Quote of the Day!

28 02 2007

I just read a story  in The Superficial which reports on an article in Elle magazine where Madonna expresses concern about her daughter wearing jeans that are too tight.  The Superficial says:

Madonna getting upset with her daughter for dressing too slutty is like Mr. T getting upset with his son for pitying too many fools.

I love this. 





Dave Grohl is the Daddy

28 02 2007

Reading Dave Grohl: Nothing to Lose by Michael Heatley has not made me love him any less.  In fact, I am seriously crushing on this man right now. 

He was the (totally fantastic) drummer in a band which was right at the heart of the music I loved as I turned from girl into woman, lost my virginity, enjoyed some of the best times of my youth, and generally started to form an identity.

He managed to overcome an excrutiatingly sad and pain-filled and pain-fuelled end to his bandmate’s life to form his own band which TOTALLY ROCKS.

His perhaps unfortunate (in the world of Rock, at least) moniker of ‘Nicest Man in Rock’ seems to be completely fitting.  Example – after the dictatorship of Nirvana and the rows over royalties, he made sure the Foos was a democracy, to the point of sharing royalties of the first album with each band member even though they weren’t actually involved with the band when the record was made.  His niceness makes him even hotter. 

His voice makes me melt and his riffs make me rock out.  I have said this before to many people but I honestly believe he would make a really great friend and that we would have a blast.  I wish I could hang out with him.  That would be cool.

He is also on my list.

*sigh*





Go Wilde

27 02 2007

In my quest to become better acquainted with the western canon, I have been making an effort to vary my reading between the classics, modern literature as well as enjoying popular novels – I would hate to get too serious about my reading.  I sometimes just like to enjoy a quick and fun read. 

I recently read my first Oscar Wilde novel, The Picture of Dorian Gray and it was a riveting read.  For those of you who have not read it or do not know the story (*spoiler alert!!!*),  the protagonist is a young man named Dorian Gray who has his portrait painted by the artist Basil Hallward.  Dorian is chosen for being pretty damned gorgeous and Basil develops a powerful infatuation with him.  Through Basil, Dorian meets Lord Henry Wotton and becomes enthralled by Lord Henry’s cynical world view.  In advocating a hedonistic outlook and lifestyle, Lord Henry suggests that the only thing worth pursuing in life is beauty and enjoyment and all that sweet stuff.   In a fit of pique driven by a fear of losing his looks, Dorian makes a fateful wish that the portrait Basil has painted of him would age rather than himself.  Dorian’s wish is granted and the result… well it let’s say it doesn’t go well for him, plunging him into a sequence of debauched acts – which sounds much more fun than it actually is.  The portrait serves as a reminder of the effect each act of debauchery and treachery has upon his soul, with each sin being displayed as well as all the signs of aging. 

It was a scathing portrayal of a flawed individual and yet the insidious influence of Dorian’s self-appointed mentor, Lord Henry, is at once chilling and fascinating.  I must admit that I was intrigued to read this book, given that it was used as evidence against Wilde in a court trial and was considered at the time to hold a certain notoriety for being ‘mawkish and nauseous,’ ‘unclean,’ ‘effeminate,’ and ‘contaminating‘.  I must also admit that I was a bit disappointed by the lack of salacious content.  I suppose that society is just a completely different place now.  That would be a whole other post…





Answers on a postcard…

26 02 2007

Karrie has asked some very interesting questions in her post here about working mums to which I have not really got any answers. The issue is one that is both pertinent to me and something about which I worry constantly. Go read it. I would be interested to hear your views.

I do not have kids and am not sure when/if it will happen for me but a major consideration for us (as with practically every other couple/person about to start a family) is money. I earn more money than my partner but I do not like my job and it is not a career for me. I want to be an at-home mum at least to start with but I am not sure financially it is viable. So then I have to decide if it is fair to start a family knowing I will not be able to care for my child 24/7. My husband has offered to be an at-home dad so I can carry on working but that sounds like a sucky option to me – I suppose it would be more appealing if I were happier at work.

Women have spent such a long time fighting for equal pay and I think that the stats show that this is starting to pay off but I can’t help wondering if that has ultimately made life more difficult for families. In order to balance the pay, are men getting less money thus making is harder for them to support their family? What would be the alternative? I really cannot believe that unequal pay is an option – it presupposes that being an at-home mum or a housewife is right for every woman which, of course, is ridiculous. But how else do we keep the working environment mother-friendly whilst also making it possible for allowing those mother’s who want to be home to stay there? I have spent too many sleepless nights wondering about this.





Starmaker

23 02 2007


Everytime I listen to this song, I feel 6 years old wishing I could be at performing arts school. I also cry a little because I get so sad that Gene Anthony Ray who played Leroy spent the last few years of his life dancing in a sleazy nightclub in Italy when he was such a talented individual. Fame is probably the first television programme I really loved. I managed to get hold of the first season (before the DVD was released last year) and the fact that I remembered entire episodes with perfect clarity even though I was as young as 6 when I watched them for the first time and maybe 10 when they were rerun, just goes to show what an impact that show had on me.





Fat Tuesday

21 02 2007

Sorry one more moan – I completely forgot pancake day yesterday. And now it’s too late. You can’t have pancakes on Ash Wednesday – that brings on some bad mojo (maybe I’m mixing my religions there)…. GRRRRRR. That is all.





Procrastination for the nation

21 02 2007

It’s everywhere I look. Bloggers everywhere seem to be blogging about what they should be doing and what they are doing to avoid doing what they should be doing. Phew! For me it’s that time again. Well, in truth, it’s actually 8 days PAST that time again. I am overdue on my next OU essay and I have not yet written a word. Illness and a holiday have so far given me pseudo-reasons for not getting on with it. Also, my tutor has ignored the two emails I sent to him requesting an extension (both sent BEFORE the due date like a good little girl). So I am in a huff with him for not replying. Yeah, I will show him. Watch me not do my essay. I keep changing my mind about which essay to write so I have done the reading for both. The questions are:

  1. Compare Blake’s poem ‘The Tyger’ with the lyrics of a popular song of your choice, identifying similarities and differences in the linguistic techniques employed to enhance their impact on the reader/listener. Discuss whether a clear distinction can be drawn between the creative genres of song and poetry, OR
  2. Discuss the changing value of the concept of the canon of English literature.

I know I leave things to the last minute but I am seriously struggling to write this essay. My heart is not in it and when that happens, well, I am screwed. The problem is my heart is not in a lot of things lately. I feel like everything has come to a stand still and I am standing on my own in the middle of nowhere with nothing in front or behind. There is a lot of pressure on me to stick with this course – if I am serious about becoming a teacher – an English teacher at that – then I ought to be able to summon the necessary passion or will to write 1500 goddamn words.

Ack this isn’t getting my essay written, is it? Sorry for the whinge. I am off to look up the lyrics to ‘Who let the dogs out’ or some such shit and get the fuck on with it.