Friday, August 28, 2009

Why I am the web's leading expert on big ear holes and Madonna's eyebrows

I got a comment this week from a blog post I wrote almost a year ago, but it didn't surprise me because I am the web's leading expert on big ear holes and Madonna's eyebrows. It's official. I have Google Analytics statistics to back it up. Listen, it's not like I'm constantly checking to see if my imaginary readership has increased from 6 people spending 12 seconds deciding they're on the wrong page - to 8 people who have used the search term "La Ciccolina + horse" but...

And yes, I know that by retyping that phrase I'm going to bring even more of them here. Hello horse fans!!! Sorry to disappoint you, but hey, stick around, there's more to life than horses, right?

The thing is, what Google Analytics tells me is that on average, every month for the past 11 months 25% of this blog's random new "readers" have landed on that Big Ear Holes post. Another 11% have come searching for more scientific and sensible information about Madonna's eyebrows. About 7% are concerned to find out if Daniel Corbett is gay, but I'll say no more about that. The owner of a renouned Corbett blog assures that he isn't. So basically, if I want to find a bigger readership I need to concentrate my whiney words on body parts, the sexuality of celebrities, horses, and celebrities body parts. The market rules. Expect forthcoming posts on the beauty of Terry Wogan's comb-over, Lady GaGa's extra bit, Madonna's veiny arms, and then an extra bit of grumpy-old-mannery grouchiness about how young people are wrong in a thousand ways especially with regard to beards and shaving. When did these young liberal types all start growing beards that they're too young to have grown in the first place? When did other men start shaving their bits (and their bobs)? When did that fashion note go out? Weren't they really pleased when puberty happened? Do the young beard wearers of today shave their bits and bobs? How odd would that be? Like they'd been forcibly dipped in Immac from the waist down.

There you go. Watch em roll in, then roll back out again disappointed... Pershaw and fie and a pox on the lot of em. So because I am moving house this coming weekend and shouldn't even be on the web, and because my phone line gets disconnected today or tomorrow, and because of all of the above, I thought I would do my first ever 're-post'. First off, here is what an Anonymous reader commented this week and then the ear hole postage yet again.

Imagine the stats!!! I may as well delete every other post. It's all about the ear holes, baby. Sigh. 

Anonymous said... 

to be honest, i think you have all the right points, especially about the ear lobe flesh things, i object to them. however youths will be youths, we feel the need to be different. hence the dressing up as 'emos' we are merely copying the looks of the members of the bands that we love to listen to. fashion changes, always will. tattoos, well yes they will get slightly mankier, but when your 80, who is going to see your tattoes anyway, most 80 year olds stay in there homes, probably afraid of the next 30 generations of teenagers, be them emos or chavs. 
from a kid, who is friendly.


Now don't get me wrong, kids. You youthful types are great.

I love you all, in strictly non-touchy no-feely kinda way, of course. All above board. All theoretical this is. Now then, let me start again.

You can come in here (my imaginary house) with your tattoos and your sticky-uppy hair. Fine. I accept that. You can be an Emo if you like. An emo is just an experiment between a Goth and a New Romantic that went wrong and came out extra-skinny (or extra-chunky depending on how badly wrong the wardrobe based experiment went). Skin tight black jeans (Jim Morrison). Dyed hair (New Wave). Miserable as sin (Holden Caulfield). Yeah. I get ya. You can't put anything past me.

That goes for you lot as well in your do-rags, your hoods, your baggy saggy jeans hangin round your ankles cos you're not allowed to have a belt in the pen. Uh? Huh? Ayt? Hood up to prevent identification by CCTV. O yeh. It's Big Brother time out there - on da street. Up your ends. In ya hood wearin a hood.

*It's all good.*

I get it. Every year I get it like I get a persistently dribbly nose and a bit of a head cold every February. I get da youth fashion. It's not for me, of course it isn't. I actually tried on a pair of straight leg jeans in *The Gap*. Yeh, that's right - the shop that shows my age. And a style of jeans that showed the thickness of my Bobby Charlton/Chris Hoy style thighs. Hey - it's all muscle, baby. My body fat is as low as a Tesco's *Be Good To Yourself* chicken thigh. My thighs are just skin, hair and meat. Yummy.

So. To reiterate - the tatts - surely the worst thing you could do to yourself in this day and age, right?

If we don't count stubbing out cigarettes on your eyelids for a bet, random knife-based self-harming, or wearing a Scouting For Girls tour t-shirt.

Tattooing the name of your cat on your wrist has to be something that is going to upset your parents, doesn't it?

That is if your parents didn't go into the parlour with you to have all the names of their grandchildren stabbed n inked all over their lower back. And if they did? Fine. I'm all in favour of random, squiggly ink splots daubed on unimpressive bodies. Gives you something to look at. Especially when they're stood in front of you in a bus queue on a summer's day and you're trying to read the words on their upper arm. Does that say *Man Love Forever* or *Man U Four Everton Nil*. Probably neither and a crap example either way.

Most people get pictures. Of Harry Potter. Of their kids. Of Chairman Mao. Of a fish. A dancing lady - I saw a guy of about 23 with a naked lap-dancer on his forearm - I really did want to question that one - who was that going to impress - but then I realised it was probably a masturbatory aid for if he should ever end up stranded, alone on a desert island. Heaven forbid that he'd have to end up using his dirty imagination...

O, that made me feel superior for many minutes. Me and my unblemished epidermis - unblemished apart from the acne & chicken pox scars, the scars from cuts & operations, the birth marks, moles and random everyday blemishes.

I don't have much deliberate skin damage/decoration. And it almost makes me feel weedy and jealous of their bravery in re-designing their genetically ordained skin coverings. Why should we put up with looking the way *God* has designed us?

So I don't rule out the option of one day tatting up my epidermis. Should I ever find a design that I like, a tattoo artist I could trust & a body part suitable for drawing on.

Note: having a hairy chest kinda rules that area out of the equation right? I could of course shave my chest, have a bald ape tattooed onto my left pectoral, then let the hair grow back and see how the ape looks then. Like Bigfoot the Yeti hiding in a forest of hair... Yeah, and true, that was an image we could have all done with out...

But ear holes have done me in. Brought on an early (?) mid-life crisis.

You got me youts, you really got me. I don't dig em. I am genuinely freaked out by em. I'll be honest as an onion.

See, from a sensible adult point of view - hair you can change - tatts - provided you don't get a spider's web tattooed on your neck - you can cover em up. Should you ever wish to get a job as an accountant or become Prime Minister. But big ear holes - and I should define my point here. Provide a photo - here - or there - depending where the html sends it. That photo, that you can see - there. Forcing the earlobe to accomodate a big ole frisbee shaped object d'art/d'fashion.

What happens when you take em out, kids? These Ear Spacers? Are they gonna seal back up? Or are you gonna look like you've got massive wonky ear lobs hangin down with a big black hole in the space where the skin is pulled apart.

So okay, fine, it's a *flesh tunnel*. How helpful is the internet - you can find stuff even when you don't know what it's called...

That's what freaks me out, to be honest. And that is what proves how oldy fashionedy I am. How square and non-fash I am. You can't be a weekend punk once you've got one of these, like herpes, these babies are yours for life.

What next: ear shaping? Ear cropping/pointing/elfing?

Fine. By the time you're my age you'll have saggy, baggy, holey ear bottoms - and I hope you'll enjoy them. As much as the people of my age with bad Winnie the Poo tattoos on their ankles, or who have ineptly drawn barbed wire round their biceps love their youthful lifetime decisions. Fine. Just fine. Just don't come running to me. Cos I'll be the 80 year old codger with earlobes as big as a garden gnomes - but that'll be the process of ageing, not some crazy youthful design.

But thinking about it - maybe when I'm 80 I'll have nothing to lose. Maybe that's when I'll get a big pair of frisbee sized ear-rings...


  1. My son used to have a large hole in his ear; not his 'ear'ole' either. A lobe hole. One of those exaggerated piercings of the kind you picture.

    He decided to to let the hole sort of fill in or grow back, if you get my drift.

    Well, I'm not kidding; it looked like a fucking arsehole; all puckered up an'all.

    I tell you, an arse'ole where his ear'ole should be. I couldn't tear my eyes away.

  2. I'm fed up of Mother Theresa, Mark Sullivan.

    Can we have another subject matter now please?

    Stop being so lazy man!