Friday, July 31, 2009

Why I hate Alpha Males

Ahhhhhh, you big gorillas - loud, proud, confident and male - oh so very testosterone packed you are. And oh so very proud of your hetrosexuality and dominance over the sad sack rest of us. You don't need no book learnin or skills that have taken time to learn - coz you can rule the world with your aggression and might and manly aura of dominance.

Did I really use the same word twice in the same paragraph? Yes: dominance - for Alpha Males - it's all about the dominance. They're the big gorilla and they want to shag the other female monkeys and slap any bonobos or rhesus monkeys that get in your way. They are *THE DADDY.*

You may even ask your female mate during coitus, "Who's the Daddy, baby? Who's the Daddy?" And hopefully when she answers, "You are! You are!" it's all a bit of play acting. Hopefully, you're not actually...

But, y'know, you're an ape and you take what you need and f*ck everyone else. You really could not give an eff or a jeff what those little chimps think of you. You are the Daddy!!!

Personally, like the cheeky chimp I am, I just want to steal their bananas when they're not looking and run around with the bananas stuck in my ears - hooting with derision & glee - makin sure all the while that I'm well out of the way of the Alpha ape's vengeful fists.

You have your big dangerous hairy ape hands - I have bananas shoved in my ears - who's winning now, you big ape?

Now obviously, I have no personal grudge with your actual jungle dwelling apes. King Kong is a great tragic hero, I won't hear a word said against him. He was one of the great film stars of the 1930s - and I always supported him when he was gettin attacked by Godzilla. I'm not ape-ist in the least, I wouldn't go as far as to say that some of my best friends are apes - but some of them are disturbingly hairy. Some of them would give Creationists pause for concern - coz God never intended man to have a back that hairy...

No, but this week in my Ceefax viewing & my continued obsessing over Big Brother - I have been throwing bananas at the tv screen. Alpha males have briefly been in excelsius.

In fact had I managed to get round to writing this guff two days ago when I first started getting het up - this would be a much angrier post. But now, I have a chimp like grin on my face.

First off: my Ceefax viewing of the cricket. I can't listen on the radio when England are losing, it's too soul destroying. I don't have Sky so bla de bla bla. But on Thursday I did check the ole Ceefax - and there was the Australian cricketer I have loathed from a distance for a number of years - (I'm sure it's irrational, I'm sure he's actually a nice bloke, I'm sure, hmmm...) - there was Shane Watson - scoring lots of runs. Hate hate hate irrational pointless hate. He's super-confident, he says he's super-talented - but he had never previously actually done anything to prove it. All mouth and no trousers so to speak - lots of sledging, biceps and hair gel & not much else - except now he seemed to have found his Daddy trousers. He was walking the talk. Scoring runs, opening the innings. Hate hate hate rational hate. But whilst accepting that I may have some deep mental issues and also be exhibiting some more natural 'hate the oppostion' sports fan behaviours - isn't there something about those Alpha Males that seem to have it all: looks, money, confidence - that makes you want to hate them?

Certainly if they seem to lack the talent to be so confident - then it's just arrogance. If you're a talented big ape with a sense of humour like, err, Freddie Flintoff, Bill Clinton or the Terminator - then it's so much harder to hate them. Or if they retire from terminating, cricket or politics - they suddenly become that much more human. Like a sad old grey haired ape, sitting on a rock chewing on some fruit with a sad look in his red, increasingly blind eyes. You feel for him - this George Best of the ape world. If he could speak he would tell you about the old days and you would listen respectfully, finding his tales amusing and entertaining. Much like you would with Mad Frankie Fraser - though if it was the young but equally *Mad* Frankie Fraser - you would justifiably run a mile. He could keep the bananas, I really wouldn't argue...

But this cricketer fellow, Shane Watson, he just seemed to be the epitome of the proud, dumb, peacocking Apha Male. Worthy of nothing but derision. So naturally I was disappointed when he turned out to be quite good. The bastard. Bah. Happily his being good only lasted a day, then a Geordie lad called Onions - who looks and speaks like Sid the Sexist - slightly hunchbacked, haircut like it's 1986, so Newcastle you can't understand a word he says - got him out. The revenge of the Nerds. That made me happy. It wasn't as good as when Indian batsman Gautam Gambhir elbowed Shane Watson in the ribs, but it still amused me.

Oi! Non-cricket lovers - stop yawning... oh ok, you're allowed. I'm wittering (it's like twittering but with more character).

God I'm a terrible person. But then when David played Goliath - I think I'm right in saying that little Dave was the crowd favourite, no? We all love an underdog. We like to mock and laugh at the big apes - making fun of them is usually our only weapon as although a little stone to the forehead worked for young Dave - I've found to my cost that a tiny little stone to the head usually just makes your big apes quite a bit more angry. Running away works best I find...

Then: part two - came Big Brother - which I hereby disavow and promise to go cold turkey on...

A new contestant: "Isaac Stout is a 23-year-old entertainer/bar owner from Ohio, USA. He is Noirin's ex-boyfriend and entered the house on Day 56. Isaac also originally appeared and met Noirin during his time as a roommate on MTV's The Real World: Sydney."

And of course he is a big grizzly Alpha Male with no sense of his own aggressiveness, no sense of anyone else's rights, no sense basically. I'm sure he's a lovely man. He always gets the girl and rarely changes his shirt coz he likes the smell of his own sweaty pheromones. He does that miming *spanking a horse that you're riding* dance and tells his girlfriend, "It's all over now. Daddy's home."

She nods and smiles while I vomit and scream. And that's quite an achievement to do both those things at the same time. Yikkkkkkkkkkkkeeeeeeeeeeeurrrrrrrrggggggggggghhhhh!

So there is no rationality or conclusion. They just annoy me probably because I'm not them. I would like to be big, thoughtless and successful, but nature made me a sarcastic nebbish chimp. But anyway, happily the Big Brother ape decided to leave coz his girl got kicked out. And possibly coz no one else in the house liked him. Sometimes it's better to be a cheeky chimp with friends than a dominant ape lording it over a bunch of people that hate you.

Fuck you, Alpha Males, you can keep your bananas - I'm gonna go off & have a tea party with my chimpanze friends... Ha! In your Silverback face!

I feel slightly ashamed of myself for even writing this. Ceefax, mindless abuse towards Australian cricketers, Big Brother - again. Bah...

Tuesday, July 28, 2009

Why I love Ceefax and hate my Teletext friends

Kids, let me tell you a true story that you might have trouble believing: once upon a time long long ago - as long ago as 15 years - people didn't get all their information from the internets and digital radio and texty messages and all this new fangled *digital* whathaveyous. Seriously! I'm not making this up! Birds twittered and people said, "Oh, you, I know you what you're up to, I can read your face like a book!" It was a sad and barren time. If you were on your way to meet someone and you were late they had to wait for you and wondered when you would be getting there. They probably got a bit miffed; you didn't *text ahead* and ask them to get you a cappucino. You didn't send them a smiley face ;-)

Alright, alright, some people probably did text ahead in 1994 but I didn't. I didn't have a mobile phone until I was absolutely forced to. My girlfriend of the era eventually foistered one on me as present. But even when I was given a phone I forgot to turn it on for the first 3 years. And I definitely forgot to carry it around with me - so if it was ever switched on it would be at home on the mantle shelf. I didn't have enough pockets to carry a phone around! You'd be expecting me to walk around with a bottle of water next! Madness. What will I be carrying around next!? Sun cream!!! Besides, combat trousers and bum bags hadn't been invented back then, so where was I going to put all this stuff?? Well, maybe they had been invented, but I denied their existence - quite rightly. I was living the luddite life and I was grumpily happy and proud of myself.

It was quite nice to not have a clue what was happening in the world. I wasn't an information addict back then. A few years later of course, probably around 1998, I discovered what is referred to in addict circles as my *gateway drug*. That gateway drug was Ceefax. Available by pressing the text button on my giant TV remote control. It took me into a world of obsession, information and mordant time wasting...

If the internet is heroin and text messaging is as instantly addictive as crack cocaine then Ceefax is like a good strong cup of Yorkshire tea. More psychologically addictive than anything physical. You didn't get cravings when you were out but as soon as you were back home - and it's a very homely thing is Ceefax - you go into your *coming home rituals* - kettle on, shoes off, brew up, feet up, Ceefax page 101. 


You didn't put Sky News or Sky Sports News on to check out the latest duffer that Man City had put an offer in on (multi-millionaire arrogant duffer these days of course) - you keyed in Ceefax page 302 for the football news. 301 for the Sports Headlines. 501 for the Entertainment news if you could be bothered and 160 for the Local News.

I can scarcely remember my own phone number but I know those Ceefax numbers off by heart. Saturday afternoon when there wasn't a live radio commentary on the City match - watching page 316 flick from results page 1 (matches A-L) - to results page 2 (matches M-Z) - watching watching watching as the results were updated every 2 minutes. It was zen like. It was like watching paint dry but 300 times more exciting. Nothing - then suddenly - City 0 Newcastle 1...

A text based tragedy. I sometimes wonder what people who don't follow sport do with their lives but I believe they have what is known as 'lives'. They climb mountains, or save the needy, or talk to God or have actual drug addictions to take up their time. All the same, come the digital switchover it will never be the same. The slow pathetic wait for the information to appear on the tv screen will be gone. The new digital Ceefax is fast and easy to use. You don't even need to key in the numbers - it has a *menu*. It's all so easy. Kids, I tell you. You're missing out... Try it now while you still can.

Meanwhile, Teletext - the ITV equivalent of this tv text service was a complete nightmare - adverts every other page - it was one thing to wait 2 minutes for a page to appear but to get half an article with an advert in the middle was just torture. I hated it. Although Teletext was briefly the best and cheapest place to find cheap foreign holidays - all the same - hours could be spent watching adverts and randomly trying to find the appropriate page in the morass of information in the holiday section. Really, that Teletext thing - you'd never want to go back to that.

My Teletext Friends.

I've realised that's what they are - I've waited a while to write about this because I didn't want the person I'm now referring to to realise that this was directed at them. But: Teletext - you use it to quickly get the headlines - you just want to briefly know what's going on. That's as deep as you wanna go. I have a few 'friends' like this. Anxious to get a thin slice of detail about my life - we occasionally meet - they slice off a bit of juicy info from me and their only interest is to have something amusing to pass on to their more significant friends the next time they see them. "What's the gossip then?" asked one last time I spoke to them.

Clearly they don't know me. If there's anything more likely to make me clam up it's someone blithely asking me for 'gossip'. You're getting nothing from me my Teletext Friend. I'd like to say I'm not bitter, but I am, but I'm moving on. Now just stare at one of those images up there for 3 minutes before you do anything else. It'll give you time to think. You will get bored, but being bored can be a good thing sometimes...

This may appear disjointed, but that's what life is like on Ceefax - you flick from one topic to another in literally minutes. It really was the future back in 1997. 

Friday, July 24, 2009

Why Marcus needs to realise that Noirin will never fancy him

So where was I? Oh yeah, somewhere else, but never mind.

Dear imaginary reader, imagine for just a moment that you are a female (or a gentleman that has an eye for a handsome male face). Imagine that you're at a fabulous London party and that you are approached in turn by the charming and witty politician John Prescott, the cool and diamond toothed rapper Lil Wayne & the spiky haired hunk of chef self-love that is Gary Rhodes. You're obviously a bit of a hottie, Dear Imaginary Reader - all these men are after you. They want you, they're making it pretty obvious! A nod is as good as a wink to a blindman's uncle, as they say. Honk honk - you're getting chatted up - first by John, then by Lil and finally by Gary.

But what is your initial reaction when you're greeted by these fellows? First sight - first thought?

How long does it take you to make up your mind as to whether you will go home tonight with one of these men (or go on a date with them that will inevitably lead to rumpy mcpumpy in 3 weeks time)? Are you open minded or is your mind closed immediately? Obviously, it's not just about looks; it's about presence and personality and charisma. Perhaps something inside you makes you shiver (in a good way) as twinkly eyed Gary Rhodes engages you in a conversation about custard.

Would you be convinced to get jiggy after 3 minutes of flirty conversation about whisking with Gary Rhodes or 5 minutes of filthy but amusing tooth care advice from Lil Wayne? Or would you never ever consider the idea of any of them? Would you have made your mind up and be absolutely sure within 15 seconds that you would never ever ever get horizontal with John Prescott? No matter what he said!!!

I read in some magazine or website - or perhaps it was even in Neil Strauss's The Game - a book written about a journalist 'infiltrating' the world of the Pick Up Artist. By the end Strauss has become a lady magnet, or so we're told. Either way, this article said that when they first meet a man - women do a thing called:
'The Hover Test'
where they consciously, or subconsciously, imagine a man's face hovering approximately 15 inches above them. As if the man were - like - doing it to you. Rumpy mcmissionary style. Well could you imagine that? John, Lil or Gary hovering above you - just within kissing or punching range?

Have I just put an awful thought in your mind? Can you see John Prescott grimacing and grunting as he lies above you? You probably want to scream - and not in a good way. Here's that picture again, just in case you haven't made your mind up yet...

I'm closing my eyes now and imagining - and now I'm going off to have my brain washed clean... scrub scrub those thoughts away...

Seriously, I'm sorry, you guys, I really like - but, y'know, as friends? - so personally I'm going to have to say no to all of you. There'll be no rumpy with me tonight, chaps. I don't care how much charm you have. I'm decided. Forget it, boys. Move on, I believe Katie Price is single...

Now personally as a man who is not Brad Pitt, or even Brian Pratt, I think this is a bit harsh. After all, why dismiss me and Prescott because you don't like the way we look when 'hovering' above you? God invented at least 7 or 8 other rumpy positions where you don't actually have to look at the person you're doing the mcpumpy with. Surely this was done in the best interests of women who are slightly offended by the looks of their partner? Doing it 'D0ggy style' for instance means that you can both read a book or watch tv while you're in the act? Or stare at photos of George Clooney you have blu-tacked to the wall for just this situation? Come on, women, use your imagination!

I have used this argument before with women that have rejected my advances and the logic of it seems to go over their heads. Equally, if all else fails and you are a John Prescott lookalike you can consider joining the leather and whipping community - a leather face mask improves the appearance of even the most ugly faced man. Again this is an argument that seems to fail when I put it to women who tell me:

"I'm just not attracted to you, I'm sorry."
"How about if I wear a leather Gimp mask? How about then? Would that help? You can't say - 'I'm not attracted to you' - if you can't see my face. It's not logical!!!"

Generally they refuse to agree that they have no logical reasons to refuse rumpy mc pumpery. Life is unfair. Lots of people have some socially or genetically programmed vision of who they are attracted to: someone as attractive as they think they are; someone witty, charming and confident - bla bla bla. And if you don't fit that profile then you've got next to no chance. And oftentimes when it comes to initial attraction the looks thing is a biggy. Which brings me to the wonderful plotline in the current Big Brother 10.

Now normally - well, for the past few years at least - I haven't looked at it. Or else I've only watched a few people sleeping when I couldn't at 3am. It is a great way to bore yourself to sleep - provided you don't start questioning your very existence - 'Is this why I was born? Is this why I'm on this earth? To watch boring people sleep while I sit here picking my nose and yawning?'

But this past weekend I was struck down by illness, a severe bout of the worst tummy upsetness I've ever ever experienced. So while I wasn't dealing with my ummm issues in the smallest and smelliest room in the house, I was struggling to sleep, struggling to concentrate on anything and generallly just lying around feeling justifiably sorry for myself. Hence I was watching Big Brother. And there's this plot line that I could relate to: Marcus fancies Noirin like crazy - Noirin bats her enormous eye lashes, laps up the attention and 'likes him as a friend.' Marcus thinks he stands a chance, he thinks he can convince her to pick him up out of the Just Good Friends box and put him into her bed. Noirin thinks not, but likes that he keeps trying. She enjoys having a lap dog.

Obviously there is some incongruence in the levels of attractiveness in this non-couple. Irish beauty Noirin looks like Phil Lynott's spectacularly gorgeous grand-daughter. Clearly, I'm in love with her, as is another housemate - who I think is called Shazbot - and who looks like the love child of a wizard and koala bear. Obviously, Noirin is not interested in him either. She would not be interested in my gimp mask theory, I'm sure. She may be slightly superficial.

Marcus in contrast thinks he looks like some post-apocalyptic warrier with his fantastic mullet, tattoos, large arms and scary Wolverine style mutton chops. In reality he looks like a bouncer at a heavy metal disco in Aldershot. He looks like someone who does karate 3 times a week and then goes out for 5 pints of ale and has a large kebab on the way home. I certainly wouldn't want to fight him - either in a post-apocalyptic forest or outside a kebab shop. He is a bit scary, but again, not in the way he'd like to be... That said - I like him. I can relate to him. He's trying so hard. And yet he doesn't know what to do: should he be nicer to her - should he ignore her - should he bake her a cake - will she be impressed if he does a really good karate kick? Would she like it if he biffed new housemate Tom on the nose?

Of course she would like that. Noirin would like men fighting over her - it fits with her image of herself as a beautiful princess. But now handsome, posh, muscly Tom has arrived what will happen if Noirin gets off with him? She has already intimated that she probably fancies the posh Charles Atlas lookalike. So what will Marcus do? Will he give up? Will he karate kick Tom's big square jawed face? If Noirin told him she'd go out with him if he cut off his mullet - would he shave his head for her? It's a great plot. I'm just not sure I can be bothered watching all the other Big Brother crap to watch it.

I may have maxed out my interest - especially now Pick Up Artist & International Playboy - the hilariously deluded and nasty Kenneth has escaped. But hope remains for Marcus - can you move from Just Good Friends to potential bed mate - if you have a face like a bag of rusty spanners? Hope springs eternal for us all. Do it for the team, Marcus! Or else get a grip and move on with your life, but that would be so much less entertaining to watch...