Common Courtesy, Where Art Thou?

Is etiquette dead?

Sure there are occasions when someone says “thank you” or “please” or holds a door open for you but I’ve noticed recently that there is no etiquette in cultural places.

The other week I went to the art gallery in a sudden show of cultural interest. It was very interesting and in this case I wanted to read all the little plaques that went alongside the images. That wasn’t going to happen. Not only was the place fit to bursting with middle – to old age people gawping, narrowing their eyes and taking off their glasses to get a better look at stuff but they managed to hog every damn article in the joint. If they weren’t practically pressing their faces up against the glass then they were discussing loudly about how this relates to last night’s episode of “The Bill” and how “My Wesley could’ve painted that.”

By the time I managed to elbow other people out of the way to stand directly in front of a piece then a fat older woman would barge right in front of me and bend over. I was literally staring at ass against my will. Excuse me? If I wanted to see sweat pants working that hard I’d go to a McDonald’s. I didn’t come here to be nauseated – not by the other patrons at least.

Have these people reached their older years and gone “You know what? I’ve been polite long enough. Fuck the youth. They can stare at my fat ass all day long.” That doesn’t seem very fair. (Flash forward into the future where I am MC Hammer dancing in front the Mona Lisa whilst knitting) – HA that would never happen. I can’t knit.

I thought the older generation were the ones who were meant to tell us off for being rude? I thought it was meant to be the younger generation that weren’t taught proper manners or discipline and were then brought up by poor defenceless teachers. Apparently not. Or apparently yes and I just got a particularly rowdy bunch of elderly persons. One of the ladies was wearing a sun visor – INSIDE. Is this a rebellious fashion choice? Like wearing sunglasses at night? Take it from me – do not mess with a woman wearing a sun visor indoors. She might eat you and assimilate your youth as her own. For that matter if you see a young person wearing a sun visor indoors – RUN!

Why Going on a Job Interview is a lot like a Blind Date

-        You wish you didn’t have to go. You feel sick and regret ever making any move towards this moment but still have some slight glimmer of hope and possibility that this could all end well

-        You have no idea what you’re in for – it could be really relaxed, it could be uptight, you might have to do an unexpected test the minute you’ve walked in the door

-        You always overdress

-        You get asked stupid questions that seem like the other person is generally interested but actually it is just a ploy to silently judge all that you choose to say like “tell us a bit about yourself”. Where do you go with that? I doubt they want to hear about my chronic disorder that makes me want to stab people in the neck with a pencil. Is it a question about my personal values? Favourite Colour? WHAT?

-        You feign interest at everything the other person says often laughing really loudly to try and hide the fact that you didn't find it funny at all

-        You feel the need to escape to the bathroom every five minutes

-        The questions they ask force you to talk for an extended period of time as if a silence will kill both of you

-        You desperately want to check the time and how long this charade has gone on for but you manage to use all your willpower to avoid revealing how bored you actually are

-        You end up with a sore jaw after forcing yourself to constantly smile for so long in order to seem friendly

-        You lie A LOT

-        You always leave feeling that the whole event was terrible

-        You sigh a huge breath of relief when it’s all over and you can take of your stockings

Dub Step: Sounds of Sci-Fi and Pingers

Recently, I had the most unfortunate experience of accidently lending my ears to the new genre of music which is labelled “dub step”. Good ol’ reliable Wikipedia had a definition ready for me which states that dub step consists of ‘“tightly coiled productions with overwhelming bass lines and reverberant drum patterns, clipped samples, and occasional vocals”’. In layman’s terms this means a lot of jangly noise you could do without, but if tied to a chair and forced to listen then the intake of many, many multicoloured illicit drugs are a must-have.

This “genre” seemed to gently slip its way into the music scene, if you ask me. One minute I was listening to the new Britney Spears’ song (don’t judge – and, yes, it sucked), bopping away at her stupid lyrics and girlish yet skanky tones when suddenly a transformer with a booming voice and a stutter must have crashed through the walls of the recording studio and had at it with the microphone. Meanwhile Britney must have been crushed in the frenzy as she only returns in the song to reiterate what has already been said and therefore already been recorded.

Basically dub step sounds like this:
“BOOOOOOO BA BA… MMMmmm T-T-T-T-T-T VVVVVVVWWWWWAAAAAA… Brrrrr Dun zz zz zz zz zz. Woooooooooooooooooooooooo. WA WA WA WA WA Wa Wa wa wa wa… boom boom tsk tsk tsk”

And repeat for what feels like hours.  

Sorry, how is this music? These are just sounds. Noises.

If I wanted to know what a washing machine and a waffle ironing wooing one another with sounds would be like – this is it.

Sure listen to it at the clubs where everyone’s main goal is to get with someone without seeming like they went to the club in the first place to get some as this becomes obnoxious back noise that doesn’t make people feel awkward. I would feel awkward though – how do you dance to that? There’s no poppy lyrics telling you to “put your hands up” or “jump, jump, jump” so what is there to do when you are being told, in song, by Optimus Prime to… … who knows? Seems like you need to be able to manipulate time in order to dance in slow motion with – at least – an expression on your face which makes you look as if you are stuck in a vacuum cleaner yet really nonchalant about the whole affair.   

In summary – and in case you hadn’t already guessed – not a fan.

Life Aids (oo-err)

I find life can be quite challenging. And by life I don't mean rocket science or something deviously tricky but rather the day-to-day activities that everyone seems to have mastered. Everyone except me. First, I find travelling in a car rather difficult. Mostly because I find driving is an unnecessary stress that we should all avoid but given the place where I live has really bad public transport then that is out. Driving stinks but driving when you don't know the roads or where they are taking you is much, much worse. If you have a decent navigator that gives you adequate warning as opposed to"You need to turn NOW! NOOOOW!! NOOOOO!! THAT'S TOO FAR - YOU MISSED IT!! AHHHHHHHHHHH!!" then you might be okay. When you are flying solo, however, signs and directions increase in complexity tenfold. Therefore, I need this...

Then, once I've made it to my destination (most likely the supermarket - I mean, come on, who doesn't always want delicious chocolatey snacks every waking minute of the day? -- What's that? Huh? -- Oh sorry, I think I can hear my oncoming diabetes calling). The supermarket is a challenge in of itself. I'm always trying to save money here or there so I tend to fall for the advertisers' trap of buying what's on special. Damn those little brightly coloured tabs. Having said that they aren't always the best buy. So instead of taking the time and effort to work it out I need this...

I somehow manage to get home and decide to read a book - but which book? I don't want to waste precious time reading something that won't move me to a higher level of being. Or at least provide mild entertainment. So then there's this...

And finally the one we are all in need of...

NOTE: If you blame any of the previous issues on the fact that I am of the female sex then I will reach through your screen and squish your little monkey face between my claws.