Thursday, May 04, 2006
Daphne on Dolly
Of course Daphne has a point here. Malta isn't exactly London in terms of eccentricity and originality.
But then she says things like :
Of course Daphne has a point here. Malta isn't exactly London in terms of eccentricity and originality.
But then she says things like :
We see the copycat principle at work in every sphere of Maltese life...
Now it’s computer shops. They’re all over the place, and still you can’t get what you want or need. At one stage, it was jewellery shops, all of them selling the same boring stuff bought from the very same wholesaler. Now it’s boutiques, selling the most unbelievable tat – the kind you only see worn by streetwalkers in Rome and Soho – and kitchen emporia. Yes, kitchens are the new copycat thing. Everyone and his brother are selling them.
The copycat syndrome is what makes us behave like sheep, too. Safety in numbers? Lack of imagination? If everyone’s doing it then it must be right? One couple in a group of friends splits up and the rest of them go down like skittles. Go to a party and all the women are wearing variations of the same thing. Now they are even the same shape and size, and look like they have been pressed out of ginger-bread moulds. Pop, another one! Pop, one more!
I went to a very popular coffee-shop between meetings the other day, and it was packed with women with their small kids, and other women on their lunch break. For some minutes I sat there, feeling spooked, like there was something weird, and then I realised what it was. I was the only one wearing the hair that God gave me, the only one with a dark crop up top. They all – and I mean all, without exception – had the same hair, the kind of hair that I think of as screaming out for help (“Help me! Help me! I’m being tortured to death!”). It was either dyed blonde or heavily streaked blonde on brown – for both of which processes prior bleaching is essential, making the hair lifeless and frayed – then blow-dried “straight”. As somebody with naturally straight hair, I can tell a blow-dry at 20 paces. The hair moves differently. It was like an Argentinean polo party, with absolutely none of the glamour or beauty.
Thank God for The Encyclopedia of Modern Life. Jewellery, hairstyles, babies in prams, a disconcerting lack of individualism and the sheer 'horror' expressed by the 'ruggedly individualist middle-class professionals'. The lot! Astonishing!
Nu-snobbery
¶ 1:37 AM Now it’s computer shops. They’re all over the place, and still you can’t get what you want or need. At one stage, it was jewellery shops, all of them selling the same boring stuff bought from the very same wholesaler. Now it’s boutiques, selling the most unbelievable tat – the kind you only see worn by streetwalkers in Rome and Soho – and kitchen emporia. Yes, kitchens are the new copycat thing. Everyone and his brother are selling them.
The copycat syndrome is what makes us behave like sheep, too. Safety in numbers? Lack of imagination? If everyone’s doing it then it must be right? One couple in a group of friends splits up and the rest of them go down like skittles. Go to a party and all the women are wearing variations of the same thing. Now they are even the same shape and size, and look like they have been pressed out of ginger-bread moulds. Pop, another one! Pop, one more!
I went to a very popular coffee-shop between meetings the other day, and it was packed with women with their small kids, and other women on their lunch break. For some minutes I sat there, feeling spooked, like there was something weird, and then I realised what it was. I was the only one wearing the hair that God gave me, the only one with a dark crop up top. They all – and I mean all, without exception – had the same hair, the kind of hair that I think of as screaming out for help (“Help me! Help me! I’m being tortured to death!”). It was either dyed blonde or heavily streaked blonde on brown – for both of which processes prior bleaching is essential, making the hair lifeless and frayed – then blow-dried “straight”. As somebody with naturally straight hair, I can tell a blow-dry at 20 paces. The hair moves differently. It was like an Argentinean polo party, with absolutely none of the glamour or beauty.
Thank God for The Encyclopedia of Modern Life. Jewellery, hairstyles, babies in prams, a disconcerting lack of individualism and the sheer 'horror' expressed by the 'ruggedly individualist middle-class professionals'. The lot! Astonishing!
Nu-snobbery
The poor are a right laugh: look, they don't have much money! Ha ha ha. But there's a downside, too: they sometimes have bad skin because they don't use the correct sea-salt based exfoliant scrubs, and they can be violent.
In Britain, of course, we have a long and proud tradition of despising the poor. Back in 1348, Chaucer was moved to write: 'Paupers? Ryghte bunche of queyntes.' In the 21st century, this tradition is looking almost absurdly healthy. In 2004, following the soaraway success of websites like ChavScum, ChavWorld and ChavTowns, virulent class hatred made it onto the bookshelves with titles like Chav! A User's Guide to Britain's Ruling Class and The Little Book of Chavs. The once-trendy website Popbitch started selling T-shirts emblazoned with 'Pramface', a slogan that righteously rips into girls who, er, push prams.
There was definitely some confusion, though: chavs are 'skinny and underfed', but also 'obese from always eating McDonald's'. They are 'inherently racist', but also 'spawn multi-coloured babies'.
'They all dress the same!' roared the ruggedly individualist middle-class professionals. 'They buy crappy jewellery from Argos!' Instead of, say, another chain store in the same shopping centre that's marketed at People Like Us instead. The sites attacking chavs for their aggression and mindless bad language were questioned by a journalist at the Independent. One respondent told him to 'fuck off and die'.
The word 'chav' actually derives from the gypsy word 'chavo', meaning 'little lad', and has long been familiar slang in Surrey and Kent (it's even on Sham 69's anthem 'Hersham Boys'). Now, however, it has started to denote a louty canker at the heart of our nation. Message boards were rammed with missives like: 'Chavs unfortunately don't yet fall into the category of rodent and in effect cannot be bludgeoned to death under the guise of pest control. Darn!' Or: 'Do not be fooled by there (sic) Humanoid looks, they are of another race, mainly scum'. Ha ha! What a hilarious parody of Nazi propaganda! Cool!
Of course, the Daily Mail couldn't wait to get in on this raw, virile fun and wrote of disgusting women who 'pull their shoddily dyed hair back in that ultra-tight bun known as a council-house facelift'. I'd have thought that, as a general rule of thumb, if your prejudices match those of the Daily Mail, you might want to shoot yourself. Amazingly, sometimes middle-class people in regular employment swear loudly and hit people too. And, get this: some, even those working for the Daily Mail, are more obnoxious than words can express.
Even so, it's clearly enormously liberating to rant on about single mothers and lazy workers like some gout-ridden Victorian bishop who's been at the laudanum again.
In Britain, of course, we have a long and proud tradition of despising the poor. Back in 1348, Chaucer was moved to write: 'Paupers? Ryghte bunche of queyntes.' In the 21st century, this tradition is looking almost absurdly healthy. In 2004, following the soaraway success of websites like ChavScum, ChavWorld and ChavTowns, virulent class hatred made it onto the bookshelves with titles like Chav! A User's Guide to Britain's Ruling Class and The Little Book of Chavs. The once-trendy website Popbitch started selling T-shirts emblazoned with 'Pramface', a slogan that righteously rips into girls who, er, push prams.
There was definitely some confusion, though: chavs are 'skinny and underfed', but also 'obese from always eating McDonald's'. They are 'inherently racist', but also 'spawn multi-coloured babies'.
'They all dress the same!' roared the ruggedly individualist middle-class professionals. 'They buy crappy jewellery from Argos!' Instead of, say, another chain store in the same shopping centre that's marketed at People Like Us instead. The sites attacking chavs for their aggression and mindless bad language were questioned by a journalist at the Independent. One respondent told him to 'fuck off and die'.
The word 'chav' actually derives from the gypsy word 'chavo', meaning 'little lad', and has long been familiar slang in Surrey and Kent (it's even on Sham 69's anthem 'Hersham Boys'). Now, however, it has started to denote a louty canker at the heart of our nation. Message boards were rammed with missives like: 'Chavs unfortunately don't yet fall into the category of rodent and in effect cannot be bludgeoned to death under the guise of pest control. Darn!' Or: 'Do not be fooled by there (sic) Humanoid looks, they are of another race, mainly scum'. Ha ha! What a hilarious parody of Nazi propaganda! Cool!
Of course, the Daily Mail couldn't wait to get in on this raw, virile fun and wrote of disgusting women who 'pull their shoddily dyed hair back in that ultra-tight bun known as a council-house facelift'. I'd have thought that, as a general rule of thumb, if your prejudices match those of the Daily Mail, you might want to shoot yourself. Amazingly, sometimes middle-class people in regular employment swear loudly and hit people too. And, get this: some, even those working for the Daily Mail, are more obnoxious than words can express.
Even so, it's clearly enormously liberating to rant on about single mothers and lazy workers like some gout-ridden Victorian bishop who's been at the laudanum again.
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Hi Dave - good letter in today's Times. When you have a moment drop me a line on rvassallo12@yahoo.com - I have an idea I want to bounce off you. Cheers, Raphael
F'gieh id-dokumentazzjoni tal-fatti u biex inkomplu mad-diskursata helwa (li giet tiswili xi giex ewri) li kellna llejla waqt li kont qieghed ingawdi l-hlewwa ta' Mejju fil-park, naqbel ma' dak li ghidt fl-ittra tieghek. Hemm bzonn nies li jharsu lejn l-affarijiet b'dan il-mod.
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