My Life Soundtrack [Part One]

Everyone has that one particularly defining moment within their lifetime, when music suddenly begins to make sense. When it finally went beyond the point of listening to music, enjoying music and maybe dancing to music because everyone else was; at some point in everyone’s life, music truly begins to resonate and becomes more than just a song. And, as life progresses, they will reach more moments in life where a song can encapsulate a feeling, or a moment or become the defining shape of a memory. Music is one of life’s biggest passions, or at least it definitely is for me, which is why I’ve decided to share it on the blog today!

If you took a look at any of my Spotify playlists, or took a journey through the extensive collection my iPod has to offer, you’ll soon realise that my taste in music could potentially be described as eclectic. It can go from being something relatively cool, to something so uncool that it would make mental health professionals question my sanity. I’m unashamed of my music tastes, regardless, but do air caution as to when I play the stuff that I secretly love. If I’m home alone, the blinds remain closed and my earphones remain permanently in my ears and I spend the day listening to music of varying genre, so I can bounce around the flat, singing at the top of my voice, with no one witnessing my horrendousness but me (and maybe the neighbours who hear me sing). Sober me has a relatively awesome taste in music, but drunk me becomes a bit of a lunatic and eventually, at some point in any evening, I will hijack any playlist with the Beauty and the Beast soundtrack and scream along. That’s just who I am!

I’m not going to write a blog specifically about the songs that I like, because we could be on for hours and all that would do is show you how bloody ridiculous it is watching me make a playlist. These are the songs that I can pinpoint to a specific point in my history and remember why I love it so much; it can be triggered by a memory, an event, a feeling or even a person and then suddenly that song is all about those feelings. With the exception of a few songs, none of mine are inspired by people other than my best friends and times we’ve had together, but there are a few songs that remind me of Brain, which he amazingly thought to put into a soundtrack of his own by finding a bespoke company that creates custom made vinyl music – it took him a long time and a lot of effort and money, but on my birthday I received songs that encapsulated our entire relationship. On Valentine’s Day we listened to this vinyl whilst cooking and we kept laughing at the fact that we remembered the first time we heard each song and which specific memory we had in mind; they were all pretty much matching, which is pretty much the dorkiest thing you can imagine, but I also find it pretty important.

The Rolling Stones – Like a Rolling Stone

Long before my obsession with Bob Dylan began, an obsession with Mick Jagger began festering in my tiny mind. I can’t remember how old I was when I first heard this song, however, I do remember the exact moment I first heard it and when it became more. It was the early nineties and we’d only just had SKY TV installed, back when it wasn’t the extensive crap-fest of horrendously bad TV shows and adverts it is now. My parents listened to a lot of VH1 and I remember sitting in our living room one afternoon when the intro to the song began playing. It wasn’t an epiphany style moment that made me realise I love The Stones or anything, but it was a moment that I’m taken back to every time I hear the song. I think the fact that my parents both loved it at the time, too, makes a big difference.

Mike and the Mechanics – Looking Back, Over My Shoulder

This song is without a doubt the song of our family. When my sister and I were little, we would make up dances to everything that we liked and whenever my dad took this cassette out of the case and placed it in the cassette player, we would sing our little heads off and, very literally, look back over our shoulders whenever the chorus plays. It has been a firm favourite in every family playlist we’ve created and now, whenever we descend upon my parents house for the evening, my dad puts this on for us all to sing along to.

Bob Dylan – I Want You

I knew who Dylan was before I’d really listened to his music, but this was during a time where I was desperately obsessed with Andy Warhol, his factory and his super star, Edie Sedgwick. I was besotted with this entire decade and the fashion of the 1960s to the point where I would wear shapeless dresses with contrasting peter pan collars and wore nothing but dramatic black eye make up with flicks and a perpetual red pout. I began buying Edie Sedgwick inspired, enormous chandelier earrings and contemplated cutting my hair off and dying it blonde. Not much has really changed, because every time I see her beautiful little face, I want do to it all over again. As a result, I was looking online and happened upon an article that coincided with a piece I read about Edie and Bob Dylan being together at some point in the sixties. This article suggested that Dylan wrote Blonde on Blonde about Edie, so I decided to download it and see if it was true. This song in particular is supposed to capture the moment when Dylan met Warhol and I became obsessed with it. I’m a total sucker for gossip, but I’m an even bigger sucker for songs about people and to this day, every time I think about it, I remember sitting in my bedroom wearing ridiculously enormous chandelier earrings, red pout pursed and heavily eyeliner’d eyes squinting, trying to decipher Dylan’s poetry. Not much has changed, except the earrings, except now it means so much more because Brain is obsessed with him too. One of the first things my parents said about him was to express their surprise that he liked Dylan too. My mam said, WHAT? You’ve got to be kidding! But you LOVE Dylan! 

The Weepies – World Spins Madly On

This song is potentially one of my favourite songs of all time and whilst I can’t remember, really, what made me love it so much, I do remember that when I was going through a really tough time, I would listen to this song and I’d feel a sense of clarity that other songs didn’t make me feel. I guess because, in spite of the lyrics, the music and the singing is beautiful and relatively uplifting. Either way, it’s still one of my favourite songs, except again, the meaning has changed.

A Fine Frenzy – Ashes and Wine

For a very long time, I wanted to learn the piano and write songs, not necessarily to sing to people, but just because I liked the idea of being a musician. I had loads of friends who did exactly the same thing, so they were inspirational to me. Turns out, I didn’t really have the patience to learn the piano and I’m rubbish at writing songs, so that fell through. I had red hair at the time and was pretty obsessed with looking up pictures of women with red hair for style inspiration and this is how I found A Fine Frenzy. At the time, I was going through a really shitty time. I was in a ridiculously toxic relationship that made me miserable on a daily basis, but wasn’t brave enough to end things, because at this point in time, I wasn’t really smart enough to realise that my self-worth meant more than a relationship (turns out it would take me another four years to realise this permanently!) it’s such a silly thing to say, but this song made me wish that I was in a situation like this; it made me wish that I was so in love with someone that if someone didn’t love me anymore, that I would love them so much that I would want to fight for the relationship. Sounds a little fucked up, but I guess because I was in such a horrendous place, relationship wise, I guess I wanted more. Passion, maybe. Or even just to be loved, I guess? I’m not sure, but this song reminds me of wanting to be in love and wanting to feel passionate about someone other than Mick Jagger, maybe!

Michelle Branch – Everywhere

This song reminds me of being a teenager and spending endless amounts of time downloading music and making CDs for me to take into my bedroom and listen to on repeat. I think throughout my teenage years, I’d make a new CD every single day, because my music tastes would change so rapidly. I remember I went through a stage where I only wanted to listen to music written and performed by women and decided to look up a lot of new artists that I’d never heard of and whilst I discovered the likes of Sleater Kinney and other riot girl bands, I also discovered this song and whilst I’ve never heard anything else she’s written, I fell for this song immediately and would bounce around my room, singing at the top of my voice, presumably hoping I would be discovered by a music exec just wandering through the countryside one day. Ha.

Liz Phair – Why Can’t I?

This was also discovered during my obsession with female artists, but also because of the 13 Going on 30 soundtrack, a film I was obsessed with when I was a kid. I also put this song on one of the millions of CDs I made and I remember whenever I listened to it, I would make up these really ridiculously dramatic concepts of me falling in love with someone. As you can probably tell by now, a lot of my music tastes evolved due to my sheer adoration for romance. I am a total and utter cliché, and I fucking love it.

The Distillers – Young, Crazed Peeling

My obsession with Brody Dalle begun when I first saw this video during my early years watching PRock, because my mother didn’t want us watching any of the mainstream channels like MTV because, as she said, it was full of misogynist rhetoric that would encourage us to feel like we needed to take our clothes off and loosen our morals in order to get a man, which is something we should NEVER do. But punk music that encouraged us to become raging feminists was something she was fully supportive of. My obsession with Brody developed to the point where my entire bedroom wall was covered in pictures of her. One time my mam asked me if I still fancied boys and I’m assuming she was wishing that I would maybe take my clothes off and loosen my morals to ascertain my heterosexuality, but those are things she’d never say…

Okay, well, I’m bored now so I’ve decided to stop. I might post more, which is why I’ve called it Part One. Maybe I should have structured it better and included the genre surfing I’ve done over the years, but then again, maybe I will just do what I want and you’ll enjoy it, because I tell you too. Have a good day!

A Different Shade of Grey:

Today sees the release of Fifty Shades of Grey in our cinemas and with it, comes the controversy and the heady, dizzy frenzy surrounding the novel and subsequent movie will hopefully begin to subside… There will be an undoubted rush of women bellowing for all to hear that on-screen Christian Grey is as much of a romantic hero as his character in the novel, of which most will know my opinion! I recently wrote an article over on Femtellectual that explains why he isn’t anything of the sort and why women shouldn’t let Christian Grey anywhere near their sex lives, but even I have to admit, with all of my judgements and peeling a part of the novel to reveal the less than savoury centre, that EL James and her violently domineering romantic hero has changed the manner in which we view sex and relationships exponentially.

Back in 2011, when the novel was released, I am sure I’m not the only person who reluctantly experienced, first-hand, what it was like to come face to face with a woman who had read the novel. Out of the woodwork crawled many dishevelled women who were positively tickled pink by the contents of the novel and the ‘activities’ carried out by Grey in his ‘Red Room of Pain’, many with comments articulating their desire for their own Christian Grey. It’s no secret that sexual confidence soared within so many women that I know in my real life, including family and friends, and, as much as I have nothing good to say about the novel, or the domestic abuse within the storyline, I can get on board with the sexual confidence that ensued following James’ terrible, terrible writing.

I’m not afraid to admit that I was ashamed that so many of my family and friends read the novel and got excited over the concept of Christian Grey and I was especially embarrassed when my mother and sister seemingly jumped on the bandwagon. Because they’re my family, I saved them the diatribe reserved for other folk and I let them get on, but I realised later on, especially when my mother began reading them, that her enjoyment had nothing to do with her supporting the abuse or believing that it didn’t exist, or even finding it romantic. For my mother in particular, she was positively aghast, but not necessarily in a bad way, that things like this went on, not only within the confines of the novel, but in real life too. Apparently, when she was reading the novel, she meandered into my sister’s bedroom, book in one hand, reading glasses in the other and with a presumably adorably furrowed brow said, “can I ask you to Google something for me? I don’t know what anal beads are…” turns out my sister didn’t either, so they both discovered anal beads in all of their glory and my sweet mama vowed never to ask her youngest daughter any sex related questions ever again, instead choosing to either Google them herself, or ask me. I’ve always been renowned for my cavalier attitude towards sex and all that it entails, so I think my mother felt emboldened and happy to discuss things she’d never discussed before. When we went shopping, she would slide into Ann Summers and giggle at all of the ‘sexy’ clothes and even wandered so far as the vibrators and turned pink in the cheeks as I switched them all on and told her about the merits of certain movements and how it pleasures the female, much to her amusement/horror/surprise! Yet, whipping, flogging and sex toys inserted into anus’ didn’t seem like her cup of tea but, “those jiggly ball things” that Christian uses on Ana seemed to intrigue her a great deal. When she found out I own a pair and she laughed so hard that tea came out of her nose, “Really?!” she screamed, “what are they like?!”

***

One of my best friends got in contact with me this week to discuss Fifty Shades of Grey and asked if I was going to be going to see it or if I would like to have a girly night in my flat and we’d watch it together with wine, provided she could get either her partner or her mother to babysit (not us, a baby!). I informed her that I wasn’t all that supportive of the Fifty Shades of Grey movie and sent her the link to the article I mentioned earlier and her response was surprisingly different to most women. Promising anonymity, she allowed me to quote her:

I understand where you’re coming from with this, right, but ever since we’ve been young, you’ve been SO sexually confident. You’ve talked about sex toys like they’re your best friends and you’ve been so cavalier with your attitudes; what you like and what you don’t. I’ve never had that. I never understood where you got your confidence from, to be honest. But, after I read Fifty Shades I began thinking differently. As much as you were a lot of the inspiration behind my desire to be more sexually confident, a lot of the content in the book helped me begin to explore that with [her partner].

Admittedly, I was pretty shocked when I read her response, especially given my attitude towards the novel. I know and I do respect that people will have differing opinions and mostly, I just let people believe what they want to believe, but I have to say that it did surprise me that someone could feel so emboldened by Fifty Shades of Grey and that was one of the reasons behind one of my dearest friends exploring her sex life in a definitely more kinky detail.

My friends are, obviously, not the only people who have been affected by the novel, whether good or bad and it’s clear to see that EL James has inspired a surge within many factors of the sex industry. The sex toy industry for example, has positively boomed since Fifty Shades was released in 2011 and EL James has managed to bag herself a specific Fifty Shades inspired sex toy range that fans of the book/movie can purchase for their own sex play, which is available at LoveHoney and has proven extremely popular since it was first available online. There was obviously an existing BDSM inspired market, but with the popularity of the book and undoubtedly the novel, this has increased dramatically, and as much as I am firmly against the empire that EL James has created for herself, on the back of a book that undoubtedly promotes domestic abuse, but I can’t say that I’m unhappy that there are more and more women out there who have decided to positively and safely (presumably) explore a kinkier element to their sex lives.

It does extend beyond the bedroom, though, and I think due to attitudes towards online dating mellowing, I think a lot more freedom has been allowed for people to discuss their sexual preferences openly as part of the (for want of a better word) courting process, if you will. When I was single, I spoke to a lot of different men and used the likes of online dating to, at the very least, get my confidence (read: MOJO) back with regards to communicating with the opposite sex. Whilst I didn’t do it for very long, it did seem that every man I spoke to basically inferred elements of sex that they were into pretty much immediately. One man informed me, without any preamble, that he would like to see me hog died and insert sex toys into very specific orifices because that’s the kind of thing he was into… (three dots included) and whilst I didn’t respond to this person, it did seem to me that sex was the only thing that was on the table to this person and other people I spoke to as an immediate introduction to myself and presumably other women. In the past, where this might have been taboo to mention, or you might not have discovered until later on in the relationship, exploring kink and being open about one’s sexual proclivities has become a cultural norm and I do think the soaring popularity of Fifty Shades of Grey has something do with it; sensibilities have changed and, again, as much as I’m against the novel, I don’t think that’s necessarily a bad thing.

Talking about sex is, I feel, wildly important within relationships because everyone should be open and honest about their preferences and their boundaries; whilst having discussions within two sentences that reveal one’s sexual appetites is potentially a little full on, it’s still a good sign of confidences and shedding the ‘taboo’ moniker of sexual intercourse – everyone does it, but not everyone talks about it and Fifty Shades has helped that. Dating sites such as Plenty of Fish have even begun including specific sections of their website dedicated to people who like the novel and the ability to be able to specifically search for a dating site that caters to your needs has never been easier. Following the popularity of the novel, areas of the market have opened up and BDSM has become a popular, relatively normative sexual practice, with sites such as 50shadesofgreydating.com that allows you to sign up to the ‘luxury BDSM dating site’ for free and allows you to explore your inner dominant or submissive side by finding your Ana or Christian…Red room included! It’s refreshing to see that a kinky lifestyle is not only available, but widely promoted online and that people are exploring potentially dormant desires to be dominant or submissive in the bedroom by reaching out to like-minded individuals. It would be intruiging to find out whether these sites operate under the full safety of written contracts and promotion of safe words and loving/supportive after care for all involved, but even so, if two consenting adults actively go into a situation knowing full facts about BDSM, then I guess it’s up to the individuals to ascertain their boundaries, rather than the company, but it would still be interesting to find out.

It just goes to show that whether you love it or loathe it, Fifty Shades of Grey has had an impact on our sex lives and the manner we conduct our relationships in significant ways, and, whilst I am still fundamentally against the concepts of the novel and the promotion of domestic abuse within the poorly written pages, I am hoping that the movie depicts the relationship in a more consensual, loving manner that better represents the BDSM community, allowing for people who are potentially experiencing Fifty Shades of Grey to explore their potentially dormant proclivities in a more positive and safe manner.

Dear Diary: An Entry by a Meninist:

THIS IS A MAN’S WORLD and I know that the songs says that the world is nothing, NOTHING without a woman or a girl, but James Brown also wrote the lyrics ‘…making the men sandwiches’ to go on the end of that sentence, but due to copyright infringements within the sandwich industry, he couldn’t include it in is song, so he only ever sang it at special occasions like his wife’s birthday or Women’s Day, or something really gay like that. Also, women, have you seen how many women female leaders there are in the world? This is just PROOF that you guys can’t do anything and that you need men to do all of the important stuff like stop wars and hatred and racism and all the great things we’ve accomplished as men.

We aren’t going to stand for you taking over the world anymore, feminists! You hear me?! We’re not stupid and we know what your agenda, REALLY, is. I mean, we know that all feminists don’t want equality at all and you know why? Your name! I mean, if feminism really was about equality, then why does it start with FEM? EH? You think we’re so stupid don’t you, feminists, with your arm pit hair and your big, smelly vaginas! You can’t fool us any more, feminists, you aren’t smart enough out smart US! I mean, this is why movements like MENINIST exist, so that you feminists KNOW that it’s a man’s world and that WE’RE IN CHARGE. Equality can never be achieved unless you all realise that MEN ARE IN CHARGE. Idiots!

You know the reason why everyone hates Mondays? Because of Feminists. They have weekly meetings on Mondays where they stand around and say nasty things about men and I heard a rumour that once, a musical GENIUS named Bob Geldof openly admitted that he hated MONDAY because of feminists and they had him MURDERED. I mean, if that isn’t a sign that feminists hate all men, then I really don’t know what other examples I could give you. Except maybe that all feminists want to chop everyone’s penis off, so that all men are then women, and the world is then ran by feminists. Did you know this?! This is why feminists are all raging lesbians, so they can get together and plot how to do this with every man in their lives. This is why some of them are in relationships and married, so that they can find out man secrets and then use their secrets to chop their dicks off. Also, I heard that when a feminist touches another feminist’s clitoris with her tongue, that’s how they transfer their magical powers. Another sure fire sign that feminism is like, super dangerous!

FEMINISTS also killed my dog, because they hate dogs. Even though the vet said it was due to the cancerous lumps it had in its mouth, meaning that it couldn’t eat, I know that it was feminists because they all openly admit they hate dogs. Especially really tiny ones like pugs. They also hate cats, which is why Instagram is full of pictures of people’s cats and Youtube is full of videos about cats – they use this to test which ones are feminists and which ones aren’t, like men, by seeing if they ‘aww’ or ‘laugh’ and if they laugh at it, feminists kill them 😦

Do you have a mother? If so, you should probably hold her really, really tight and not let her leave the house and maybe lock the doors when you leave to go to work or school or to play manly sports like cricket and golf, because the feminists will COME FOR HER. I mean, I don’t know why feminists can’t just leave our mothers alone, you know? They RAISED us and they are like, literally the reason that we are alive, so the feminists come in and try to tell our mothers that they’re OPPRESSED and that they’re raising a DOUCHEBAG because I have a penis and a really cool t-shirt with a hashtag on it? There is literally no lines they won’t cross to try and push their dick hating agenda. I don’t even want to visit grandma, just in case she lures me in with pie and cake and then she’s been taken over by a feminist and BITES MY DICK OFF.

Plus, all FEMINISTS are so openly rude. Like, this one time, I thought I’d be really nice to a feminist and told her that she was really pretty and that her boobs were like, huge, and she didn’t even say anything back, like not even a thank you or a compliment!! I MEAN WHAT A BITCH! I mean, I made such an amazing effort with her and she didn’t even, like, respond. I really got so mad that I wanted to punch her in the face, but like, nowadays even the likes of PRESIDENT BARACK OBAMA is being mindwashed by these feminists and telling men that they can’t hit women when they’re trying to chop their dick off or not responding to us on social media. I mean, for fucks sake!

This is exactly the reason why I’m a meninist. These women have to be STOPPED. They’re trying to take over the world and aren’t at all interested in EQUALITY like I am. If you’re with me, please stand up with me and chant nasty things at feminists and also buy this t-shirt, of which all proceeds will go to FEMINISTS ARE DICKHATING MURDERERS WHO HATE CATS AND DOGS AND DICK AND OUR MOTHERS AND ALSO REJECTED ME ONE TIME!

Women: Get Your Own God Damned 80s Franchise!!!

There have been rumours about a re-boot of 1984 classic Ghostbusters circulating the old rumour mill for quite some time now, causing the internet to ripple with glee and speculate as to what the future may bring for their childhood heroes. Some people were hopeful that the original cast would return to kick start the franchise in a manner that only eighties stars know how to perfect and others were more optimistic about a reinvention and reimagining of the movie with a new, young and well-skilled cast to fit in with modern times. Therefore, when news hit that the brand new cast of Ghostbusters would be WOMEN, needless to say, the internet went into a free-fall and became agog with controversial statements, sheer disgust and general disbelief that the classic eighties movie would feature an all-women cast. As the internet will be more than happy to tell us, it’s just one more thing that cannot be sacred to men anymore; it’s bad enough that women took the vote from men, and the fact that they started DEMANDING that men wear those horribly uncomfortable condom things that NUMB the penis to barely tolerable levels, they now have to mess with classic eighties movies too? It just seems that feminism is TAKING OVER and the world as we once knew it will be RUINED AND DEAD.

I can’t say I disagree with them, I mean, is there really a need for an all-female cast? It just seems too implausible so me that a group of women would be able to act alongside each other without either getting distracted and going shopping, or starting a huge fight, as we all know groups of women are prone to do. I mean, it doesn’t even make sense, because like, an all-male cast makes so much more sense than an all-female cast and let’s be clear here, you guys, an entirely female cast would be TOTALLY sexist against men. I mean, in their defense, women didn’t exist in the eighties, there were only mothers and grandmothers, maybe some sisters, but actresses, no they didn’t exist, so there was no other choice but to have an all-male cast. But in 2015 there are women EVERYWHERE as well as there being a small selection of men still left, so surely the most EQUAL thing to do would be to have a mixture of both male and female actors? It makes absolutely no sense to ignore men entirely and have them play supporting roles… men don’t do that, they can’t, it’s an affront to both their masculinity and our general enjoyment of cinema. Also, a small fact I bet you didn’t know about: women didn’t even like Ghostbusters in the eighties! Like I said, most women back then were either mothers, grandmothers or sisters and they were mostly involved in learning how to be better at looking after their sons and husbands, current or future, so the only people who saw the movie were men, so really the remake should be made to remember the sacrifices men made to go to the cinema and see the movie in 1984. I mean some of them missed the dinner that their mothers made and others didn’t get to say goodbye to their grandmas before they died. Hollywood owe it to men to recreate the film exactly like the original; for both their lost dinners and their dead grandmas.

Traditionally, as we should all know, ghostbusting is a legitimate man profession that women simply couldn’t do: They couldn’t hold the equipment in their tiny, girlish hands and would most probably break a nail trying to switch the thing on. Women hate wires because they get tangled in their hair and anything to do with machinery causes women to scream and hold onto their petticoats, demanding a man come and relieve them from such a GOD AWFUL situation. Men have an innate understanding of wires and machinery as taught inside the womb at man-school, so they would be much better equipped to do the job of manning, holding and using the elaborate ghost-sucking hair dryer machines. Another small fact that women couldn’t POSSIBLY COMPREHEND is the science involved in ghostbusting; it’s so intricate and delicate which is obviously why there are ONLY man scientists – women have absolutely no understanding of science whatsoever. Like, it doesn’t even compute to them, which is why you never see female science teachers or any females in a scientific classroom. There have also been absolutely no scientific discoveries or anything note-worthy contributed to science by women at all, which makes the entire film TOTALLY unrealistic and RUINS the integrity of the movie altogether, if you ask me.

Another thing that makes the movie entirely implausible is the fact that ghosts are attracted to a woman’s period, much like bears, which means the set of the new Ghostbusters movie will be INFESTED with bears AND ghosts and as we all know, women can’t multi-task so who gets the job of sorting out all the unwanted ghosts and bears? Probably some MALE cast member who won’t even get recognition in the credits, that’s who. Can I also point out as well, that even though ghosts are attracted to periods, that doesn’t make women more accepting of them. Oh no, women are TERRIFIED of ghosts. Which makes the entire soundtrack pointless, I mean, Ray Parker Junior would be spitting in his grave if he were dead at whoever remakes his classic song. It will probably be NICKI MINAJ who will be like ‘I AM SCARED, I AM SCARED OF ALL GHOSTS’ and then shake and twerk her buttocks around, which is not what Ghostbusters is all about at all. It’s just a common fact that men are better equipped to deal with things like the un-dead so much more better than a woman, in the same sense that they are better at dealing with both spiders and a woman’s period: There are just things that women simply don’t understand when it comes to dealing with scary things, which means that when faced with a ghost in the movie, most of the characters would run back to their trailers and hide there until one of the male cast members got rid of it.

Perhaps the most terrifying and saddening part of the remake is that the comedy rampant throughout the original movie, simply won’t be present in the remake, because, as we all know WOMEN AREN’T FUNNY. I mean, the fact that I even have to write that is ridiculous, I mean, did the people behind green lighting the remake do absolutely no research whatsoever? Take the writer, Katie Dippold for example, I mean she wrote for Parks and Recreation which we all know is a serious documentary about the parks and rec department of an American council… I mean, what funny things happen there? “Oh no! I put a slide in upside down. NIGHTMARE!” I don’t think so, Dippold. And let’s not forget all the women who were on Saturday Night Live – no funny women have ever come from Saturday Night Live even the really famous ones like Tina Fey or Amy Poehler. No, there are only funny men on that show, like Kenan Thompson, who is like, super famous from the nineties.

I am absolutely right by you, male humans, when you say that the new Ghostbusters movie will SUCK. I wish feminists would just realise that this is a man’s world and that movies are a man thing, that only men enjoy. I mean, would women like it if there was an all-male cast of Sex and the City? NO! Women would hate it. I mean, men don’t invade a woman’s world or try to control what women do ever so why do women feel the need to invade a man’s world and take all of the good things away from them? It’s just not fair, you guys.

Chapter Five: THINGS THAT TERRIFY ME ABOUT PROCREATION

In light of my most recent blog, in which I outlined the horrors of Becoming A Woman, I began thinking about my future and what I should expect of my body if and when the time comes, I choose to house a proverbial bun in my toasty warm and equally proverbial oven. Truth be told, I find the whole concept of being pregnant and the act of childbirth horrendous and I genuinely don’t believe people when they say that it wasn’t painful. I mean, you’re shoving a human out of your happy place, what part of ‘excruciating hell pain’ doesn’t compute? Also, I’ve known women shit themselves and tear their happy place in two, purely to give birth to a tiny human who spends a long time crying, shitting, eating and repeating that process to the detriment of your sleep pattern. I find it terrifying.

Women are also divided in their opinions of pregnancy and childbirth and I’ve noticed that in my own social circles, I have been regarded as a bit of a lunatic for not lying back and thrusting a bairn or two out of my vagina. In the past, people have actually openly tutted at me and looked me up and down upon discovering that I, in my early twenties, actively elect to remain without a child. Apparently, admitting that I’d much rather focus on a career in my twenties and also stating that if I do choose to have a baby in the future that I’d quite like to be married first as, as well as being in a financially stable situation to be able to provide everything and then some for the tiny version of myself, should  I decide I want to have a baby. Apparently, I didn’t make this clear and people have heard me say, ‘I HATE BABIES AND WANT TO THROW MY FECES AT YOUR BABY AND YOUR LIFE CHOICES. I WANT TO SIP CHAMPAGNE FROM A GOBLET MADE ENTIRELY OF BABY BONE AND THEN THROW THAT GOBLET IN YOUR STUPID FACE, MOTHER-HUMAN!’ You can see where the confusion arose, I’m sure…

Don’t get me wrong, I support women who choose to have a baby regardless of their financial or professional situation; it’s a choice, after all and all women are more than welcome to choosing their own life path without input from anyone, especially me. I can’t even tell my right from my left, most times. It’s just the entire concept of it is so terrifying to me: Housing a baby in your uterus. A baby. A human baby. A baby that will one day walk and talk and eventually house a baby of its own; it feels a little Human Centipede like to me… but you know, in the most beautiful way imaginable. Of course.

Parts of pregnancy I enjoy, both in terms of seeing it happen to other people and I imagine enjoying myself if the time comes is that society in general are appreciative and celebrate your every growing stomach. They will also ask to touch it occasionally, so that they can admire it’s sheer size up close and personal. I’m not sure about you, but I would love it if people did that with my tummy now, but they don’t, they look at it and frown and ask how much strain my jeans are under, which I find offensive on so many levels. I also like that everyone treats you like a queen and constantly asks you if you need anything and also tell you that you look beautiful all the time, even though you haven’t seen your feet in weeks and literally cannot control your flatulence but even that is oddly charming because the baby is lying funny inside you, or is gassy itself. Charming.

Parts of pregnancy I don’t enjoy, both in terms of seeing it happen to other people and how I imagine I will feel if and when the time comes is that from the moment this tiny little invader makes its way into YOUR body, after you openly invited it inside, it takes over and for the rest of your life, your body is not your own. Especially during pregnancy: You eat some food the baby doesn’t like? Oops, vomit. You enjoyed wine once upon a time? Oops, no can do, I’m allergic. You want to go to that sushi bar with your friends? Sorry, raw fish isn’t good for me, I’M A BABY. It’s very annoying. Also I don’t enjoy that it just makes itself at home and begins MOVING things around – like your HIPS, did you know that your hips will change and move to accommodate the baby in the birth canal? No, neither did I. I like my hips. I’m very angry about this, baby. Also, babies are HUGE. One of my best friends gave birth to a really tiny baby recently, which kind of seems okay, but then my cousin gave birth to a baby that was NINE POUNDS. I’ve said in the past ‘oh, nine pounds, imagine shoving that out of your vagina!’ with no real perception of how much nine pounds really is, other than the fact that it is considered large for a baby, but really I have no idea. So, for your information and also for mine, I have just looked up house hold items that weigh roughly nine pounds so we can put this shit into perspective:

• A turkey

• Forty sticks of butter
• An entire sack of potatoes
• A bowling ball

• An average sized three month old baby
• Roughly four and a half bottles of 2 litre Coca Cola

Man not included.

I mean, that’s huge! Vaginas aren’t that big, but they are able to stretch to push out a tiny human whom they have literally baked inside of themselves for nine months… a baby that weighs the same as a bowling ball. I went bowling recently and I dropped the bowling ball. Babies are heavy. Going back to my last post about clever sperm, all I can say is that sperm is thick as shit; all you have to do is just keep swimming and kill your brothers until you reach the sweet spot. Women have to literally morph themselves into all sorts of shapes and sizes and then shove out A TURKEY from their vagina! If you are slightly confused by my outrage, please, take a minute out of your day to either look at your own vagina, or ask someone very nicely if you can look at theirs so you can comprehend the idea of a full size turkey making its way out of it. Terrifying, right? Right.

Obviously, alongside the other perks you then have a tiny human who will love you more than life itself, unless you’re a bad mother and then it will hate you. You will also have massive tits if you choose to breastfeed, but I already have those so really all I’m going for is being fat and beautiful and maybe the human who loves me. In all honesty, though, I am more than happy to wait until they have invented some kind of transporter from Star Trek and then the baby can literally be transported out by sending me beam me up, mama brain waves. And then I’ll do it.

Chapter Four: Becoming a Woman

If you didn’t read that in a calming, soothing voice akin to Counsellor Diana Troy’s voice from Star Trek: Next Generation, then you have failed me. Go back, read it again, and come back to me with a fresh perspective and better attitude towards the piece I’m about to write. Back? Okay, thanks for that. If you’re male and/or slightly squeamish and are reading this with increasing trepidation that I’m about to go into a Vagina Monologue style rant about my first period or the first time I touched myself, then don’t worry, because I probably won’t. But then again, I might do, because I’m cruel and also because I’m trying to practice literary improvisation.

A lot of the things I read online tell me that gender roles are established very early on in life, depending on what toys you play with, thus, modern parenting techniques advise that parents don’t force their kids to play with toys depending on what part of the toy store they’re in; let kids be kids and choose their own way in life is the mantra. Anyway, I never had that. I played with Barbies and dolls (well, I smacked their faces against walls) I played with prams (ran over bees with the wheels) and played with toy make up and jewellery, as well as girly arts and crafts – I never grew up feeling that my place as in the home or in the kitchen (unless the fridge was fully stocked) and I don’t hold any kind of resentment towards my parents now for me playing with gender specific toys. Granted, I had both of my parents telling me on the daily that I would be a smart, career driven, independent woman who would be able to drive, tell the time without getting confused when the afternoon rolled in and never forgetting which way is right and which way is left, meaning I would just point in directions and say ‘over there’ by the time I was twenty six. Parenting successful, you guys, you can retire now… Anyway, I never felt that my toys were a suggestion of my future to come, nor did I think they were sending me subliminal messages, telling me that I’d make a great home maker/mother/wife, because my parents screamed even louder in my face that I would be AMAZING and BRILLIANT and high fived me when I didn’t wet the bed… In a way, I’m pretty pissed off that my toys didn’t have more of an influence over the adult I’d become, because my favourite toy, Barbie, had an amazing life and other than the subsequent body/self esteem issues I’d undoubtedly acquire by being too influenced by the blonde babe I played with daily, I’d still have been pretty happy with the outcome.

My Barbie dolls were awesome and their lives were pretty sweet. They lived in a giant mansion, all together with their best friends and enemies alike and they’d go on all sorts of adventures and divorce and marry people within a week. Imagine that life? It’d be like Dyansty! More to the point, I’d have been married to a Ken doll and we would have been amazingly well dressed and matching at all times. He would have enormous pectoral muscles, which I don’t agree with, and a questionable crotch region, which I agree with even less, but with the wealth of Barbie and Ken and the abundance of available plastic in the world, we’d be able to sort that kind of thing out, no problem at all. Life would be sweet. I’d also have an entire wardrobe style house full of clothes and every single day would be my first day at a new job. It would be like that first scene in Clueless where Cher is sorting out her outfit du jour via her amazingly technologically advanced computer; the only difference being, that my outfit match would be what I’d be doing as a job that day. My work week may have even looked like this:

Monday: Palaeontologist

Tuesday: Canadian Mountie
Wednesday: Yoga Teacher
Thursday: Surgeon
Friday: Ambassador for World Peace
Saturday: NASCAR Driver

Sunday: Princess

I mean, that’s way better than any of your careers, right?

Unfortunately, my toys had very little influence over my life. Unless you count my Speak and Spell which taught me how to spell swear words correctly and maybe my doll pram for killing all of those bees.

***

Do you remember watching ‘coming of age’ movies and TV episodes in the likes of Sister Sister, where they’d discuss womanhood like it was some kind of amazing journey we were about to go on, filled with love and romance and in the end, a tub of ice cream and laughs with our best friends for life humans? Then, as it got closer, all it really entailed was a lot of general hysteria at not only your perpetually changing body, but at the entire world around you for being so selfish by not realising your CONSTANT DAILY STRUGGLE WITH EXISTENCE!!! I was expecting magic carpet rides and new found responsibilities that had absolutely nothing to do with shaving my arms or legs, or being metaphorically thrust into the world with new squishy bags on my chest, thus suddenly agonisingly aware of my SELF and the perpetual gaze of the male ascending on me every time I chose to leave the house. It was awful.

Suffice it to say that I didn’t enjoy growing into a woman very much at all; I mean, I love it now, because I’m a woman and I firmly believe that is a great thing to be. I can’t think of anything that wields as much power as a woman’s vagina, except maybe her cleavage in a bar. Or more important things like what a woman has to go through to bring life into the world. There are some people who champion the sheer genius behind sperm and go into advance scientficit discussions about how far the sperm has to travel and out of the millions and millions THERE CAN BE ONLY ONE that assists in the creation of new life.

I’m not sure about you, but when I hear that, I’m sitting there metaphorically patting the head of which ever idiot has come out with that one, before retorting with what actual reproductive heroics actually entails. Firstly, women only have a certain amount of eggs and they start depleting from the moment we start our periods – did you guys know this?! – so when people start talking about biological clocks ticking, they don’t mean that one day you’ll wake up and have an overwhelming urge to reproduce and maybe, potentially steal a baby off the street, like I thought happened… Oh no: It means that you only have a certain amount and that the more periods you get, the more you lose them, because they just disappear. So if you only have like thirty eggs in your uterus and you’ve been a woman since you were like, eleven, then maybe you won’t have eggs in you at all and you’ll be BARRON. Which is really unfair when you think about it, like men can just wank incessantly on the daily for their entire lives and even when they’re like, ninety, they can still use that sperm to impregnate someone. I’m foaming I can’t do that with my vagina eggs.

I genuinely expected that becoming a woman would bring with it some kind of epiphany and that my entire life’s purpose would suddenly become abundantly clear, but other than the fact that I woke up in a pool of my own blood wishing I was born with a penis and that I could now house babies in my womb (ones that were grown there, not just put there as some kind of horrifically upsetting babysitting service) and that the concept of ‘babies raising babies’ suddenly became very clear to me, nothing else really changed. I still liked cartoons and I still believed in Santa Claus and cried when I didn’t get my own way. When I think about it now, I think of it in terms of history and how women throughout life were treated once they began menstruating, relief washing over me when I realised that upon having my period, my dad didn’t trade me in for a few goats to a middle aged man, I was lucky that my dowry remained very much non-existent. I was also lucky that my period coincided with the new millennium; otherwise I may have potentially been procreating for a well over a decade now and making food for a much older man, whose sweaty body had no concern for mine at all (what? The nineties were weird, man!). In a way, becoming a woman for me, meant staying a child, and I found that pretty awesome.

Me, on my 12th birthday, seducing babes, being a woman.

Yes Please by Amy Poehler

Being a life-long fan of making people laugh, I grew up believing that female comedians weren’t a thing; I believed I had developed a man-gland that made it possible for me to not only make people laugh, but make men laugh. I thought myself to be quite individual and relatively unique in this department. My comedy heroes growing up were all men and I didn’t resonate with female comedians at all – the only ones I really knew embodied a repertoire that mostly discussed their sexual activities with their husbands and an underlying element of feminist humour that, unless you are particularly feminist, doesn’t win you any giggles on a grand scale and at the time, being a youngster, I didn’t really feel that this brand of comedy, or indeed feminism represented me or my comedic style (I use the term ‘comedic style’ incredibly loosely). When I first discovered Tina Fey and then her work-wife, Amy Poehler, everything changed. These were women who lived and breathed improv comedy and made it their life’s work. They became heroes of mine and I have followed their careers with an almost obsessive compulsion ever since. So, when I heard that Amy Poehler was releasing a book, I had it pre-ordered for months before it turned up on my doorstep. Having read Bossypants by Tina Fey years beforehand, I had incredibly high hopes.

First, let me make it clear that Yes Please did not disappoint me… at all; I devoured it like a hungry wolf and find myself regularly flicking back and forth through the book to find bits I liked and read them again – but I will admit that I did begin reading it expecting to find an almost page for page likeness to Bossypants and I believe that I was almost certainly wrong in that department. Let’s not be naïve here, whilst Poehler and Fey embody a relatively similar sense of comedy, they are entirely different in their delivery and ownership thereof. Whilst I feel that Fey doesn’t own her comedy and seems like she is constantly conscious of her audience, thus making almost every line in her book a punch line, Poehler is the opposite. Whilst Fey’s novel reads like a comedic series of essays with elements of life, work, love and motherhood interspersed, Poehler’s does not. That’s not to say that Yes Please isn’t a laugh a minute, because it really is, I just feel that it is executed in a more effortless manner than Fey’s. Poehler seems to own her sense of comedy as much as she owns her sense of self and reading through Yes Please really feels like reading through the memoirs of someone who is completely and unabashedly at ease with herself in every sense.

To me, Yes Please didn’t feel like reading through a biography at all and when I got past the fact I expected Poehler to use comedy to embellish her life story, it felt really like an inspirational memoir aimed at women who want to feel more comfortable in their own skin. Poehler’s narration feels like an old friend who is subtly encouraging you to be a better version of yourself by coaxing an element of happiness and comfortableness out of your sub-conscious and making it an active sense of your conscious self and is set out into three categories which all read like inspirational slogans for a well-being poster:

SAY whatever you want

DO whatever you like

BE whoever you are

Each chapter is thus filled with anecdotes, essays and life lessons Poehler herself has learned throughout her life and career in comedy; it reads with relative ease and flows together so effortlessly that you find yourself becoming endlessly inspired by her candidness and gracefully uncomplicated comedic rhetoric that seems entirely unique to Poehler. Whilst reading about parts of her life that she has been hurt or affected by, she manages to make it seem less upsetting or tragic by piling on the inspiration, or using a quip or slice of comedy to lighten the blow – it seems entirely effortless and not at all a conscious attempt to make her seem less vulnerable; instead it just seems like this is the real Poehler – deflecting sad feelings with humour, thus owning it and making it okay. I do exactly the same thing and I have to admit, it helps.

Whilst I have been a fan of Poehler’s for over a decade now, I still found myself learning a lot about her – she is endlessly supportive to her co-workers and peers and has created an almost tour de force of comedy pals that in turn, not only support her but love her endlessly. The piece Seth Myers wrote about her and how they met is one of the sweetest things I’ve ever read, not only affirming that Myers is an absolute angel, but that Poehler is not only a joy to work with, but a joy to know too. I also enjoyed the part she wrote about Tina Fey, in response to Fey’s own excerpt in BossyPants about Poehler – their work-wifery is inspirational and in a sense such a feminist attitude to have towards one’s co-worker/hero/best friend – they are the epitome of women in the workplace, which is such a stark contrast to the media’s representation of women in work, life and play – we don’t actually all hate each other and are, actually, pretty much our best friends’ cheerleaders every chance we get. I enjoyed the graphics that accompanied the piece and her own admission that she would have Fey re-write it for her to make it better; the supportive nature of their friendship is potentially one of the most important pieces for any woman to take away from the novel.

Poehler also has an incredible manner of taking a mirror up to women in society and showing them their true colours; her piece about motherhood in particular was hilarious because it was, in fact, true. Every woman I know who has reproduced and decided to stay home and raise the child and not go back to work, is met with a sense of trepidation, superiority and smugness by women who either have chosen not to have children or who have gone back to work. I myself was in a situation like this a few years ago when I, shock horror, explained I didn’t want to have children until I’d established myself in a career that I felt comfortable and supported in so that I could take ample time off, but then go back. I was met with looks that wouldn’t be entirely out of place from someone who happened to have grown three heads over night. Poehler writes candidly about that in her novel and the life lesson that anyone can take from that is that we’re all different – there is no set rule for women or for mothers, you do whatever it is that you want to do for yourself and no one else.

In short, I found Poehler’s memoirs hilarious, intellectual, inspirational and brilliant; it read like an old friend greeting you over a cold glass of Pinot Grigio and you find yourself becoming sad as it reaches its conclusion. Poehler inspired me and I found myself wishing that I had the same courage and candour to strive towards my life goals with the same unabashed passion and can do attitude that Poehler seems to embody without even realising it herself. As far as my quest goes into reading novels written by hilariously inspirational, confident, independent, feminist women, I have to say that Poehler trumps even the (in my opinion) queen of awesome, Tina Fey. I loved Yes Please and would urge anyone looking for a literary comfort blanket to pick it up and embrace it like the inspirational piece that I’m not sure it was intended to be. I can guarantee you won’t regret it.

Doris Does Reviews

When I was at university, I used to run quite a successful review blog that discussed books, movies and music predominantly; I had people write for me and I basically gave my opinion on the stuff that I’d been doing. It keeps popping up on my Time Hop every once in a while, so I thought it pertinent to start writing reviews again. I also joined the Femtellectual Book Club as set up by Daire and thought it would be a good idea to start writing about all the books that I’ve read. Most of them are written by hilarious, independent, intelligent and feminist women, so they fit in quite well with both Funny Feminist and the new direction I’d like my blog to go in. Plus, nearly all bloggers write book reviews, don’t they, and I’m nothing if I’m not a huge fan of a trend. So, I’m not going to designate days to my book reviews, because I’m hopeless, but I will be writing them. I’ll also link you back to Sarah’s vlog, where she is now vlogging book reviews on Saturdays!

Sarah also had the idea that I should start my own Vlog channel, which would basically just ben an extension of the blog, but I’d talk about inane, ridiculous and logically bizarre stuff, so we’ll see… I don’t like the idea of my face and voice being on screen, so I might wimp out. Anyway, I will be writing my first book review soon and, as with anything series related, I will have a general glossary on the blog home page.

Enjoy your weekend, lovelies!

Funny Feminist: No More Page Three.

The Sun is trending on Twitter because today marked the end of a rather infamous era: Page Three was abolished and “No More Page Three” campaigners and Feminists alike raised their glasses in unison as they won a small victory for womankind. In my mind, I am imagining all involved propping themselves on some kind of enormous structure in the middle of London, with Do You Hear the People Sing from Les Miserables playing in the background (note: everything I blog will feature this musical or the foreseeable future. It is my way of life now). It is, in a sense, a momentous day for all involved, but I feel that it’s a little short sighted and that the worst is yet to come.

A lot of angry, presumably sexually frustrated men in social media circles spent a lot of their morning making wry, sarcastic and generally not very funny jokes about how ‘anti-feminist’ this supposed feminist campaign really is and as much as I noticed them, I knew better than to engage with the multitude of morons before I’d had my morning tea, but I did enjoy their poor attempts at crying out against an alleged social injustice: I thought feminism meant that women could do whatever they wanted without judgement! So much for equality! I hate feminism! I hate women! They all cried in some way or other as my poor eyes rolled around in my head so much I felt dizzy. Oh, you poor, misinformed misogynists you… you really are a bitter, but highly amusing pill to swallow. I get it, I get that it’s upsetting that there are no more tits for you to ogle at in the newspaper and that women are, evidently, all shit bags for attempting to re-appropriate normative views of the female physique – how dare we? But, what every man crying out against the abolition of page three seemed to be missing here, is the fact that feminism isn’t about covering women up and making men cry-wank themselves to sleep without any visual aids… it’s about that strange little concept of equality.

You see, guys, being against Page Three was never about being offended by the female physique to the point we wanted breasts to be covered up. As owners of breasts, fellas, we tend to be pretty familiar with the concept… no, we weren’t offended by it at all, but we were affected by it in some way or other: From the moment we grew breasts, our bodies were instantly not our own – we were, in some way, shape or form governed and male expectation was at the forefront of it all; our bodies weren’t ours at all, but property; we were raised by people who normalised the sexual scrutiny of the female physique, a society that inadvertently or not, discouraged women to feel sexual, confident or beautiful on our own terms. I was never offended by page three, but I was certainly affected by it when people would see my budding cleavage during puberty and make off-hand comments such as, ‘we should have put you in for page three years ago!’ and I would instantly scrutinise my breasts as not being right or normal: As inflated bags that should have been out there for the male gaze to scrutinise to its hearts content; it blurred the line between what was mine (my tits) and what was public property (seemingly, my tits).

The abolition of Page Three, therefore, is one small step for womankind in the search for equality, but as I said in the introduction… the best (or in this case, the worst) is surely yet to come? Take today’s The Sun for example…

Instead of seeing a topless, paid and consenting model smiling out at us from the page, we see two non-consenting soap stars on the page, wearing bikinis. We may not see any areolas, but you’d have to be blind if you didn’t see the well-steeped misogyny dripping from the page (as well as the terrible puns… really, The Sun? You have journalists with actual degrees on your staff? Surely not?!). I guess the more dramatic of us could be sitting there with our heads in our hands wondering, what have we done? But really, were our expectations much higher than this? I might have thought that they would have hired paid models to pose with clothes on, but where’s the sense in that? No, men don’t want to see fully clothed women… they want to see half-dressed women and even better, ones who don’t know they’re being watched and snapped, thus being open for public consumption and yet again, blurring the lines between consent, as well as the concept of ownership of  a woman’s body. The image screams that these women do not own their bodies, but the misogynists snapping away and selling their images for a profit do.

The saddening truth is that the No More Page Three campaign didn’t really do anything other than remove nipples from the tabloid; objectification, assumed ownership and overwhelming misogyny still dictate what we read in the tabloid, if we choose to do so. I don’t really think that this is a victory for feminism at all, but the beginning of something truly worse.

Excuse me, I’m Going On A Quest

Hello everyone,

This is a little bit of an advertisement, a cry for help, if you’re being super dramatic because I want to hear from you guys. Recently I posted a blog over on Fem-tellectual regarding experiences I and others have received (as women) within the gaming community and have, thus, attested it to the growing hostility and tension between pro and anti ‘Gamer Gate’ people. As a woman, as an English woman even more so, I’m guessing, I’ve experienced Gamer Gate only as a platform on which people have attacked me for being female, threatened me with sexual abuse and threats and have made me feel that the general consensus of those ‘Pro-Gamer Gate’ don’t want women playing games. Whilst I stand by the post and believe that it is important with regards to inter-gender interactions within a gaming platform, I also feel that it was a little misguided.

The reactions that I’ve had from the post have been largely positive: most gamers just want to game and don’t want to get lost in the politics or accusatory nature of social media, so they agreed that we should just ignore the hype and get down to some gaming. Other people are more passionate about the Gamer Gate cause and contacted me because they feel misrepresented within the media. I guess in the same sense that I feel misrepresented in the gaming industry, or, hell, how I as a woman and feminist feel misrepresented within my country. So I began speaking to them about Gamer Gate, the origins, their feelings, the tension, the counter-arguments from Anti-Gamer Gate contributors… everything. I’ve also been talking to Anti-Gamer Gate folk to discuss their opinions thereof too and have been collating some great pieces of information and speaking to some truly eloquent, interesting, informative and intelligent gamers and general humans.

I have also spoken to some men who basically didn’t want to write information down, lest I edit it and mould it into something negative; take their words and bastardise their intent for my own gain, which I did put down to paranoia and felt they were mistrusting of me because I’m female and a lot of the men I’ve spoken to have assumed I’m Anti-Gamer Gate. I just want to make it very clear to all involved: I am Gamer Gate Neutral and during this entire process and afterwards, I will remain neutral – I don’t have the time or the energy to become invovled in a ‘war’ of sorts. So please, don’t try to force me into a side, because I won’t take one. Also, please be aware that everything I am given will be documented via screenshots, as well as quotes for any articles I write – nothing at all will be edited, or warped, or bastardised to suit my aim… Because I don’t have one.

As a writer, I believe that integrity, ethics and an unbiased approach to everything when writing articles is absolutely imperative and from what I can see, a lot of the Gamer Gate saga has boiled down to a he said/she said mentality, both sides feeling disrespected, both sides feeling they have been done wrong… as someone who has not been involved – not really – I have taken it upon myself to explore this further and represent an unbiased, non-aggressive, polite and professional approach to Gamer Gate and find out what is really causing so much tension: is it the ethics within gaming journalism? Is it a gender issue? Is it that women are mis-represented? I don’t know these things, but hopefully my discussion with fellow gamers and people from both sides of The Gamer Gate Camps will fill me in and discuss with me openly and honestly about their experiences.

If you would like to speak to me, please feel free to contact me via the contact page above. I would like to point out that I do not have an agenda, I am not on either ‘side’ and I don’t want to be. I don’t want to be given a passionate and intruiging piece of propaganda that makes me align myself with one side or the other – all I really want to do is write a piece about something that no one really knows about (other than those involved, it seems). I don’t believe in abuse or ill-treatment of people online, so please respect that when contacting me!

Thanks a lot, guys! 🙂