The Geek Muse

To All The Kids Who Think They're Not Good Enough For University (And The Teachers Who Agree)

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Sat, 14 May 2016 20:07:00 +0000

Xylophones have a lot to answer for in terms of my educational development.

I was obsessed with the xylophone when I was a child. I didn’t possess the confidence to sing, I wouldn’t be seen dead with a tambourine and the recorder required far too much effort, so the xylophone was the perfect choice to satisfy the minimum energy required to make a substantially disruptive noise in my primary school assemblies. It was during one of these assemblies that the local vicar, who was tasked with directing our cacophonous shambles of a school band, noticed the wild enthusiasm with which I bashed the xylophone bars and asked me whether I had ever considered playing the piano. I was completely enamoured with the idea and promptly began pestering my parents for a piano and piano lessons. My mum was a housewife and my dad worked shifts in a foundry so this wasn’t something that they could easily afford, but they eventually caved against my persistent nagging and approached my class teacher at a parents’ evening to ask whether the school had any provision for music lessons. The teacher consulted with Mrs. Guest, my strict and rather rotund and red-faced headmistress, to ask whether piano lessons could be arranged and Mrs. Guest’s answer was sharp and to the point: children from my council estate 'did not do things like learning to play the piano' and it was ridiculous of my parents to encourage a child like me to aspire to do such things.

My parents accepted this response and broke the bad news to me. I was devastated. However the school vicar was not going to allow me give up on my dreams that easily. He arranged for me to have piano lessons from an elderly lady who lived locally (she charged very little for lessons because she lived alone and enjoyed the company of visitors) and my parents bought me a second-hand piano which we shoehorned into my tiny bedroom in our two-bed council house. When I passed my Grade 3 piano, my mother confided in me that she was pleased that I had persevered with my lessons because my parents had thought (hoped, I would imagine) that my musical ambitions were a passing phase. She also told me what Mrs. Guest had said to them when they had enquired about piano lessons.

My headmistress’s comments were like a red rag to a bull – how dare she say that my friends and I shouldn’t aspire to achieve our dreams just because we live in a deprived area! I tell people now that I rattled through my piano grades so that I could entertain the masses, teach a new generation of pianists and learn a skill that would enhance my cognitive development, but my main, if not sole, motivation was to prove my headmistress wrong. I have a distinction in Grade 8 piano. Fuck you Mrs. Guest.

Growing up on a council estate in Birmingham, I encountered the ‘children who shouldn’t aspire’ attitude numerous times throughout my school life. My high school hit the very bottom of the league tables while I was in my final GCSE year and it was widely expected amongst both the staff and students alike that the girls would fail their GCSEs and banging out a dozen babies while sitting on the dole and the boys would fail their GCSEs and become career criminals, winding up in trouble with the police or locked up. One teacher even told my class that we should start planning a family early because infant mortality was high in the area due to its deprived nature, so there was a good chance that some of our babies would die…

It was when the children on the estate challenged these preconceptions that things got really interesting. My best friend at high school desperately wanted to be a lawyer and she needed A-Levels in order to apply to university, so we bravely asked our teachers if it would be possible to study for an A-Level together. No kids in my school had ever taken an A-Level let alone applied to university before so the teachers thought that we were crazy and completely out of our depth. Nevertheless they agreed to let us sit A-Level English Literature on the condition that we did the required reading ourselves, with some guidance from a business teacher who had experience in teaching A-Level courses. I took the class solely to support my friend and I had no intention of applying for university myself – after all, my parents certainly couldn’t afford the fees - but when I began accompanying my friend to various university open days I liked what I saw and started thinking seriously about whether I wanted to pursue the same educational path…

I enrolled on a series of A-Level evening classes at a nearby college and cobbled together a mishmash of grades that made me a pretty poor candidate for a red brick university, but I bit the bullet and applied to the University of Birmingham. The admissions tutor was tethered firmly by the entry requirement grades, but after a short interview he surprised me by saying that he would make an exception in my case because ‘I had a something about me’. Throughout the entire first year of my undergraduate course I felt as though I had broken into the place or stolen a legitimate student’s identity and I suffered great anxieties about whether I was ‘good enough’. Some students had come from well-performing schools where they had been rigorously trained to perform to a high standard, but there were also a few students from less privileged backgrounds in or around Birmingham who had similar educational experiences to mine. By the end of my first year, it was clear that some of the high performing students were struggling to function outside a controlled, classroom environment. They could absorb and regurgitate information but they could not think for themselves and many of them started to drop out of the course as a result. On the other hand, those of us who had been previously cast adrift with our educational development and who were frequently required to think for ourselves were thriving in this environment and most of our group achieved a 2:1 or higher. This ‘child that shouldn’t aspire’ arrived with a dismal set of A-Level grades and graduated with a high first class degree (the only first in my year), winning a series of prestigious scholarships, moving quickly onto an MPhil and finally completing a PhD. I suspect that the ‘something’ about me that the admissions tutor had spotted was the same ‘something’ that each one of us in the less educationally privileged group of students possessed; namely the ability to think for ourselves and to cope when left alone to conduct research and develop our own arguments, independently of direction from a teacher or classroom environment.

But it’s not just the hidden abilities of the ‘child that shouldn’t aspire’ to achieve academic qualifications that I wanted to address, it’s their experience of the university environment too. I am now on the senior professional management team of the same university department in which I was a student and I have day-to-day dealings with students that started out exactly like me. I see the same hesitations and anxieties in them that I had when I first arrived. So where do these anxieties come from? If I was to turn back the clock and speak to every child who wants to go to university but has concerns about how they will be perceived then I would tell them this: don't be put off by thoughts of inadequacy based on perceptions of higher education that you might have in your head. I spent years passing by the red brick wall of the University of Birmingham and believing that the Hogwarts-like building in the distance was full of pompous professors who wouldn’t give disadvantaged students a second glance and wouldn't know real struggle and hard work if it bit them on the ass. But once I stepped inside the red brick wall as an undergraduate student I quickly realised that my university is nowhere near the snooty bastion of pomp and ceremony that I expected it to be and any feelings of inadequacy had completely dissolved by the time I reached graduation. Most people that I encounter on campus are lovely, down-to-earth people who have a lot of time for students from all backgrounds and I regularly speak to colleagues and students who have had similar educational experiences to mine (I currently work with a very talented doctoral researcher who grew up on murder mile in Hackney!). Now I’m one of those people behind that red brick wall and let me assure you, I’m very much still in touch with that little girl who played the xylophone in school assemblies and I know what it’s like to dream big, work hard and have real monsters stand in your way. I am no monster and neither are my colleagues - you have no need to be afraid of us. If you’re still unsure then book onto an open day and speak to some of the staff and students about what it’s like to study at their institution. Hopefully just taking the first physical step inside the wall and engaging with the people behind it will eliminate a great deal of your fears. And take it from me; do not be intimidated by class perceptions or how someone looks, behaves or speaks in a higher education environment because these things are certainly no indicator of intellectual ability. I have seen pipe-smoking, plum-mouthed professors struggle to open a door or operate the simplest mobile phone. Intelligence doesn’t have a face, tone of voice or tweed suit.

I would also like to address the kids who feel that they are being pushed into higher education when it really isn’t their thing. Parents and educational authorities alike can be guilty of this. We freely encourage every child to fulfil their educational potential but we struggle to admit that some children just don’t possess the capacity for academic study. There are always going to be things that children – and adults too, for that matter - are good at and things that we are bad at. For instance, I can play the piano very well but there are lots of other things that I’m absolutely hopeless at - I can’t swim, I can’t play the guitar (despite trying to teach myself hundreds of times) and I can’t run long distances without collapsing in a sweaty heap. I accept that I do well in some things but I’m awful in others. Likewise academic ability is something that you either possess or you don’t and some school leavers are just not cut out for higher education in the same way that I’m not cut out to swim the channel. Simple as. There is no shame in accepting that you are not academically minded and many students leave school without qualifications and develop specialised and valuable practical skills that allow them to take up practical roles and become experts in their craft. These practical roles tend to be undervalued due to our obsession with pushing all students down the path of higher education, even when the student feels that it isn’t a good fit for them. As a graduate I find this obsession with the pursuit of higher education at the expense of practical skills difficult to understand because university education is *not* the be-all-and-end-all that some people talk it up to be, it is not a guaranteed open door to a dream job and it certainly doesn’t make you any more superior to the next person. I have witnessed how the professors in my department are genuinely grateful when an IT person arrives to fix their computer or a maintenance person comes to fix a light or repaint their office. No matter how academically qualified you are you will always depend upon and value those around you with practical skills.

In addition to the academically minded and the practically minded, there is a third type of school leaver that educational bodies need to be aware of: the chancer. Thinking back to the student cohort at my school, there were a number of kids who exhibited a genuine flair for study or practical skills, but alongside these students there were also out-and-out chancers who wanted a piece of the same opportunities and achievements without putting in any effort or hard work whatsoever. They had no interest in gaining qualifications or skills, but they were acutely interested in avoiding employment. And coming from a disadvantaged background gave them a claim to preferential treatment and the free pass that they were looking for. Dangers arise when admitting these free-pass-grabbing students to a higher education institution just to tick a quota box or feel like you’re helping the disadvantaged in some patronising and self-righteous way. If every single school leaver, regardless of academic ability, demands equal access to higher education then we will end up with a quagmire of students who blindly dredge their way through a course of education that they care very little about, dragging the genuinely capable students down with their indifference and leaving with the same copycat qualifications. Employers will struggle to differentiate between a job application from a genuinely capable student and a chancer and eventually the qualifications that they both possess will become worthless. If we give trophies to everyone who runs a race then how are we going to pick out the ones that we should train to be Olympians? As gratifying as it would have been to see everyone in my high school class achieve a university place and prove the Mrs. Guests of the world wrong, I’m also a realist and I’m well aware that amongst the genuine students seeking help there are also chancers looking to take advantage of freely available opportunities and milk them for all they're worth. If a student from a disadvantaged background pleads for special treatment and expects to be handed a qualification on a plate with no application of hard work or effort whatsoever then there is a very good chance that they will fail. And educators should not feel guilty or responsible when that happens. It's tough, but that’s life.

To my former teachers and those teachers who still advocate the Mrs. Guest approach to educational privilege, I would say this: resist predicting the growth potential of students based entirely upon their parent’s occupation or whether a student comes from an impoverished or affluent area because, at best, you’re going to show your age. Gone are the days when library access was restricted to wealthy schools and knowledge was largely passed down from parent to child; we are living in the age of Google where children are growing up with access to more information at their fingertips than ever before. Young people are taking control of their own educational development and it is very difficult, if not impossible, to restrict knowledge to a social class or geographical location. With instant access to an extensive world of knowledge, it is a child’s personal motivation and inner drive that will determine what they do with it. My undergraduate university experience taught me that battery-farming students in a well-performing school is no guaranteed indicator of success and ‘children that shouldn’t aspire’ can be just as capable, if not more capable, than the children that are naturally expected to succeed. I would suggest that children who work independently to achieve something that they desperately want for themselves are often the ones that are best equipped to persevere with a course of study, to be intensely self-motivated and survive the challenging times that all students face. A tough skin and dogged determination cannot be taught in a classroom and yet these are essential tools when pursuing a university education. And please stop pushing all school leavers into academic study at the expense of practical skills. We should be celebrating and empowering those who are gifted with practical skills rather than viewing them as somehow incapable of higher education. I would much prefer to live in a world filled with people that can build houses than a world full of people who ruminate on how to build a house…

My final point is directed to those who, like me, have followed an unconventional route through higher education and still work within it. Talk to the kids out there who show academic potential and express an interest in applying to university but have had their confidence knocked by poor educators or feel somehow inadequate at the thought of attending university alongside the privileged kids. Tell them about the scholarships and resources that are available to help them to gain access to courses (I am living proof that these work) and give them the confidence that they need to go to open days and submit applications. And, most importantly, show them that there are no monsters behind the red brick wall and many of us in university departments are just like them. Who knows, they might just end up running the place…

My Great-Grandfather and the Peaky Blinders

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Tue, 25 Nov 2014 12:45:00 +0000

At the age of six I asked my mum for piano lessons. My parents were unsure where this aspiration had come from since most of my family were musically illiterate and no-one had expressed any interest whatsoever in playing an instrument. Four years and many piano lessons later, I overhead my father mention in conversation with a neighbour that my great-grandfather James Aloysious (known as Curly) had been very musical. He played the piano and the mandolin.

When I asked my father about James he told me how my aunt would sit on James’s lap at the piano and place her tiny hands over his hands while he played the keys. He mentioned how James's hands were rough and his knuckles were beaten up from the fights.

I thought that was an odd thing to say, ‘from the fights’.

My father showed me a photograph of James in his later years and I was struck by the resemblance. He looked exactly like my father - and, in turn, like me. It gave me an unexpected sense of connection and I pestered my father to tell me more about James’s life. And the more that I discovered about him, the more I found him to be a fascinating individual.

James lived in Harborne, he was ex-army and a bare-knuckle fighter at Smethwick market. Every Sunday morning he would walk from Harborne to Smethwick to fight, returning home with silver win money to give to his wife Florie and keeping the copper coins for himself as beer money. He made a decent living from it and the family were looked after because they were in with 'the right crowd' and knew 'the right people', although the company that James kept seemed very dubious indeed.

A number of shady characters appeared in my father’s stories, such as the mysterious Italian Mr Mansini who found my grandfather a job after the war by sending him to a local factory with nothing but a handwritten note saying that he had been sent by Mr Mansini. The note alone was a guarantee of a job and the gesture was made because my grandfather was Curly’s son and 'Curly and his family were to be well looked after.'

But the most memorable – and disturbing - detail that my father shared was this; if James went out for the day with his family then he would wear his ‘home cap’, but if he went out of the house on an evening wearing his ‘working cap’ then my great-grandmother would wait up all night watching from the front bay window of the house until he came home. If James went out wearing his working cap then she knew there was going to be trouble. When I asked about the significance of the caps, my father explained that the working cap had razor blades sewn in the rim which came in handy if there was ever a fight. And, by the sounds of it, there were lots of fights.

James played the mandolin at the Green Man pub in Harborne and one evening a huge fight broke out between his friends and the police. It seemed to have been some kind of sting operation targeting them all. James took out three policemen, he smashed his mandolin over the head of one policeman (thereby ending his musical career) and threw another policeman through the front window of the pub into the horse road outside. The police took James to Steel House Lane police station where he 'fell down the steps of the police station' and my great-grandmother claimed that he was never quite the same again afterwards.

Note on the back of a photo of my great-grandfather

I remember this conversation being both horrified and spellbound by these stories. The thought of slashing someone's face with razor blades gave me nightmares (I must have been about 10yrs old at the time!) and yet my father spoke matter-of-factly about it all and with such an oddly warm affection towards the men in the stories.

I had heard both my father and my grandfather mention the words ‘peaky blinder’ before and I didn’t understand, or much care at the time, who they were referring to. But it started to make sense. My father and grandfather spoke kindly about James and his friends because they had ‘principals’. They were loyal and protective with a strong family-like bond and they would watch out for one another. I took comfort in knowing that my surname would keep me safe if I ever crossed paths with one of these suspicious characters on the street.

On my mother’s side of the family there was my great-grandfather Sam Richards. Sam’s portrait hung on the wall in my grandparents’ front room and he was gentle-looking man wearing a sharp business suit, slicked-back hair and a kindly smile. Sam started out as a boxer, then he became a book maker and eventually the owner of a large boxing ring in Selly Oak. Though deeply involved with illegal bookmaking, he presented a business-like front to his activities and he clearly had the police firmly under his influence. The police would tip him off before a raid and they would bang on the wall of the house whenever he needed to clear the house. My grandmother was often dispatched to the bottom of the garden with a doll’s pram full of betting slips. Sam made a great deal of money, he bought local property, became a freemason and he contributed to the community by buying shoes for local orphans. He didn’t hide his success, once causing a scandal by buying my grandmother a silver-handled umbrella (which she subsequently left on a bus).

Sam (left) and business associates

My mother recalls that the words ‘peaky blinders’ were banded around the household when she was a child and she was aware that Sam mixed equally with both well-heeled individuals and shady groups who protected his business. The Curlys of the world were on Sam’s payroll rather than his drinking buddy in the pub - in fact it became a running joke in my household that my father’s family were on the rough-and-ready, 'practical' side of the Birmingham gangs, whereas my mother’s family were much more discreet with their dealings and ‘higher up the food chain’!

Sam Richards (centre) and his boxing ring

Wood block ID photo stamp used by Sam to get into the horse races

I vividly remember the stories that my grandparents told me about Birmingham in that era and I have portraits and photographs of James and Sam and assorted paraphernalia from their lives. Most of all I remember the old houses, the smell of wood and tobacco, the strange turns of phrase when they spoke, the way their humour intertwined with violence and the physicality of close friendships. I remember visiting my great-aunt, who lived past one hundred, and seeing how she kept her old terraced house perfectly preserved, with a rocking chair in front of an open fire, lace antimacassars on the armchairs and a freezing outside toilet. I remember Luigi, my Italian godfather, and how friends would laugh at the idea of having an Italian godfather looking out for me. I remember the men that regularly visited my grandad’s house, how big and scary they were, yet well dressed and friendly and unfailingly polite to the women of the house. How one of them would squeeze my knees to make me laugh every time he visited. It would hurt and I could never wriggle away from him, but he made me laugh so much.

These days, aside from modernised houses and shifting times, things haven’t changed much in some areas of Birmingham. I grew up on an estate in Birmingham not far from where Curly and Sam lived. It could be a violent place but the locals valued strong generational links forged between influential families that looked out for each other. Loyalty and family names still carry a great deal of weight and your reputation follows you around. I’ve worked in funeral parlours and mental asylums, swanned around masonic halls in ballgowns, listened to security experts lecture me on the latest developments in bio weaponry, held the keys to churches and gin bars, dated spies and had partners bring undercover police along to romantic nights out in case I wasn’t the friendly gal I promised to be. Sometimes your history can be both a blessing and a curse.

Death threat, slipped into an enemy's pocket

So when I heard that a TV series was being made about the Peaky Blinders I was filled with strange mix of emotions and expectations because I felt as though someone was making a documentary about a close friend or relative. A writer unfamiliar with the true spirit of the blinders could be tempted to ridicule them or cast them as heartless gangsters. However I wasn’t disappointed. In fact a great deal of content made me smile because it cut very close to home. Pretty bang-on in some cases. I’m pleased that the series didn't shy away from the brutal, chaotic violence that these men were predisposed to because that was certainly the case from the stories that I heard growing up. But it also highlighted the strong allegiances, friendships and family ties between the gang members.

The only thing I found missing was the vicious humour that these men had - the constant joking around and the casual way that serious matters, such as injury, incarceration or even death, were laughed about. I saw this raw humour in my grandfather’s friends and older family members and these days I am chastised by friends for having the same sense of humour and outlook on life. For this reason the character of Arthur is the most authentic character by far, if only for the speed in which he switches between banter and vicious attack.

A 19thC Small Heath pub token, use to pay for drinks and for groups to recompense the landlord for the use of recreational facilities and back rooms for group meetings

Sick Society token, entitling the bearer to financial support to see a doctor or help with burial costs for himself, wife or child

But the greatest accomplishment of Peaky Blinders is that it portrays the central characters as both hero and villain thereby giving the viewer the uneasy experience of both fearing and admiring them, which was the exact same uncomfortable feeling that I grappled with upon learning about my family connections with the blinders as a child. James’s working cap gave me more than a few nightmares as a child, but there are aspects of his personality and values that I admire and I see within myself these days. Perhaps my fondness for James, Sam and their friends is borne out of a realisation that although they were violent men who sailed on the wrong side of the law, they also had strong family values, they were loyal to those who were loyal to them and they would protect their friends and loved ones at all costs – all values that our modern-day society would do well to aspire to.

(Interestingly, my auntie tells me that James’s death was quite a talking point. The story goes that a gypsy came into the Green Man pub in Harborne and started reading palms. James paid her to read his palm, she took one look at his hand and refused, then left the pub straight away. James died only days afterwards).

Helen Ingram (@drhingram)

Building the Future, Burying the Past? The Modernisation of a University Library

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Thu, 01 Mar 2012 14:10:00 +0000

Last week I was informed that The University of Birmingham will be demolishing its main library and building a new one. As a current member of the University, I have been aware of a furore surrounding the demolishing of the grand redbrick building in favour of a modern alternative for a while as I was invited to sign an online petition set up in opposition to its demise. The plans for the development look very interesting and I look forward to seeing how they are executed, however there appears to be dissent among the ranks about the message that accompanies this move.

When it was pointed out that the new library looks smaller than the present one on the plans, the justification for any downsizing was ‘because students don’t really use books these days’. Ouch. Chicken and egg, anyone? Was that the death knell for the written word I just heard? Libraries and book shops across the country should take heed.

There appear to be two issues that are raising concern: the library building and the books within...

The Books

Hopefully the redevelopment will take place without the loss of any books and with the addition of extra facilities. But as a former student I worry that the redevelopment will be an excuse to lose one or two volumes that are considered outdated, given that apparently students ‘don’t really use books these days’. Please please please, University developers, don’t throw out the books and replace them with huge computer screens and online resources. I agree that technology is essential for futureproofing, but holding onto these dusty books is futureproofing in itself, if not a step further.

What developers need to realise is that we might be in the age of digital downloads but all the cool kids collect vinyl. How many teenagers do you see in the street wearing huge earphones? Why are China selling mobile phones to teenagers that *just* make phone calls? It’s handy to have books on my Kindle but I prefer to display them on my bookshelves. I store all my music on iTunes but I still buy CDs because I like the artwork. However you feel about the intrinsic value of the written word, if the University wants to futureproof its business then it must keep its books for people like me who will always prefer a balance and to guard against a turn in the popularity tide back to hard-copy resources. Besides, technology can all too easily go the way of the minidisc player...

The Building

Faux modernisation is happening a lot these days and I hope that the University is not setting itself up for a cataclysmic fall if it chooses to follow suit. Many institutions have recently sought to ‘modernise’ their business by ripping out anything that smells dusty, painting everything white and scattering some uncomfortable funky chairs around at the expense of unique and irreplaceable historical aspects that makes them distinctive from their competitors. Take the Church of England, for example. It is continually falling over itself to update and modernise and as a result we have three kinds of churches: the dusty old churches and mighty cathedrals that have survived redevelopment, the dated retro churches from the first exploratory steps into redevelopment and the ultramodern futuristic churches currently in redevelopment. Now put yourself in the position of a bride-to-be. The ultramodern churches are very pretty to look at and would look nice in the wedding album photos, the retro churches would make you look like you’re getting married in the 70s with their tacky kitsch interiors, but the absolute make-your-friends-insanely-jealous setting would be in an old, untouched, crumbly church or cathedral. I was a wedding organist for 15 years and let me tell you with authority...*everyone* wants to get married in old churches and cathedrals. Ultramodern is second best, but bear in mind that the retro churches were once the ultramodern churches. New developments date very quickly, hence it can only really be termed ‘faux modernisation’...

The added problem for a University is that the average student, to whom these funky modernisations are ultimately aimed at, encounters this kind of environment on a daily basis. They see it everywhere. It’s nothing new. The older professors might be impressed by the changes but I doubt your average 19/20 year old will even stop to pop his earphones out. And the danger with modernisation is that if it’s not absolute top-end spec then it invariably becomes tacky and dated very quickly, just like the retro churches. Ill-advised ‘cool architecture’ can be as cringe-inducing as watching your dad dance.

But the base-line here is that ‘funky architecture’ is not what you expect of a redbrick University. A newly-labelled Comprehensive perhaps, but not a redbrick sitting on top of a goldmine of history. Thinking back to my expectations on my first day at University, I expected to walk onto the set of Harry Potter when I stepped inside the University gates. And it didn’t disappoint! Walking into the main hall of the University was like walking into a big cathedral, it certainly had the ‘wow factor’. I expected Hogwarts and how massively disappointed would I have been if it had resembled an Apple store?! There was a real sense of history and belonging, which was fostered in part by the visual history evident around campus - predominately the buildings, such as the library. I fell hook-line-and-sinker for this sense of history, so the University should be ensnaring other prospective students using the same method, not trying to suppress it at every turn! And there is an important business aspect to this too; any member of a group will tell you that group cohesion is better achieved when there is a unique, unifying element that is specific to the group and separates the group members from outsiders, whether that be what they wear, how they speak or what they believe. This is how armies and gangs are united. This is the way that human nature works. Each University has its own history, its own ‘unique element’ that students expect to buy into. By removing this ‘unique element’ and replacing it with a ‘ten-a-penny McDonalds element’ the group will quickly lose its sense of belonging. And that, as it has been pointed out to me, is corporate suicide...

This might all be a panic over nothing and the old library will segue painlessly into the new with no bother whatsoever. I have every confidence that this will be the case. But for other Universities planning similar redevelopments the concerns raised must be addressed. Decisions made within Universities with regard to the future of the written word should not be taken lightly as they will influence generational waves of students and thereby send ripples out into the wider society. And there is no system backup, once these hard-copy resources are lost we may never recover them again...

UPDATE: MAY 2016

So the nightmare came true. The replacement looks like an out-of-town JD Sports superstore...or a Primark, at best...

The Honey’s Revenge: Lana Del Rey, Adele and the Vilification of Beauty

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Fri, 27 Jan 2012 21:02:00 +0000

Back in July 2011 I stumbled across the mesmerising video on Youtube called ‘Video Games’ by Lana Del Rey. I fell instantly in love with the melody, Lana’s voice and the kooky imagery in the video and the track climbed up my most-played iTunes list and muscled in on my iPod airplay. I was very confused as to why some reviews of her new album Born To Die, due for release on Monday, were so critical. And I was doubly confused as to why there appeared to be a problem with her pouting, girl-next-door-turned-gangster-moll character. I suspected, unfortunately for Lana, that even if she sang like a cherubim on God’s right hand her fatal weakness is this - she is a woman in the public eye who is prettier than the norm and not afraid to flaunt it.

It all started a few years back when it become cool, socially acceptable (and even encouraged) to ridicule women who had gone to extreme measures to alter their appearance and make themselves look more attractive, whether it be through breast implants, botox, surgery etc. Prominent public figures like Katie Price and Jodie Marsh bore the brunt of the public aggression while ‘ordinary girl on the street’ celebs like Lily Allen, Adele etc could do no wrong. You could be the sweetest woman on earth, but once you passed a certain level of prettiness it was assumed that you were a fame-hungry harridan hell bent on burning the earth to the core. The trickledown effect has over time fed into the wider society with this derision being directed at any woman, celebrity or not, who is even mildly attractive.

On the flip side to this ‘honey vilification’, I caught Adele Live at the Royal Albert Hall a few weeks ago and cringed so hard that I had to switch off after the first ten minutes. Yes, she’s a good singer and she’s knocked out some good tunes (well, we’ve been brainwashed into liking them at least), but I was shocked by what was, essentially, the sight of a chavvy fat lass slurping on a cup of tea and swearing like a trucker. It was over-the-top, exaggerated chaviness on a monumental scale that almost felt like it was put on for the cameras. Get some decorum girl! And yet she’s lauded by, well, everyone. Why are we not trying to clean up her act? Is this the kind of cringingly awful chaviness that we view as the societal norm? I suspect that we adore and foster this type of crass personality because it makes us feel good about ourselves. Adele is safe, familiar, unthreatening, resembles every other ‘girl on the street’ and slurps tea and curses like the rest of us. Perfect, she’ll do, stick her on the radio. Lana Del Rey, on the other hand, is a larger than life character who is different, pretty, classy and edgy (a pseudo-edginess that Adele tries to emulate by swearing her way through a setlist) and that is very unsettling to your average ‘girl on the street’. And before you say it, looks and size are irrelevant. It’s true that beauty is predominantly a state of mind– it is classy, refined and has self-respect. That certainly isn’t on Adele’s stage. Take a step back and consider which singer you would prefer to act as a role model for your daughter…

As a disclaimer at this point, I must say that I consider myself to be pretty average looking and by no means a ‘honey’, but I have some friends who are very easy on the eye and they regularly encounter anti-beauty discrimination in their everyday lives. One recently remarked to me that she would feel much more accepted in society if she had tracksuit bottoms surgically attached, swore/drank/smoked like a docker, tried her hardest to resemble a man and took no interest in her appearance whatsoever. Then, and only then, she felt that she would be accepted by society for who she is rather than belittled and disregarded for how she looks. We must remember that taking a dislike to a woman because we consider her to be more attractive than us is equally as offensive as taking a dislike to a woman because we hate her skin colour, weight or age. I would like to think, in an ideal world, that our veneration of the crass and vilification of the beautiful plays no part in forming opinions with regard to new faces such as Lana Del Rey, particularly as some critics appear to have formed an opinion before she even opens her mouth. I would honestly love to believe that, but I have one eye on the seething anti-beauty subtext that is bubbling beneath the reviews whenever a pretty face hits the headlines. We really need to keep this in check before it becomes a problem…

Something for Dave

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Fri, 12 Nov 2010 19:40:00 +0000

On Friday afternoon I was set with the challenge of writing some song lyrics by Dave Stewart on Twitter. Having been encouraged by Dave to take up song-writing in an earlier episode, I decided that it was time that I took his encouragement seriously and tried my hand once again at putting pen to paper (or finger to keyboard). So somewhere amidst the chaos of that afternoon I found a few minutes to sit and write something meaningful that I hoped would inspire Dave to write a melody pulling my hastily scribbled words together. I was in a particularly reflective mood on Friday afternoon so I decided to write something inspired by my good friend Kerry, who died suddenly and unexpectedly recently at the age of 31, leaving behind a one-year old daughter and a lot of shocked family and friends. Kerry was a huge music fan and music played a large part in her life, so it seemed fitting to write a song filled with my memories of her.

I woke up this morning to the start of another working week and a cold, frosty, dreary Monday morning and when I checked my emails I made the staggering discovery that Dave had not only written a melody to my lyrics but that he had recorded a rough outline of the track and sent it to me! Wow, that’ll teach me to never go to sleep again! Needless to say, I have been listening to the recording throughout the day and I’ve had a fixed grin on my face for the past 12 hours. It’s an excellent tune – mellow and soulful, yet full of optimism and guaranteed to make you smile - and I’d love to hear the finished result when it has been moulded by the hands of such an accomplished and gifted musician. I’m extremely flattered, delighted by Dave’s interpretation of my sentiments and now very motivated to take this song-writing lark seriously from hereon out!

Here are the lyrics that I submitted. Every line has a story behind it and the last verse in particular really chokes me up each time I reread it. Kerry was the eternal optimist and, as the last chorus implies, I finally took her advice on the last day I spent with her...

Cold hands
Are warm
In the heat of a winter’s day
And I trust
Your faith
When you turn to me and say

Put your best dress on ‘cos it’s never gonna rain,
It’s never gonna rain again on New Year’s Day.
Wear your hair up high ‘cos it’s never gonna rain,
It’s never gonna rain again on New Year’s Day.
Put your best shoes on ‘cos it’s never gonna rain,
It’s never gonna rain again on New Year’s Day
And if the dark clouds come
Then we’ll blow them all away

Midnight
Machines,
You hate it when I play the clown
But I saw
Your smile
The day the circus came to town

Put your best dress on ‘cos it’s never gonna rain,
It’s never gonna rain again on New Year’s Day.
Wear your hair up high ‘cos it’s never gonna rain,
It’s never gonna rain again on New Year’s Day.
Put your best shoes on ‘cos it’s never gonna rain,
It’s never gonna rain again on New Year’s Day
And though we’re miles apart
I am never far away

High chair
Alone,
The night the party died at nine
And I heard
You call,
But your voice wasn’t on the line

I’ll put my best suit on ‘cos it’s never gonna rain,
It’s never gonna rain again on New Year’s Day.
I’ll wear my hair up high ‘cos it’s never gonna rain,
It’s never gonna rain again on New Year’s Day.
I’ll put my best shoes on ‘cos it’s never gonna rain,
It’s never gonna rain again on New Year’s Day
And I won’t cry no tears
Because we’ll dance again someday…

And Vinyly: Live On From Beyond The Groove

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Fri, 08 Oct 2010 09:09:00 +0000

If you ever worry about how to continue the legacy of your awesomeness after you have shuffled off this mortal coil, then I may well have found the perfect send-off for you.

UK-based company And Vinyly will press your cremated ashes into a vinyl recording playing a track of your choice, a vocal message or simply your own silent pops and crackles for your friends and family to remember you by.

The basic package (£3000) includes a 30 disc pressing of your record, plus an 'R.I.V.' artwork record cover with your name, date of birth and date of death. There are additional services available including backing tracks, ‘bespook’ music, the opportunity to have your record distributed worldwide and FUNerals: a musical send-off led by a team of event organisers. And if you still want to be buried after you cough, And Vinyly accepts cremated body parts in addition to whole cremated bodies.

Feeling a bit peaky? More details here: http://www.andvinyly.com/

Last Female Rhino in South African Park Killed by Poachers

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Wed, 28 Jul 2010 08:55:00 +0000

The Guardian reported this morning that the last female rhinoceros in a game reserve near Johannesburg in South Africa has been killed by poachers who hacked off her horn and left her to bleed to death. Now without sounding too hippy about it, killing an animal to eat it is one thing, but killing an animal to use parts of it in traditional medicine is just retarded. Yes, I admit that I’m the biggest self-confessed misanthrope around, but slaughtering any endangered animal just to keep granddad alive for a few extra months or give him a better erection seems such a waste. Stop being cheap and invest in some penicillin, you hut-dwelling knuckle-dragging Neanderthals!

According to the report there have been a growing number of poaching incidents recently and police believe that organised criminal groups are responsible. Wanda Mkutshulwa, a spokeswoman for South African National Parks, said ‘police need to help game reserves because they are not at all equipped to handle crime on such an organised level’.

How much does a huge f**k-off size rifle for a South African game reserve keeper cost?

Because I’ll buy him a dozen…

Westboro Baptist Church vs Geeks of the World

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Sat, 24 Jul 2010 09:44:00 +0000

The most frustrating thing in the world is the overzealous Christian. I’m not talking about little old Doris who does the flowers every Sunday morning, I mean the full on ‘you’re all gonna burn in hell’ redneck with the fixed, creepy grin and the glassy eyed stare. You know the kind I mean. Holding a basic conversations with these people is a struggle to keep their feet in reality and trying to conduct a theological debate with them is like attempting to hold a debate about nuclear science with a scientist who constantly refer to nuclear fission as ‘dancing, sparkly stuff’. Facepalm and leave the room.

Now I’m pretty live-and-let-live when it comes to them walking amongst us and I count some of them as my close friends, but I can’t help but feel a small degree of deep satisfaction when they get their wheels stuck in the mud. It warms my heart in a twisted way. So imagine my delight when I heard about this…

Fred Phelps and his followers from the Westboro Baptist Church have cornered the market when it comes to shouty religious nuts standing on street corners with huge placards telling everyone that they will burn in hell. Their website didn’t exactly endear the group to me when it greeted me as a ‘depraved daughter of Adam’. But when they set up camp outside Comic-Con this year (right) they were far from prepared for the army of geeks that had arrived fully prepared to do battle with them. Equipped with funny signs and chants such as ‘What do we want? Gay sex. When do we want it? Now!’, the geek army set about a counter-attack that will go down in history as the Great Battle of Comic-Con 2010. The reviled Church group were quickly sent away and fanboy power reigned supreme.

The lesson learnt by all is that religion might well hammer women and homosexuals, but it should NEVER mess with a nerd. For the Geek shall inherit the Earth…

Strawberry Ice-Cream Boobs!

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Fri, 09 Jul 2010 15:01:00 +0000

So I’m officially one year older on Tuesday and I feel that I must finally embrace a maturer outlook on life and become a wiser and more responsible person. But since I have a few days of immaturity left then please indulge me....

Look, I found ice-cream boobies!!!!

AHHHHHHHHhhhhhhhhhhhhh....that's better.......Raspberry Nipple flavour, anyone?

Rampant, evil, mutant baby killing foxes at large? Really?

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Sun, 04 Jul 2010 16:59:00 +0000

Ok, here’s one for you. Foxes: vermin or furry cuties?

Now I’m no socially awkward inbred with a penchant for taking out small beasts with a dusty ancestor’s rifle in order to justify my lofty position in the food chain. But neither am I a tree-hugging hippy with a deep, heartfelt love for every creature in the land, so please don’t think that cute furriness is clouding my judgement.

The recent reports of a fox attacking twin baby girls in their own home has sparked a massive public reaction that is rapidly reaching heights that are becoming comical. I live in a fairly rural area and I regularly see foxes sneaking across the roads at night, so at first I agreed that the alarm should be raised to the possibility that one of these creatures could sneak into your house at night and cause damage or attack small children. It was sensible to flag it up in the public arena (although quite a few folk, including myself to some extent, thought that the attack story stank for some completely fox-unrelated reason that we couldn't quite put our collective fingers on...but that’s another matter…). And that’s when the media started to take it way too far with an onslaught of TV documentaries and newspaper articles on ‘the evil, killer fox’, urging us all to lock and bolt every door and window and buy a huge rifle to protect ourselves and our families. It’s all started to get a bit hysterical and silly and smacks of an en vogue witch hunt; something cool and topical for middle class mums to fluster and fret about at the school gates. And some of this stuff is absolutely priceless comedy gold. Take, for example, this article in the Sunday Times:

‘It seems to embody one’s darkest fear about dwelling in a city: that living among us, silent, watching and waiting for a lapse in our attention is a malignant, amoral force.’

Aaahahahahah! Really? Come on, people, honestly. Pull yourselves together. Yes, we need to aware of the dangers of wild animals living amongst us, but there are bigger evils in this world...get some perspective! And how many children each year are killed or violently mauled by family dogs? But are we calling for Fido to be hunted down and slaughtered on the chance that he might turn bad? No, but I’d like to see the media try to pull that one off...

It was this comment in the aforementioned article that finally changed my opinion on the subject and made me realise how ridiculous this witch/fox hunt had become, especially when written with, what appears to be, genuine seriousness and sobriety:

‘The comedy duo The Mighty Boosh had it about right with their evil, disheveled junkie character the Crack Fox.’

Yeah…and I bet they all have banjos too…

Labuat: 'Soy Tu Aire' (I'm Your Air')

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Mon, 31 May 2010 11:52:00 +0000

The prize for the most beautiful website that I have ever seen goes to Spanish band Labuat for the website for their single ‘Soy Tu Aire’ ‘(I’m Your Air’). The website is an interactive music experience in which the user moves their mouse along an inked line in time with the music, creating amazing visual interpretations of the music. It’s not often that I find a website with the wow-factor, but this blew me away. Try it for yourself at http://soytuaire.labuat.com/

Happy Geek Pride Day!

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Tue, 25 May 2010 19:05:00 +0000

In view of the title of this blog, I thought that this should get a mention…

It’s Geek Pride Day! Yes, it’s true. Today belongs to the nerds. Wikipedia reveals that '[Geek Pride Day] has been celebrated on May 25 since 2006, celebrating the premiere of the first Star Wars movie in 1977.' There’s even a manifesto to accompany the event:

Rights:

1. The right to be even geekier.

2. The right to not leave your house.

3. The right to not like football or any other sport.
4. The right to associate with other nerds.
5. The right to have few friends (or none at all).
6. The right to have as many geeky friends as you want.
7. The right to be out of style.
8. The right to be overweight and near-sighted.
9. The right to show off your geekiness.
10. The right to take over the world.

Responsibilities:

1. Be a geek, no matter what.

2. Try to be nerdier than anyone else.
3. If there is a discussion about something geeky, you must give your opinion.
4. To save and protect all geeky material.
5. Do everything you can to show off geeky stuff as a "museum of geekiness."
6. Don't be a generalized geek. You must specialize in something.
7. Attend every nerdy movie on opening night and buy every geeky book before anyone else.
8. Wait in line on every opening night. If you can go in costume or at least with a related T-shirt, all the better.

9. Never throw away anything related to geekdom.

10. Try to take over the world!

I’ve decided to celebrate the day by posting a photograph of my good friend Graham (right) who is, in my opinion, the ultra omniscient, king of the geeks who never fails to amaze me with the immense breadth of his knowledge of sci-fi, movie trivia, cult and general geek fandom. Graham, I salute you…

Oh and it’s also Towel Day, an annual celebration held on the 25th of May in tribute to the author Douglas Adams.

So pick your poison, nerd-boys and girls…today you rule the universe (at last)!!

Anatidaephobia: the fear that somewhere, somehow, a duck is watching you

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Tue, 11 May 2010 08:16:00 +0000

I’m telling you, there’s a conspiracy going down.

It all started a few weeks ago. I stepped out of my building at lunchtime to be confronted by two ducks. They were sitting on the grass making a disgruntled quacking sound and watching everyone pass by. Then the next morning I came to work to be confronted by this guy sitting on the wall outside my building:

So I innocently Twittered ‘what’s with all the ducks?’ and had a surprising response. It turns out that a friend has been feeding four ducks in her back garden and another friend has noticed that a feathered family has taken up residency in his communal water feature. Weird, huh?

I left work the next day by the back door in order to avoid the wall sitter by the front entrance. No sooner had I stepped out of the door when I heard a quacking noise by my feet and looked down to see these guys casing the back door. The brown one quacked menacingly at me, I swear it! :) (just check out the stare on the fella on the left….now that’s one dodgy duck….):

Now everywhere I turn there are ducks! And it’s not just a Birmingham based phenomena. I was in Redditch on Saturday morning and there were three sat on a roundabout checking out the cars. And this elderly Bournemouth woman is having hell with a flock that has occupied her fish pond. They’re spreading out and setting up outposts in preparation for the great invasion! They'll be in government soon...banning fishing and discriminating against creatures without webbed feet...mark my words! And they’re breeding fast too - the BBC News reports that a a 'wonder duck' in north Dorset has hatched 21 ducklings!

Yes, they’re cute creatures (and they taste pretty good too) but I reckon these ducks are pure aquatic evil. If they find my lifeless, bloated carcass face-down in the duck pond with my gullet stuffed with dried bread, don’t say I didn’t warn you!

EDIT: Thursday 13th May 2010:

Looks like they've started all-night stake-outs.

Sleeper cell?

EDIT: Wednesday 19th May

My duck invasion spies spotted this fella on the ramparts of Ludlow castle. A look-out, eh? Devious...

Lol@Jesus Christ: The Facebook Passion

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Thu, 01 Apr 2010 10:33:00 +0000

Continuing with the religious theme from my last-but-one post (well, it *is* Easter I suppose and I *am* trying to convince everyone that it really says in The Gospel of Mark that those who do not buy their friends Easter eggs will burn forever in the fiery pit of hell…).

Some clever soul has created Jesus' Facebook Page complete with a photo album of ‘Jesus cuddling fluffy things’, comments by Dan Brown, the disciple James uploading photos from his Blackberry and Jesus sending a gift of A Big Ol’ Can of Whoop Ass to the Moneylenders amongst lots of other funny posts. It’s a little too serious for my liking, but since it is a parody of the Easter Passion story then a certain amount of sobriety is unavoidable. I’d like to see how other attempts at a day-to-day, run-of-the-mill FB page for JC would fare. Or how about God’s FB page? (God's twittering of creation was hysterically funny). So many possibilities!

Run, Jesus Run! a.k.a. The 10 second Gospel

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Mon, 29 Mar 2010 11:40:00 +0000

Love the little flash game ‘Run, Jesus Run!’ from Molleindustria (for download here). You have 10 seconds to cure some lepers, perform a few miracles, gather your apostles and redeem humanity. Hit space bar to begin!

A little 8 bit blasphemy can do no harm, eh?...*braces for lightning bolt*.....here's a speedrun of the game...

The Dave Stewart Twitter Song Writing Competition: The Results Are In!

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Mon, 22 Mar 2010 10:17:00 +0000

Many thanks to everyone for their huge support for Glitter Hearted Hero, my entry to the Dave Stewart song writing competition (see blog post here). After over an hour of nail-biting deliberation last night, Dave finally announced that it was ‘a close tie’ between two entries. Then came the shocker:

“OK phew it was hard , the winner is Chris Taylor very close second is Helen Ingram YEY” (Source: http://twitter.com/DaveStewart)

Wow, now that was a surprise!! Not bad for two hours on a lazy Sunday afternoon with a notepad, a few creative brainwaves and a laptop mic, eh? Yes, I admit that I am gutted that I lost out on the chance to have Dave record the track, especially since I greatly admire his work and there was only one point between us on his scoring system! (see scoring sheet below). But the experience has been priceless. I’ve always been a keen writer, both creative and academic, and I desperately love making music (most of you will not know that I am a grade 8 pianist, a saxophonist and violinist). Maybe the obvious has been right in front of me all along: I should combine the two and try my hand at songwriting…? This is my first attempt at putting pen to paper (or lyric to note, rather) and I realise that it is a huge business and I have no idea where to begin, but I enjoy a challenge and Dave Stewart has certainly provided the motivation and inspiration for me to pursue the goal. Thanks again to everyone for their support and showing their love for the track – and watch this space!

More on Dave Stewart’s Twitter contest can be found here at ethrill.net…

The stress-raising, accident-inducing, energy saving light bulb

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Sun, 14 Mar 2010 11:12:00 +0000

This week I discovered that the most elusive thing in the world isn’t love, happiness, unicorns, the perfect mascara or Osama Bin Laden. It is the simple 60 watt light bulb.

I have spent hours, nay days, searching for a pretty, bright bulb for the new light fitting on my bedroom ceiling only to discover that there is no longer such a thing. Instead the shelves in my local DIY stores are populated by lots of green boxed, energy saving, eco-friendly bulbs. Now I’m as environmentally conscious as the next person (I’m trying not to burn the place, honest) and I’m happy to do my bit for energy conservation, but I found myself getting a little ‘ranty’ about the current light bulb situation…

First there is the light issue. Isn’t the purpose of a light bulb to light a room? Apparently not. The room isn’t half as bright as before and I’m stumbling around in the semi dark trying to get dressed each morning. And by the time it ‘heats up to full beam’ I’ve finished my activity and left the room!

Second there is the aesthetic issue. I settled for a 40 watt weird looking twirly thing that makes my gorgeous new antique-looking light fitting look a bit...errr...well, modern. A candle bulb would have suited perfectly, but instead I have a Star Wars energy cell. Great. Please, environmentalists, don’t make me compromise on style in order to help you out. Plus, you make me feel guilty when I choose the pretty-but-frying-the-earth option instead. Why can’t energy efficiency be stylish too?

So if I fall out of a window or down the stairs over the next month or so, please direct the coroner to this blog page and tell him/her that the light bulbs killed me. I was trying to save humanity but the light bulbs had other ideas. They are part of a world-wide light bulb conspiracy to rid the planet of humans by causing countless household accidents. The human race will die out and the planet will be in peace. Hmmm, maybe they are environmentally friendly after all…

And I’m not alone in my misgivings, if the Facebook group These Energy Saving Lightbulbs Might Be Saving Energy But I Can't See Shit is anything to go by. And at this rate we are only a few watts short of the ultimate energy saver; the emo bulb.

Star Warz Burlesque & Cabaret: The Encore Show! 12 March 2010

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Wed, 03 Mar 2010 16:00:00 +0000

By popular demand, the Star Wars burlesque sensation with over 150,000 YouTube views in less than three weeks (see here) is set to take a bigger stage at The Music Box @ Fonda in Hollywood. On Friday, March 12 at 9pm, Courtney Cruz’s Devil’s Playground presents Star Warz Burlesque & Cabaret, recapturing the inspired galactic interpretation that earned worldwide acclaim in G4's "Attack of the Show," LAWeekly, SpikeTV, Esquire.com, BoingBoing, PerezHilton.com, SciFi Wire, AnyGuey.com and more.

If you’re a Star Wars fan and you think you’ve seen it all, get ready to go an entirely new galaxy with Devil's Playground on March 12. Courtney Cruz is working closely with creative director and costume designer Carlos Flores to assemble her most popular burlesque artists for their most elaborately-designed production to date. Star Warz Burlesque & Cabaret will surprise and delight fans of Star Wars, burlesque, or anyone who just likes to have fun on a Friday night.

What: Devil’s Playground Presents Star Warz Burlesque & Cabaret

Date: Friday, March 12, 2010

Time: Doors at 9:00 p.m.

Post-Show Meet & Greet with Photos 11:15 p.m.

Where: The Music Box @ Fonda

6126 Hollywood Blvd., Hollywood, CA

323-464-0808

Tickets: www.wantickets.com/starwarz

A little bit about The Devil’s Playground

The Devil’s Playground is a monthly instalment of themed, theatrical burlesque entertainment and variety acts. The second Saturday of every month Devil’s Playground Creator Courtney Cruz produces and performs with her group of sexy dames in Los Angeles. From Star Wars themes and Batman characters to Video Game girls, Courtney and her lovely ladies will always leave you wanting more. The Devil's Playground can be found at http://www.courtneycruz.com/, on Facebook at http://www.facebook.com/courtneycruz and on Twitter at www.twitter.com/trueburlesque.

Dating tips for the single 1930s woman

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Sun, 28 Feb 2010 19:47:00 +0000

♫ If you liked it then you shoulda put a girdle on it…♫

Thanks to my colleague A.D. for drawing my attention to these dating tips for the single woman in 1938. The advice is simple: be careful that your stocking aren’t wrinkled, don’t be familiar with the headwaiter, don’t pass out from too much liquor and remember - when a man dances he just wants to dance!

Sound advice if you ask me. Here are some of my favourites…

More tips can be found at sadanduseless.com

Lorry Fail, Bridge Win at the University of Birmingham

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Thu, 25 Feb 2010 19:56:00 +0000

I spotted this lorry firmly wedged under a bridge when on my travels around the University of Birmingham campus this afternoon. Apparently it has been there for a while now (four days, I hear!).

And the company logo on the side of the truck? ‘Protecting People. Reducing Risk’. Classic!

Lorry vs Bridge update: 9th March 2010

Yes, three weeks later and the lorry is STILL lodged under the bridge. Apparently it has caused serious structural damage to the bridge and a structural assessment of the damage has shown that the vehicle cannot be moved until the bridge structure is independently supported and made safe. There are plans to remove the lorry and provide temporary propping which will allow the road to be used soon. Work on the bridge will take place later in the year.

So, lorry drivers out there, if there is something to be learned from this HGV faux-pas then it is this: LOOK UP!!!

To airbrush or not to airbrush? In defence of the digitally enhanced

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Tue, 23 Feb 2010 15:20:00 +0000

I see that the whole ‘airbrushing photos of models and making spotty teenagers feel insecure’ argument has blown up again (is it ever dead?). The whole debate is utter b****cks if you ask me. What next? Banning pretty models in case they make the rest of us feel ugly? How about banning intelligent people so that stupid people don’t feel so stupid?!?

Now I’m as riddled with imperfections and insecurities as the next woman, but I have strong opinions when it comes to the airbrushing debate. The digital manipulation of models to make them look thinner is another issue. Those women often look ill, gaunt and just plain wrong and I vehemently oppose any use of models that offends my sensibilities as well as my eye. But attacking an image simply because the model has been enhanced to look prettier than the average women quite often annoys me.

First, every young person has insecurities – both male and female – and body issues and a lack of confidence are unavoidable aspects of puberty. It’s always been this way. There has always being someone far more intelligent, more athletic, prettier etc than you are and the human race has survived thus far. Second, I know firsthand that a photo editor can be a life-saver on a photo shoot after a rough night out. There is no way that I would let some photos be viewed by my cat let alone by anyone else without first being retouched. So I tend to sympathise with the model in this respect. Third, I don’t like being patronised by over-sensitive wishy-washy types who feel that they need to bring the whole world of beauty down a notch or two just to make the rest of us feel pretty. And finally, as a consumer I like my advertising to be pleasing to the eye. Take the Olay ‘real women’ campaign, for example. Did a bunch of women of various shapes and sizes flaunting their lumps and bumps make me feel more inclined to buy Olay? No. No-one wants to see droopy and overhanging lumps of flesh while they are eating their dinner, no matter how ‘real’ we are told that these women are. In fact I worried that anyone seeing me buy it off the shelf would think that I sympathised with the brand because I was overweight or insecure about my body. That’s one epic marketing fail right there. So in contrast, I asked myself, is a perfectly svelte and airbrushed to the hilt supermodel more likely to sell me a clothing line than a ‘real-life’ size 14 plain Jane? Yes, she is, I thought. And is a Wonderbra ad with a well-endowed woman spilling out of a bra more likely to sell lingerie to me than an ad featuring a pasty faced, B-cupped mother of ten? Yes, of course. These types of ads sucker me in every time and for one simple reason; because women like to aspire to an ideal.

Take a peek, for example, at one of Gill Elvgren’s pinup girls...

In most of Elvgren’s pictures we find an idealised image of a woman who has achieved a high level of feminine perfection that very few of us will ever attain. But do I hate the woman in the picture? No. Do I wish that she was carrying a little more weight, had bad skin or was just a bit more ‘uglier’? No. I love Elvgren’s work because I can aspire to be like these women and, as a heterosexual female, I find their beauty pleasing to the eye. These highly stylised pictures, and their modern airbrushed equivalents, should be embraced by women rather than treated as taboo and immoral images that are to be hidden away from young girls in case they make them feel insecure. In fact, it’s about time that women were exposed to more of them!

Ok, ok so I might sound like a ranting misogynist, but standards have already lowered considerably over the past few decades. Your average woman dresses for comfort in baggy jogging bottoms and her boyfriend’s jumper because we have been told that even the most beautiful models or celebrities dress like this most of the time. Just open any women’s magazine and the pages are crammed with unflattering photographs of celebs in their civvies and wearing little or no makeup. Women are no longer expected to look impeccable every minute of the day and it has become acceptable to dress like a slob even to go to the supermarket (as exemplified in the recent ‘Pyjamas at Tescos’ news story). We have been told that there is no need to make an effort, because no-one else is making an effort either. It’s a sad state of affairs and things can only get worse.

I know that the majority of us will never be that supermodel with the perfect body and the perfect digitally enhanced complexion, but please Mr. Ad man, give the next generation of young women something to aspire to. Set them a bar to which they can strive to reach before they start spiralling into a pit of complacency and disregard for their appearance. And, most importantly, please don’t start pandering to normality. Let’s try not to level the playing field so much so that we all become identical, faceless droids…

(however, let the following be a warning for temperance...)

Sheer Balloonacy

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Sun, 21 Feb 2010 13:23:00 +0000

On Friday evening I found myself sipping wine and nibbling on canapés at a swanky awards ceremony. Very nice, you might think. And it was. But I didn’t realise that my creative talents – or lack thereof – and patience were about to be pushed to the limits…!

I was halfway through dinner when a little packet of sheer terror landed on our table. No, it wasn’t an illegal substance or a charity donation envelope, but a pack of modelling balloons. An audible clatter of cutlery rang out around the hall and the chatter died out within seconds as we all stared at the terrifying intrusion on our table and listened as the Master of Ceremonies instructed us to create something imaginative as the winner would be announced after dessert.

A number of women promptly left their tables to hide in the ladies room, while the competitive men amongst us embraced the challenge with gusto, albeit a little heavy-handily if the loud bangs were anything to go by. Pops and squeakiness abounded for a short while and the results were largely shameful, as exemplified by my shoddy attempt…

A one-legged dog

A one-legged dog being eaten by a shark

Maybe I should have opted for the minimal effort and misdirection option:

Thankfully, aside from a little too much wine, I managed to escape at the end of the evening with good health. It seems that some poor souls are not as fortunate....

Love is (colour) blind

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Sun, 14 Feb 2010 14:58:00 +0000

The rose is red, the violet's blue,

The honey's sweet, and so are you.

Thou are my love and I am thine;

I drew thee to my Valentine:

The lot was cast and then I drew,

And Fortune said it shou'd be you.

Gammer Gurton's Garland (1784)

Ok, roses are red..

…but violets are certainly not blue!

I would suggest a vivid purple...

Seriously, the clue is in the name.

Happy Valentine’s Day all!

*mwah*

A Musical Mural? Hidden music in Da Vinci’s The Last Supper

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Sat, 06 Feb 2010 11:33:00 +0000

Now I thought that Dan Brown was clutching at straws, but, in my opinion, this guy is taking handfuls of hay bales. See what you think…

Italian musician and computer technician Giovanni Maria Pala claims that by drawing a musical staff on Leonardo Da Vinci’s ‘The Last Supper’, the hands and buns on the painting correspond to the positioning of musical notes on the stave which, when played from right to left, produce a 40-second long ditty that sounds ‘like a requiem’. Giovanni has written a book on his theory entitled La Musica Celata (The Hidden Music) and, interestingly, the sceptics seem to agree that his premise is entirely plausible, pointing out that Da Vinci was an avid musician.

A deliberate positioning of hands and bread? Or an entirely unintentional, but entertaining, coincidence?

On a similar ‘note’ (ha! see what I did there…?) I love this little video by Jarbas Agnelli entitled 'Birds on the Wires'. Here’s how Agnelli describes his inspiration for the piece:

‘Reading a newspaper, I saw a picture of birds on the electric wires. I cut out the photo and decided to make a song, using the exact location of the birds as notes (no Photoshop edit). I knew it wasn't the most original idea in the universe. I was just curious to hear what melody the birds were creating.’

More about this video and Agnelli can be found here

Right, I'm off to find a ruler and dig out some old holiday photos…;)

The Jesus-monkey and the DIY Bible

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Sat, 23 Jan 2010 11:24:00 +0000

Earlier this week two of my colleagues, both biblical scholars, started a very silly – but very funny - discussion prompted by this infamous photo of Jesus’ face in an Ikea toilet door in Glasgow…

Colleague A agreed that that ‘face’ in the door looked very Jesus-like, but Colleague B thought that it resembled an Orangutan. I watched their conversation on my Facebook page with great amusement and suggested that this might well be a physical manifestation of the Jesus-monkey (based on evidence in Mark chapter two which states that Jesus tied a tyre to a tree and unpeeled a banana with his toes).

Colleague B is currently involved in the production of electronic transcriptions of biblical manuscripts and so, with this in mind, Colleague A pointed out to Colleague B that she is sitting on the opportunity of a lifetime. Photoshop. Maybe at some point in her work, Colleague B could, with a surreptitious click of the mouse, slip a reference to a Jesus-monkey into the manuscript that she is working on and we could sit back and watch the academics scratching their heads when the final transcription is published. And why stop there? Imagine the fun that could be had! Jesus rode into Jerusalem on a drunk Llama, the three kings could become three gangster rappers, hamburgers and lager at the Last Supper (Tizer for Judas, of course). Hours of fun. And not only could we edit the existing text, we could also insert and remove material to suit our own particular causes or beliefs. I’m sure that The Geek Muse revised version of the Ten Commandments would be very…ermm…interesting!

Unfortunately, no matter how many chocolate cookies or neck massages are bestowed upon her, my co-worker is resisting our mischievous attempts to corrupt her research and cause mass outrage in the religious communities, so we can only dream of the chaos and hysteria that could have been. But here’s the question that I’ve been asking everyone since this whole conversation started: If you could Photoshop an ancient manuscript of the Bible, bury it, ‘discover’ it in a few years time and have it accepted as THE authoritative text, what material would you insert or remove and/or which verses would you edit?