Of Wags, fashionistas, and babes on the budget
Very well then. What have I been up to? This and that. Generally speaking I am on holidays, and do whatever pleases me to do. So, recently, it pleased me no end to watch a film or two late at night, to catch up a program or two even later at night, and to run around real and virtual (i.e. online) shops sorting out Christmas presents.
First things first. I have been deeply shocked to see the following program about WAGs. If you are like me, and completely clueless as to what a WAG is, here’s a convenient description: Wives And Girlfriends of high-profile footballers. Hmmm. Somehow, I really do fail to see the difference between a WAG wannabe, and a call-girl. Must be something wrong with the way I was brought up. Anyhow, there are blogs out there and books out there that teach aspiring girls how to nail down that Premiership star. Apparently, they don’t come cheap. Back in 2006, it was reported that one must ‘invest’ around 50K GBP to push yourself ahead of the competition. How? Erm, by blowing the money into the following all important areas of personal development:
- Boobs – £6K
- Designer wardrobe – £7K
- Body conditioning – £9K (a gym?! or are we talking more plastic surgery?!)
- Being seen in the correct places – £3K
- Makeup etc.- £1.5K
- Accessories – £3K
OMG. Of course, the list is not finished, for there’s the maintenance cost to be born. For we need to do our hair (£6K) and nails (£650), keep paying for a personal trainer (£5K), make sure we tan like mad (1.8K), and refresh our wardrobe (7K +), for indeed, we can’t afford looking scruffy whilst on a manhunt. I wish I could say those guys are worth this much hassle. But hey, there’s no accounting for tastes.
Right, so what is a moral of this story? A moral of this story is that being a babe on a budget is very challenging. Ideally, a vain person like myself wants to look better than a WAG. But to spend much less. I guess the easiest way is to stick to one and the same brand. My problem is I get bored with the same brand. And mix and match is hard. Strangely enough, am still not quite sure of my personal taste and preferences. Recently, I like the idea of ebay, and ASOS. On the top of French Connections, Zara, and about 10 other shops. Oh dear, dear, dear. So many choices…
And finally, fancy a WAG weekend? In Liverpool? Me, I think, I’ll pass.
So un_WANTED
First of all, congratulations to me. Yesterday I managed to see the worst film in my life. Sadistic and vulgar, it left me physically sick. I watched it through to its end. I am very obstinate that way. But I was on the verge of throwing up. Literally.
And then, came the credits. And all the pieces of this jigsaw puzzle came together. But of course!!! The director is Russian. Timur Bekmambetov. Actually, he is NOT Russian. He’s from Kazakhstan.
You see, it’s not quite Hollywood to have totally unjustified violence. It’s Russian (or Eastern European, if you like). Let me give you an example. 15 years ago, back in my home town, a 25 year old estate agent was killed. For no good reason, and with about 30 knife wounds. He was ‘under a roof’ of one criminal clan, and was selling a property that another criminal clan didn’t want to see sold. He was killed routinely, not even as an example. Like one kills an insect. We grew up knowing ‘the master criminal’ for the city, the ‘submaster criminals’ for the districts, and sometimes we knew them in person. And looked the other way. Most of the time. You know your place, and you stick to your place. Like a glue. A woman raped at 11 p.m. in the park? But ofc it’s her own bloody fault. For no decent woman should be in a park that late. A short skirt? But surely she IS asking for it. No, my memories of the country are far from being bright and sunny.
Anyhow, I could see this film being very very popular in Russia. It really does reflect the mentality of the society. A spineless hypochondriac finds his macho destiny. Totally swell.
All I can tell you, it felt like to make this film they brutally raped a lot of good films, like Matrix, Nikita, Leon, Ronin, maybe even Kill Bill… They took out all the action bits, they took out as much violence as they could, and then they put it all together into one disgusting package. Wolf eats wolf.
But you don’t have to believe me, of course. The trailer makes some sense, sort of. I wish I could say the same about the film.
Why women cannot be philosophers
And please don’t throw rotten tomatoes at me. Am emancipated enough to be comfortable with this statement. And also this is just an opinion. Mine, in this case.
And, yes, I like philosophy per se. (And once upon a time I was good enough to have been offered to do a PhD in it by my uni professor.)
So it’s not intellectual ability of grasping philosophy by women I refer to. OK? We are smart enough to do what we want. Lovely. So let’s get on with my argument then.
As a woman, I can only be ‘philosophical’ up to a point. A point at which things have to be done. This is not because we, women, don’t care ‘WHY’. But because we are built to get on with it. This is why women live longer on average. We’d love to know ‘why’, but the meaning of life is … life to us. Usually. We come here to create life, and we come here to safeguard life (I sound like the Fifth Element here, don’t I?!). And that’s a good enough reason to me. When women start pondering upon ‘higher philosophical issues’, the cooking gets burnt, the dishes stay dirty, and the children get into all sorts of mischief.
Mind you, one thing has to be said for socialists/communists. They wanted a superwoman. A Battlefield Valkyrie, who will be a man’s equal in absolutely everything, but who could also keep the household running. (Men don’t want much, do they 😉 )
In trance, literally
Why? To switch off as large a portion of my brain as I can and get on with certain work-realated tasks. Here’s one of my fav so far:
Erm, just ignore the visuals…
Hot Play? Cold Play?
Haven’t been to a concert for a while, I was really looking forward to the Coldplay gig. And it was great, and it wasn’t that great. And all at the same time. I am still slightly confused as to what French Revolution got in common with his album. Or Spain, for that. I can’t hear any Spanish influence in his music, but I guess, it’s my own problem.
I mean, the guy is amazing. There’s no too ways about it. Loved his white top, but then, of course, I will. Back to the concert. The first part of it felt a bit flat. And the second part was really cool. For me, the atmosphere was cold and impersonal until he took his grey jacket off, and got behind the piano. Amazingly, he was going to sing a totally different song, and changed his mind. And this totally made my day. Why? Because he became human, and informal. And well, interesting. I also loved it when he left the stage, and went to play at the back of the Arena (very close to where we were, in fact).
All of this made me realize something. I don’t like big gigs, and prefer much smaller, much more informal gatherings. I loved Neil Finn’s concert in Nottingham ages ago. We sat in the second row. When he asked if we had any favourite songs, guess who was shouting the Four Seasons at the top of her voice?! Yep, and he heard me, and he played it. Sigh. Perrrfect. Same happened with Semisonic. And the Divine Comedy in Barcelona was really smashing.
But enough of my musings. The Telegraph review is here, anyway.
About
I’ve finally come to conclusion that writing a blog is not such a bad idea. In fact, it’s a great idea for people who do not like sharing personal stuff with those nearest and dearest. After all, the need to talk and get it off the chest is still there. I guess, I see blogging in the same way as talking to a stranger on the train. You don’t know me, I don’t know you. Things can never get awkward between us. I can be as stupid or as clever, as interesting or as boring as I choose to. And you can choose to ignore my ramblings. Free will at its best…
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