Could there be a more appropriate word for this whole scandal than the hacking scandal? Hack by name...
The media confuses me, makes me despair, frustrates me and inspires me... it's long been a whirlwind of arguments in my mind as to the purpose, success and future of the media. If you're not aware of the latest claims buzzing around; something a little more serious than someone listening to the voicemails of Sienna Miller has occurred... according to reports, during the investigation into the disappearance of Milly Dowler, her voicemail messgaes were intercepted and deleted by journalists supposedly operating on behalf of the News of the World.
Utterly incredible.
For me, this speaks volumes about the state of the world news delivery system; delivering the story has taken precedent over justice, unless this has serious consequences for those involved. Surely this is a case of perverting the course of justice?
For me, the invention of the internet is one of the biggest steps forward in helping people to be unbiasedly informed... so long as they have the time to be able to read several different viewpoints on whatever situation they are trying to research. For those people without the initiative, or the hours, to spend poring over different publications, we have a tailored view of the world all ready for us in our tipple of choice.
How do you like to hear about the world? In slang with a naked woman to cushion any serious stories? There's a paper for you... In high falutin speak with extra big pages to make you seem important? There's a paper for you... In a paper that very much likes to be seen as straight down the middle, but is just as subject to sales and circulation figures as anything else...?
I believe we have two choices really; either accept that any way of being informed comes with an agenda, or live in a box and willingly know nothing about the world other than that which happens in your immediate vicinity. If you accept that you want to know about the world, then you also have to accept that the people delivering to you are going to want to be the first, the best and the most detailed... to what extent are you willing to let them try and succeed?
On the other side; what happens when the print moves a story off the front page because it's no longer selling properly and people are a little bored of it. Libya is still just as turbulent whether people tell us about it or not, but how does the public as a whole maintain its international priorities without some kind of regulation on what constitutes a front page story.
Once you try and regulate the media, you start getting into very hot water. Personally, I couldn't care less that Cheryl and Ashley are back together/were back together/sit with their backs together... but it was a front page story at the weekend.
Can we say that we think this is complete crap and it shouldn't happen? Or do we say that enough people must have bought it to encourage the paper that it was a good idea and therefore public consensus is that this is a perfectly legitimate front page story? Do we run with the argument that media should be horses for courses and this is exactly why there are so many different papers? And is anyone monitoring the effect on awareness, sensationalism and media effect leading stories rather than reporting them, that competition between channels, stations and prints has?
In the job that I'm in now there's Sky news on all day in the reception. I've watched hours on end of the coverage of the Duke and Duchess visiting Canada. Do you know how many times I've watched William land a helicopter on water? It really does look like a helicopter landing on water. My response was, "Wow, I didn't realise this was such a big deal." But, was I wrong to think that? Has the fact that this is achieving so much media coverage changed my own perception of the event? I didn't care before, it didn't affect me, but now, instead of being disbelieving that it could achieve so much attention, I've decided I must have been wrong about my initial outlook.
"ink", the play I've written for the Edinburgh Fringe this year, is entirely focused on what it's like to be in the centre of a media storm. It's about the son of 7/7 victim - an entirely fictional person I might add - who is struggling to deal with the media's influence on all aspects of his life. The ownership over the death of his father was given to a city and a nation and a religion, he didn't know how to reconcile what was happening to his life against what was being printed.
The biggest reservation about the whole show that I have had since the concept occurred to me, was whether or not I had any right to write it. I have no connection to London, 7/7, media exploitation or grief in this context. Was it intrusive or offensive to people involved for me to speculate in this way?
Obviously I got over my reservations; for me, the show is about my character and about his individual response. It's not a commentary on the events themselves. It's a fictional situation with topical backgrounding.
It does get you thinking though, if the actual people charged with reporting the stories have given themselves a license to interfere in such a cruel and intrusive manner, where is the line for investigative journalism? Is the price of a free press a corrupt press or is there a way to take the competition out of reporting in the interests of reporting simply news?
Whatever the future for this, I'm sure the past has always been the same. No town cryer ever had a lack of vested interest I'm sure. But if there aren't severe consequences for not only hacking, but deleting these voicemail messages, then we're in trouble because we're not listening to reporters, we're listening to authors.
Tuesday, July 5, 2011
Monday, July 4, 2011
Laura Speaking - Is that the Captain?
Boomtown! I'm a receptionist this week in a fabulous building within walking distance of my house... goodbye trains and evil clothes made of leather and sequins, hello filing things and smiling at people who are graciously allowing me to make them coffee.
Obviously my mind is a teensy bit elsewhere what with the first installment of the London Festival Fringe shows tonight... the lights I have booked have still failed to materialise and I'm now trying to visualise an entire show in the dark. That'll be fine right? I mean, we've got a microphone... how important is seeing the comedian anyway? If all else fails I suppose I will just have to sit in front of the stage shining my mobile phone light on to the stage. That'll work.
It's such a beautiful day I refuse point blank to be too worried about anything... the building that I'm working in has a roof garden up on the 11th floor which has panoramic views of London. Absolutely incredible visions of The Gherkin, St Paul's Cathedral and The Shard. Although, actually my favourite building in London is The Strata - I think it looks great... it's the sort of building that I imagine Emporer Zurg living in should he take up architecture. Obviously the interior of the building would be an "Evil Theme" design, this means purple carpets throughout and a strong focus on shoulder pads. I imagine he'd be a big fan of Sharon Stone and green olives.
It's quite fun being a receptionist and the building I'm in is insanely cool so I'm playing a small game in my mind called "DEFEND THE RECEPTION". Basically, I am very important and my reception is a spaceship which is going on an important mission to rescue the world from some sort of disease (probably caused by pollen because I'm still quite angry).
My job is to keep the crew safe from cold calls and people without badges. The badges all have tiny versions of faces on them... mostly those would be the same face that's attached to the human who's come to visit. But sometimes the visitor will be a droid. Oh no! Then, the face on the badge won't match and it will be my job to blast them to pieces using my stellar head set. This hasn't actually happened yet but you never know when they will try and infiltrate so I have to be on my guard.
The job also requires telling a lot of hapless cold callers than someone I have never met is away from their desk... but, do you know, this is often a complete lie! Shock horror! It's very important that I don't let the crew of my ship be distracted form their important work or we may never reach our destination. Also, these cold callers might even be trying to sell us pollen and that could delay our research by hours! I am living in constant peril.
Soon it will be my lunch break and I will have to relinquish the reigns of the front desk and hope that no one moves my strategically placed post-it notes in an attempt to find the gap in the force field which lets people through to the sacred PAs. The PA is in need of the most defence because everyone knows they are easily flummoxed by a persistant pollen salesman, I am never to put calls through there unless I have their express permission. I could lose my eyes if I try.
It's a tough job but someone has to do it and I am willing to put my life on the line to fight for the safety of the Good Ship Laura. It is of course completely possible that it's only taken me 3 hours to crack... in which case it might be a long week.
Obviously my mind is a teensy bit elsewhere what with the first installment of the London Festival Fringe shows tonight... the lights I have booked have still failed to materialise and I'm now trying to visualise an entire show in the dark. That'll be fine right? I mean, we've got a microphone... how important is seeing the comedian anyway? If all else fails I suppose I will just have to sit in front of the stage shining my mobile phone light on to the stage. That'll work.
It's such a beautiful day I refuse point blank to be too worried about anything... the building that I'm working in has a roof garden up on the 11th floor which has panoramic views of London. Absolutely incredible visions of The Gherkin, St Paul's Cathedral and The Shard. Although, actually my favourite building in London is The Strata - I think it looks great... it's the sort of building that I imagine Emporer Zurg living in should he take up architecture. Obviously the interior of the building would be an "Evil Theme" design, this means purple carpets throughout and a strong focus on shoulder pads. I imagine he'd be a big fan of Sharon Stone and green olives.
It's quite fun being a receptionist and the building I'm in is insanely cool so I'm playing a small game in my mind called "DEFEND THE RECEPTION". Basically, I am very important and my reception is a spaceship which is going on an important mission to rescue the world from some sort of disease (probably caused by pollen because I'm still quite angry).
My job is to keep the crew safe from cold calls and people without badges. The badges all have tiny versions of faces on them... mostly those would be the same face that's attached to the human who's come to visit. But sometimes the visitor will be a droid. Oh no! Then, the face on the badge won't match and it will be my job to blast them to pieces using my stellar head set. This hasn't actually happened yet but you never know when they will try and infiltrate so I have to be on my guard.
The job also requires telling a lot of hapless cold callers than someone I have never met is away from their desk... but, do you know, this is often a complete lie! Shock horror! It's very important that I don't let the crew of my ship be distracted form their important work or we may never reach our destination. Also, these cold callers might even be trying to sell us pollen and that could delay our research by hours! I am living in constant peril.
Soon it will be my lunch break and I will have to relinquish the reigns of the front desk and hope that no one moves my strategically placed post-it notes in an attempt to find the gap in the force field which lets people through to the sacred PAs. The PA is in need of the most defence because everyone knows they are easily flummoxed by a persistant pollen salesman, I am never to put calls through there unless I have their express permission. I could lose my eyes if I try.
It's a tough job but someone has to do it and I am willing to put my life on the line to fight for the safety of the Good Ship Laura. It is of course completely possible that it's only taken me 3 hours to crack... in which case it might be a long week.
Sunday, July 3, 2011
This Smells Like Grass Folks
Oh it's a bit hard to take anything terrifically seriously right now. I just found out Ink has achieved its £500 funding request which is totally incredible. So I'm a little tipsy at the news. There's obviously a hundred things about the incredibleness of human nature that I'd like to blog about.
Sadly I can't. Because I found out tonight that my bid to beat hayfever through sheer resilience is never going to pay off. This is obviously gutting. Apparently my body is unable to beat pollen. What kind of a dominant species are we if we can't even beat pollen? It's tiny! And yellow! What yellow things have ever conquered the world? None. Romans? Wore red. Transformers? Bumble Bee got smashed. Donovan? Mellow yellow sucked.
So I am furious. Basically this conversation came about because I revealed I can't afford to buy hayfever medication and so I am trying to beat it solo. Not possible according to my medical friend who told me the history of histamines and said I was doomed.
It's left me terribly bereft. In the past I have thought that were I marooned on a desert island my biggest issue would be whether or not I had tweezers to keep my eyebrows at bay. Now, I'm faced with the concept that abandonment would mean a lifetime of sneezing, puffy eyes and a raspy throat. Not ideal. I will never compete with Evangeline Lily.
So I don't really know what to do. The human race has been defeated by flower spunk.
Sadly I can't. Because I found out tonight that my bid to beat hayfever through sheer resilience is never going to pay off. This is obviously gutting. Apparently my body is unable to beat pollen. What kind of a dominant species are we if we can't even beat pollen? It's tiny! And yellow! What yellow things have ever conquered the world? None. Romans? Wore red. Transformers? Bumble Bee got smashed. Donovan? Mellow yellow sucked.
So I am furious. Basically this conversation came about because I revealed I can't afford to buy hayfever medication and so I am trying to beat it solo. Not possible according to my medical friend who told me the history of histamines and said I was doomed.
It's left me terribly bereft. In the past I have thought that were I marooned on a desert island my biggest issue would be whether or not I had tweezers to keep my eyebrows at bay. Now, I'm faced with the concept that abandonment would mean a lifetime of sneezing, puffy eyes and a raspy throat. Not ideal. I will never compete with Evangeline Lily.
So I don't really know what to do. The human race has been defeated by flower spunk.
Saturday, July 2, 2011
Countdown With John!
This time next month I will be on my way to Edinburgh for a month of shows and parties and cobbles and rain and artistic differences and actors lying around in face paint and jokes and star struck nonsense. This time next month I will actually be in a car on my way there - I will be travelling! Actually, I'll be about 4 hours into my journey so I'll probably be somewhere between Yorkshire and Lancashire. I'd prefer it if no one who understands the layout of the country properly corrected me in a helpful/patronising manner beneath this blog. Ta muchly.
This weekend feels a little bit like the calm before the storm when the Glassblower preview season kicks off on Monday. This almost feels like the worst bit I think because there's nothing more you can do to get something ready but there's still the chance the whole thing could be a disaster. I bit like once you've had all the sex and the baby is kinda growing but only DNA can decide whether he gets the family monobrow. The best you can do is start researching shapes and practising your tweezer fingers just in case.
I got told off yesterday for not putting any funnies into the blog... I do apologise unreservedly (but very shallowly in that I'm not really very sorry because this is my playground and I'm just letting you use the swings when you want) about the lack of jokes, and if any occur to me between now and going to my rehearsal I will jam them awkwardly into this collection of words.
It's very hard to know what to write that's going to be amusing when you've not had time to encounter any kamikaze lady birds or get angry about anything. I've had a cup of tea and a shower so far. Absolutely nothing funny happened.
Perhaps it's time for lies? Yeah, erm, I had a shower... and Chuck Norris was there! Yeah! and he sad something really funny... he said, um - wait til you hear this, he said... Actually, I'm not entirely sure who Chuck Norris is so perhaps he was a stupid person to pretend was in the shower. I'm not really sure who would be the funniest person to find in your shower. I'd be pretty amused if John Lithgow was in there. He's a funny man. Go and read his blog if you want jokes. (I don't know if he actually writes a blog so you might have to pop round to his house. Maybe get in his shower. Yes! We could all get in John Lithgow's shower and then he'll have something to blog about and so will we.) It's a perfect plan.
I should really be getting dressed because the longer I sit here the less feeling I have in my leg (they are dangling over the foot of my bed and it's very uncomfortable), and the less skin I have because I've noticed if you peel after a shower it looks like peeling off dried glue and I find that gross but addictive. So, there we have a plan. You go and find John Lithgow, I'll get dressed and we'll reconvene tomorrow for hilarity? Excellent.
This weekend feels a little bit like the calm before the storm when the Glassblower preview season kicks off on Monday. This almost feels like the worst bit I think because there's nothing more you can do to get something ready but there's still the chance the whole thing could be a disaster. I bit like once you've had all the sex and the baby is kinda growing but only DNA can decide whether he gets the family monobrow. The best you can do is start researching shapes and practising your tweezer fingers just in case.
I got told off yesterday for not putting any funnies into the blog... I do apologise unreservedly (but very shallowly in that I'm not really very sorry because this is my playground and I'm just letting you use the swings when you want) about the lack of jokes, and if any occur to me between now and going to my rehearsal I will jam them awkwardly into this collection of words.
It's very hard to know what to write that's going to be amusing when you've not had time to encounter any kamikaze lady birds or get angry about anything. I've had a cup of tea and a shower so far. Absolutely nothing funny happened.
Perhaps it's time for lies? Yeah, erm, I had a shower... and Chuck Norris was there! Yeah! and he sad something really funny... he said, um - wait til you hear this, he said... Actually, I'm not entirely sure who Chuck Norris is so perhaps he was a stupid person to pretend was in the shower. I'm not really sure who would be the funniest person to find in your shower. I'd be pretty amused if John Lithgow was in there. He's a funny man. Go and read his blog if you want jokes. (I don't know if he actually writes a blog so you might have to pop round to his house. Maybe get in his shower. Yes! We could all get in John Lithgow's shower and then he'll have something to blog about and so will we.) It's a perfect plan.
I should really be getting dressed because the longer I sit here the less feeling I have in my leg (they are dangling over the foot of my bed and it's very uncomfortable), and the less skin I have because I've noticed if you peel after a shower it looks like peeling off dried glue and I find that gross but addictive. So, there we have a plan. You go and find John Lithgow, I'll get dressed and we'll reconvene tomorrow for hilarity? Excellent.
Friday, July 1, 2011
This Is What I Look Like
I hate my body.
For some reason in the last 12 hours I seem to have been continually confronted with this fact. I like to write, I like to be creative and I like to express myself comically and ridiculously - I'm kind of OK with myself. But every now and again I look at someone whose body seems to do the talking for them and I am so jealous it hurts.
I spent 6 hours in TopShop this morning watching people with edgy haircuts and fleshless limbs trying on outfits that were laughable on the hanger. Scrappy bits of awful material with elastic where there shouldn't have been elastic and gaps in the clothes where there certainly should have been more cloth. Suddenly, when the hordes of Oxford Street women were in them, the clothes looked right, and the people in them looked even more maddeningly right.
It's never upset me before. It shouldn't have upset me today. I am a jeans and a t shirt sort of a girl. I like simple, I like classic, I like baggy. But every once in a while I would like to turn heads the way these girls did. I don't want to wear hotpants, but I'd like to be able to.
I've always had a problem with my body - I've always hated the way it looked and I increasingly despise the way it is falling apart. I've always thought I would like to just exist without a body - just be able to be my personality without having to back it up courtesy of a dumpy, fraying collection of mismatched body parts. I've always felt a strong sense of detachment to anything below my neck - my face and my brain are mine, my body is like an alien addition to who I see as me. I'm fairly certain I'm not the only person who can have ever felt this way, but I've never really heard anyone talk about it.
Last night I had a drink with someone who told me I was beautiful.
For me, this is excruciatingly awkward - I do not believe I'm beautiful and hearing someone say it makes me more upset than pleased. I feel like a disappointment, the thought process tends to be - "No, I'm not. They'll be very annoyed/disappointed when they realise what I actually look like." Waiting to be found out is a running theme in my personal batch of insecurities. So, last night I voiced my lack of agreement with his sentiment and his reply completely caught me off guard, he said;
"Of course you know you're fit... you couldn't be as confident as you are if you didn't."
This idea has not stopped worrying me since the idea was put out there. Is that how people think I come across? Do I seem like someone who is so wholly convinced of their own attractiveness that it becomes a feature of their personality?
My confidence has developed as a consequence of becoming happy with who I am in terms of my actions. I'm not a self-deprecating joker, I worry it sounds like digging, so I joke and interact without inhibitions - why point out flaws that you're hoping people won't notice?
I generally have a strong and positive approach to achievement. The more I've worked towards anything I want, the more I've realised that I can have things if I'm willing to try. This, for me, brings a sense of security in my capability. My capability defines who I am - I am what I am capable of. I have confidence.
But physically...? I'm not there.
I have spent the last 8 years of my life systematically destroying my body through eating disorders and lack of confidence in how I look. I've never written about it before - it's always been something I've been embarrassed and ashamed of. I've never wanted to be defined by something that I haven't learnt to control. I'm scared that once people know that about me, it's not something that's easily forgotten. I have spent far too long building up the person I want to be to let it be overshadowed by a very minor part of my personality.
So why talk about it?
I suppose because we should. Because, if I'm not willing to talk about it (when I spend half my life talking about anything and everything else) then I'm perpetuating the talking in code that people do about their bodies. If 15 year old me had just admitted that she hated her body and been shown how to fix it, instead of pretending everything was fine and breaking it in the process of trying to be perfect, then it would have saved a hell of a lot of mess. Granted, I wouldn't have any of the (truly stunning) IBS jokes I now have... but I also would be able to eat fresh fruit without wincing.
What's your point whiny face? My point... yes, I'm supposed to have a point at the end of this self-indulgent horribly badly thought out post. I suppose my point is... I still haven't learnt anything. I'm still looking at these angels in TopShop and assuming they're perfect and happy, the same way my friend thought about me. I still measure my satisfaction in my own body against how much I like someone else's instead of just seeing whether my body has done its job of being a body.
We may return to this subject when I have either;
a) Got a point.
b) Learnt something.
c) Thought of some jokes on the subject so that it is funny. Everybody loves funny...
For some reason in the last 12 hours I seem to have been continually confronted with this fact. I like to write, I like to be creative and I like to express myself comically and ridiculously - I'm kind of OK with myself. But every now and again I look at someone whose body seems to do the talking for them and I am so jealous it hurts.
I spent 6 hours in TopShop this morning watching people with edgy haircuts and fleshless limbs trying on outfits that were laughable on the hanger. Scrappy bits of awful material with elastic where there shouldn't have been elastic and gaps in the clothes where there certainly should have been more cloth. Suddenly, when the hordes of Oxford Street women were in them, the clothes looked right, and the people in them looked even more maddeningly right.
It's never upset me before. It shouldn't have upset me today. I am a jeans and a t shirt sort of a girl. I like simple, I like classic, I like baggy. But every once in a while I would like to turn heads the way these girls did. I don't want to wear hotpants, but I'd like to be able to.
I've always had a problem with my body - I've always hated the way it looked and I increasingly despise the way it is falling apart. I've always thought I would like to just exist without a body - just be able to be my personality without having to back it up courtesy of a dumpy, fraying collection of mismatched body parts. I've always felt a strong sense of detachment to anything below my neck - my face and my brain are mine, my body is like an alien addition to who I see as me. I'm fairly certain I'm not the only person who can have ever felt this way, but I've never really heard anyone talk about it.
Last night I had a drink with someone who told me I was beautiful.
For me, this is excruciatingly awkward - I do not believe I'm beautiful and hearing someone say it makes me more upset than pleased. I feel like a disappointment, the thought process tends to be - "No, I'm not. They'll be very annoyed/disappointed when they realise what I actually look like." Waiting to be found out is a running theme in my personal batch of insecurities. So, last night I voiced my lack of agreement with his sentiment and his reply completely caught me off guard, he said;
"Of course you know you're fit... you couldn't be as confident as you are if you didn't."
This idea has not stopped worrying me since the idea was put out there. Is that how people think I come across? Do I seem like someone who is so wholly convinced of their own attractiveness that it becomes a feature of their personality?
My confidence has developed as a consequence of becoming happy with who I am in terms of my actions. I'm not a self-deprecating joker, I worry it sounds like digging, so I joke and interact without inhibitions - why point out flaws that you're hoping people won't notice?
I generally have a strong and positive approach to achievement. The more I've worked towards anything I want, the more I've realised that I can have things if I'm willing to try. This, for me, brings a sense of security in my capability. My capability defines who I am - I am what I am capable of. I have confidence.
But physically...? I'm not there.
I have spent the last 8 years of my life systematically destroying my body through eating disorders and lack of confidence in how I look. I've never written about it before - it's always been something I've been embarrassed and ashamed of. I've never wanted to be defined by something that I haven't learnt to control. I'm scared that once people know that about me, it's not something that's easily forgotten. I have spent far too long building up the person I want to be to let it be overshadowed by a very minor part of my personality.
So why talk about it?
I suppose because we should. Because, if I'm not willing to talk about it (when I spend half my life talking about anything and everything else) then I'm perpetuating the talking in code that people do about their bodies. If 15 year old me had just admitted that she hated her body and been shown how to fix it, instead of pretending everything was fine and breaking it in the process of trying to be perfect, then it would have saved a hell of a lot of mess. Granted, I wouldn't have any of the (truly stunning) IBS jokes I now have... but I also would be able to eat fresh fruit without wincing.
What's your point whiny face? My point... yes, I'm supposed to have a point at the end of this self-indulgent horribly badly thought out post. I suppose my point is... I still haven't learnt anything. I'm still looking at these angels in TopShop and assuming they're perfect and happy, the same way my friend thought about me. I still measure my satisfaction in my own body against how much I like someone else's instead of just seeing whether my body has done its job of being a body.
We may return to this subject when I have either;
a) Got a point.
b) Learnt something.
c) Thought of some jokes on the subject so that it is funny. Everybody loves funny...
Thursday, June 30, 2011
I Don't Practise Banter Here
So the lazy days came to a shattering halt this morning as I squeezed myself out of the door to go and start setting up the Glassblower for next week's shows. Having looked at the room properly with everything in place I am convinced it's an excellent venue for previews - which is probably a good thing given that we're about to stage 23 of them over the next 4 weeks. Hurrah. It's a little bit like gigging in Oscar Wilde's living room in my opinion - what can go wrong?
Tomorrow I've been offered some work at a well known fashion outlet. Whilst I'm thrilled about having something to do in the daylight hours, there are two things I'm not so thrilled about:
1. Technically I'm not starting the job in the daylight hours. I am starting at 6am. Who the hell needs well known fashion at 6am? I'm juts not sure a pair of jeans has ever been so desired that it requires the staff to be awake at ridiculous o'clock. Thank heavens it's only two days or I think the phrase burning the candle at both ends would barely cut it.
2. I don't want to work in a well known fashion outlet. I am not fashionable - I like jeans and I like t-shirts. Occasionally I will wear a dress if I'm feeling particularly spangly. I am already nervous about the prospect of trying to assist people politely when they're seriously considering whether something containing more sequins than cotton.
Yesterday I had a brilliant day catching up with a good friend from the comedy world - between several cups of tea and a march around London trying to track down some fudge to satisfy my craving, we caught up on all my harebrained schemes for being hilarious and he managed to convince me yet again that it was exciting not terrifying. As much as I'm a miserable bitch realist, it is nice to have at least one friend who is just permanently convince you're always going to make it. When there's more than one of you - it seems more likely that things will work out and you feel like less of a crazy person. I'm going to need that at 5:45am tomorrow when I'm on a train to go and help people decide which shade of skinny jeans makes them look most like Peaches Geldof.
Tomorrow I've been offered some work at a well known fashion outlet. Whilst I'm thrilled about having something to do in the daylight hours, there are two things I'm not so thrilled about:
1. Technically I'm not starting the job in the daylight hours. I am starting at 6am. Who the hell needs well known fashion at 6am? I'm juts not sure a pair of jeans has ever been so desired that it requires the staff to be awake at ridiculous o'clock. Thank heavens it's only two days or I think the phrase burning the candle at both ends would barely cut it.
2. I don't want to work in a well known fashion outlet. I am not fashionable - I like jeans and I like t-shirts. Occasionally I will wear a dress if I'm feeling particularly spangly. I am already nervous about the prospect of trying to assist people politely when they're seriously considering whether something containing more sequins than cotton.
Yesterday I had a brilliant day catching up with a good friend from the comedy world - between several cups of tea and a march around London trying to track down some fudge to satisfy my craving, we caught up on all my harebrained schemes for being hilarious and he managed to convince me yet again that it was exciting not terrifying. As much as I'm a miserable bitch realist, it is nice to have at least one friend who is just permanently convince you're always going to make it. When there's more than one of you - it seems more likely that things will work out and you feel like less of a crazy person. I'm going to need that at 5:45am tomorrow when I'm on a train to go and help people decide which shade of skinny jeans makes them look most like Peaches Geldof.
Wednesday, June 29, 2011
Commit Mint Tissues
Blue sky, cloud free,
Summer's day - torturing me.
There. That was a mini poem about how miserable it is to be completely sunburnt while there's a beautiful day outside and you're scared to step into the light in case your sun just decides to abandon ship completely and go and live on someone who doesn't keep frying the crap out of it. My nose is peeling and it now looks like a delicate lace. A gross delicate lace that no one in their right mind would put up in their windows. Unless you had no contents insurance and you needed to put people off burgling you by saying, This house is so gross we use delicate nose skin in the windows.
I tried out 10 minutes of new material at a gig last night - I hate doing new material, I find it very difficult to say anything in the right order and it always feels like taking two steps backwards. When it's just a case of poking a new joke into an established bit it's not too bad, but when you're testing a whole new set piece it's like charting new territory. It's difficult to describe it if you've never done stand-up comedy, but, when you're working with an old set you know all the peaks and troughs. Speaking through it almost becomes muscle memory for you and you can have complete faith in yourself that the majority of it will hit home as long as you perform well.
With new material, something that seemed a really good idea in your mind or notepad, is all of a sudden spilling out of your mouth. It's a bit like getting half way through explaining your weird dream to someone and then realising you're telling them about screwing a monkey with the face of Matilda - it's just not something they're going to want to relate to in public. New material doesn't have rhythms yet and the only way to get them is to keep on speaking it until you've got enough votes for the best bits to know what to keep in and what to leave out.
With me, new material very rarely sticks to what is on the page - it'll always start with the jokes and ideas that I've prepared but then I find myself reeling off down tangents and sometimes it even surprises me. Last night I went from temp work to magic to relationships without any clue where I was going. I discovered that I have a fundamental issue with the way people create magic in fiction which is not something I've ever given more than a milisecond of thought to in the past. I'm going to need to write a strongly worded letter to any author who has previously used the concept of magic in a piece of fiction and tell them that I'm disappointed in their fundamental lack of imagination.
It's weirder when you start talking about something more personal and all of a sudden you've revealed something to the room that you're not even sure is accurate, let alone something you particularly want other people to know. I think I told a bemused room half full of people in Camden that I am terrified of commitment. The only part of this that surprised me was that I said I was scared of it - not that I didn't like it, or that I didn't want it etc etc. I said I was scared of it. And I think I am. I'm beginning to wonder if stand-up does occasionally cross the line from entertainment to therapy for at least the person holding the microphone.
I try and avoid really personal material - I often use real stuff and then butcher it for the laughs - a mercenary clown if you like, but to be able to speak quite openly about things that are powerful is probably my ultimate goal for stand-up. I saw Rufus Hound performing a few months ago and he completely moved the boundaries for me in terms of what is possible for laughter and public speaking. I think it surprised me so much because I didn't expect it from a TV personality - but that's completely the point of his performance I think. He talks about the purpose of the human race and whether we've lived up to expectations of what we could achieve.
Is it still stand-up comedy? Is there room for a new genre when comedy is not just about making you laugh - it's about stirring you and making you think? Is it motivational speaking on steroids? What role do comedians fill when they've moved on from whimsical punch lines and bashing politics they don't understand? There's a lot of snobbery between comedians about material - good jokes vs knob gags. It's almost like just making people laugh got too predictable - now we have to make them laugh while they're thinking.
I don't think it's a bad thing. I think comedy's an evolving beast - I just wish was evolving as fast as the format.
Summer's day - torturing me.
There. That was a mini poem about how miserable it is to be completely sunburnt while there's a beautiful day outside and you're scared to step into the light in case your sun just decides to abandon ship completely and go and live on someone who doesn't keep frying the crap out of it. My nose is peeling and it now looks like a delicate lace. A gross delicate lace that no one in their right mind would put up in their windows. Unless you had no contents insurance and you needed to put people off burgling you by saying, This house is so gross we use delicate nose skin in the windows.
I tried out 10 minutes of new material at a gig last night - I hate doing new material, I find it very difficult to say anything in the right order and it always feels like taking two steps backwards. When it's just a case of poking a new joke into an established bit it's not too bad, but when you're testing a whole new set piece it's like charting new territory. It's difficult to describe it if you've never done stand-up comedy, but, when you're working with an old set you know all the peaks and troughs. Speaking through it almost becomes muscle memory for you and you can have complete faith in yourself that the majority of it will hit home as long as you perform well.
With new material, something that seemed a really good idea in your mind or notepad, is all of a sudden spilling out of your mouth. It's a bit like getting half way through explaining your weird dream to someone and then realising you're telling them about screwing a monkey with the face of Matilda - it's just not something they're going to want to relate to in public. New material doesn't have rhythms yet and the only way to get them is to keep on speaking it until you've got enough votes for the best bits to know what to keep in and what to leave out.
With me, new material very rarely sticks to what is on the page - it'll always start with the jokes and ideas that I've prepared but then I find myself reeling off down tangents and sometimes it even surprises me. Last night I went from temp work to magic to relationships without any clue where I was going. I discovered that I have a fundamental issue with the way people create magic in fiction which is not something I've ever given more than a milisecond of thought to in the past. I'm going to need to write a strongly worded letter to any author who has previously used the concept of magic in a piece of fiction and tell them that I'm disappointed in their fundamental lack of imagination.
It's weirder when you start talking about something more personal and all of a sudden you've revealed something to the room that you're not even sure is accurate, let alone something you particularly want other people to know. I think I told a bemused room half full of people in Camden that I am terrified of commitment. The only part of this that surprised me was that I said I was scared of it - not that I didn't like it, or that I didn't want it etc etc. I said I was scared of it. And I think I am. I'm beginning to wonder if stand-up does occasionally cross the line from entertainment to therapy for at least the person holding the microphone.
I try and avoid really personal material - I often use real stuff and then butcher it for the laughs - a mercenary clown if you like, but to be able to speak quite openly about things that are powerful is probably my ultimate goal for stand-up. I saw Rufus Hound performing a few months ago and he completely moved the boundaries for me in terms of what is possible for laughter and public speaking. I think it surprised me so much because I didn't expect it from a TV personality - but that's completely the point of his performance I think. He talks about the purpose of the human race and whether we've lived up to expectations of what we could achieve.
Is it still stand-up comedy? Is there room for a new genre when comedy is not just about making you laugh - it's about stirring you and making you think? Is it motivational speaking on steroids? What role do comedians fill when they've moved on from whimsical punch lines and bashing politics they don't understand? There's a lot of snobbery between comedians about material - good jokes vs knob gags. It's almost like just making people laugh got too predictable - now we have to make them laugh while they're thinking.
I don't think it's a bad thing. I think comedy's an evolving beast - I just wish was evolving as fast as the format.
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