My Illustrative Life

I was in London last Friday to see the Ife bronzes at the British Museum - actually I was planning to see the Renaissance sketches with my Dad, but I’m a sucker for a good sculpture and African history is really interesting and awfully neglected.

But I don’t have any pictures from that (you’ll have to visit for yourself, or google! Of course). I have pictures from the train journey there! My sister and I played the ‘make a picture from a squiggle’ game. It’s fun! Here are some of mine, from her squiggles.

And my favourite: Poopin’ man!

Some of hers:

And here’s her with a shadow-boner, and me being Hilary Swank the Next Karate Kid.

I’M TIRED

CLASSROOM ASSISTANTING IS TIRING

x_x

Soooo I just watched Iron Liz’s first video review; the Sailor Moon RPG. And I enjoyed it, and it got me a-thinkin’. Watch first, then I’ll tell you.

When I was a young teen and pre-teen, finding my way on to the internet and making it my home, I came across mention of this “Sailor Moon”. Sailor Scouts, Sailor Senshi. I saw the geocities fanpages. I saw the rudimentary and the amazingly fine cosplayers. I saw stickers and plot synopsis-es and fanart and official art. I fell in wow. One of my very first eBay purchases was a vhs tape containing the first two episodes, dubbed into english, for eight pounds. I needed it.

I’ve always lived in villages and I was always a shy kid - and I didn’t know anyone with ties to Japan or who knew what anime was. So there was no-one to help me, but I had this great big needy desire to know all about anime, in general, and to understand this country where grownups were allowed to watch cartoons omg. I wanted to master this new way of drawing (yeah.. that never happened)! I’d buy any animated vhs I could find, unless it looked too scary (Guyver) and just watch it with this weird coiled-spring feeling. Part of that was just awe at the cultural shift - acceptance of illustration and animation and speculative fiction as everyday necessities! I wanted so badly to be involved in that that. But part of it was just: Sailor Mooooon. *0*!!!

The reason I loved Sailor Moon instinctively, I think, is that looking at a character lineup you can understand that the main characters are completely normally-coded girls. Girlish girls, who are girly, like girls are ’supposed to be’ and like even girls* who don’t want to be pigeonholed as ‘just a girl’ or ‘the girl’ can (perhaps secretly) like to be sometimes, too. But they’re also the heroes of the piece, completely and unapologetically. They are who the show is about, they are the Power Team, they fight the villains. They can be like a girl and a fighting hero at the same time, absolutely.

There doesn’t have to be a girl or two on the team, which is led by boys. There doesn’t have to be The Girl who the boy team visits every now and then to get potions or clues from, or whatever. There doesn’t have to be The Girl who leads the pack of boys (I love you, Marian, but you didn’t set me up so well for taking camaraderie amongst chix seriously) Girls in fighting teams don’t have to take on ‘masculine roles’; they don’t have to wear ‘masculine clothes’; they don’t have to not have girly hair styles and they can still look tough and in control when they do. They don’t have to change personality once they suit up. Curse you, Power Rangers, curse your dishonest remix-happy ways (I don’t mean it, Power Rangers, we are still friends I need you). Being a girlish girl does not mean that you are the team mascot or the team eyeroll.

Gosh, that was a relief to see.

“Femininity can not keep ability from me”.

That’s a beautiful lesson.

*And boys, obv! But I was doing that whole “talk about yourself whilst pretending to talk about people in general so as not to be all guts everywhere” thing. Sorreee.

Pictures pinched off Wikipedia

Sometimes there are things which inspire and one admires and aspires towards somehow, without the specific desire to be/be in/be with the places, characters, wardrobes, movie. Sometimes a film will take you by surprise, and speak to you with atmosphere and colour scheme and attitude in a way that heightens your intent to do your thing your way, without actually being a film that you want to poach costume from.

Let’s learn about one such film, my fine comrades!

Let’s learn about RED SURF. A George Clooney movie with an 18 certificate, from 1990. Which according to imdb comments went straight to video!

The cover LIES, you guys! Yeah, even bargain bin dvd releases bother to photoshop their covers in an attempt to cash in on more lucrative, starry periods of their lead actors’ careers.

This is what George Clooney actually looks like in this movie:

Lulz!

The back cover was what convinced us to buy it, actually -

- the back cover’s picture of how George Clooney actually appears in the actual film. Why do they think people buy cheap-ass dvds? Either because they can’t afford expensive ones, or because they like sub-par cinema. Or both. Don’t lie to us. Don’t patronise people who know they aren’t at Blockbuster, don’t put off people who don’t want to be. That said, check out this alternate cover/poster, as well as this one (Check’em all here). What, can no-one in the world appreciate 90s grunge metal surf criminal drug choker George?

Apparently not, I guess.

So. In Red Surf. George Clooney plays Remar, man without a family, man without law, man without qualms about lying to his 90s-earnest girlfriend. He loves to play pranks like convincing his best friend his girl is cheating on him, then tricking him into thinking that they have accidentally murdered her. Fun times! Then they follow that up by going out on jet-skis (loaned from Gene Simmons, “the Doctor”) to collect drugs from the sea.

This is the apparently communal party drugs casual crime beachhouse, also home to sensitive hat-wearing girlfriend Rebecca:

(This is Rebecca, later in the movie:)

This is George Clooney/Remar feeding best buddy Atilla (actually? the movie’s real eventual hero) some delicious cocaine from his lap whilst driving. They love to weird out the squares!

Did I mention this was a movie about George Clooney, looking in no way how I imagine “George Clooney” to look? Acting the part of a leather-wearing curly hair having ex-professional surf bum large-scale drug dealer? Who is also able to get a sensible, on-the-wavelength multi-necklace wearing art-loving girl pregnant (again; implied abortion alert) and convince her that he will change and raise a family with her, through thoughtful gifts of guitars and well-timed fake promises?

Well, it is. WEIRD MOVIE.

Aaaanyway. Remar finds out Rebecca’s pregnant, and she tells him she wants to keep it. He’s all, “okay..” but when she tells him she wants to go to Portland to raise it with a friend of hers who has kids already, he starts getting protective and territorial. Promises her he’ll change, blah blah no more drugs and crime, more time for romance and kisses. She gets up for ice cream, and by the time it takes her to serve two bowls full he’s all *coffcoff*I really love drugs*coffcoffff*. Sadface.

Later, Atilla and Remar have a heart to heart about how Remar’s going to screw things up and lose lady & baby - Atilla is psyched at the thought of having a baby around - and Remar talks about how for the first year, you hope the baby won’t die, and it doesn’t, and then the second year it starts to hate you. And it hates you and hates you.. with this honest frightened bitterness. And he tells his buddy how he feels like he’s suddenly lacking control. There’s a later scene where Doc tells Remar to quit with the drug deals, and later than that Remar refuses, outright refuses with yelling and a pushfight, to take money from a deal that all his buddies planned without him with the explicit intention to set the couple & child up for a secure life. Why is it that movies with these real relationship scenes and true-person complexity get bargain binned? I have no idea what makes a “good movie”.

The whole thing keeps building - running big drug deals get you in to trouble, did you know? Well, Red Surf is here to tell you that they do. They have to fake a murder, and Remar misses doctors appointments with Rebecca, and Atilla becomes her rock (it’s really nice) and they talk about girl babies playing little league, and they have to send off one of their gangbrothers to save his life after he talks to the police. He cries! He’s the most annoying sort of character, that you just want to squash and yell SHUT UP!! at, but when he leaves his guys he cries and it’s sweet and sad. Bargain bin film. I don’t know. Then there’s more peril, and more apologising/lying to Rebecca, and the blabbermouth gets stabbed and then probably fed to wolves. The antagonist/drug partner lives in this decrepit ruined house with two guys in slacks and vests with big guns and slicked back hair, and he has a pit of wolves in his front room. Did I not mention that?

Soooo eventually Remar dies. He gets machine gunned and blown up on a jet-ski. Atilla and Rebecca set him on fire and push him out to sea for burial. But not before he tells Atilla he loves him, when Atilla is trying to convince him to let the boys do the run so he can stay safe for baby! BARGAIN BIN MOVIES. He literally says “I love you”.

Atilla doesn’t take too kindly to his friend being all killed and such so he goes off to infiltrate/murder the antagonist/partner’s (..okay, just antagonist by this point) gang. With Doc Gene Simmons, who was in ‘Nam. I really, really want a video game out of that scene. Or all of this movie. He kills them all and avoids the wolves (not everybody else does, om nom nom) and hurray, he wins!

There’s actually a very nice, assumably realistic ‘person unused to machine-gunning has to use a machine gun’ scene. Atilla wears his heat on his sleeve!

By the closing credits, Atilla and Rebecca look to be starting this super-sweet, semi-awkward, adorable take-care-of-each-other romance. He follows her to the train station as she’s leaving, bereaved, for Portland and.. it’s sooo cuuuute. I was completely satisfied by the progression of this film. My beloved and I both had that “no wai, for reals!” expression of surprised enjoyment - for £2.99, in a village shop, we’re used to expecting Jaguar Wong or “Richard Harrison IS.. a ninja“. Not an honestly watchable, variably heartfelt, fun movie. With George Clooney in a bandanna with a crack pipe.

This is my favorite George Clooney movie. Of all time.

No Rebecca, really!

All the clothes in this movie are so worn-in. they look like they’ve been walked over by the whole cast, and have sand ground in and the colours worn out. Nobody’s constrained by what they wear - comfort first, expression of wild-life values second. Honestly I’m not sure if I like it so much only for itself, or for the fact that it has such an un-George Clooneyish George Clooney. I mean, that’s a compelling element, right?

But I think a fair part of it is that it’s that 1990s grunge-metal-taste-of-hippy aesthetic that’s so present in a lot of films & shows I really love but completely divorced from the music that made the scene. This is what I know about music in the very late 80s - early 90s: Patton-era Faith No More and Primus existed (excellently). Also, people liked the bands they namecheck in Bill & Ted and Wayne’s World. THAT’S IT. I guess Nirvana happened some time around there..? I’ve made no secret of my hatred for music journalism and I find the sartorial guidelines hard to use as an entry point to the sounds because as far as I can tell there was an extreme gender divide - dudes wore baggy t-shirts and loose trousers, girls wore leather bras, spandex and hotpants. Neither of these looks have really worked for me, as yet, and for some in-brain reason that really impedes my investigation and understanding of the knots of bands and sub-genres that make up the cultural era. And that failure to break through the bubble surrounding my perception of the music scene means that I feel inauthentic approaching the dresscode with increased zeal. It’s a vicious cycle! Of ignorance!

A movie like Red Surf though, which I assume has no budget to source big soundtracks and which only broaches the question of “what do you listen to” with mostly-covered t-shirts and easy to miss flyers pasted on bedroom walls in scenes where character tension is high, doesn’t make me feel like a double outsider. I can assimilate the costume apart from the intimidating musical context.

Here’s a question that Red Surf raises for me - what’s so wrong with me that I’m suddenly not finding 90sgirl hats completely, ultimately ugly?

Wanna know a secret? I wrote this entire post saying “Lisa” instead of “Rebecca”. Yeah, she doesn’t get that much autonomy. I still have this film a ten out of ten on IMDB.

BONUS: Here’s the pretty shitty trailer! With really awful sound quality!

Ever done a workout video? I have. Just one.

The lesson here, is “always check the charity shop VHS stocks when roaming town with your romantic object”. This cost us twenty one pence, I think. That or twenty four. A difference of three pence isn’t that much.

Here’s a section of the video!

Honestly, it’s a really good tape. At one point she goes a little overboard with the “being sedentary is bad because you get fatter” rather than “being sedentary is bad because it makes you feel less vital”, but - overall it’s a really nice, Jessica Fletcher-y pro-you 50 minutes about how to feel generally better about yourself. And! Having done the full workout today, I feel.. miles better, physically. Less stiff. THAT’S EMBARRASSING I’M ONLY YOUNG.

It’s basically a series of stretches and flexes (some involving a towel or a windowsill), tips like “don’t feel guilty about doing relaxing tasks like watering flowers, wondering round the garden or sewing!” and “in the morning, rub yourself and thing positive thoughts” and “take tea! It’s nice!” (and who doesn’t love to be validated in regards to this stuff?), topped off with about ten minutes of “free movement”. Which is enormous fun. Georgia and the Ace Gang, as my sister remarked, would definitely do this tape.

How’s this dress with this overdress, then? The sweaterdress itself is too short to wear in public. It also ends just as it’s passed the exact widest part of my thighs, which looks interesting and “unflattering” in a private way. But it’s perfect to wear under the apron-thing - form-fitting so as not to distract or get too blousy, cotton to keep cool, long sleeves for contrast. Is the blocky black-grey-white too stark vs the broderie anglaise pretty-pretty?

And why do things I wear so often end up making me think “the sixties!”? Ah sweah, it’s not intentional. Or maybe even apparent to anyone but me.

Pee Ess checkout my snax! Delicious

Watching Pulse, now, BBC3 (hence “bodyhorror” tag!). I like it. I like it quite a lot. Hope it gets picked up!

It’s a day full of things, isn’t it?

I’ll do them in this order.

First of all, my Hankshirt arrived this morning!

And it is a very pretty colour, actually. Like egg yolk, or those white and orange daffodils.

Do you know who Hank Green is? Well if you don’t, I will tell you: he is half of the Vlogbrothers, who are two brothers who started keeping up with each other in video blog form a few years ago, and kind of caught on. Basically they are nice people who do nice things, and their fans (”nerdfighters”) are nice people who help them do nice things. Oh, just go and watch them, there’s more to it than that.

Anyway, the Hankshirt was created for his 30th birthday earlier this month and proceeds went half to giving him presents an half to plating Rainforest. The Hankplants are plants planted in honour of Hank (see video below). Honestly it does feel a little weird having a shirt and some plants all about some real live guy I don’t even know, but it’s an odd mixture of “nothing personal”, and something personal.

But I didn’t wear it. Because you see, today is also a protest day for Take Back Parliament. Which called for purple to be worn. And you know, why refuse when asked?

BUT THAT’S NOT ALL.

The twenty-fifth of May has quite the full schedule!

It’s time to Wear the Lilac, too. Which is an idea that I cannot consider at length without my eyes getting a little something in them. If you read Night Watch, the Discworld title I mean, this will mean something to you. Probably something that will squeeze your heart a bit (and something nicely relevant to a day also about political reform), but what it’s come to mean in.. the ballworld(ours)?.. is something else. Terry Pratchett has Alzheimer’s, and Wear the Lilac aims to raise money and visibility for research. DONATE if you can.

I know I’m not alone in considering the Watch books my favourites of the Discworld library. I have my problems with world and with the writing (I find that the women adhere too closely to a sensible/silly binary, f’rex) but even so - I love these books. They have seen me through long/boring/sad/sleepless hours. I so enjoy the ‘jaded mentor finds earnest and true vigorousness due to new charges and remembrance of the importance of The Job’ trope, and Vimes fulfills it perfectly and adds in a bit of that-could-be-my-brain-be-careful-but-be-proud. I owe Mr Pratchett’s mind. I’d appreciate you helping me try to pay it back a little. I haven’t donated yet because I literally can’t, but when I can? I will. Remind me, if you like.

And then on top of that it’s towel day. I’m not what I’d call a fan of the Hitchhiker’s Guide, to be honest - I can appreciate it, but it didn’t stir me like it does a lot of you (oh, and, the 2005 movie SUCKED) - but Dirk Gently’s adventures are my kind of fiction. So I’ve got my towel with me, too, and I’m not panicking even though that’s a lot of referencing to fit into one day, one outfit, one post.

Whew. One politics, one environmental and two britlit (hahaha I just thought of that portmanteau and it is SO OBNOXIOUS that I am going to use it) and slacktivisms. NERDFIGHTERS! DFTBA!

I want to buy stuff. But I have no paying job and therefore no money to buy stuff, so instead I guess I will just talk about stuff I want to buy.

If you want to employ me? PLEASE DO. Ask me to draw you a picture for money! I will!

Anyway: Summer lovin’. Summer lovin’ is a thing I do not tend to do; I don’t know how to dress for summer and that makes me cross. T-shirts tend to swamp me, vest tops make me paranoid about my boobs hanging out, most for-girls summer tops are either too staid or too scene or too girly. I bring it on myself, I know. I’m picky! Except for that if I did like them, then they still wouldn’t fit because I am short. Comfortable fit is important, in summer.

But I was having a think this weekend, about what I can/like to wear: sweaters, and what I don’t like to wear: cardigans, and how cardigans are actually summer sweaters. And I thought, well wearing a cardigan over a shirt may be the worst kind of frictionous restraint for me but wearing a cardigan AS a shirt might actually.. work.

So now I WANNA DO THAT.

Cardigans that button up all the way to the collar, not so much v-necks, so they lie like button-down shirts and any undone-ness or flesh airing is on my terms and on purpose. Cardigans that are tight enough to touch my skin everywhere, rather than wrapping vaguely or bagging.

Basically a bunch of punchy knit shirts, is what I want.

These are all from Laura Ashley. They had a pretty great deep purple, white polka-dot version last autumn and I passed it up because I hadn’t thought of undershirtless-wearing yet. Shucks!

Penelope Cruz up there is as her character Raimunda (good name!) in the film Volver - which I found interesting and in some ways inspiring, but would maybe not say that I ‘enjoyed’. She got to wear a lot of colour (and a lot of colours all at once) in that movie, though, which I like - and managed to work the badunkadunk and look overworked-sloppy despite the neat woolen pencil skirts (which I have!) and the whole cardigan-over-shirt thing. I could relate to the sulky refusals and grudges of her character, too. Not the specifics!

I’m not so sure I like the two green examples on the bottom right, actually; they’re a bit too fussy and studied. I want something I can bang around in and warp to my own image instead of live up to neatly - to me cardigans are conservative and sensible, which I am not and don’t aspire to be. But I think the spotty one or the printed ones or the checkered faux-faux-Chanel one down at the bottom could look awesome and crossoverish with the top and bottom buttons undone with a tan and icecream and frazzled-from-dampening hair on a sunny grassy afternoon.

Don’t you think?

I live in England, specifically in Warwickshire. I have done since I was eight, and I love it here. It’s beautiful. Until recently, I hadn’t heard about the ‘controversy’ going on in another part of my county: Meriden. The ‘exact center of England’. Oh, and also the birthplace of Napalm Death! Nice. What’s happening there right now is that a great many of the villagers have “banded together” to protest a local-living man’s use of the land that he owns; he wants to build a permanent travelers’ camp. The land is green belt land.

You can read more about this here, here and here if you would like. There is also a very good report on the Travelers’ Times here.

Full disclosure: Every now and then, I think about movies I have seen that feature people credited as or referred to as “gypsies” and I think, wow, they were dressed in a way I found really cool. I’d like to dress that way. The fashion industry backs me up; ‘gypsy style’ is a periodical summer staple. And then I feel guilty and callous, for culturally objectifying and potentially appropriating the modes of a classification of people who are treated extremely poorly by people I know (please never say “gyppo” to or near me) and by my country (and just about EVERY country, it seems). Then I go online, and try to find out about the factual histories and present times of travelers.

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This time, I went through here, here, here and here as well as here which sent me to the Travelers’ Times Online, linked above.

In case you didn’t follow the TTO link before to the article about the situation in Meriden, here’s the video report:

Noah’s Ark from Travellers Times on Vimeo.

Natural beauty being bulldozed and planning permission laws being flouted are bad, or at least not good. That’s true. But do you know what is worse? RACISM. YOU FUCKS.

People can say “I’m not a racist” all they like. That doesn’t make it true. Even if, as a white person, having an asian dentist were proof that one had no prejudice at all against any kind of asians, that still wouldn’t be the final word on whether or not one was any kind of racist. I’m pretty sure that there are people who are totally great with, say, ethnic Jews and black Caribbeans but make foul remarks based upon their beliefs about, for example, Pakistanis or the Japanese. “Coloured people” (ouch) are not one monolith of unwhiteenglishness. And ‘being able to pass for white’ does not mean that a person is white, in the sense of being ‘not of another race’.

There’s also the arguable difference between racism and xenophobia and cultural prejudice and ethnic-religious prejudice. Personally I am not sure that there’s much use in differentiating, but as a white person raised atheist-Christian in Church of England schools, I may be missing something important in the distinctions. Is there sense in calling a white English geographically settled person racist for being against, say, white Irish travelers? I would say yes; I think that there’s enough of a similarity in the dismissal of a lifestyle and heritage someone is born to to make racism and ethnocentrism effectively synonymous.

But as - I just checked, I missed it the first time whilst chopping onions - it says in the video, the travelers in question are Roma. They are an ethnic minority here. They are an ethnic inority everywhere. They are members of a race that is not in power. So all quibbles here become moot.

Did you note the sentence structure and inflection in the woman’s interview section, in the video? The “them” and “us”? They should have to follow the same laws as we all have to. That’s some hardcore sub-radar othering, lady.

The first man interviewed really stresses the word “pretty”! He’s implicitly saying, with that and the rest of his speech, that these people will bring ugliness. Necessarily.

The old guy straight-up says that if it were he who had an identical planning permission overstep, there would not be this outrage. One of the news articles I linked noted that the villagers themselves were breaking laws with the placement of their protest - so it can’t be simple illegality which has got their goat about this settlement.

A year or so ago, I had discovered Yahoo! answers, and was going crazy with finding questions I could answer. Then I ran across a boy who was dating an Italian girl, and who wanted to meet her parents I think. Or, no, maybe he had met her mother and experienced a poor reception. His question was, he wanted to know, was it because he was Roma - did Italy have bad history with Roma people? Now I cannot resist the opportunity to help along a romance. So I googled, and I found this, where “Italy’s highest appeal court has ruled that it is acceptable to discriminate against Roma on the grounds that they are thieves”. And I found this; “Gypsies in Italy protest prejudice”. And I found out about the fire that was set to Roma settlements in Naples in 2008.

Later in the year I somehow ended up on ONTD reading through this thread. The subject of the original post is Madonna being booed for preaching equality and acceptance at a concert with Gogol Bordello in Bucharest. The subject of a lot, and I mean a lot of the comment threads are more detailed looks at how and why gypsies face prejudice in various parts of the world; a lot of these threads start or build with someone saying “but no you guys THEY LITERALLY ARE ALL THIEVES, so it is OK!”. Then these people get schooled by wiser members of their community, but often? They just keep on keepin’ on, ignoring the fact that blind prejudice makes you a dick, rather than your opponent a(n un)worthy victim. It’s an interesting thread. Horrifying, but interesting.

The point is, that all this information isn’t hard to find. Roma people (if I’m saying this wrong, please forgive me and if you’re willing teach me better) are subjected to widespread racism. They suffered pretty darn badly in the Holocaust too, did you know that?

Irish travelers are recognised as an ethnic group here and don’t fare well, either.

I have never, as far as I know, met anybody who lives either partially or completely nomadically or anyone with immediate Roma heritage - as I mentioned earlier the only reason I started thinking about their (your?) lives at all was because when I was maybe six I saw a movie where the romantic lead was ‘a gypsy’ I’m sorry - I really cannot tell if this is an acceptable word for me to use or not. I’m trying to use it only when referencing where it’s been used already and he, his sisters and ex-girlfriend all wore outfits that I wanted– and because Gogol Bordello seem like the coolest people in maybe the entire world. Nothing rests on my doing this research. I am not in the dilemma of “should I go and protest against people (who want to have somewhere to live) being allowed to have somewhere to live, or not?”. And yet - I found this information. In one afternoon, using one search engine, I found all of these news items about the victimisation of a race and of a lifestyle throughout the whole of Britain and mainland Europe. It was not hard; a non-computer literate person could go to the library and say “I need to find some information” and the librarian could point them towards google.

There is no excuse for these protesters.

You can’t gather a posse, saying “I don’t want these people here”, ignoring the persecution they and their brothers and sisters face in multiple countries (right up to government level!), and then fall back and say - “But I’m not racist. I’ve got nothing against them personally”.

You know what? I’m just going to go there and say it. If you can’t manage to not express this kind of wholesale rejection at adults? Think of the children. Please.

Do you care more about planning rules and a single field and, I don’t know, a slight potential fluctuation in property value (are you planning on moving? To a new home? Oh, lucky you), than in the right of a child to be brought up in a place that doesn’t treat her like an eyesore, a criminal and an unwelcome nuisance before they see her as a person? If you do, reader: I judge you.

“I don’t choose to live like this. I was born to live like this.” Said the man who owns the land in dispute.

This makes me feel like bursting.

I hope you win Meriden, travelers. I really really do.

I’ve been quiet this week (have you missed me dreadfully?). Not because I haven’t been writing or drawing or doing, but because I have been doing these things TOO MUCH I guess.

I’m still working on that post about posture, and the Clueless one, and the one about ‘discovering’ Patti Smith. And I’ve been drawing from life and from photographs and from imagination. I’m just about to start editing the short film my sister and I shot last week.

But I’ve also been JUST SO BUSY (for me). Job applications and CV reworking (constant) obviously, and Monday at British Waterways, but my CRB check came through so I’m doing two days a week as a Classroom assistant now too.

IT IS THE MOST TIRING THING IN THE WORLD

Primary School teachers have a job that asks unreasonable amounts of them. That is all I will say.

Mostly what I do is listen to kids read (4-9 years old) and help them do it better when they have trouble. It’s awesome. They call me Mizz Napier. When they’re already fluent I get them to read out loud and coach their vocal delivery. If I were getting paid, this would be very nearly the greatest job I could imagine.

Since I am not getting paid, I will say that I like it enough to bust out the bicycle in order to get to the darn place. Buses have done me wrong on four separate occasions, getting to and from the school, and my patience snapped. I needed to take control of my own destiny. It was time.. to ride!

I can’t actually remember the last time I rode a bike. I mean, I can remember that I had a bike.. probably into high school, I just remember that as a fact, not as an actual using-my-bike memory.

I practiced last night for ten minutes or so after dad and I pumped the types and adjusted the seat of my mum’s old wheels, and I’ve never used a skinny-wheel bike before. You know, the big thin wheels on “grown-up bikes”? The bike that I can’t remember my last uses of had big chunky thick wheels that only came up maybe two thirds of the way. That old bike, which was purple and excellent, also had a comfortable seat. Which is another difference between the two bikes I am talking about.

So anyway, I rode 4.3 miles to get to school today. It took me an hour and I had to stop three times so I didn’t pass out or throw up, because apparently not you can’t forget ‘how to ride a bike’ but you can forget how to sensibly ride a bike. Also, it was hot. When I arrived, I had to go and lie on the floor in the staff room. Everyone was very nice about it.

But the point is: I did it! I became one with the freshest of blogging hipster chix. Bike ridin’ gal. That’s me! No pictures.. yet.

At school, I dug the garden. Took out old sprouted brussels, took out stickyweed and dandelions and thistles and some leeks (which I ate for lunch), trimmed the grass, turned the soil. Then I spent the afternoon teaching nine year olds how to plant a plant (broad beans and sweet peas) in a garden.

I told you it was a great job.

The 4.3 miles home (I repeat because I am PROUD) took me half an hour and I had to stop ZERO times! Well, no, actually, one time. But that is because I forgot to hide my laces and they became caught in my gear chain. That doesn’t count!! Shut up!

I thought I should share a couple of things I learnt in case anyone else is foolish or pigheaded enough to go from no bike riding for many years, to much bike riding in one day:

• Take water.
• Can you see? Or if you are blind, can others see? You/they can? Then wear suncream.
• If your momentum can take you faster than comfortable, even peddling can, LET IT. Or you will die. A lot.
• Stop to rest before you are sure you need to stop to rest.

You’re welcome!

And that’s why I have been so quiet this week.

Click the picture to swing by my May column on British Style Bloggers if you want to give me a boost or if you’re currently in exam-revision hell - the theme is keep calm and carry on, and I’m speculating on what best to wear when what you really need to be doing is buckling down. Expounding on one of my favourite topics - house clothes! With wardrobe from Corina Corina thanks to Ella in Warwick, and a peek at my mum - see if you think I get my looks from her, hmm?

Actually, speaking of family resemblance, check the chick above. Little sister, little sister. She wanted me to give her a beard too, but agreed that it would be too cluttered.

I was reading Sassy scans again today. And trying to hang out the washing, only to be thwarted by minute yet ominous amounts of rain. Then this iris flower fell off. Boom.

Watching Ironside, talking to my gent about Bloody Roar, we came to thinking what if they had new outfits, a bit like outfits from the sixties?.

Bloody Roar actually has some really good character design; I like it a lot. Google Image “Busuzima” sometime. Actually no! I will show you right now. This is great work! It’s plain engaging to look at, I want that jacket, it’s an unusual fashion sub-genre to exploit, it telegraphs “this guy is weird”, it works with the fact that he can turn into a chameleon. It’s a pleasing counterbalance to his lab-based scientific career:

So anyway - I drew a couple. Simples. Tiny sketchy fun! Please try to enjoy.

Protip: Don’t paint with inks over fountain pen lineart. Because, this happens! Bleeding.

Gado (Gadeau!):

Busuzima:

Jenny, again (she is my favorite, because we have the same haircut. Yeup).

I don’t credit bloggers and street style photo culture with my current level of inner confidence and self-pleasure. I do credit them, large-partly, with my confidence about where I stand in the public, every-day world. Bloggers, online alt-fashion communities and street style photo culture are why I could not keep up my teenage idea of the whole world is against me and nobody wants me to look how I want.

Seeing people dressed outside of the highstreet (and even outside of the known sub-culture) norm(s), happily, at various ages, all over the world, being themselves, made it impossible for me not to know that no matter where I am, there is someone who understands a bit, who doesn’t resent my self-expression and personal visual comfort, who is pleased by my constructed image and who, if we met directly, would give the metaphorical fist-bump of solidarity.

This is all I wish to provide here.

My main memory of highschool peer wardrobe approval was when my friend said to me “Why did you buy that?” about a skirt.. that I was wearing. Whilst we were out. Gee that made me feel comfortable!

I’m sure that I was as much of an ass as anyone.

I feel it like a duty, frankly (pompously?), to honestly present my thoughts and some e-semblance of my philosophy/personality so that people who are similar to me and who haven’t yet found any or many allies don’t have to feel alone in the world.

I’m not asking anyone to make a connection, or cruising for buddies - I just want to be visible as a subject of comparison. Just in case.

It’s not that I don’t do it for the plain satisfaction of self-expression, “activism”, to show off, for mental exercise, to keep me busy, etc etc as well. I like writing this blog! But I probably wouldn’t, because I am lazy, if I didn’t have the blog-related life experience that I do.

I am not sure if this counts as a manifesto, because I find the concept of “a manifesto” hard to grasp. Do you have to use particular language conventions? But it’s a “why I do this”, which I think is basically the same? Right?

Oh and I am not asking for gratitude, obviously!

I told y’all I’d give you a peek into the give peace a chance exhibition I saw for my birthday; a bunch of photos taken during the Bed-In which were never published back in the day. I think it’s a travelling exhibition, that’s only recently or semi-recently Come To England. The photographer had kept them all (in his attic? It’s usually in the attic, right?) and once he decided to share them, convinced by the curator (his friend), he died. I don’t think the death was related, but, it happened the day after he agreed. That’s interesting, maybe?

Like I mentioned, there was no photography allowed in the ‘gallery’ (Cathedral basement), and I hadn’t taken any paper, so! Here are some approximations of what my beloved and I can remember were in some of the pictures we saw. Some were black and white, some were colour. Enjoy! Catch the proper pictures when you can!

I’ll show you in the order we saw them:

The second arrow has a caption next to it that you can’t see, it says “other gift, possibly a book or a flower”.

These little cartoons were drawn on John’s guitar - they’re probably not that unseen, but all I know of Beatles legend I absorbed through the skin growing up, basically, I have no specific trivia. We went to the show because Yoko Ono.. well, she’s wonderful really, isn’t she? My tutor in Uni had a huge great fancrush on John Lennon, though, and after seeing these pictures I can kind of get the idolatry. He was just kind of cool, wasn’t he?

Sniffin” a flower, takin’ a stretch, in The Bed.

Adorable girl-child! Much cuter in the actual photo than here. I did not mean to make Yoko look so Pocahontas or John so stodgy, either, but what can I do? I was drawing from memory!

Yoko and (I am presuming) the girl who climbed in through the fire escape and was asked to stay, making lifelong friends and getting a, authorial career boost. Lesson: Break and enter! Cool people will admire you for it!

BARE FEET PEACE

This is my favourite picture of John Lennon. The thought bubble caption is “LOL FUNNIEST EVER”, because that was really the air the photo gave off (as well as a bunch of artists and writers and creatives who were down with the bed-in idea, they asked Al Capp (did I mis-remember the K in KRAPP?) because his cartoon strips were vitriolic towards hippies, apparently). There is, as beloved says, a reason that Ringo is regarded as the “funny one”. I looked at this picture and said to him (my gent), “Everybody smoke weed” because I am not as good at misremembering memorable/relevant lines as I am at humorous reintegration. Oh well!

There was a wishing tree, of course. I drew a wishing tree with many wishes on my tag. Are you supposed to keep that secret, like birthday cake wishes? I don’t think so.

I’m a little bit of a bigger girl but no taller - I’m a brand new twenny-three year old young lady! Woo-woo!

I celebrated by visiting Coventry Cathedral’s showing of the John and Yoko give peace a chance exhibition - a number of previously unseen photos of the bed-in. It was pretty excellent. There was no photography allowed and I don;t think they’re online, so I’m gonna have to draw a number of the pictures to my best recollection so as to give y’all an idea of it. It was really nice though, and if you get a chance you should definitely go.

Then we came home, and my beloved and I cooked an excellent (no really) roast duck dinner. A GOOD FINE DAY.

Please enjoy my present to myself; Last year (or 2008?)’s Jane Marple dans le salon Metallic Lace. I do so like a pink skirt.

HEY KIDS! Wanna be like me? Only richer? And more overtly influenced by Jem? El Delgado Buil x Kipling have made it possible!

When I was younger the idea of people participating in BDSM or violence-related sexual roleplay kind of upset me. Not in an “arrest them!” sort of way, I just didn’t understand why people would want to be what i understood as ‘mean to each other’ in their intimate relations.

BUT THEN, I read the first issue in the “Kissing Mister Quimper” volume of Grant Morisson’s Invisibles - pencilled by Chris Weston, Inked by John Stokes, coloured by Daniel Vozzo. This issue has this scene in it (the last page is separated from the first by a section of a different scene):

The back of this volume hold this quote from Spin: “A timeless battle between the forces of psychic liberation and their dark counterparts, sleazy insectoid gents of control and repression… Basically, it’s about everything.” Robin and Mob, seen below, are the leaders of a cel of psychic magical armed freedom fighters combatting the combined forces of aliens from another dimension (which might be more understandably one-sentence described as chaos gods?) and human malevolence and cant-be-bothered. Does that help, if you haven’t read any of it?

And then I was like, ohhhhh right! No I can see that, sure Because for these characters, that makes sense.

So thanks for helping me become a more enlightened person, Grant and Chris!