Seeing as i hadn't written anything in a while i figured i'd put down a poem i wrote a while ago. It seems quite relevant to the events of the past months where my resolve has come and gone. we've all been on that rock one way or another....
To seek validation in the reflection of a man inlove
because for me the water seems to deep to cross alone.
I could wade in it but my mind says I cannot swim
So I skip from stone to stone, hoping the next one will hold me safe.
Will it be secure, the foundation, the rock?
But. It is just a stone, it brings no promise and it says nothing.
From afar it seems steady and I am drawn to it.
The others warn me but I am resolved and I stay for the belief is that this rock will hold me firm.
Time passes, it says nothing.
I cry and it responds not.
I sense the others who have passed this place.
Within is something of me that I do not dare to speak of;
The one that arrives to make me a fiend.
Still I am resolved. I stay for the belief that this rock will hold me firm.
I become the other, a creature unknown to me but a part of me.
I continue to say ‘I cannot leave, I am held captive’
‘Captive?’ a voice questions ‘but where are your chains?’
Silence. I am unravelled.
I am resolved because I have no where to go.
I am resolved because I know not what lies ahead.
I know not where to go because the faces are all the same.
‘If I fall will I drown?’ I ask the voice.
She is already gone and with her departure leaves all certainty.
‘What if’ lingers and tortures me and I let it because pain is not my enemy.
We met long ago, it was hostile and it was cold but the wall fell down
It understood me and I understood it
Or at least it’s purpose.
I was resolved but that night a fish swam by, gracious and glittery. It’s colour so magnificent, each stroke with purpose and certainty.
I reached out to touch it and it watched me. Waiting.
Surely a creature could not come from a bad place.
I reach in to touch it and the warmth engulfs me.
I don’t know how or when but that moment came
Sharp and clear like the light that shatters the night.
I fell but I fell freely.
I did not drown
Now I swim and the rock not longer hold me
Saturday, 22 March 2008
Tuesday, 26 February 2008
Love of my life...
I have made many mistakes in my life as everyone has at some point. Some mistakes made in decision on the path to walk and others in the realm of relationships.
As i listen to Erykah Badu's 'love of my life', the words really ring in my ears. They open my eyes to see that truely i have settled for second best. I have let fear, tiredness and jealous drive me into the arms of partners that have taken advantage of my desperation. In this revelation i am saddened.
why is it, that we are so troubled by loneliness that we search for a place where we can hide from it. why is it, that it scares us so much that we run to the first shelter that seems stable but easily vaporized by the coming storm [cute visual effect]. We do not wear the hat of the adventurer and go on a quest to really discover who we are so that we know WHAT we want. It is the fear that makes us jump into something so flimsy, temporal and weak that it only serves one purpose and one purpose alone; to keep at bay - loneliness. Perhaps it is an irrational fear. Even when surrounded by friends i am still craving that warmth, that declaration of love and attention. I am still craving to be looked at as if i just fell from heaven; that somewhere someone can look at me and not see ordinary but something more, the next stage.
As i listen to the song i realise that i have not seen myself as i should. As a knight, a princess, an adventurer, a warrior, a human, an entertainer and most important of all born and bred a woman! it is the revelation that should allow me to welcome loneliness as a form of self discovery rather than to push it away and attempt to discover myself in the arms of another.
'love of my life, you are my friend
love of my life, who i can depend...'
Theodore rossovelt once said that we have nothing to fear but fear itself and that is the truth! However i acknowledge that it is one thing to say it and quite another to believe it and live it. A fool has a no fear or believes he hasn't. It isn't exactly the fear which is dangerous but what we let the fear do to us. It is the fear that causes limitation, causes desperation and many more -tions that plagues us humans. Pandora certaintly dealt us a bad deal but it is knowing that we can feel the fear and move beyond that gives me hope.
Hope that i will be all that i can be
Hope that i will find the love of my life
Hope that i can and will become stronger in my resolve.
because i am tired of second best because of the fear that i cannot get the best. I am tired of broken hearts of men that are not worth the time of the day and finally i am simply tired but as an adventurer i must keep going because out there is the love of my life, out there is my friend and he is waiting....i hope hehehe
As i listen to Erykah Badu's 'love of my life', the words really ring in my ears. They open my eyes to see that truely i have settled for second best. I have let fear, tiredness and jealous drive me into the arms of partners that have taken advantage of my desperation. In this revelation i am saddened.
why is it, that we are so troubled by loneliness that we search for a place where we can hide from it. why is it, that it scares us so much that we run to the first shelter that seems stable but easily vaporized by the coming storm [cute visual effect]. We do not wear the hat of the adventurer and go on a quest to really discover who we are so that we know WHAT we want. It is the fear that makes us jump into something so flimsy, temporal and weak that it only serves one purpose and one purpose alone; to keep at bay - loneliness. Perhaps it is an irrational fear. Even when surrounded by friends i am still craving that warmth, that declaration of love and attention. I am still craving to be looked at as if i just fell from heaven; that somewhere someone can look at me and not see ordinary but something more, the next stage.
As i listen to the song i realise that i have not seen myself as i should. As a knight, a princess, an adventurer, a warrior, a human, an entertainer and most important of all born and bred a woman! it is the revelation that should allow me to welcome loneliness as a form of self discovery rather than to push it away and attempt to discover myself in the arms of another.
'love of my life, you are my friend
love of my life, who i can depend...'
Theodore rossovelt once said that we have nothing to fear but fear itself and that is the truth! However i acknowledge that it is one thing to say it and quite another to believe it and live it. A fool has a no fear or believes he hasn't. It isn't exactly the fear which is dangerous but what we let the fear do to us. It is the fear that causes limitation, causes desperation and many more -tions that plagues us humans. Pandora certaintly dealt us a bad deal but it is knowing that we can feel the fear and move beyond that gives me hope.
Hope that i will be all that i can be
Hope that i will find the love of my life
Hope that i can and will become stronger in my resolve.
because i am tired of second best because of the fear that i cannot get the best. I am tired of broken hearts of men that are not worth the time of the day and finally i am simply tired but as an adventurer i must keep going because out there is the love of my life, out there is my friend and he is waiting....i hope hehehe
Saturday, 9 February 2008
Loving somebody, don´t make them love you....
He arrrived late as is the spanish custom. Don´t panic. He was courteous, no apology was uttered; simply a polite smile or i guess it could be mistaken for nervousness.
Had he not brought the wine, I would have been inclined to believe that he wasn´t interested but there it was. full, white and ready to be corked! It was just a meal between two people who were testing the water, well at least on my side of the shore. The cameras were rolling on the first play. The lights were set, there was no rehearsal simply ACTION; in which case i proceeded to play my part.
We talked about many things, as you do. He seemed to be making an effort for which i was grateful as other encounters had not gone so smoothly. I tried to keep the conversation alive and interesting but with silence came doubt, perhaps not yet on my front as i am the queen of wishful thinking. Then again after three glasses of white wine could you really start digging into the hidden meaning of a person´s behaviour? touchee!
I cannot pinpoint the exact moment when the evening did a U-turn and crashed into the nearest object it could find like one of those bad Schwarzenegger films. It was a sudden change and it was strange; unexpected. The truth has a way of ruining a good night but i don´t regret for a moment that i initiated it. I don´t regret saying what i felt, who i was and what i believed. I don´t regret admitting things i am willing to do and others that would provoke a retort of "over my dead body!". I guess one can say that it is the process we all go through in identifying who you can live with and who can expect to see the back of your hair in their face.
Ofcourse doubt had not ceased to knock on my door. It´s rat-a-tat-tat was even more noticeable that before. However after the second bottle i could barely hear all that racket stored away in the back of my mind, threatening to ruin a potential companion. I went forth to declare my affection like a triumphant knight who had just returned from battle to claim his bride, only to have my steed halted at the all too familiar tall dark gates.
"Mission -to-Ground Control
That is a negative, I repeat... that is a negative sighting.... on mutual affection"
"Roger that! Return to base..."
at this point, may i add the sound effects of a plane crashing.....
Normally i´d be crushed and sulk for days, continuing the chase in the hope that he´d change his mind. I can happily say that i let this one go; not because i didn´t want him but because i was mature enough to understand that not every emotion will be returned with the same strength in which you sent it. It´s normal. A part of the human process. It places on fault at the foot of the parties involved. It´s just not suppose to happen. What surprised me though was the manner in which i displayed this maturity. I guess it must have surprised him too. Your stereotypical youth, gives you melodrama, tears, over-the-top poetry of heart break and organs being ripped out. They aren´t exactly known for their....maturity. Dare i mention level headedness.
"it´s okay. no problem" i said, in an attempt to reassure him that the evening had not turned sour. I can tell you this didn´t work. I guess mature men are really just boys trying on a new suit to see if it fits but never really assume the role. The few that do....well, they aren´t exactly single are they?
He blotted out something about it being uncomfortble and decided to cut the evening short. His goodbye was half felt and half cold. It could have been a casablanca movie if we were dressed for the part. God knows josephine baker playing in the background certaintly brought this scene to life; with a kiss on both cheeks (spanish style) he was out the door and left me with the bloody dishes. I am glad he didn´t recite "here´s looking at you, kid" or something like that because i might have been tempted to slap him. One thing i can tell you though is that at the end of this act, there was no applause. If anything, there was some relief within. I didn´t try to move on to the next heartbreak or ponder on my failure but simply pulled the curtains on that scene, went to bed. It was only a memory - remanents of the red wine. Thank God for chicken soup.
The one thing i have learnt over the years is that when you care about someone, they will not always return it. It isn´t guaranteed. Yes i know, people say well duh but how many people react in response to that mentality. We know it but we still yearn and hope that they´ll change their mind. When what we really should do is practice some acceptance and baggage reduction. I am reminded of a song by Erykah Badu that says
"bag lady, you gon´hurt your back
dragging all them bags like that
i guess nobody ever told you, all you must hold on to
is you is you, is you
one day all them bags, gon get in your way
so pack light..."
I do intend to pack light. As for the the 'boy'? bah..i didn´t really like his hair.
Had he not brought the wine, I would have been inclined to believe that he wasn´t interested but there it was. full, white and ready to be corked! It was just a meal between two people who were testing the water, well at least on my side of the shore. The cameras were rolling on the first play. The lights were set, there was no rehearsal simply ACTION; in which case i proceeded to play my part.
We talked about many things, as you do. He seemed to be making an effort for which i was grateful as other encounters had not gone so smoothly. I tried to keep the conversation alive and interesting but with silence came doubt, perhaps not yet on my front as i am the queen of wishful thinking. Then again after three glasses of white wine could you really start digging into the hidden meaning of a person´s behaviour? touchee!
I cannot pinpoint the exact moment when the evening did a U-turn and crashed into the nearest object it could find like one of those bad Schwarzenegger films. It was a sudden change and it was strange; unexpected. The truth has a way of ruining a good night but i don´t regret for a moment that i initiated it. I don´t regret saying what i felt, who i was and what i believed. I don´t regret admitting things i am willing to do and others that would provoke a retort of "over my dead body!". I guess one can say that it is the process we all go through in identifying who you can live with and who can expect to see the back of your hair in their face.
Ofcourse doubt had not ceased to knock on my door. It´s rat-a-tat-tat was even more noticeable that before. However after the second bottle i could barely hear all that racket stored away in the back of my mind, threatening to ruin a potential companion. I went forth to declare my affection like a triumphant knight who had just returned from battle to claim his bride, only to have my steed halted at the all too familiar tall dark gates.
"Mission -to-Ground Control
That is a negative, I repeat... that is a negative sighting.... on mutual affection"
"Roger that! Return to base..."
at this point, may i add the sound effects of a plane crashing.....
Normally i´d be crushed and sulk for days, continuing the chase in the hope that he´d change his mind. I can happily say that i let this one go; not because i didn´t want him but because i was mature enough to understand that not every emotion will be returned with the same strength in which you sent it. It´s normal. A part of the human process. It places on fault at the foot of the parties involved. It´s just not suppose to happen. What surprised me though was the manner in which i displayed this maturity. I guess it must have surprised him too. Your stereotypical youth, gives you melodrama, tears, over-the-top poetry of heart break and organs being ripped out. They aren´t exactly known for their....maturity. Dare i mention level headedness.
"it´s okay. no problem" i said, in an attempt to reassure him that the evening had not turned sour. I can tell you this didn´t work. I guess mature men are really just boys trying on a new suit to see if it fits but never really assume the role. The few that do....well, they aren´t exactly single are they?
He blotted out something about it being uncomfortble and decided to cut the evening short. His goodbye was half felt and half cold. It could have been a casablanca movie if we were dressed for the part. God knows josephine baker playing in the background certaintly brought this scene to life; with a kiss on both cheeks (spanish style) he was out the door and left me with the bloody dishes. I am glad he didn´t recite "here´s looking at you, kid" or something like that because i might have been tempted to slap him. One thing i can tell you though is that at the end of this act, there was no applause. If anything, there was some relief within. I didn´t try to move on to the next heartbreak or ponder on my failure but simply pulled the curtains on that scene, went to bed. It was only a memory - remanents of the red wine. Thank God for chicken soup.
The one thing i have learnt over the years is that when you care about someone, they will not always return it. It isn´t guaranteed. Yes i know, people say well duh but how many people react in response to that mentality. We know it but we still yearn and hope that they´ll change their mind. When what we really should do is practice some acceptance and baggage reduction. I am reminded of a song by Erykah Badu that says
"bag lady, you gon´hurt your back
dragging all them bags like that
i guess nobody ever told you, all you must hold on to
is you is you, is you
one day all them bags, gon get in your way
so pack light..."
I do intend to pack light. As for the the 'boy'? bah..i didn´t really like his hair.
Wednesday, 30 January 2008
The Voice of the Women...
well my friend reminded me that i hadn't posted in a while. It is not because nothing has happened around here or that i have nothing to say but simply because sometimes you have so many things swimming around in your head; you have to wait to them to settle like dust before you know where they fall and how they fit together. In which case, there is something to write about.
right now...all i have are quotes from some of the best actresses the human race ever produced. I'd like to live by them. some you might know from films and others well....they are just so darn good.
Bette Davis
I went away from home to be on my own. I don't want to be like my mother, a 'yes' woman for some man. I want to be a person of my own." --as Helen Bauer in EX-LADY (1933).
I'd like ta kiss ya, but I just washed my hair."--as Madge in CABIN IN THE COTTON (1932)
"If you could read my mind, you'd shrivel where you stand." --as Joyce Arden in IT'S LOVE I'M AFTER (1937).
Doctor, will you do something for me? When you get inside my head, see if you can find any sense in it." --as Judith Traherne in DARK VICTORY (1939).
You sound like a book, and a very cheap one." --as Maggie in THE GREAT LIE (1941).
Katherine Hepburn
The one thing sharper than a serpent's tooth is a sister's ingratitude." --as Agnes in A DELICATE BALANCE (1973).
Will you take your cheery personality and get out of here." --as Ethel Thayer in ON GOLDEN POND (1981).
Audrey Hepburn
"If people loved each other more, they'd shoot each other less." --as Ariane Chavasse in LOVE IN THE AFTERNOON.
Look, I know it's asking you to stretch your imagination but, don't you think you could pretend just for a moment that I'm a woman?" --as Regina Lampert in CHARADE (1963).
Rita Hayworth
The first time in my life I ever really wanted a man to kiss me, and he had something else to do!" --as Maria Acuna in YOU WERE NEVER LOVELIER (1942).
Greta Garbo
Gif me a visky, ginger ale on the side. And don't be stingy, baby." --as Anna Christie in ANNA CHRISTIE (1930).
Ava Gardner
"Do me a favor. Don't complicate my life right now." --as Ellie Holbrook in SEVEN DAYS IN MAY (1964).
Marilyn Monroe
"I can be smart when it's important, but most men don't like it. Except Gus. He's always been interested in my brain." --as Lorelei Lee in GENTLEMEN PREFER BLONDES (1953).
right now...all i have are quotes from some of the best actresses the human race ever produced. I'd like to live by them. some you might know from films and others well....they are just so darn good.
Bette Davis
I went away from home to be on my own. I don't want to be like my mother, a 'yes' woman for some man. I want to be a person of my own." --as Helen Bauer in EX-LADY (1933).
I'd like ta kiss ya, but I just washed my hair."--as Madge in CABIN IN THE COTTON (1932)
"If you could read my mind, you'd shrivel where you stand." --as Joyce Arden in IT'S LOVE I'M AFTER (1937).
Doctor, will you do something for me? When you get inside my head, see if you can find any sense in it." --as Judith Traherne in DARK VICTORY (1939).
You sound like a book, and a very cheap one." --as Maggie in THE GREAT LIE (1941).
Katherine Hepburn
The one thing sharper than a serpent's tooth is a sister's ingratitude." --as Agnes in A DELICATE BALANCE (1973).
Will you take your cheery personality and get out of here." --as Ethel Thayer in ON GOLDEN POND (1981).
Audrey Hepburn
"If people loved each other more, they'd shoot each other less." --as Ariane Chavasse in LOVE IN THE AFTERNOON.
Look, I know it's asking you to stretch your imagination but, don't you think you could pretend just for a moment that I'm a woman?" --as Regina Lampert in CHARADE (1963).
Rita Hayworth
The first time in my life I ever really wanted a man to kiss me, and he had something else to do!" --as Maria Acuna in YOU WERE NEVER LOVELIER (1942).
Greta Garbo
Gif me a visky, ginger ale on the side. And don't be stingy, baby." --as Anna Christie in ANNA CHRISTIE (1930).
Ava Gardner
"Do me a favor. Don't complicate my life right now." --as Ellie Holbrook in SEVEN DAYS IN MAY (1964).
Marilyn Monroe
"I can be smart when it's important, but most men don't like it. Except Gus. He's always been interested in my brain." --as Lorelei Lee in GENTLEMEN PREFER BLONDES (1953).
Friday, 11 January 2008
Don't dream it's over....
Many of us are cursed with a lack of destiny, not because we are not given one but because we are simply unable to identify it, to see it with such a vivid insight that it literally sets us alight when we ponder on it.
we all have dreams. She has dreams.
Birdy wakes up in the morning and for a spilt second opportunity seems to be knocking on her door. A fresh chance to do something extraordinary but by 9.15 she is disappointed. It's back to the slow pacing day, crawling with its zimmer frame until tiredness engulfs her and she is left wanting the inoculation of sleep. She use to have ambition.
It was ambition that brought her this far, not that of greed, pride or the basic sins of modern ambition but an ambition of the heart, of the soul, of a person seeking to find his or her place in the world. Seeking to make a mark on the world whether it is a small one; to be able to say 'I was here!'. It's was almost like the path taken by Santiago in the Alchemist. It was his quest for greater things that thrusted him for the mountains of spain into a whole new world where he was discovering himself.
Yet Birdy doesn't feel that she has the soul of santiago, his drive or his perserverance. The daily grind is what moves her as she has ceased to move by her own will. These are days of cancellation and slowly dripping minutes filled with a dozen realities.
Some find them in games and others tv shows. Whatever your poison, her's is the screen. A little device to take away the sting of reality, the 'i don't know what to dos'. It's a non reality for an hour but sometimes it reaches 5 episodes of non reality where the truth can be kept at bay until one is well equiped to deal with it; whenever that may be...
That's one thing they don't teach at school. Reality. They don't tell you you aren't going get the manual or the tools to cope. you just gotta ....do it. I guess.
It's like she walks on clouds as she leaves the house...everything in slow motion like one of those bad movies. She jumps into another reality. Music. The words and the rhythm envelope her in a daydream where she chooses to remain as the alternative seems too sharp and poignant to be faced alone.
She is concerned; very concerned about her state of reality. Wouldn't you?
It's one thing to stay in this world, it's another thing to actually know and be aware you are in the world and still do nothing but drift and let it carry you into .....well lethargy.
Lethargy is killing her ambition and it is slowly suffocating her dreams....
we all have dreams. She has dreams.
Birdy wakes up in the morning and for a spilt second opportunity seems to be knocking on her door. A fresh chance to do something extraordinary but by 9.15 she is disappointed. It's back to the slow pacing day, crawling with its zimmer frame until tiredness engulfs her and she is left wanting the inoculation of sleep. She use to have ambition.
It was ambition that brought her this far, not that of greed, pride or the basic sins of modern ambition but an ambition of the heart, of the soul, of a person seeking to find his or her place in the world. Seeking to make a mark on the world whether it is a small one; to be able to say 'I was here!'. It's was almost like the path taken by Santiago in the Alchemist. It was his quest for greater things that thrusted him for the mountains of spain into a whole new world where he was discovering himself.
Yet Birdy doesn't feel that she has the soul of santiago, his drive or his perserverance. The daily grind is what moves her as she has ceased to move by her own will. These are days of cancellation and slowly dripping minutes filled with a dozen realities.
Some find them in games and others tv shows. Whatever your poison, her's is the screen. A little device to take away the sting of reality, the 'i don't know what to dos'. It's a non reality for an hour but sometimes it reaches 5 episodes of non reality where the truth can be kept at bay until one is well equiped to deal with it; whenever that may be...
That's one thing they don't teach at school. Reality. They don't tell you you aren't going get the manual or the tools to cope. you just gotta ....do it. I guess.
It's like she walks on clouds as she leaves the house...everything in slow motion like one of those bad movies. She jumps into another reality. Music. The words and the rhythm envelope her in a daydream where she chooses to remain as the alternative seems too sharp and poignant to be faced alone.
She is concerned; very concerned about her state of reality. Wouldn't you?
It's one thing to stay in this world, it's another thing to actually know and be aware you are in the world and still do nothing but drift and let it carry you into .....well lethargy.
Lethargy is killing her ambition and it is slowly suffocating her dreams....
Saturday, 29 December 2007
American Beauty?
In the process of having dinner i thought to myself that i'd so a spot of reading in the newspaper and i came across this article called 'oh please, you lard butt British frumps have got off too lightly'. interested, i went on to read it, nearly choking on my food in the process because i was laughing so much. This article was a response to an article that Tad Safran an american screenwriter had written previously. H e was explaining the difference between American and British women and how the latter just didn't take care of themselves as much as American women did.
he had refered to in so many words as a chauvanist pig, shallow and other words which i shall not go on to mention but i think this guy has a point and anyone who disputes well that's your choice but there are some truths to his rambling because i have said the exact thing severals in discussion with friends and he put it all in two funny articles. Here are excerpt with links to the original..enjoy!
original article 'American Beauty?'
I am a massive fan of British women. UK girls, in my opinion, are the greatest natural beauties in the world . . . when they’re 17 or 18 years old. The girls I was surrounded by when I was a teenager were sublime roses with lustrous hair, flawless skin, bright eyes and lithe, athletic bodies. They dressed as if there would be a prize at the end of the night for the girl wearing the least. I then went away to Philadelphia for university. Four years later, I came back and wondered: “What the hell happened to all the beautiful girls I knew?” My first assumption was that one half of them had eaten the other half and washed them down with a crate of lager. These girls looked phenomenal when looking good took no effort. But when British women get to the age where they have to make an effort, they appear unable, or uninterested, in rising to the challenge.
An informal poll of my US female friends revealed that they spend roughly $700 (£350) a month on what they consider standard obligatory beauty maintenance... A perfect example of this was presented to me last week. I was set up with Sophie (I have changed the name) by married friends. Sophie was a truly beautiful girl I used to be friends with, but hadn’t seen in 15 years. I was surprised to hear that she was still single and was excited to meet her again. At dinner, I found myself sitting opposite something that surely would have been happier hunting for truffles in the forests of France or grazing on the grassy marshlands of Canada. My friend’s wife had told me that Sophie still had the body of a 20-year-old. Maybe she did . . . dismembered in her freezer at home. She certainly didn’t have it on her skeleton.
I’m not saying that I’m the greatest prize out there, but at least I’d put on a clean shirt, shaved and brushed my teeth. Sophie tumbled into the house looking like a refugee from Hurricane Katrina. She smelt like the R&D lab at Philip Morris. Her outfit was about as sexy as a half-pound of ground meat. And, surely, the only time she’d seen the inside of a gym was to ask directions to the nearest pub.
It’s not entirely Sophie’s fault, I suppose. My friend’s wife didn’t manage my expectations. Maybe it would have been better if she had said: “Tad, you enjoyed The Lord of the Rings. Would you like to meet an orc?”
Another part of the problem is that women in Britain do not help each other. American women have no qualms about telling their friends, in no uncertain terms, when they look like crap, or have put on weight, or are dressed like a bag-lady.
I’ve been in a room with two English girls when one is preparing for a black-tie ball. She came out in her outfit and asked: “How do I look?” The other girl cocked her head sympathetically and said: “Adorable”. I thought, “Adorable . . . like a hooker.” I understand that she did not want to hurt the other girl’s feelings, but there’s such a thing as constructive criticism.
I don’t want you to think, though, that I believe American women have nothing to learn from British women. The irony is that, as obsessed as American women are with their looks, they totally ignore their social skills. Within 10 minutes of meeting an American woman, I guarantee you will know her salary and most recent medical/ dental procedure. They all but turn up with their CV printed out. In return, they will immediately want to know “all” about you, ie, how much you earn, how much you have earned in the past, what your future earning potential is, whether you own property, whether you have an investment portfolio, where you shop, where you “vacation”, what you drive and how large your parents’ house is. I once got to the end of a date in New York, pulled out my credit card to pay and the girl solemnly remarked: “A green American Express card? I didn’t know they still made them in that colour.”
American women also take themselves too seriously and are annoyingly confronta-tional. The good news for men, by the way, is they are convinced that the best way to prove they are equal to a man is by sleeping with him. Um . . . Go ahead, that’ll teach me...
When I asked if they dabbled in such areas, they just shook their wrinkle-free, tight-as-a-drum, shiny, expressionless faces. It’s not healthy to have one’s cosmetic surgeons on speed dial. (Then again, an English girl I recently and briefly went out with had four drug dealers on her speed dial, which is not especially healthy either.)
British women are, without a doubt, the best to have a pint and a laugh with. They are the most self-reliant, uncomplicated and unflap-pable. That they are neither obsessed with their looks, nor insecurely competitive, are wonderful qualities. And their self-depreca-tion is incredibly endearing. But when it comes to making the all-important first impression, do you really want it to be, “I’ll bet she was really hot ten years ago”?
'oh please, you lard butt British frumps have got off too lightly' - Tad Safran
I ensured this by writing an article last week in The Times, comparing British and American women and asking why British women don’t spend the time, money and effort on their upkeep that American women do. What started out as a light-hearted, anecdotal account of my impressions of dating women on both sides of the Atlantic has exploded into a national furore.
I was utterly unprepared for the avalanche, but I stick to my guns: when British women reach the age where looking good is no longer effortless, they seem unwilling or unable to rise to the challenge. And judging by the vitriol of the response, I realise I’ve not only touched a nerve, I’ve reached into the underbelly of a deep, dark insecurity. Nobody gets that defensive about something they don’t care about.
The point most made by a long, long way is that I’m a prat (or as Marv writes, “as shallow as a one-inch pool of frozen water”): tough one to argue with, so I’ll leave it well alone.
British women don’t have the curves of the Italians, the simmering sexuality of the Spanish, the sophistication of the French or the openness of the Scandinavians.
i give a thumbs up to Tad...he makes a good point.
he had refered to in so many words as a chauvanist pig, shallow and other words which i shall not go on to mention but i think this guy has a point and anyone who disputes well that's your choice but there are some truths to his rambling because i have said the exact thing severals in discussion with friends and he put it all in two funny articles. Here are excerpt with links to the original..enjoy!
original article 'American Beauty?'
Having observed females on both sides of the Atlantic, our correspondent claims British women are unkempt and lazy about grooming
Women of Britain: Bridget Jones’s Diary is not a documentary. It’s a work of fiction, a fairytale. The fact is that control-top granny pants are simply not a substitute for regular exercise, thoughtful grooming and a healthy diet. Certainly not if you’re single and interested in men.I am a massive fan of British women. UK girls, in my opinion, are the greatest natural beauties in the world . . . when they’re 17 or 18 years old. The girls I was surrounded by when I was a teenager were sublime roses with lustrous hair, flawless skin, bright eyes and lithe, athletic bodies. They dressed as if there would be a prize at the end of the night for the girl wearing the least. I then went away to Philadelphia for university. Four years later, I came back and wondered: “What the hell happened to all the beautiful girls I knew?” My first assumption was that one half of them had eaten the other half and washed them down with a crate of lager. These girls looked phenomenal when looking good took no effort. But when British women get to the age where they have to make an effort, they appear unable, or uninterested, in rising to the challenge.
An informal poll of my US female friends revealed that they spend roughly $700 (£350) a month on what they consider standard obligatory beauty maintenance... A perfect example of this was presented to me last week. I was set up with Sophie (I have changed the name) by married friends. Sophie was a truly beautiful girl I used to be friends with, but hadn’t seen in 15 years. I was surprised to hear that she was still single and was excited to meet her again. At dinner, I found myself sitting opposite something that surely would have been happier hunting for truffles in the forests of France or grazing on the grassy marshlands of Canada. My friend’s wife had told me that Sophie still had the body of a 20-year-old. Maybe she did . . . dismembered in her freezer at home. She certainly didn’t have it on her skeleton.
I’m not saying that I’m the greatest prize out there, but at least I’d put on a clean shirt, shaved and brushed my teeth. Sophie tumbled into the house looking like a refugee from Hurricane Katrina. She smelt like the R&D lab at Philip Morris. Her outfit was about as sexy as a half-pound of ground meat. And, surely, the only time she’d seen the inside of a gym was to ask directions to the nearest pub.
It’s not entirely Sophie’s fault, I suppose. My friend’s wife didn’t manage my expectations. Maybe it would have been better if she had said: “Tad, you enjoyed The Lord of the Rings. Would you like to meet an orc?”
Another part of the problem is that women in Britain do not help each other. American women have no qualms about telling their friends, in no uncertain terms, when they look like crap, or have put on weight, or are dressed like a bag-lady.
I’ve been in a room with two English girls when one is preparing for a black-tie ball. She came out in her outfit and asked: “How do I look?” The other girl cocked her head sympathetically and said: “Adorable”. I thought, “Adorable . . . like a hooker.” I understand that she did not want to hurt the other girl’s feelings, but there’s such a thing as constructive criticism.
I don’t want you to think, though, that I believe American women have nothing to learn from British women. The irony is that, as obsessed as American women are with their looks, they totally ignore their social skills. Within 10 minutes of meeting an American woman, I guarantee you will know her salary and most recent medical/ dental procedure. They all but turn up with their CV printed out. In return, they will immediately want to know “all” about you, ie, how much you earn, how much you have earned in the past, what your future earning potential is, whether you own property, whether you have an investment portfolio, where you shop, where you “vacation”, what you drive and how large your parents’ house is. I once got to the end of a date in New York, pulled out my credit card to pay and the girl solemnly remarked: “A green American Express card? I didn’t know they still made them in that colour.”
American women also take themselves too seriously and are annoyingly confronta-tional. The good news for men, by the way, is they are convinced that the best way to prove they are equal to a man is by sleeping with him. Um . . . Go ahead, that’ll teach me...
When I asked if they dabbled in such areas, they just shook their wrinkle-free, tight-as-a-drum, shiny, expressionless faces. It’s not healthy to have one’s cosmetic surgeons on speed dial. (Then again, an English girl I recently and briefly went out with had four drug dealers on her speed dial, which is not especially healthy either.)
British women are, without a doubt, the best to have a pint and a laugh with. They are the most self-reliant, uncomplicated and unflap-pable. That they are neither obsessed with their looks, nor insecurely competitive, are wonderful qualities. And their self-depreca-tion is incredibly endearing. But when it comes to making the all-important first impression, do you really want it to be, “I’ll bet she was really hot ten years ago”?
'oh please, you lard butt British frumps have got off too lightly' - Tad Safran
I ensured this by writing an article last week in The Times, comparing British and American women and asking why British women don’t spend the time, money and effort on their upkeep that American women do. What started out as a light-hearted, anecdotal account of my impressions of dating women on both sides of the Atlantic has exploded into a national furore.
I was utterly unprepared for the avalanche, but I stick to my guns: when British women reach the age where looking good is no longer effortless, they seem unwilling or unable to rise to the challenge. And judging by the vitriol of the response, I realise I’ve not only touched a nerve, I’ve reached into the underbelly of a deep, dark insecurity. Nobody gets that defensive about something they don’t care about.
The point most made by a long, long way is that I’m a prat (or as Marv writes, “as shallow as a one-inch pool of frozen water”): tough one to argue with, so I’ll leave it well alone.
After that, by far the most common point the humourless drones want to make is that they’d rather be frumpy with wonderful personalities than Barbie dolls with nothing between their ears.
This argument is so patently absurd that I can hardly believe it. It is not binary: you can have a personality and an arse that doesn’t take up two seats on the bus. If you can retain your wonderful, cheerful, sweet, fun personality and be beautiful is that not better? Or, Anna L from Kent, is your sweet personality inextricably tied to your being a size 16 ... like Samson’s strength is to his hair?
I don’t suggest that British women take the money from your education fund and put it towards plastic surgery. Nor do I suggest you take the hours per week dedicated to cultural and intellectual pursuits and use them for beauty treatments. Just take the time you dedicate to sitting on the sofa eating femur-sized Toblerones while watching EastEnders. (Thank you, Lizzy from Harrow, for the insight that I “will have boring children” ... probably not, as I don’t intend to have children with you).
And God forbid any woman should be motivated by trying to attract a man. Apparently British women have overcome a billion years of biology.
I also love the large number of people who tell me Keira Knightley, Rachel Weisz...Unfortunately, if you throw a rock in a British city centre, you’re slightly more likely to hit a girl resembling Vicky Pollard than Kate Moss. I’m just pointing it out. Don’t shoot the messenger.British women don’t have the curves of the Italians, the simmering sexuality of the Spanish, the sophistication of the French or the openness of the Scandinavians.
So what do British women have? Top spot in the European obesity table. Top spot in the European teen pregnancy table. And the only spots (besides Denmark) in the chart showing rising alcohol consumption among women in western Europe.
Well done, Britain. If what women are striving for is the ability to get hammered and fall over in the street, Britain is a feminist paradise from coast to coast.
links: http://women.timesonline.co.uk/tol/life_and_style/women/beauty/article3056296.ece
links2: http://women.timesonline.co.uk/tol/life_and_style/women/beauty/article3029451.ece
i give a thumbs up to Tad...he makes a good point.
Tuesday, 25 December 2007
Isn't it Ironic, don't you think?
when we were young...
'i don't want to do that it's so childish'
'those kind of things are for children'
It is very easy to hear these words being spoken by adults and ashamed they should be. Suddenly being 30 and over gives them the right to criticise and belittle things that are deemed only for the young. attitudes, games, cultures and much more.
The truth is they are more like children than they think.
There is no shame in watching finding nemo in a cinema full of the non shaving society or getting down on your knees to play twister. Even the bitchy attitude exhibited by 5 years old is nothing to look down on in disgrace but just a reflection of the basic broken down explanation of our own behaviour.
He is one such man. related through paternity but still he seems eager to deal with us in a way that puts him on a pedalstal. We are still refered to as the children in conversations with other 'adults' even though i am legal to drink in just about every country on the planet (except for those where drinking full stop isn't legal - shame! that won't be on my holiday list), we are still addressed as behaving senselessly or not being old enough to really understand 'adult' situations.
Ignorant words like that shock and insult me to the core but yet what can you say. My tradition dictates that i as a production of my family know nothing and cannot be seen to be incontradiction as the mere status and date of birth deprives me of such priviledge. The truth is i have felt things that not many have endured, i have experience things that the brave would blush over and i have been victim in some situations that they would find it hard to deal with. In the end i am here, alive, emotionally stable, a fight which i survived perhaps on my own but i would say God had a hand in some of it. One cannot claim to know and feel what the young feel simple because they have lived on the planet the longest. One can go through their hole life and yet not experience as much as a small child who perhaps has been through starvation, prostitution, abuse and neglect (NOTE: this is just an example of children out there this christmas). These children cannot be deprived of the right to speak their minds simple because of their age.
The truth is, the adults are no better than the children. Ok so what is childishness, screaming because you don't get what you want, fighting with the other kids at school, recklessly doing this that can cause harm not only to your and others, ignorance? being naiive? ha!
I can tell you this much, we have a bit of that in all of us. The boy grow up to be men, just the toys get bigger, their mothers still fuss over them or if they are lucky their wives play the role of their mothers. They still play my sand box is bigger than yours game just with cars and houses. If fact the bitchiness doesn't really disappear either they've just found clever new ways to hidding it as they years have granted them knowledge. As for ignorance and being naiive...one only needs to look through history and the mess we've made of it.
You call us childish? Take a look in the mirror...
'i don't want to do that it's so childish'
'those kind of things are for children'
It is very easy to hear these words being spoken by adults and ashamed they should be. Suddenly being 30 and over gives them the right to criticise and belittle things that are deemed only for the young. attitudes, games, cultures and much more.
The truth is they are more like children than they think.
There is no shame in watching finding nemo in a cinema full of the non shaving society or getting down on your knees to play twister. Even the bitchy attitude exhibited by 5 years old is nothing to look down on in disgrace but just a reflection of the basic broken down explanation of our own behaviour.
He is one such man. related through paternity but still he seems eager to deal with us in a way that puts him on a pedalstal. We are still refered to as the children in conversations with other 'adults' even though i am legal to drink in just about every country on the planet (except for those where drinking full stop isn't legal - shame! that won't be on my holiday list), we are still addressed as behaving senselessly or not being old enough to really understand 'adult' situations.
Ignorant words like that shock and insult me to the core but yet what can you say. My tradition dictates that i as a production of my family know nothing and cannot be seen to be incontradiction as the mere status and date of birth deprives me of such priviledge. The truth is i have felt things that not many have endured, i have experience things that the brave would blush over and i have been victim in some situations that they would find it hard to deal with. In the end i am here, alive, emotionally stable, a fight which i survived perhaps on my own but i would say God had a hand in some of it. One cannot claim to know and feel what the young feel simple because they have lived on the planet the longest. One can go through their hole life and yet not experience as much as a small child who perhaps has been through starvation, prostitution, abuse and neglect (NOTE: this is just an example of children out there this christmas). These children cannot be deprived of the right to speak their minds simple because of their age.
The truth is, the adults are no better than the children. Ok so what is childishness, screaming because you don't get what you want, fighting with the other kids at school, recklessly doing this that can cause harm not only to your and others, ignorance? being naiive? ha!
I can tell you this much, we have a bit of that in all of us. The boy grow up to be men, just the toys get bigger, their mothers still fuss over them or if they are lucky their wives play the role of their mothers. They still play my sand box is bigger than yours game just with cars and houses. If fact the bitchiness doesn't really disappear either they've just found clever new ways to hidding it as they years have granted them knowledge. As for ignorance and being naiive...one only needs to look through history and the mess we've made of it.
You call us childish? Take a look in the mirror...
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