Monday, 27 August 2012
Are you kidding me? Isn't the clue in the name? Is it not bleedingly obvious that it's exceptionally inconvenient for you to exit the bus via the same door people are using to get on it? Isn't travelling on buses in London a horrific enough experience without a fat sack of cytoplasm like yourself obnoxiously barging past me as I attempt to swipe my Oyster card for the third time as the bus driver looks at me with the kind of disdain he usually reserves for drunks?
No, apparently not. The next time you try to exit the bus via the entrance as I get on, I'm going to clothesline you as I swipe in.
Saturday, 18 August 2012
Friday, 2 March 2012
No, I don’t know what you mean. If I knew what you meant, I wouldn’t be having this idiotic conversation with you. Perhaps instead of peppering your verbal chunder with meaningless phrases, you could actually just tell me what you cocking mean.
Because I’m basically a fifteen year old girl deep down inside, I recently spent a month or so re-watching – oh yes, re-watching – the first season of Glee. And you know what bothers me about that? It’s not that every episode has the same formula of proceedings (Sue Sylvester somehow finds a way to stop the Glee club, William Shuester manages to thwart her, a bunch of teenagers cry deeply about being misfits despite the fact they're all above average looking) or that all of those twenty-somethings-playing-children are auto-tuned to death. No no. It’s the wobbly singing of “sassy” (read: overweight) independent woman, Mercedes.
You know the type. The kind that Beyonce, Mariah Carey and Christina Aguilera are responsible for inflicting upon the world. The kind that every second rate twunt on the X-Factor (for instance, Alexandra Burke and Leona Lewis) depend on to disguise the fact that their music is so offensively dull that it makes me want to jab out my eyes with a spatula (I like a challenge).
Whatever happened to actually trying to stick to a tune? A great melody can succeed on its simplicity alone. To take a slightly dated but fairly relevant example, let's look at ABBA.
Okay, enough looking. My point is ABBA didn’t have any of that wobbly, warbling nonsense. They just had good and wholly engaging pop songs, laden with sugar-coated melodies that would captivate even the most hardened metal-head (i.e. people who can appreciate the intricate and meticulous musicality of bands like Pig Destroyer and Darkthrone). They know how to give the listener something to remember.
Wednesday, 25 January 2012
In recent months, I have become a corporate whore with one of those job things and a desire to spend all my disposable income on unfairly priced consumables sold by big chains that are slowly but surely destroying our society. But rather than address my own willingness to conform to the consumerist dream, I’m going to pick on the bits I don’t like about these places like a spoilt brat with an overwhelming sense of entitlement.
It must be hard for Starbucks to source their music. I’m curious as to what supplier has such a wealth of indistinguishably cultural artists that are so inoffensive, they wouldn't be able to drown out the quietest of conversations - even if the conversation was two mice whispering secrets to each other and the music was played through a Spinal Tap amp on 11. It’s as if lift lobby muzak had an illegitimate child with the ‘Garden State’ soundtrack, only for the disadvantaged bastard to be adopted by Norah "I Am Disgracing My Dad, Ravi Shankar" Jones and Chris "Dontplay My Records, They're Abysmal" Martin. Every piece of music at Starbucks is more generic than the last, with each resounding note of the homogenised cultural mash-up further cementing the coffee chain as the epitome of cosmopolitan venues (and therefore, the meeting place of yuppies and Sex & The City fans alike).
I'm going to level with you, Starbucks. I don’t think pumping your coffee shops with pseudo-ethnic and adult contemporary music is convincing anyone that your business is anything but a big, fat, slobbering American monster with its chubby sausage fingers forcibly clutched around the throat and wallet of modern society. We know you’re all about the dollar and, frankly, I don’t think anyone cares anymore. Just be honest and we'll be honest with you. You want our money so you can take over the world and we want those Frappuccinos because they’re awesome. Mutually beneficial. No amount of smooth jazz is going to change that.
Let's get one thing out of the way here. I love making new words out of two old ones. Urban Dictionary, one of the greatest corners of the internet, is effectively founded on people artificially ramming together two words that don't get along. Terms like "brofessional", "carnevoyeur" and, of course, "overjaculation" stand as a testament to language's beautiful capacity to constantly evolve and adapt to new surroundings. Sort of.
My issue with "sheeple" is therefore not to do with someone slamming together sheep and people - the Welsh do that all the time*. My beef (...lamb?) stems more from the kind of people who use the word and the context within which they deploy their elitist put-down. Almost always veering on the "alt" side of life, they view the "norms" as "sheeple" because they "conform". If you don't make a blindingly shallow statement about yourself being slightly different from the rest of society, then you're just falling in line with the establishment without ever thinking for yourself. Obviously.
Now, I don't know what criteria this is generally based on, but as far as I can tell, if you've never worn an Anarchy A t-shirt in your life, then you're probably a sheeperson (clearly no thought went in to a singular form of the word). If you don't have a slightly off-key haircut, then you're probably a sheeperson. If you've never listened to at least some of the collected works of System of a Down, you're probably a sheeperson. The delicious irony in all this is the fact that to not be part of the sheeple - the flock unable to make their own decisions, instead damned to mindlessly conform to the standards of society - you must because an alternative stereotype, unable to make your own decisions about other people and instead damned to mindlessly conform to the standards of your contemporaries' idiocy.
If you're going to start stereotyping large groups of people, just make sure you're not also part of an equally idiotic stereotype.
*I just burnt myself there.