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Touching. We all need that once in a while, from someone, in our lives, right?
And the most common ones are handshakes, a hand on the shoulder, or a hug. But I'm sure you already knew that. However, what you may not know, or understand, is that females get significantly more touches than males, and that affects them in different ways. For instance, a girl is generally always hugged by her parents, maybe siblings, maybe other girls at school, high school, and then university, and eventually work. And that can fill her up with warmth, smiles, and other good feelings. A boy doesn't get many hugs apart from his mom, and occasionally dad, and some relatives here and there. And that can fill him up with sadness, hatred, and make him see the world with different eyes. Now, I'm not sure where that stems from, maybe years of indoctrination of trying to make boys grow up faster and become masters of their domain, but besides the psychological aspect, there's a cultural aspect. With females, you're being led to believe that that's what they do. They meet, they hug, they smile, and they seem to radiate these pheromones of happines. With males, on the other hand, how many times have you seen non-gay males hug? I know I haven't seen it that much, maybe like a tap on the shoulder, or a London hug, which nobody likes but does regardless. And I mentioned that word, gay, which may upset someone, yet that's a word I heard growing up, directed towards boys, and even men, who were trying to be human, instead of soulless husks. Why is there such animosity towards males who show affection and why is there such a need to make a word that less than 100 years ago meant joviality, and is now related to a sexual preference, become a slur? And what I find pequliar is that this is happening more in countries with a high percentage of religious people or who are ruled by dictators. The lack of tolerance, I mean. The idea for writing about this came from the French movie Amelie. Classic movie about an introverted girl who uses her feminine touch to make the lives of those around her better, but is afraid to allow herself to have the same feeling. And while I could write more about various aspects of the movie, I'm going to focus solely on the feminine touch part. And yes, there will be spoilers ahead. Because she is female, it makes it feel natural that she is caring enough to give a man his old box with a toy car. It makes it feel natural to play matchmaker for some people in her workplace, and it makes it feel natural that her revenge on behalf of a one-armed man is midly despicable, but charming nonetheless. If a male were to do this, he would be called depressed for giving that toy car, a weirdo for playing that matchmaking game, and his revenge would deffinitely have the police involved. Because guys can only be rude and violent, right? If they were softer, they'd be pushovers, and wouldn't you know it, the one-armed man is like that. Ain't that something? Then again I suppose it's similar for females, too. If they're regularly smiling, charming and pleasant to be around, they're feminine. If they don't back down from stuff and keep staying in someone's face, they're hard to be around, get called psychos. Or lesbians.
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Some days you read something and you feel like you want to add something to it.
Well, today I reading an article about Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez (AOC), the youngest congresswoman who caught America by surprise. I'm not going to say much about her because so far I've seen a lot of media and some old politicians be frightful, and that's about it. However, this article was saying that young women don't have many political role models. And I was sitting there and thinking "Well, what about young men?" And it made me think at how there's a massive disparity between men, women, but also between the rich class and the non-rich class. Yeah, obviously, we already knew about that, through universities, acting, certain jobs and careers, but also politics. And it is certainly commendable how AOC managed to get to this point despite being from a poor background, and yet I still keep thinking "Well, what about young men?" Because, if you look at it, there aren't many young men in politics, and if they are, they're from a rich background, so me, personally, I could only identify with Barack Obama. So the question is, how could a Eastern European white guy identify with an African-American? The answer to that, Shirley, is not hard. He was personable. "Explain." You see, the man had an appeal. I'm sure some Americans voted for him because he was black, but I would've voted for him because he was different. There's that thing about freshness, about going out of your comfort zone. Obama was that. And sure enough, there's that question if doing such a thing has benefits. One thing it benefited was with homosexuals, where it still baffles me how people come out as gay on TV or wherever and people applaud and such, yet in UK, nobody seems to care. "Like, you're gay. Great. Now what?" In the USA it's made to be a personal achievement, and considering how the Bush regime handled it, I could understand to some extent, as it was much more freeing to be gay during the Obama regime. In essence, what I'm trying to say is that one could identify with a person like Obama more than someone else. Just like one could identify with AOC, or to put it in superhero fashion, someone like Black Panther or Miles Morales or Wonder Woman, without being black, mixed race, or a woman. Americans and Brits like keywords and buzzwords and all sorts of other words apart from nasty words, but why does someone have to be defined by something. I may have wanted to like AOC, but her name was graffitied with feminism, which has become a dirty word, mostly because the people who use it haven't decided what it means, and open-minded folk like myself are turned off by a passive-aggressive behavior. Most of all, it's not warranted. What about we like who we want to like, instead of them being put in certain words? Look at that face, at that smile, and at that awkward jump because the trousers were too tight (courtesy of Amar Chundavadra).
Life is funny. In general. At times. And when you don't want it to be. Creativity is like a flame. When it goes away, you're in trouble. And mine went away some months ago. I've been running on fumes even before I went to Edinburgh. And before you go and say "yeah, but people in normal jobs or professions experience that, too," they do, but most people from those categories only consume, not create. Tough pill to swallow, but those are the facts. The hard part about creating is not the creating, but about progression, that if it doesn't come, it can lead to weakened spiritual and mental state. And that happens to a lot of people, regardless if they've made it or not, but it hits harder if you haven't. This post is about nihilism, or what can happen if you've been depressed for a while, apathetic, and stop caring about yourself. You see, I wanted to write something about my trip to Edinburgh, but I couldn't. I was deep in a state of nobody give a fuck-itis. That came about after one stand-up gig in the wrong place that I did in London after I returned from Edinburgh, and after doing a reading of a play that (despite the writers saying it was great) killed me within. I had 2 more London gigs that I enjoyed, and also my own gig that should've made me buoyant, yet it didn't happen. At the start of September I was in Berlin, where I also did some comedy, and while I had fun for the most part, I'm still not in it entirely. How should I put this. Let's say you have an apple, and you take out its core. While that better because you can eat it properly, it will die fast. I'm a peeled, coreless apple at this point. There in the flesh, but devoid of anything. Social media is one big proponent of putting yourself out there, and while I do that, this whole funk state made me unable to do it. Because there is no point. Nihilism reduces everything to zero. Although recently, since the past week or so, I have started sharing stuff on social media again. Like anything in my life, depression comes and goes, but I haven't had nihilism in this form since I was in university, and that happened about seven years ago. It's a strange feeling that I don't know how to handle properly. Other than to take a hiatus from comedy. Long overdue. On the bright side, this month, the last for a while, I had a gig as Eddie Murphy, I'm doing a gig in French (tri-lingual, baby), and another one at a vegan festival. I'm feeling something for these ones. But nothing much for the normal ones. It's not like I was feeling amazing in that period when I did the photo, but I was in good company. Life is weird. Sometimes you grow in your personal life, while misfiring in your professional one, and other times your professional one goes excellent, and your personal one takes a nose dive faster than the Titanic. Mine have been all over the place. Currently, my personal one is better than my professional one, and I'm okay with that. For the time being. Like Arnold said, "I'll be back." I hope. Since this is more my website than a regular blog, I didn't figure I'd be putting guest blogs up, however, this lady, whom I can call a friend, had her own challenge that she completed.
Without further ado, Sarah Felton (@Syrupie). I was messing about on Facebook a couple of months ago, and as it has bothered me for a long time that women can’t go to a barbershop, when I saw an opportunity to have a bit of banter with a barbershop in Leeds. I did just that. I asked this barber (I don’t want to identify him) if he would cut my hair and the reply was - “I’m sure one of the barbers might give you a trim if you were to pop in.” Pop in I did! I had a coffee or two in the cafe bar and we chatted hair. I learned the difference between women's hair and men’s hair. Not the minutiae, but just that it’s different training for men and women because generally speaking women don’t want to have a short back ‘n’ sides! A ladies cut is usually softer. A date was set for my transformation. I returned for my appointment and was treated like royalty really! I caused quite a stir but only really because the *awesome™ chap cutting my hair was technically retired and I was bringing him out of retirement - much excitement among the staff. Chair and scissors located and I sat down. I’d let the barber ‘do what he wanted’ which I think is possibly more common in a barbershop than a hairdressers. There was a brief which I will share with you here: - A haircut I can style with one hand. Pinterest was our friend here. The hair wash was nice although, I think my *awesome™ chap might not have touched a backwash for quite a while - I wasn’t awfully comfortable but I’ll let him off!! Nice wash and condition and then a quick change of design and I’m back in the chair… Now I’m getting a tad nervous but it’s 25% nerves and 75% excitement. The experience is a bit blurry - I don’t remember if my Mr *awesome™ had started cutting yet or not but he asks if I want a beer - no hesitation from me. ‘My’ guy disappears and returns with a bottle of beer for me and something in a can for him (also possibly beer) I was in the gang now - or that’s what it felt like. My mystery barber kept taking a break by the window. Yay! I could sip my beer without getting hair in it. I was chewing his ear off (that’s talking a lot) which may have made it tricky to concentrate which he needed to do because he’d not really cut in a while. It was really relaxed and there was a fair bit of banter. My *awesome™ chap did a cracking job. I’m very grateful because I’ve achieved my mission which was to get my hair cut in a barbers and if at all possible change the world one cut at a time. * Awesome - DISCLAIMER I clearly do not own the word ‘awesome’ but it’s mine so I’ve made it my trademark or buzzword. If any legal bods fancy an argument could they please wait until approximately 2080!!!! No, this won't turn into a food blog, but some meals are worth talking about.
There's this place in Edinburgh called Kismot. And besides their regular meals, they have this monster, that's been featured on TV and newspapers and all that, but I didn't know that at the time. I believe that last year, when I checked them out, I was looking for food challenges. As a vegan, there aren't many for us, so I was glad to find this one, yet I couldn't sample it last year due to them not having it available. I wasn't expecting to come to Edinburgh this year, for the Fringe no less, and here I am, with that meal in my face. I like spicy food, eat it constantly, and have had a bunch of stuff over the years. I've had a few meals that made me tear, but were bearable. I've had two Pizza Hut pizzas with Nduja sauce that made me take the sauce away from the other one, after somehow eating the first one. I've made my own rice with 15 scotch bonnets, which felt mildly spicy. And I've two komodo dragon chilly peppers from Tesco's that gave me a similar experience, only that that one was in my home with less money spent. The Kismot Killer uses the five spiciest chillies in the world to make something that looks like the hell we all know from pictures. As you can see from above, they give you a small to medium-sized bowl of rice, and a medium-sized bowl of the concoction that would put Obelix to sleep. Oh, and it came out to Rocky's "Eye of the Tiger" (unless I forgot the song in all that excitement). Yeah, I didn't know why the music changed all of a sudden. The guy came out with a gas mask to suggest that that won't go near his face. After he left it on the table, Abdul was pretty much going "good luck bro. I'm gonna come check on you in 5 minutes." And I was like "I'll be fine," grinning like a moron that knew better, but was crazy enough to take chances. I put about 3 spoonfulls on my place, and covered it with some of that sticky rice. Before I dived in, I sampled it with the tip of my pinky finger and felt the burn right away. "Oh ho, this might not bode well," flew in my head at a breakneck speed. I have to say that I hadn't eaten anything much in the day apart from some crackers and some Nakd bars, which were enough for me to hike up to Arthur's Seat. Twice. So when that first half of a fork with rice and spice went in, man, it felt like something was trampling me with those spiky athletic boots. I started getting flushed fast, even though I still had some smile on for about 3 more minutes, and I still went in. About three more forks. And I felt I couldn't breathe any longer. During those forks, I figured I'd try something different like a chickpea or some bit of a potato. Nah, man. It was all bad. Like dragon breath. After sweating and stirring in that chair for a bit, Abdul came by and took me out to get some air, despite me saying that I can't walk. Yet I managed to slowly walk to a nearby alleyway where I stayed down on some steps of a flat. Abdul was loud, noisy, but motivational. The man saw a bunch of people attempt this madness and fail, and he also told me of one from the previous week that finished it. Lucky bastard. I spent about an hour in that alleyway, on a cold and rainy afternoon, in just a sweaty t-shirt and trousers. I was a mess. However, I started shivering, came to a bit more, and eventually made my way to the place. Before I left (and paid), one guy bought another Kismot Killer. I hope his bowels fared better. I don't use Uber, yet I had no choice. Couldn't walk back to my mate's place in that state. My driver was Hungarian, and as I know some words, I told him how much I like Kurtosz Kalacsi, which we both wished we had at the time. The feeling in my belly took a bit to subside. Maybe that's the closest to a male period feeling that I'll ever have, without the added blood. Couldn't really explain properly, but it feels like there's something moving inside and you have no ability to take it out or do anything about it. Oh, and just as he stopped in front of the destination, I opened the door and let out all of that spiciness. Even my throat started feeling it again. I went in there all smiles, and came out looking like I had surgery with my clothes on. I was recently in Brighton, and there I tried two things that I failed at. I know, it's not cool to say that you failed at something, but I've never been one to shy away from saying the direct thing (failed) as opposed to the more diplomatic thing like the Brits do (just not as good). As a kid, I never really had much. After junior school I had no friends as we split up in different high schools and I moved in a new borough. It was annoying and frustrating moving into a place where either kids were under 8, or most people were over 35. Nobody to befriend. I'm sure you've heard sob stories like this. However, let's get back to when I was under 10 myself. I had a few friends in my building block, and we'd usually play football, some random games like tag, catch, ducks and hunters, cops and robbers, card games, and other stuff, too. It was fun. And kids today won't really know that. Sounds like an old timer's thing to say, but it's true. You see, one of the things that I did back then was to climb trees, garages, and other concrete items. I remember one day I came home with some bruises on my thighs, yet nothing was hurting, all from doing slow rock climbing with my local abandoned builder's site. It felt great. Climbing things releases endorphins that make one feel good about themselves, because you're doing a challenge. It's like running that 5k in less than 25 minutes, or doing 10 straight laps in the pool when you could only do 2 without a break before. All of it is a challenge meant to make you better at something. And then you stop that something, and along the way you forget how it was. And bit by bit you forget about yourself as you go into another version of yourself. So, when I tried to climb a small pillar in Brighton last week, and failed at lifting myself on it, (although I didn't want to ruin my clothes and shoes, so there's that excuse), I was a tad annoyed at how I couldn't even do such a simple thing anymore. Before that, I tried to learn how to ride a bicycle. I never had one growing up, and barely had a friend who had one, but didn't want to share, so no wheel touches until later on in life. When I moved in the country, my cousin had one. I borrowed it for a couple of hours during which I nearly broke a bone under my kneecap. Fun times. I tried it again in Brighton, nearly 4 years after that, and could not go past the first pedal, even with the help of a biker-by. Failures are important. Some allow you to grow, some allow you to see what you can or cannot do, and some will make you frustrated with yourself and proceed to make comparisons with others, which is the wrong thing to do. Embrace your failures, and move on. Don't linger, but reminisce. Even the bad moments are better than not trying. I mean, with a title like that, this post better deliver, right?
I was reading an article today about how the EU is punishing, or wants to punish Google because, according to them, they're taking over the smartphone market by making 80% of the phones have an Android system. To their defense, Google said it competes with Apple. Which is true. If you look at the cell phone operating systems of several years back, you had Symbian, Java, some basic for of Android, and Apple. So, the people at Google saw a gap and kept going and going and going until nobody carried on. Hence why the Blackberry and Nokia sort of died (they're trying to make a comeback). It can be said the same about Samsung. They figured themselves the best thing on the market and carried on. They're still the top dollar here, even though you have a bunch of others like Huawei, Oneplus, HTC, and a bunch of others, including Google's own Pixel. I mean, we can go back in time and see that everything we're using has been from Microsoft. Yup, that nerd with glasses literally ruled the world. And yes, hipsters make me hate the word "literally" and not use. Oh, and that includes Apple stuff, since Jobs nabbed some programming from Gates. Again, eBay saw a gap in the market and made a resellable place for all our junk. Amazon? The same thing, but mostly for new things. And Amazon is striving on being a jack-of-all trades, with movies, series, and now pharmaceutical items. If you don't follow that stuff, I'll make it easier. Think about it in terms of dating. You have a bunch of guys vying for one girl, and this is not about the girl, but the guys. Sure, the girl is stunning, and can be seen as intimidating, but is she all that? Some of those guys think so, therefore they're taking themselves out of the initiative, others think they're not that good, and before you know it, the lack of self-confidence and low self-esteem killed them all. Yet, there's one guy who said "what's the worst that can happen?" No, he wasn't the best looking of them all, but he knew he saw something and figured he'd try his chance. If the worst that can happen is a no or maybe a some mock laughter, then he'd be fine. Like all those above, the worst thing that could've happened would've been bankruptcy, then either try again or work for some rubbish job for a while. Having the balls isn't gender-biased, it's courage and risk biased. When's the last time you used your balls? There have probably been 25 million articles and stories written about mistakes, from birth to nutrition to pornography and that time they did cocaine and enjoyed it more than they thought they did (truly, if you scour the interwebs, you'll find all sorts of stories).
In fact, everybody seems to enjoy other people's mistakes, from musicians like Keith Richards (who is somehow still alive despite the high alcohol and drug consumption), to comedians like Richard Pryor (who roasted himself in a set where he said he set himself on fire while freebasing), to actors like Cary Grant (whose last films were done when he was taking acid), and the list can go on. Bill Hicks has a joke about Jim Fixx, an American runner who became famous for his healthy lifestyle and wanting people to run because they live longer like that, but also died having a heart-attack while out on a jog. And Bill says something like "How is it possible that guys like me and Keith Richards, who drink, smoke, do drugs, party into the night, live longer than than a guy who does everything by the book?" Indeed, how? I reckon it to the bad boy-nice guy syndrome in women. Women say they want nice guys that are respectful, have some money, and don't cheat. But they get bored of that and go to bad boys who treat them like shit, make them pay for whatever, and sleep around whenever. If you're reading this and you're going "But that doesn't make any sense." No. Neither does life. It's about excitement, the adrenaline rush, and the need to not be good all the time. Because, in the end, how good can you be, man? If you want to talk religion, The Devil was the angel that turned into the apple-persuading snake to Eve. Did Eve like that apple? Hell yeah. Did she pay for it because the boss didn't like it? Of course. It's called being a salty sonofabitch. Look at Jesus (who now appears to be darker and darker in skin tone). He was a goody two-shoes who did everything right. He made people drunk, he gave them bad carbs, and he came back to life. And some jackass called Judas said "You know what, this guy is having so much fun, I want me some of that." In came the boys in skirts, with a cross, nails, and a bird's nest. The end result? Probably the first hardcore metal album cover. Ahead of it's time. What has Jesus' mistake? He was too nice. If you look today at what society is, you have a bunch of women with questionable attitudes, sex tapes, and a lack of school knowledge. You have a bunch of males who sometimes deceive and say the wrong things, but then they go away, come back later, and somehow it's okay again. No matter what feelgood Hallmark movie you watch, the world never had and will never have a good ending. Neither will life. It's just bits. Okay, so, donuts are bad, cookies are bad, pizzas are bad, but things would look so boring if all we'd eat is lettuce, you know? I'm gonna make some mistakes in the coming weeks. And I bought the tickets to do them. The question isn't "Why did you do that?" but "How will this improve you?" I've seen the above movie 4 times now, with the last time being last night.
Watching such a recent movie 4 times is an overkill for sure, however, I watched it in different phases of my life, which were 2 times in different stages of depression, one time when I felt sort of okay, yet I was still in some sort of limbo, and now, when I probably feel the best I've felt in years, like I how I used to feel before I moved in this country. The movie is about Davis Mitchell (Gyllenhaal) who goes through a tragedy and realizes he's emotionally void. Upon hearing some words from Phil (Cooper) he starts to be more observant and to figure out how to be himself. With that, he gets random help from Karen Moreno (Watts) and her son. Will Davis finally emote after years of repressed feelings? Now, here's why I can find myself in this character. He's also going through some depression/breakdown, but he's acting differently than I did. He's in a different environment and has at least one person pestering him with something. I had none, and that's also to do with surroundings, people. He was working in finance, with big numbers, and despite that, he became numb to everything else that was fun. He had a lovely and fun wife that tried to bring him out of his shell at times and he wasn't really interested. While I'll never have a job, and a wife, like that, I've been around people that tried to take me out of my shell, and sometimes it worked, sometimes I was too afraid. And then you see how other people are having great times being chill and you're seeing them as glitches (like how he saw Karen's son). His new habit involves him using something he's never used to get some kicks or an adrenaline rush, which looks like some sort of OCD. I've noticed some sort of OCD in myself in recent years, and while I haven't done construction work (but I'd really enjoy tearing down a house), I've gotten my kicks by doing a variety of things on and off stage, and some travelling, too. He's starting to have random encounters with people, either talking about his life to some random woman to demolishing walls for people who think he's crazy. You see, in life, if you allow yourself some fun, some out of your comfort zone thing, you get to experience all sorts of things, and all you have to do is tap someone on the shoulder and ask. Who knows where that goes. It used to work years ago, before technology went up a few levels. I sometimes wonder if our parents would've met or been as together as they are now if they would've had access to as much social media as we do. All in all, it's a movie about self-discovery following an incident that emotionally manifested itself in you (regardless if you're repressed or not) and how you changed after that. Oh, and the soundtrack is kick-ass. Yesterday was the London Pride Parade, and I had the chance to be in it.
No, I'm not gay, non-binary, gender fluid, transexual, asexual, or any other type. I'm simply pro people being themselves (which is funny since I'm not always myself around people). I do have a joke about how there are more types of sexuality (or lack of it) nowadays than maybe even 20 years ago, and it feels like maths, when at first you had plus and minus before all that hullabaloo came and filled your head (no, that's not the joke, it's just a summary). Getting back to it, there was a lot of fervor, plenty of people in outfits you wouldn't normally see on the streets in daytime, and a lot of noise. If you don't like noise, people cheering, and disco chants, this wouldn't have been for you. A bunch of buses with some floats, which I couldn't see much of as I was mostly behind one, so I simply smiled and waved. At some point, on Oxford Street, the most known high street in London (due to big shopping stores), our bus put on Geri Halliwell's "It's raining men" and a bunch of guys started dancing around me, whereas girls past the barricade, who came to look at the spectacle, started throwing their hands in the air. Nearer the end, as we Trafalgar Square, we had Madonna's "Vogue", and some of the males started doing something so choreographed it felt unreal for it to be made on the spot. Also, gay guys dance much better than straight guys. Or girls for that matter. It was definitely a different change of pace for me to be in a parade, since I always saw them in movies or simply on TV and figured it'd be cool to be in one, and now I had that opportunity. If you do have the chance to be in one, of any kind, do yourself a favour and do it. Oh, and I look kinda sad because I was underslept. Hard to be really smiley when you've slept 5 hours a day for the past 4 days, but I managed later on. My cheeks are still adjusting to my upper lip bending the other way. |
AuthorWriting fictional stories or about real life people and situations. Archives
August 2021
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