbye? I made a mental note to raise this again when I got home from work. I was determined to drag that apology out of her and make her realise how awful her behaviour was. Admittedly, mine wasn’t much better but I’m her father and I’m allowed to behave that way!

I was still dwelling on this when I got to the station to get the train to work. Then I bumped into an old school friend. This was someone who I had been very friendly with at school, and I have now known him for the best part of 25 years. Admittedly, we haven’t seen each other much since school, but when we do we always enjoyed a drink and a laugh, maybe even the odd dancefloor adventure at one of Reading’s premier nightclubs. The reason we haven’t seen much of each other is because my friend is an addict and I mean addict in the traditional, and worse, sense of the word. Heroin. He was always a bit of a loose cannon at school and was prone to hanging with the wrong crowd, but he was a really nice guy. One of those people that put friends before himself and would do anything for you. Even during his time as an addict, this never changed. However, stories began circulating about how he had stolen from his friends when they had been good enough to put him up for the night. About how he’d spent time in prison. About how he’d been in various fights. All the things you’ve been taught to expect. Each time I’ve seen him in the past he’s never been noticeably on drugs, but always looks as though he’s suffering a post high comedown, or is in need of his next hit. Seeing him today was different. He had a glint in his eye and seemed genuinely excited by something.

It turns out that he is in training to be a drugs counsellor. He’s kicked his habit., or rather kicking he’s it. He’s still on medication but he’s well on the road to recovery. He’s moved out of the house he was sharing with his addict girlfriend, and back in with his parents. His parents, much to their credit, have welcomed him back and are supporting him fully. He’s looking for a part time job to supplement his training, and he is actually excited (albeit a bit apprehensive) about working. And he can’t stop reading. Now this may sound like a trivial thing, I mean everyone likes to read right? But he is eating up books at the moment to try and understand his own addiction and how he can help others. And that is the inspiring thing about this guy. He has a desire to help others. He’s seen the system first hand, and how it fails addicts, and he wants to make a change. He knows it won’t be easy, he accepts that. But he now knows that he has something to give. Something positive he can take from his own experiences so they won’t have all been wasted. Through talking to him I got a truly bleak picture of how his life turned out. Several of his friends died either from overdosing or through taking their own lives. He himself has technically died on more than one occasion. No-one makes these decisions for you, and he chose his own road, but I still wouldn’t have wished it on anybody. I truly wish him all the best and hope that he can finally turn his life around and give the help to others that he never had himself.

It was this chance meeting that put things in my own life into perspective. My own problems were embarrassingly trivial compared to this guy. Where he longs for a family and children of his own, I am pushing my daughter away over a trivial argument? She woke up in a bad mood. That’s it. We’ve all done it. Yes it’s tough to deal with at the time, but it’s insignificant in the grand scheme of things. Rather than shout back I should have taken the time to sit with her for a few minutes and just cuddled her. Told her it was OK to be upset about stuff and that the day would get better. Taken the time to listen rather than bark instructions. That’s all it would have taken. Two minutes out of the morning. The benefit of hindsight is a precious gift and if I had to go through this morning again (and I’ve no doubt I will, many times over) I would take that step back before reacting.

So rather than raising the subject again this evening, I’ll hug my daughter, tell her that I love her, and most importantly listen to what she has to say.