Saturday, 30 April 2011

I can sing a rainbow, too... (I have to, I've a diversity quota to meet)

This blogging malarky seems to be good for me.  I used to carry around my rage, only letting it out in small vents on facebook.  Now I am the crazy person on the train, scribbling furiously in a notebook (luddite, me) as I attempt to capture every drop of bile.  As such I have pages and pages of annoyances, all waiting to be padded out and unleashed on the internet.  And so the stomach ulcer might well be postponed for a few years.

One of the first such irritations scrawled in the book of fury has been pushed to the top of the list after learning of this example of complete and utter bloody ridiculousness.  I am not going to attempt to critique this complete bonkersness, as it's been done already (and in a far more eloquent manner than I could manage).

But rant?  Oh, rant I shall...  I am once again horrified about the things people will fixate on.  Political correctness and diversity quotas are, and always have been, my biggest bugbears.  I was sent on diversity training at work a while ago, and find the whole thing utterly laughable.

I was brought up to not judge people.  I was brought up to know that it is bad to judge people on the colour of their skin / religion / gender / age / sexuality / disability / whatever.  I went to school in a very white, Christian area.  But somehow I managed to grow up not prejudiced and/or terrified of 'minority ethnic groups'.

However.  It has now reached the point where I walk on eggshells.  Terrified of inadvertently offending someone by using the non-PC term for something, it's now a situation where all I can focus on is someone's race / religion / gender / age / sexuality / disability etc etc.  Rather than seeing them as an individual, I'm now seeing them as the person in front of whom I cannot use the term 'disability' (it's 'differently abled') / 'woman' or 'man' (it's 'person') / 'deluded cloud-cuckoo land resident' (it's 'socialist').

So well done.  By trying to batter everyone into 'not noticing' difference (what a load of utter nonsense.  I HAVE EYES, DON'T I?  Oops, apologies to any partially sighted people out there. But then you'd better not be noticing what accent people speak with, as that would be bad too...), it has now become the focal point.  But I'm of course not allowed to complain, as it would be my 'privilege talking'.

I would say that it drives me crazy, but that would be offensive to the mentally ill (sorry, I mean 'Daily Mail readers').

Friday, 29 April 2011

Wedding of mass distraction

Bloody weddings.  I hate them.  I can't stand them even when I know the people involved.
I'm a cynical git.  I can't help but sit there thinking 'yerrrr, you said that to your last *insert number here* exes'.

They also cost me a fortune as a guest.  I have to buy gifts for people who just want newer, shinier versions of things they already have.  Wasn't the original point of wedding gifts to help a couple set up home?  Just sayin'...

But anyway, I digress.

While 'the world' has been ooohing and aaaahing over a moderately posh bird living the 'fairy tale dream' (i.e. saying goodbye to any personal freedom she once had), shit has been kicking off.

Now I admit that I did hope that there wouldn't be any trouble at the wedding (although this plan for a runaway bride scenario did amuse me), as 1) it's not really that classy to disrupt the day of a couple who have done nothing wrong, and, let's face it, have bog all power, and 2) it's not going to encourage the starry-eyed general populace to back any cause, is it?

But.  This is atrocious.  This terrifies me to my very core.  Pre-crime?  WTF?  I am screwed.  My flippancy in my day-to-day  life means that I will probably find myself regularly taken into custody for pre-assault, pre-murder, pre-GBH...

As a good little law-abider, I have spent most of my life generally unfrightened of the boys in blue.  This all changed, however, with the introduction of the draconian smoking laws, and I spend a lot of time smoking outside, paranoid that I'm still in 'the wrong bit of outside'.  If our thoughts and opinions are now under threat, well then this ain't a world I want to live in.  Pass the full-strength Marlboro (which I paid full tax on, thus funding those there 'public servants' who seek to erode our civil liberties, bit by bit), and I'll smoke myself into the grave.  In a legal location.  Disposing of the cigarette ends in a responsible manner, officer  (Oh, but not before I've done this).

Still, that dress were pretty, weren't it?

Thursday, 28 April 2011

Because you're worth it?

I have a real love/hate relationship with facebook.

It enables me to keep in touch with friends. It is a source of information.  It is, when used positively and sensibly, a tool for social cohesion (and, as was once the case for me, career advancement).

However. It is also likely to be the reason I develop a stomach ulcer.

A very high percentage of the status updates which appear on my news feed are relating to people whinging that they have no job.  They always blame the government for this.  When I point out that there are jobs out there, but they seem unwilling to take them / keep them, they invariably state that "it's beneath me".  Really?!  Earning your own keep is beneath you, but going cap-in-hand to the dole office every fortnight isn't?  I don't know if I have a superbly highly-developed sense of pride, but to me, the idea of saying 'please sir, can I have some more?' sends a shudder down my working-class spine.

The irony is that these people claim to be working class, and lambast me for being a 'traitor'.

Yes, there is little manufacturing in the UK these days, I do not deny that.  However, the people using this as an excuse for why they do not work are hardly the sort who would roll up their sleeves and get down the pit / into the mills, as, you guessed it - it would be 'beneath them'...

And so my philosophy is that it matters not a jot what the ruling political party does / doesn't do.  While we have a society so used to being able to pick and choose what they [don't] do, Britain is fucked.  Irretrievably.

Calm down dear, it's just a bit of condescension...

Aaaah feminism.  Such a loaded term.  I would identify as a feminist, but I'm always reluctant to openly admit this.

Why?

Because of the hand wringing militant feminists who will only be happy when every person in the world is referred to in a non-gender-specific manner.  What is really to be achieved by kicking off at anyone who dares to refer to you as 'love', 'darling', etc?  It's the manner in which it is intended which we should concern ourselves with, and the incident with David Cameron is a case in point.

Yes, it was patronising.  That's how it goes in the Commons.  The general discourse between politicians is ALWAYS condescending when they are in disagreement.  It's a power battle.  Anyone with any understanding of communication theory knows that the way to get the upper hand over an opponent is to undermine them (by whatever means necessary).  As a child I would watch the telly with my (very politically-conscious) Grandad, and was really surprised to see these so-called grown-ups shouting and jeering and behaving generally in a way which would've had the dinner ladies telling us off in the playground.

Christ I'm amazed that Angela Eagle managed to get so far in her career with such a thin skin. And d'you know what, love?  By getting so upset, you are playing into the hands of those who might have suspicions that women don't have the strength of personality for politics.

You have the right to be offended, sure.  But I've found  that a much better way is to respond in kind.  He calls you 'dear'?  Respond by calling him 'son'.  Job done.

Grow the hell up, darling.

Sticking my head above the parapet...

Well who'd a'thunk it? Me, giving into peer pressure.

Apparently I have a lot of opinions.  And I'm told that people will want to hear them.
I remain, as ever, cynical.  But I'll give it a go.

I am by nature a responsive person, so this place will likely have periods of lying dormant, until something pisses me off enough that I come on here for a rant.

I can feel something bubbling up with reference to the mountain/molehill of the 'calm down dear' moment, which I shall henceforth refer to as WinnerGate. Well, possibly...