Thursday, 28 January 2010

Stripping Away the Layers

It seems a bit decadent entering two days running but tonight, being Thursday, conveniently affords itself to some discussion I have often been puzzled by. Being the other half of an exceedingly long-term long-distance relationship, I am privileged to hear about the significance of the day.

In Leeds, Thursdays are “Man Day”, something I hear about but can't quite grasp. It is sold as the night men, or boys as I prefer to call them (I am not sure I will ever cross the immortal boundary and become a “woman”), sit around in their pants. That is just the hard sale. In reality I am told, it is the night when boys would like to sit around in their pants but settle for comfy clothes, a few drinks, take-away or a pie (something I will also never “get”) and a violent movie or horror film (something which I entirely embrace).

Why Thursdays? Thursdays are the day when the Leeds-based other female half goes out and my significant “other” keeps “him” company. That all makes sense to me. It is the whole sitting around in your pants thing that could never possibly seem appealing.

Why pants? Like you (if you are reading this and most probably female), it is the question I am least able to comprehend an answer to. When I desperately try to fathom the mystery that is man, I am told that there is a feeling of complete freedom “chillaxing” in your underwear and of course easy access for those lonesome times that men are famously able to fill with one legendary activity.

Nothing sounds more horrific to me and maybe I am not alone? Sitting around in my pants by myself is something I have never been prone to. It is enough to convince me food and alcohol are evil and should never be consumed. It is enough to help me almost understand an anorexic or bulimic's viewpoint.

When a regular feature in the days when I lived in one place that I could call home, “Girl's Night” was merely a chance to catch up with friends, occasionally have a night out on the town, however sedate, and remind myself that, despite the company I kept on a daily basis, I was not actually born a boy.

Parading around or sinking into the sofa in pants, never featured. Girls night was a night to try to make myself resemble the human being I had alluded for most of the week. Why is it that a night out or in with the girls means attempting to dress attractively and escape from the drudge of everyday life, whereas a night “out” with the boys, seems to result in near nudity or at least the desire to strip away the layers?

Tonight I had my very own “one-on-one” girl action while my partner most probably dreamt about being able to sit around in his underwear.

Wednesday, 27 January 2010

Blogger, Bloggist or Blah Blah Blah?

I am going to start my career as a blogger or bloggist by pondering why we have such things, who writes them and why?

I have always preferred to remain a fairly private person, despite my occasional rantings and offerings of far too much information when asked an opinion, trying to secure my place in conversations or caught in the throes of enthusiastic banter. After all, I didn't get a mobile phone until 2008 when my job forced me to and even then I only gave out the number to a handful of people, believing if I wasn't at home, it wasn't a convenient time.

Yes, I am on facebook but I joined reluctantly as a means to stay in touch with friends who shared my stubborn streak by refusing to use e-mails and exclusively living by the book. Since joining, it has had both its merits and irritations. I have re-found friends I lost touch with, had a nosey at those people I knew in my school days who would most probably have fascinating lives and used it as a giant back-up storage unit for the thousands of photos I took during my travels. I have watched in disbelief as people obsessively become “facebook whores” frantically befriending anything that moves, others find the time to constantly update their status and the misguided try to befriend someone they most probably detested in adolescent years.

So why now I am starting this blog- something that will theoretically put me in the public eye (if anyone reads it) and be yet another thing to add to my seemingly already chaotic life? I spent a year on the road carefully sending e-mails and posting lengthy facebook entries for friends and family to read rather than share my ups and downs with the whole world through a blog.

While pretending to be Scottish with friends at the weekend the topic of blogs came up and they were deemed narcissistic, a view I can understand. Thinking my life is so enthralling others should read about it is not the motive behind this project. I am not documenting any life changing event but attempting to embark on a career in the media industry, which I suppose could be life-changing if I ever achieve lift-off. Trying to crack the media egg means you have to be multi-skilled and like Mario jump between platforms to embrace the media's buzz word, “convergence”. In the current climate of job shortages and the belief the web is threatening traditional publications, getting that first job is becoming an increasingly soul-destroying task.

In an attempt to embrace all technologies, prove that I can do it and document some of the wild imaginings of friends and strangers, Digesting the Fat will be the start of a long-term desire to write a column based around the mysterious silent workings of strangers, the musings of friends and random daily and weekly observations.

Disclaimer: Although I will try to keep this remotely separate from who I am, my sporadic ponderings may force you to experience a little of me.