There's no where to hide for the i-kids

I was unfortunate enough to find myself on the nightmare train to Victoria recently. It's not usually a nightmare, usually I read, daydream or write. But this train was befitting of a nightmare considering it had fallen victim to collecting all the unruly kids from each dank corner of England. I could laugh along with the hairy-nostrilled businessman opposite, at the toddler next to us yelling "Look mummy a pig!" at a passing herd of cows.

But the school kids - it was like sitting in a cage of chimps that had inhaled half a ton of M&M’s.

Still, I couldn’t help but turn my ears to the little snippets of conversation that were forcing themselves in to my personal space.

Mediocre popular kid/greasy hair: “Well we are gonna egg ‘em on Friday, I think it’s Friday, we’re be on half term?”

Lead girl/bit spotty: “Yeah, but check Facebook though yeah, ‘cos it like right near Emily’s birthday thing, she said to invite youz lot, in half term yeah,? Check the events list.”

Class clown: “We have half term?”

{General squawking laughter.}

These kids have so much room for social manoeuvres. Their diarys fill up over half term; they check dates, plan meetings and negotiate clashes. It might be for drunken birthday parties, shopping or even egging (Seriously?) but social media is giving them the chance to get to grips with juggling their personal life from a young age. Not a bad thing up to a point.

The build up to the event is significantly more important than the event itself. A head count of who is attending and the expectant commentary of the potential ‘carnage’-(apparently this is another new addition to the i-kids vocab. – I had to check at Urban dictionary before I felt suitably informed enough to use it)

These guys should stop and think though. All those you tube videos, Facebook photos and infuriatingly detailed statuses will come back to bite their eventually grown up, highly embarrassed arse.

I appreciate hugely that I am on the cusp of the MTV /Tamagotchi generation. I can still indulge in suagar coating the horrors of being a teenager. I can forget the questionable clothing during my hippy faze (purple flared cords, fish net tops and beaded trainers) and the dippy high school boyfriends who you never really saw ( guy at bus stop/ ‘stud muffin’/one with a yellow fetish). I can erase the bitchy girls that called me names, the uncomfortable feeling when your best friend is off sick and the constant immature banter. I can almost look back fondly. i have a few faded photographs and an agile memory.

But these i-kids. Man. They are going to have the stark, unforgiving video footage and photos, a documentary of all the bits in life you stumble through hard and often before you learn to tie your laces and re-route. Good luck to you. I reckon now might be the time to de-tag and delete accordingly.

vinyl love

Had a bit of a record raid through my dad's collection, pretty much my childhood in music. There was some true cheese (a bit of peggy sue and hotel california) but some epics you should only listen to on vinyl. Picked a few based on covers. The digital graphic age should take a look back, the Marilion cover in particular - detail is insane, and The Drifters- genius!

*No I'm not a fan of Wings, but the geek in me loves the font.

the horrors of polyester

I may have studied fashion promotion, but the meaning of what this actually is completely escapes my family. However, they do seem to grasp the ‘fashion’ element. My grand father in particular seems to have caught on and is even evaluating what his trousers say about him. I would like to think my efforts at explaining lifestyle branding have rubbed off, but after the following episode I can see my attempts are futile.

Now let me paint you a picture. This isn’t an old man with a stick, swimming relentlessly around memories of the war. This is Grandad who is probably fitter and healthier than me, and you for that matter. He cycles sixty miles sometimes three days a week, plays tennis, grows numerous vegetables and ferries the entire family back and forth between various appointments on demand. His only request being that he is allowed a nap after lunch.

Usually we enter in to pointless rounds of stubborn debates over the definition of shepherds pie or the possibility that the meaning of the earth and everything in it is 22, and I am given no slack in consideration of my youth, (he is pretty big on anti-agism too). Yet he will sheepishly enter the dining room, modelling an impulse pair of what he says are ‘practical, I’ve jut got off my boat and going for a glass of port’ trousers . A way of speaking I am sure he as adopted from me, in which an entire garment will summarise your every dream and whim. “Well?” he asks.

I look. He is modelling, what look suspiciously like an unruly spewing of polyester trousers, in a muted duck egg blue that do no favour for his lean frame, and are not only ugly trousers but are the sort of item that would provoke hours of rebuke on the terrors of polyester from my friends and I. There are many, believe me; the static, the noise, the undeniable man made sheen and unsightly way the fabric falls, in that it doesn't fall but merely hangs in a desperate manner.

I am sure, after reading this, he will storm in dramatically demanding I take back this clear line of unprovoked abuse at his beautiful new trousers. I could almost buy in to his daydream of yachts and expensive liquor, if the polyester were cotton or linen and the colour was crisp white, but dirty blue polyester trousers Grandad say only one thing - OLD! And that is one thing your trousers should never say about you.

..and sew to bed

Arts hub review

“Drove from Paris to the Amsterdam Hilton, talking in our beds for a week, the newspapers say,’ what’re you doing in bed? I said ‘we’re only trying to get us some peace.”

(The Ballad of John and Yoko,The Beatles, 1969)

Liverpool City Council is hosting a John Lennon tribute season to celebrate his seventieth birthday. Named 'Bed- In', after John and Yoko’s famous bed-held protests, the exhibition celebrates John Lennon’s seventieth birthday and will be holding different events ‘in bed’ throughout October.

One of these is …and sew to bed. Collaborating with the West Everton Community Council (WCC) and One World Week, Craftivist Collective (a group of craft-expressive activists), are hand- making a quilt to adorn bed and make their protest against inequality.

Craftivists began in 2008, with the manifesto, "To expose the scandal of global poverty, and human rights injustices though the power of craft and public art. This will be done through provocative, non-violent creative actions, with the aim to show people that raising awareness of the injustices and poverty in the world can be fun, fulfilling and can build friendships all over the world. It doesn’t have to be stressful or elitist. Anyone can be a Craftivist whatever their skill or
understanding."

Founded by Sarah Corbett, an activist burnt out on the frustration and sometimes aggressive approach of established activists organisations, she filtered her protests in to a new found love for craft. The accompanying blog took off and has gained a cult following as it works on raising awareness about inequality and injustice on an international scale. This exhibition is a chance for WCC to voice local concerns, whilst the Craftivist team will be voicing global issues through their creations. The patches created for the quilt will be cross-stitched, painted or sewn to expresses relevant quotes and statistics on international inequality.

To help the Craftivists and to have your patch hand sewn and exhibited at the Bluecoat Project, create your message - be it an inspirations quote (please credit the source), a statistic or a personal message on a 7” x 7” patch of fabric and send a photo to Sarah Corbett.

For more information join the Facebook event group for "…and sew to bed."

Bed-In
October 9th – December 9th 2010,
The ‘Hub’ at Blue Coat Gallery,
School Lane,
Liverpool.

For tickets and further information please visit: Bed in at the Blue Coat

The lost art of conversation

(… and yes, I know I’m completely contradicting myself, I continue to be an avid user and lover of social networking sites)

The bright greeting of my Mac book is a sound I have come to associate with getting in from a long day and finally relaxing. I mindlessly watch as I am ‘remembered’ by my various social networks. Bombarded almost immediately with a stream of identical greetings I barely acknowledge whoever is home inquiring about my day. This need to present a simulated image of our idealised self has become an addiction, we constantly asses our represented persona. Surely it is better to live in the moment and enjoy life rather than religiously worrying yourself with recording what are largely posed memories? Our relationship with a large amount of these’ friends’ is virtual and your only understanding of their true self is what they decide to tell you on their status updates or their Mr Men personality quiz results. So occupied are we with maintaining up to the second knowledge of everyone else’s lives, and making sure our thoughts are published, we are even beginning to tell people what, in reality, are very personal thoughts. It is all so idealised, so specific; the information given so considered and compromised. Yes of course its helpful to maintain work contacts and relationships and get instant feedback from targets for research and generally keep ‘connected’, but it has become, for many, an obsession...

(for full article please email christinepettman@hotmail.com)