Culture: The 24 Drinking Game

Before we had Breaking Bad; before we had Mad Men, we had The Sopranos. And while Tony and his dysfunctional gang of nodding hench men were busy changing the face of television as we know it, Jack Bauer was bringing us the perfect light-hearted, explosion-filled antithesis. While the revolutionary new gangster genre brought us things like meaningful layers, complex characters and hard-to-spot references, 24 brought us guns, explosions and more plot twists and changing baddies than could possibly fit into several years, let alone a mere 24 hours.

Yes, yes I’m sure my A-Level Media Studies teacher would have wanted to point out the contextual themes of a show that first aired in 2001 and is about good guys fighting terrorists. It’s always fun to note how the nationalities of the terrorists change from Russian to Middle Eastern over the seasons. Plus I’m sure there’s some kind parallel to be drawn to the Greek Tragedies in terms of a lone hero going up against both the bad guys and toxic power structures (Why are the politicians and agency heads always so misguided?! Why does no one trust a man that has saved America so many times?!) But the real fun in watching 24 is in not taking things to seriously, which is where the 24 Drinking Game comes in.

So grab some friends, fill up your booze cupboard and join me in drinking to the themes and tropes that make this show so great.

Take a sip every time:

• Jack says, “Dammit’
• Jack says, ‘Right now you don’t have any other choice!’
• Jack says, ‘Like it or not, you’re going to have to trust me.’
• Jack says, ‘Cover me I’m going in’
• Jack yells at his boss, ‘You don’t have time!’
• Someone gets tortured
• Jack gets tortured
• Someone gets shot
• A terrorist gets offered an immunity deal
• The Justice Department investigates Jack
• Jack gets arrested
• Kim or another woman needs saving
• Chloe rolls her eyes
• Someone says, ‘CTU has a mole’
• Anyone else says, ‘Dammit’

 

Finish your drink every time:

• Jack whisper shouts, ‘You’ve read my file. You’ve seen what I can do’
• Jack yells at the president/anyone, ‘Millions of innocent lives are at stake!’
• There’s an explosion
• Someone underestimates Jack or makes a fate provoking comment like, ‘They’ll never find us.’ (Oh you silly, silly terrorists)

I’ve just realised that based on past seasons, you’ll probably be drinking a lot. I take no responsibility for what happens!

If you have any 24 Drinking Game suggestions, I’d love to hear them!

Natalie x

 

 

 

 

Society: bigger feminist fish to fry

Yesterday I posted Alecia Lynn Eberhardt’s blog on Facebook about why as a woman, saying “I have a boyfriend” when you want a man to leave you alone is problematic. I agreed with it.

I’ve been accused of demonising all men by the actions of a few. In short, i’m “pitting women against men”, which is an “outdated mode of fighting inequality” and “us against them won’t get us anywhere”.

This stale adage which is starting to make my teeth hurt also cropped up:

“There are bigger fish to fry.”

There is ONE fish to fry. Inequality. I’m frying it on all sides.

I can talk about FGM in the same breath as the fact that Bear Grylls has made a TV show about surviving a desert island with men only (because “it’s about man’s modern struggle”), as both are important.

They’re both symptoms of an unequal society which sees women as commodities or not as capable as men. We should be talking about every element of women’s struggle to be equal. We have to fight everything together at once.

Rape (notionally worse than ‘lesser’ sexist behaviour) happens because our sexist society teaches us that women are beneath men and that assumption festers in every small, ‘insignificant’ inequality.

I will NOT pick my battles.

I will not let the little things go. When a man in the gym asks my male exercise partner if he’s done on the machine and ignores me (yesterday), I will speak up.

The Facebook criticism of Alecia’s blog was that it implies that “all men are predatory and assume a knowing dominance and that women need to defend themselves against men.”

Talking about the actions of predatory men is not the same as saying all men are rapists. Calling out the sexism and misogyny rife in society is not the same as saying all men are sexists.

So what about men who aren’t predatory? The ones who don’t rape?

What about them? Should I congratulate each and every one of them for respecting my rights as a human being?

Let’s apply a similar question to another subject, for fairness’ sake. Because, being one of those people who actually thinks women should have the same rights as men, i’m terribly biased.

“What about dog owners who don’t beat their dogs?”

If a blog about dog cruelty is posted on the internet, I don’t imagine i’d hear the sound of dog owners around the world indignantly typing, “excuse me! I’m a dog owner that respects dogs!” But there’s no such thing as the dog owner’s ego, as far as I know.

If you don’t like hearing that men hurt women, tough shit, it happens, get used to it. I’m not going to shut up about it.

If you don’t like me telling you that men rape, help me change the culture that normalises violence against women by speaking up like I do. If you think my battles are trivial, take up one you think is more meaningful.

Patriarchy hurts men as well as women. It doubly hurts women when they are more focused on protecting the male ego than calling out inequality.

Music: Brody Dalle at the Electric Ballroom

Last night I saw Brody Dalle play the Electric Ballroom and can now finally die happy.

I’d given up hope of ever seeing the Distillers live. The band imploded in 2004 shortly after the release of Coral Fang at the height of my fandom, which sucked but also probably boosted my obsession.

Then Brody seemed to go off into the musical wilderness (in real life having a couple of kids with husband Josh Homme from Queens Of The Stone Age). Her next project with Distillers guitarist Tony Bevilacqua, Spineerette, was short lived; they released an EP in 2008 but have been quiet since.

I wondered if she’d ever tour again and whether she’d ever perform the Distillers. I figured maturity would mean she wouldn’t want to play songs written by her 22 year old self battling a meth addiction and an unhappy marriage to Tim Armstrong from Rancid.

But last night she played all the best off Sing Sing Death House (2002) and Coral Fang. There was less of the snarling and posturing that made me fall in love with her – she’s more grounded and calm, but she still blew me away.

She seemed shy – she hasn’t performed live much since 2010  – not once looking into the crowd, but she still owned the stage with an incredible vocal range that has changed little since the days of the Distillers. You wonder how she’s still able to sing with such ferocity when it sounds like her vocal chords have been steeped in ethanol.

One thing that was depressing, though. The crowd was shockingly tame. There was a limp mosh pit and the few true punks seemed to want to nurse a cold beer more than throw it over anyone. I felt like we were letting Brody down in the worst possible place, Camden, the home of punk.

Whatever has happened to music is a sign of an apathetic culture. It felt like no one in the venue had any punk spirit in them, no fight to give. Brody can explain:

I was so lucky to grow up in the ‘90s. It was the revolution, it really was. There’s such a fucking plethora of amazing music to pick from, from Hole to Bikini Kill to L7 to Babes in Toyland to Elastica. There was Kim Gordon. There were so many women. It was just such an awesome time. I really hope that happens again.

I think it’s been a good twenty years, so, usually things go in cycles. I’m hoping that maybe in the mainstream, female-driven rock ‘n roll or just rock ‘n roll in general kind of gets its place again.

You know? It’s been dominated by dance music and I agree with Shirley Manson actually, she says it’s because of 9/11. And that’s absolutely where things kind of changed. We all got very PC and didn’t want to rock the boat and just wanted to hear meaningless fluff, I guess. I don’t know. I would think that people would run in the other direction.

Where’s the counter culture gone? We’re living in dispossessed times, but that’s what punk was born out of. We need a return of the Riot Grrrls. With feminism becoming part of the mainstream, the timing would be perfect.

Brodie quote from an interview in Bust Magazine.

Travel: Six weeks in India

There’s no preparing for the sensory assault that awaits the incoming traveller at New Delhi airport. As the doors swing open to the arrival terminal, you find yourself simultaneously confronted with a wall of noise and of heat, even in the middle of the night. Hawkers and taxi drivers flood the building, bustling and yelling over each other to drum up business. Welcome to India: the most beautiful, painful, frustrating and life-affirming places you will ever be lucky enough to visit.

When I told people I planned to spend six weeks travelling with my girlfriend to India, the reactions were incredibly polarising. People were either cheerily supportive or bluntly disparaging. “Aren’t you worried you’ll get gang-raped?” one soon-to-be-former acquaintance sneered at me.

Perhaps I could have picked an easier destination for my first attempt at backpacking; somewhere English was more frequently spoken and the path was a little better-trodden but having recently graduated from uni, I was desperate to get out and see the “real world”. And India is nothing if not “real”. Backpacker hostels are few and far between and you’d be hard pressed to find the party bus atmosphere of your more typical gringo-trail spots, but for the brave traveller there are rewards that far make up for the challenges.

You could call me naive for rocking up to a developing country without either a Lonely Planet or local currency to my name. An ATM at the airport quickly solved the first problem but the second would have me kicking myself for the impulsive decision to leave the bulky backpacker’s bible at home while packing. I soon found that without something to point to as I asked for help, people quickly developed selective hearing, opting to offer to take you to their friend’s “tourist office” instead.

In India, never expect the truth from people who stand to gain from your ignorance. A disastrous attempt to navigate New Delhi railway station led to a man in an official-looking uniform ushering us into a conveniently placed rickshaw. In a cramped and faded office full of photos of Princess Di, we found ourselves drinking sugar-laden chai tea and handing over credit cards for vastly inflated train tickets to Agra. An important lesson had been learned; we were going to have to toughen up if we were going to last the trip with enough money to get home.

None-the-less we were soon on our way south in a second-class carriage, where a kind travelling salesman offered us daal and roti freshly made by his wife that morning. “No visit to India would be complete without at least one journey by rail”, he told us. “Best train system in the world, absolutely.”

Once a monument to colonial power, now battered by overcrowding and corruption, the country’s trains are a great place to see what life is really like for the people who live here, even if it’s just a glimpse of the packed commuter trains from your slower, safer cross-country route. Anyone who has ever complained about their journey to work gets a serious reality check. Those jokes about people sitting on the roof are not an exaggeration.

In a nation with over a billion people and only precarious law and order, there’s a delicate balance that stops the whole country simmering into chaos. To survive in India, a traveller must quickly learn to adjust their pace of life, slow down and take life as they find it. Trains may leave one, two or three hours behind schedule, your taxi may be stuck in traffic because there’s a cow in the road. Deal with it.

If I achieved anything during my six weeks here, perhaps it was the small assimilation that allowed me to let go of my constant expectations and judgments enough to just enjoy myself.

Travel: A Day in Regional Victoria

With dusty highways and sun-soaked golden plains; this is a place to get lost in. Jump in a car and escape the city for a drive across the expansive landscape of regional Victoria. From hidden bush walks to family-owned wineries and gold-rush pubs; the area around Daylesford and Kyneton is perfect for savouring the last days of summer.

It’s not hard to sense ghosts of the past if you’re willing to switch off and open up. While some tourists insist on loud and obnoxious conversations atop Hanging Rock (yes I mean you, you awful Aussie couple who felt the need to recount your whole life story), this is a deeply spiritual place. One to reflect upon and feel your own insignificance.

A darker, foreboding atmosphere serves as a reminder of the macabre past. Let’s not forget that this is the area where bandits roamed, treasures were hidden and aboriginals were slaughtered. Apparently many aboriginals still find it difficult to visit Hanging Rock due to an uncomfortable sensation of unfinished business. There’s even a waterfall of blood named after the infamous bushranger Mad Dan Morgan (really).

Lunch at The Royal George Hotel

After flicking through a tired 90s walking guide in a local winery and spotting an image of a paradise-like gorge, we finished the day trekking through Lerderderg State Park. My obsession with True Detective went into overdrive as we started to see creepy structures made of vines and branches. Unsure of whether we were heading towards an evening swim or our grizzly deaths at the hands of a mystic cult, we continued with growing uncertainty. Finally we turned a corner to find the dried up gorge still had a small swimming pool, where we cooled off before making a sharpish exit before the sun went down. That is not somewhere I would want to be lost in the dark.

Style: Trend Alert – Sheer Volume

As a fashion lover in Australia, it can be very frustrating watching the main four new season runways, knowing we have to wait a whole year, not only the collections to land over here, but for the weather to wear them. Luckily it seems designers are taking note of changes in retail habits and the popularity of global online stores like net-a-porter to create more trans-seasonal pieces in each collection.

Christopher Kane, Christian Dior & Celine

The savvy shopper in Australia can now interpret the new trends as they become available, giving them a seasonal twist to adapt to the weather. One of my favourites from the Spring 14 runways is also one of the easiest to interpret now: Sheer Volume.

From peek-a-boo sheer panels to billowing skirts and bell sleeves, the look sits somewhere between youthful joie-de vivre and a more mature, womanly beauty. The romantic gauzy fabrics are grounded with heavier layers of shaggy knits, decadent furs and embroidered detailing.

Dolce & Gabbana, Burberry Prorsum & Saint Laurent

Whether you opt for delicate lace or floaty, printed fabrics, the key to making this look work over the cooler months here is through the contrast of textures. So throw a chunky knit over that floral dress or thick wool stockings under a floaty skirt. I’d also stick to richer shades of plum, black and aubergine for a moody, Saint Laurent inspired goth-glam; saving the pastels, whites and creams for next summer.

Natalie x

Society: Happy International Women’s Day

Today is the day to celebrate being rad ladies. It’s a day to be sisters and think about how far we’ve come and how much further there is to go; for us and for everyone around the world.

It’s quite easy to become frustrated when debating feminist issues. Why can’t everyone just agree that all people are equal and demand respect? I was thinking this when I read Sarah Ditum‘s intelligent rebuttal to Pairs Lees on Hollaring Back to Street Harassment. The horrendous Paris Lees piece on Vice (I won’t link) angered me to see so many young male commenters sneering at the women who spoke up to say street harassment made them uncomfortable.

Lees writes, “I love catcalls. I love car toots. I love random men smiling “Hello beautiful!” like my mere presence just made their day. I like being called “princess” and ignoring them as I giggle inside. I like being eye-fucked on the escalator and wondering if I’ve just made him spring a boner.”

It’s disappointing to me, although not surprising considering she is writing for Vice, that Lees has fallen down on thinking about this issue critically or from another person’s viewpoint. Just because she enjoys the attention, that doesn’t mean that all women do or that there aren’t sinister undertones to this type of catcalling. Indeed later in the post she goes on to recount more aggressive and upsetting instances without examining the relationship between these and more harmless “compliments”.

Others have pointed out that as a trans-gender woman, perhaps Lees might find this kind of attention to be more of a reassurance of her femininity than a cis woman. I don’t know Lees’ motivations, nor do I suppose she speaks for every trans woman. What I do know is that every woman has the right to be able to walk down the street and feel safe and equal, and this will never happen while she is being blatantly “eye fucked” or tooted at.

So my feminist (and not feminist) sisters and brothers, for this International Women’s Day, let’s all try and do one thing: let’s just listen to each other. Because no matter how far we’ve come, we’ll always have further to go and that’s ok.

Natalie x

 

 

 

Blog: I walked through Brixton today

I walked through Brixton market today.

I do this most days, but today was different. I paused and took in every sound, every smell.

I haven’t walked down Electric Avenue in the sunshine for months.

Most days on my way home i’ll stop off at Nour, the cash and carry that i’ve been loyal to for years, to buy supplies for that night’s dinner. I’ll walk fast, with my head down, between tall trollies, cardboard boxes and detritus from the day’s trade. It’s always dark, 6pm, and there’s always wind i’m running from. The slow shoppers are all gone and the market is filled with working people, trying to get things done quickly so they can get home and warm.

But today it’s 3.30pm on a Friday. Nour is filled with old women studying plantain and taking their time. Today I have all the patience in the world to wait for these women to pass in the narrow corridor. I nod and smile as I wait for one and she calls me blessed.

As I leave Nour with vegetables, picked with care, since I have the time today, I browse the other stalls I usually ignore. I’m looking for hass avocados, since they’re sweeter, and Nour doesn’t stock them today. I find 4 for £1 and silently bless Brixton as I hand over the coin.

I walk slowly back down Electric Avenue and I feel sure in the sense that I love this place i’ve made my home. It’s hard to love Brixton sometimes, when the journey from the tube is just too long in the wind and rain and the bus is too full.

I open my ears to every sound. Wet fish slapped on ice. Tuts. Clicks. Teeth kisses. Hoots. A “hey gov’na!”. I recognise familiar faces. I see new ones. It feels like I haven’t looked at it in this light for so long.

On the journey home the bus is too full of school kids. I lift up my shopping bags to let a small child pass and a woman shouts “get ya bag off meh leg, cha!” A dark cloud threatens to blacken my mood but I let it pass. This is Brixton. Thorny.

[Image from www.london-attractions.info]

Travel: A Weekend in Sydney

I think the measure of a great city is one that changes slightly with each visit. Sydney passes that test with ease, offering previously undiscovered treasures as well as a fresh perspective on those classic views for anyone willing to head off the tourist trail.

Here are my top picks for cool things to do should you have a few days to spend in Sydney sometime soon.

Cockatoo Island

History geeks and ghost hunters alike will love exploring the bleak warehouses and creepy corners of Cockatoo Island. Sydney often feels like an extremely young city, but Cockatoo Island gives a rare glimpse of the desolate and deadly environment that would have greeted convicts arriving on her shores and the desperately harsh life they would have led.

A former convict prison camp turned ship building site, the island is dotted with colonial buildings and creepy WW2 tunnels. The best part is that you’re pretty much completely free to explore each building; walking around the old machinery and giving yourself the chills imagining all the lives lost over the years.

If history and ghosts don’t appeal to you, the island happens to host one of the coolest bars in Sydney, where you can sip rum cocktails on a sun-lounger with a great view of the harbour in the distance. So there’s always that.

Porteño

It’s probably fair to say Porteño is having a bit of a moment. Part traditional South American BBQ joint, part 50s cocktail lounge, Porteño has the good fortune to be set around a beautiful indoor courtyard with a nostalgic, Mexican vibe. Plus the perfectly-quiffed rock-a-billy staff bring just enough retro-cool without being kitsch.

Despite a long wait for a table when me and Alex went, we were happy to decamp to the bar upstairs, which serves a pretty decent whisky sour. From what I remember after drinking a fair few, the food was pretty good too. Luckily they sent us home with a doggy bag, as by that stage I wasn’t too much help at getting through the BBQ lamb and pork my husband ordered.

The Grounds at Alexandria

My favourite kind of places happen to be those that mix great architecture, design and foodie treats, so The Grounds at Alexandria is always on my list of favourite hang-outs. The kitchen garden and cute market stalls provide a great distraction while you’re waiting for a table in the converted former pie-factory inside.

Coffee lovers come here for the speciality roasts and space-age machinery but the food refuses to be overshadowed, with beautiful organic breakfasts and an incredible array of freshly baked breads, cakes and pastries.

Bronte and Manly Beaches

You can’t visit Sydney and not hit the beach. Although not particularly visually appealing, I’ve always found the surf at Manly to be even and reliable and you can rent boards right off the beach. Meanwhile Bronte is one of the city’s most beautiful beaches and also has pretty sweet waves. If surf hopping isn’t your style, why not try Paddle Boarding at Rose Bay instead?

Honorary mentions:

I also love stuffing my face at Black Star Pastry and Belljar Coffee (both Newtown) and Adriano Zumbo’s cafes.

Society: Why I’m #TeamNigella

I have loved Nigella Lawson since I was 17 years old. How To Be A Domestic Goddess was one of the first cookbooks I actually bought myself rather than raiding my mother’s bookcase (yes she has at least a whole bookcase of cookbooks and counting) and I spent many a weekend pouring over the indecently sugary pictures deciding what to make next.

Baking became something of an escape for me during my agnsty teenage phase  and Nigella was a big part of that. She might not be the best chef out there, in fact some of her recipes kind of defy logic and I still can’t make them work, but she more than makes up for it with her can-do attitude and slightly slap-dash approach to baking. She shows women that being a domestic goddess isn’t about holding yourself to unachievable standards of perfection; it means making the best with what you have. Besides any woman who admits to eating chocolate mousse straight out of the fridge as a midnight snack is clearly one after my own heart.

That’s why I was so disappointed to see to British papers (I won’t link to the bastards) focusing on her alleged drug taking rather than celebrating her for having the strength to leave what was clearly an abusive marriage. Not to mention the hypocrisy of editors gleefully condemning her as a fallen woman for having once or twice tried cocaine when they probably snort a line each morning along with their Starbucks. Headlines along the lines of “Nigella Lawson admits taking cocaine” or “Nigella Lawson admits dating Charles Saatchi not very long after the death of her husband” (thanks Daily Mail) paint a sad and grim picture of the way traditional media likes to treat women, i.e. put them on a pedestal and then tear them down.

By being drawn into discussing these BS cocaine rumours, which were blatantly fuelled by her former husband’s PR machine, we’re just allowing him to perpetuate the emotional manipulation and abuse he tortured her with during their marriage. He allegedly told her he would destroy her if she didn’t go back to him. He also allegedly was so possessive that he gripped her by the neck and said, “I’m the only one you should be concerned with.” Let’s instead focus on how strong this woman is and how she is an inspiration to women everywhere. And also how she showed up to court looking like a boss.

That’s why, for what it counts, I’m still firmly #TeamNigella or #TeamCupcake as she likes us to be known. She’s handled a difficult situation with grace, courage and an outrageous amount of sass, which makes her even more of a hero to me than she was before. I can’t wait for her next TV show and cookbook and will be watching and buying alongside my mum and sister. Plus if my Christmas work party last night is anything to go by – I vaguely remember arguing with my colleagues over who loved Nigella more – the public still see her as a domestic goddess and Saatchi and every middle aged male newspaper editor can go fuck themselves.