Is Football Racist?

I know this is a delayed response, but a couple of nights ago I watched a program called “Is Football Racist” and tonight I have a couple of things to say about it.
Presented by Clarke Carlisle, the show explored the racist side of football; a side that until recently I was sure has been almost fully stamped out. During that hour, my little bubble of racial harmony was well and truly burst.

From scouts being told not to hire Asian men, black managers being as rare as honest politicians right up to casual chanting of the word “yid” (a racist word for Jews), it seems racism is alive and breathing in the football ground.

Ex footballer John Barnes blames this on “passive racism.” Passive racism, unlike overt racism, is the subconscious belief in racial superiority/inferiority. This subconscious belief is due to the racial stereotypes that have been perpetuated through the media and literature for years. Due to this subconscious belief, black men are finding it near to impossible to reach the top jobs in football, while Asian players are being kept out of teams completely.

After watching the show, many viewers will be more away of institutionalised racism within football. But now what? We know about the racism, but what is anyone doing about it. Luis Suarez, after being accused of racially abusing a fellow player, was given the full support and backing of his team. I can’t speak for the rest of the world, but if a friend of mine had publicly racially abused someone, I wouldn’t be seen with them. I’d let them know I condemned their actions and I’d sever ties with them.

Why then, won’t footballers do the same? Apparently common decency is not a good enough reason to take a tougher stance on racism. As long as people are still paying to come and see people play, in the eyes of their team they can do no wrong. As long as fans continue to meet allegations of racism with apathy and disbelief, the big names in football have no incentive to take any real action on racism. Football has the power to bring entire communities together, but if people are excluded from that community because of their skin colour football will lose any sense of “community” or “team spirit”. If we are not moving forward in the fight against racism, we are going backwards, and nobody wants to go back to the days in which overt racism was the norm.

If we want racism in football to truly be changed, we have to start with the fans. As soon as the fans begin to turn their backs on racist players, FIFA will finally have the monetary incentive to do the same.

Tutoring: For Teachers Who Can't Handle Classrooms...

Up until this year, I was convinced that my destiny was to become an English teacher. Not because I liked teaching, but because I LOVED my subject. I love reading, I love writing and I love talking about the things I’ve read.

However, I soon discovered that my fatal flaw would throw one almighty spanner in the works. This hamartia was my severe dislike of secondary school students. I can handle them in a one on one situation, but around their friends, people change. I knew that I didn’t have the patience or the incentive to deal with a moody teenager convinced that their year six SAT’s equate to more than any degree. They annoyed me in secondary school; they’ll annoy me if I try to teach them.

Much to my mother’s dismay, I cancelled my work experience at a secondary school, and applied for a writing position with my university newspaper. What I didn’t do, was disable my account with www.tutorhunt.com. While I didn’t want to be a teacher, I did need to make some money. So I left the profile on there, and secretly hoped no one would want to hire me.

Eventually though, someone did. Tutoring, as it turns out, isn’t so hard. I’m not dealing with an entire classroom, and through hiring me, the student is admitting, that no, they don’t know all there is to know. It’s the perfect compromise. I get to spend more time around a subject I love, and most importantly, I get paid. So far, I’ve tutored at both a primary school level, and at A2. At £10 an hour, I don’t make a lot. But it’s a lot better than working at a football stadium, with greasy burgers and rancid hotdogs for £6.10 an hour.

Apparently I do have a passion for teaching, and I can deal with students in small doses. For anyone who’s considering going into the teaching profession, I would recommend tutoring. That way, you can earn while you figure out whether or not it’s actually for you.

For now, I’m going to keep on tutoring. I don’t want to be a teacher, but I do like teaching. Eventually, I will need to get a ‘proper job’, and tutoring will take the back seat. But until then, I’m enjoying what I do, and I intend to keep doing it.
The average rate for an experienced tutor is about £20 an hour. Highly experienced teachers can charge so much more, but I don’t think I’ll ever do that. £15 an hour will be the most I ever charge. If I’m still doing it at the end of my 2nd year, I’ll re think going into teaching. Unless of course, my dislike of arrogant students get to me too much. We’ll have to wait and see.

Thanks for reading, and if you liked this blog, be sure to come back and read my others. There’s sure to be lots to write about this summer, and I intend to have an opinion on it all.

Comedy Clubs or Arena Shows?

I don’t know anyone who isn’t a fan of comedy. We all like to laugh and so we all like people who make us laugh. Before going to the Big Night Out comedy club, the only comedians I had seen where those who were lucky enough to perform in the O2.

So what can these comedy clubs offer me that an arena show can’t? When my friend and I entered the club, there was a certain ambience that you just won’t get in the larger venues, like the Apollo, or Wembley. It took forever and a day to be served at the bar, but you can’t blame the club itself for that. These are hard times, and not everyone can afford to employ the full amount of bar staff they need. The drinks themselves were great, if you drank from the “happy hour” cocktails. If not, be prepared to take out a second mortgage because those drinks are OVER PRICED (£4.90 for a Smirnoff Ice? Its lemonade!). The happy hour cocktails are nice though, and cheap, so that shouldn’t be a problem for many people.

The show itself was held in a small section of the club, with room for 50 people, 60 at a push. A venue like this one was made for hecklers, which did get a bit tiresome after a while. Don’t get me wrong, hecklers are entertaining, but we’ve all paid to see the comedians. At the show I went to, it was apparent who’d been at the bar all evening. One woman from the back yelled nonsense at everyone on stage, to the point where I wished someone would just throw her out. At larger shows, hecklers are less common, simply because no one would be able to hear them. That and the fact standing in front of a sold out O2 gives a performer a certain authority.

There is no such authority to be had in basement in London. Fortunately the performers came prepared, Rob Collins in particular. It takes true comedic skill to deal with a drunken heckler without so much as missing a beat, a skill you don’t see so much in larger shows.

As much as I enjoyed my night at the comedy club I wouldn’t pay the full price to go there. I got my tickets through a voucher site, so for me and a friend it cost £20. This included the show, a free drink each, a big back of Dorito’s to share and access to the “Disco” after the show. If I had paid the full price for all of this, I’d have been £68 poorer. It was a great night, but it wasn’t worth that much. That’s just my opinion though. Other people there probably did pay the full price, and will do again.

Leicester Square, Big Night Out Comedy Club.
Host : Chris Gilbert.
Set List: Phil Dinsdale
Rob Collins.
Bob Mills.
http://www.bignightout.info/LeicesterSquareComedy.html

That friend I mentioned happens to have a blog of her own, which any theatre lover should take the time to check out. Go go go!
http://westendepilogue.blogspot.co.uk/

Burlesque dancing. Sleazy striptease or flirty workout?

There’s always been something about burlesque dancing that appealed to me. Those sexy stockings, taking glove off with your teeth. Sexy as I thought burlesque dancing was, I thought it looked a bit seedy. Weren’t they just glorified strippers? For that reason, I never took my curiosity any further.

Until now. I was recently on one of those voucher websites, and I saw discounted burlesque lessons. They promised a good time, a good work out and, most importantly, no nudity. At £35 for 6 lessons, I had no excuse. I called a friend to talk me into it. When she pointed out that no one could make me do a striptease, I booked the lessons, and then fretted over what exactly I’d gotten into. I should have been fretting over how to explain to my mum what I was doing of a Tuesday evening.

“Err mum, I’m going out on Tuesday.”

“Okay, where are you going?”

“Dance lessons…”

“Oh? What kind?”

“Err, Burlesque.”

The look on her face was priceless. She looked like a woman whose daughter had just explained that she wanted to be a stripper. Which I suppose was appropriate.
When my first lesson finally came around, I was a little nervous. I thought I would either be surrounded by supermodels who wanted a new way to make people swoon, or old women who wanted to recapture the glory days. Or lord was I joining a troupe of granny strippers?

Apparently not. Most women there, like me, where just curious. Or they were looking for a work out. None of us it seems, where there to get naked. After thinking up of our stage names, (I’m now Mimi Messalina), we got started.

When I started, my arms where folded, and my eyes were glued to the floor. Within 20 min I had my head held high and I was strutting my stuff with the best of them. I got most of the moves wrong at least once, but hey, at least I was doing it. It didn’t matter that I was in worn out Primark pumps, or that my socks had cupcakes on. I felt just as sexy as Rihanna but, you know, with clothes on.

There’s no need for Dita to quake in her boots yet, but I’ll let you know if I get there. I’m on the course for 6 weeks, and I intend to keep blogging about it. Wish me luck everyone!

Getting a tan on your wobbly bits.

The sun is out everyone! You know what this means. Barbeques, water fights, picnics in the park and women walking around in, well, not much.

This is fine. No matter what body shape you are, if you have the confidence for short shorts you get out there and you rock those short shorts. We as a society encourage confidence. Gok Wan has dedicated several T.V shows to encouraging every woman to feel good about themselves, no matter what they look like.

So why, when the sun comes out, do some women hate everyone above a size 10? Suddenly, larger ladies no longer have the same human rights as the rest of the world, and wearing shorts is illegal for them.

I have yet to hear a group of men whispering behind their hands about that guy without a six pack. Women complain a lot about men and the media creating insecure women. I think women should accept a bit more responsibility themselves.

“Women are more judgmental then men? No sh*t Sherlock…I’m going back the twitter, this blog is terrible.”

I know it’s not breaking news that women are judgmental. I just wish all the finger pointers would pay a bit more attention to the three fingers pointing back at them.
If you like the way you look in the mirror then you look beautiful. That’s all there is to it. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder and if you don’t like what you’re beholding, point your eyes somewhere else.

Enjoy the summer everyone

Shameless self promotion, follow me @Caplorg

Making Friends with the Mirror: Self-esteem for Mirror-phobes

Whether you’re tall and thin, or short and round, we all feel like a goblin in human clothes sometimes. You can’t get your make up to look right, and the only clean clothes you have are jeans and that jumper your mum makes you wear when it’s cold.

So what do we do, when those “I’m ugly” thoughts just won’t go away? Here are my tips on how to boost your self-esteem without resorting to surgery and/or pimping yourself out to any guy who so much glances at you.

1) Banish friends who won’t accept compliments.

“You look so pretty” “No, you’re pretty I’m fat and ugly” “Your hair looks nice” “Really?” (Accompanied by a patronising look.) We all have friends like these. You say something nice to someone, and they make you feel like an idiot with no sense of style. Eventually, this habit will rub off on you, and no matter what anyone says you’ll feel ugly and frumpish. So ditch the miserable bunch, and stick around the people who know how to gracefully accept a compliment.

2) Take some nice pictures of yourself.

For every picture of you that makes you smile, you can be sure that there are 10 more that make you want to cry. So every time you see a bad snap, fix up your face, break out the camera, and take some good ones. Better yet, get some professional ones done. Certain photography studios will have competitions going occasionally, so make sure you keep an eye out for them. BUT be careful, because some of those competitions are just scams. I recommend Pierre Lemond studios, as there is no obligation to buy any photos, and any deposit is fully refundable. (See previous blog’s for details on scams.) These photos will serve to remind you just how beautiful you can look, to cheer you up on those ‘ugly’ days.

3) Buy nicer jean.

A study from the University of Hertfordshire revealed that more than a third of women, when asked, said that they would only wear jeans when they were feeling depressed. Apparently, jeans say that the wearer cannot be bothered with their appearance. So when you’re shopping for jeans, buy a pair that flatters you so even on those days you can’t be bothered, you can still look lovely. No matter what mood you are in never, ever, wear baggy sweats in public, unless you’re at the gym. Baggy sweats don’t even get their own bullet point.

4) Wash!!

I cannot stress how important this is. Keep your hair clean, your armpits sweat free and your breath minty. Even if you wear no makeup, and you succumb to the temptation of baggy sweats, having clean hair, skin and teeth can make you feel so much better about yourself. So stop skipping showers, and brush your teeth!

5) Pick your favourite body part and use it.

Legs, bum, boobs or tum, pick a bit and stick with it. Most women are constantly complaining about the bits they don’t like. So you have a big stomach? You probably have the breasts to match. You have a bony bum, but you have a flat stomach too. There’s a yin to every yang, and don’t forget it. You’ll pick faults with your body no matter what it looks, like so don’t try to change how you look, change how you think.

6) Eat Healthily!

No matter what you look like, you will manage to pick faults with something, so embrace what you look like and just make sure your insides are feeling good. When all the beauty has faded, if you took care of what's on the inside, you’ll be happy in the long run. If you make sure you eat everything you should, your body will take on it natural, healthy state. Your skin will be clearer, your hair will be shinier, you’ll have more energy to exercise and you will feel fantastic.

Those are my top tips for staying happy and healthy. Remember, it’s only you who has to live in your body, so make sure that anything you do to it is for your benefit.

There's an orange person on my T.V again...

A singer/actor can enter into the public eye with their talent. We look in their direction, and await news of their next song/film. Eventually we get bored of waiting, and that artist leaves the public consciousness. So how do celebs prevent this from happening? They release a story of course. There’s no new work to talk about, so they talk about their personal lives.

That’s how it begins. But recently, it seems that the personal lives of celebrities are more interesting that what they actually do. So much so, that shows like “Made in Chelsea” and “Jersey Shore” skip out the talent altogether. More and more people are gaining their fifteen minutes of fame without doing a single thing to earn it. It started with rocky relationships, and magazines focusing on who weighed what. Then, on the 18th of July 2000, Channel Four took it to a whole new level. We saw a group of strangers bundled into a house, and we all waited to see what happened. At first it was hilarious. However, after a while, Big Brother lost its appeal, and we all went back to normal T.V.

Over ten years later, reality T.V is rearing its attention grabbing head once more. What is it about the personal lives of others that enthral us all so much? I asked some university students, and got some interesting answers.

One third year student told me that people “see something in their lives that they would aspire to themselves, or fantasise about.” This answer was generally the norm, with many people attributing the sudden rise of reality T.V to “escapism.” This hints at an underlying dissatisfaction with the way life is going. The world is a pretty bad place for us all right now. No one has much money, it’s going to cost over £30k for students to get through university, and no one can get a job. So to cheer ourselves up, we take a glimpse of how good life could be, were we born in Essex. How good it could be, or how low we could sink. One first year told me that he only watched shows like Jersey Shore to “laugh at the people on it,” giving me just a shred of hope that we haven’t all lost our minds. As for becoming obsessed with celebs behind closed doors, he thinks that “we want to see if they’re so glamorous away from the spot light.”

It’s natural to be curious. They look so perfect on the covers of magazines; we want to see if that’s how they live their lives. So we forget that we aren’t seeing reality, we are seeing a carefully scripted scene, meant to be presented and perceived as reality. We aspire to have lives like the ones we see on the television, without taking into account that those lives don’t exist.

It’s a sad day for artists everywhere when the shenanigans of Snooki and JWOWW can make you a ‘celebrity.’ To be a celebrity used to mean you were someone of talent, and had contributed in some way to the world around you. If T.V and magazines carry on like they are, God knows what that word will come to mean.

"Is she talking to us?" "Nah just keep walking."

Allow me to set the scene. My boyfriend and I are walking through the park on our way home from College. Its dark, its cold but it’s still romantic. Sort of. During our conversation, we slowly become aware of an old man walking behind us, mumbling to himself. Crazy old people are nothing new, and so we keep walking. But this mumbling keeps getting louder, until we start to think it’s being aimed at us. This being East Ham, we assume he is trying to tell us about the tin foil hats we must all immediately start wearing. So we ignore him. Until we hear this:

“She’s evil… (Mumble mumble)…black boyfriend... (Mumble mumble) evil”

Yup, he was definitely talking to us. Not that my boyfriend is black (mixed race), but we were the only couple around. I brushed it off at the time. I wasn’t going to let one crazy person convince me that the world was full of idiots. I tell myself that he wasn’t even talking to us; maybe he was seeing loads of couples in his crazy brain. But after being with my boyfriend for two and a half years, the reaction from others has been surprisingly hostile.

 Not everyone is so daring as to call us evil in public. A group of young girls did ask my boyfriend what he was doing with “that white girl” and told him he didn’t know “how to walk”. (I had to call one of my friends to explain that one; apparently it means that you shouldn’t be with who you’re with. I know, it sounded stupid to me too.) But most of the time it’s just filthy looks, and double takes. Which of course, is nothing compared to what people had to go through in the past.

When asked, one person told me that their mother had been dragged out of her own home by the hair, for daring to be married to a black man. Surely we’ve moved on since then? Apparently not. Another woman I asked told me she had encountered the same problems as me and my boyfriend. “It’s really difficult to be in a mixed race relationship. People from your community and their community give you dirty looks in the street all the time, it’s horrible.”

 So what on earth is the big deal? The world must have seen this coming, what with the ease of international travel and immigration and all that. If two people have grown up in neighbouring postcodes, gone to schools two streets apart and gone through the same crap growing up, it can’t be surprising when they can find common ground.

 I’m not going to paint the whole world as racist. I know of many mixed race couples who have never had any encounter with old men calling them “evil”, or having dirty looks thrown their way. In fact, when asked, some couples told me they had never encountered any race related problems, which is lovely to hear. I admit that most of the time, the dirty looks we receive are probably because my boyfriend and I look funny, or because of our habit of pretending to be unicorns and/or other mythical creatures.

 But it only takes one or two idiots to convince you the whole world is whispering behind their hands. It doesn’t matter how many times I’m told that we’re a cute couple, the little incidents from the past are always there, hovering in the back of my mind.

The green eyed monster....

I have just seen a video on youtube, instructing women to stop competing with each other and unite as friends. Apparently, if we all do this, we will be as both spiritually and physically empowered as we ever can be. Vaginas unite yay!

Which is great right? We all join forces, never try to outdo each other and never, ever, try to distinguish ourselves from the rest of this friendly female pack. Happy days. 

I sit here, staring at my computer screen, waiting to feel empowered, wondering what on earth is wrong with me. This woman is delivering an impassioned speech, designed to further develop a loving, caring relationship among all womankind. I, as a part of the aforementioned species, should be welling up, fit to burst with the pride that comes with being a woman. 

But I just can’t buy into it. Emmeline Pankhurst would turn in her grave if she saw my lack of feeling right now. This woman is telling me that in order to better myself; I must stop competing with others. But if I do that, where is my incentive to do anything at all with my life? There is a homeless woman who lives outside of Sainsbury’s. She gets enough food each day to survive on, but never feels full. She can shelter from rain under bus stop shelters, and washes herself in public bathrooms. She can survive, and so her lot in life should be enough. 

It isn’t though is it? We want more than enough; we want an abundance of everything. Not because we need it, or just because we want it. We strive towards possessing the finer things in life because we see others with them. We don’t need a flat screen TV, or even chairs around the table. We only get these things because we see others with them, and want to match, or out do them. What it is to be rich is defined by what we see others having.

Why is that so wrong? We’re only human after all. Every day I hear that in order to be truly happy, I must let go of what others think of me. Well that’s bullshit. We are driven by what others think. What it is to be an accomplished human being is defined by what others say and do. If I learnt to speak French fluently, I would be considered, by the world as a whole, to be somewhat useful to have with you in a French restaurant. But, within my linguistically challenged social circle, I would be considered a truly remarkable young woman. My learning of the French language would be no mean achievement. It would take a lot of hard work, and some real determination on my part. But because other people have mastered the French language before me, and gone on the master many other languages, in the grand scheme of things, my learning of one language isn’t that big of a deal.

We don’t compete with each other to be bitchy, or to undermine anyone. We do it because we are human, and I refuse to be told that obeying my human instinct of jealousy is wrong. So what if I go a bit psychotic when my boyfriend fails to give me his full attention on the phone? Firstly, it’s rude to talk to anyone else while I’m talking, and secondly, I’m only human. I get insecure when I think I’m boring him, and it brings out my dark side. Don’t tell me that it’s because of my terrible relationship with womankind. It’s because I’m human, not because I’m a woman.