I have been told by many people that, when it comes to relationships, I 'think like a man'. I don't think this is true at all. My thoughts and actions when it comes to sex and romance are completely influenced by being a woman.
I would like to say that when it comes to relationships I think like a rational, adult, human being who takes responsibility for their actions. Even while writing that I can hear the knee-jerk reaction - exactly, you think like a man. But men can be as irrational, emotional and removed from reality as any woman. I know just as many men as women who project their own fantasy, idealised versions of what a relationship is without any consideration of the actual reality of how the object of their desire might actually feel.
There are a whole load of social and historical reasons why women need some kind of security to surround sex - mainly to do with the risk of having to raise a child on your own. Romance is a pretty nice safety net. If you assume that men somehow always 'only want one thing', then I guess it makes sense that you should never give it away (unless certain conditions are met - love, the future, whatever). This is actually quite a rational position...
In contrast, I heard a story from a friend from Latin America. He had a friend who, when he was getting married, thought it would be a good idea to hire two prostitutes to be made available in the hotel for his friends on the day of the marriage. This act would be generous gesture of camaraderie between the man and his buddies.
My first reaction was to wonder what this idea reveals about this man's underlying feelings about marriage - prostitutes actually in the same hotel the wedding party is taking place, possibly even in the same room the wife had got dressed in?
My friend then asked me how I would feel about this if I were the 'wife-to-be'. I found it strange that his question put me immediately in the position of the wife. Why wouldn't you ask me if I would do something similar for my friends if I were ever to get married? Hire two fit young masseurs to service my friend's desire.
And OK, if I did have to put myself in the position of the wife then I think what I would really want to know is why that he wanted to do this thing in particular on his wedding day. If it was to do something nice for his friends then why prostitutes (the absolute opposite of the Wife). And if it was such a harmless, generous gesture for his friends then why couldn't he tell me, tell everyone at the wedding about it.
But that gets to the heart of it I think. The question of honesty. I don't think a lot of men want to be honest about these kinds of things. They are comfortable with 'I couldn't tell her it would destroy her'. It's a way of keeping women somehow weak. Their woman's vulnerability becomes a veil to hide behind - to avoid taking moral responsibility for their actions. The imagined unreason of women - jealousy, vulnerability, and need for commitment - becomes the excuse for not having to consider the real feelings of other people. It becomes an excuse for male irrationality.
Saturday, September 23, 2006
English as a not so foreign language
Probably my major ambivalence about my life as an international is my total inadequacy with languages. I just can't imagine myself in anything other than English.
I had a friend, a German intern, who would complain about his own inadequacy with foreign languages. When I pointed out to him that we were having this conversation in perfect English he said to me 'but English doesn't count as a foreign language.'
Another friend - a passionate defender of minority languages as a fundamental cultural right (he has even gone so far as listening to Gaelic radio), berated the tendency within the international community to take for granted that ’everyone speaks English.' I totally agree with him. Most people in the world don't want to speak English. Why should they? They want to speak their local language. For him there is English on the one hand - globalized, hegemonic, elite - and on the other , local languages - authentic, resisting and marginal.
But English IS my local language. And the English I speak, grew up speaking is in many ways not the English I speak in Geneva.
So if English doesn't count as a foreign language then what does that mean for those of us lucky enough to grow up with it?
Sometimes people don't understand me. Not because they don't speak English but they don't recognise my accent. After 15 or so minutes of conversation in a bar somebody once remarked to me 'Your English is very good. Where are you from?' It's like you can speak to everyone and no one. Unlike with other languages, there is no special interest in English speaking. Certainly, within the UN, it is 'our' institution.
As an aside, in UN terms, all official languages (Arabic, Chinese, English, French, Russian and Spanish) are basically colonial languages - languages of the dominant class that pushed aside indigenous, local languages. I guess it's just English is the language of the most successful colonisers.
Of course, language is power. I was recently at a reception at the 8th floor restaurant of the Pala is des Nations. Panoramic views over the lake and the Alps, smooth clean service from smart and polite waiting staff. The reception was to mark the conclusion of a course for academics from developing country universities. They had had their week of access in Geneva - access to knowledge, to decision makers, to resources, to power. They were called out to receive their certificates, their names foreign, complicated and exotic in this context. The course convenor pronounced each name almost perfectly, and with every syllable that she spoke her colleagues and peers smiled and laughed in appreciation of her ability. She was impressive for getting their names right. And yes there was a kind of nervous laughter but what it said was - 'you don't belong here.'
I had a friend, a German intern, who would complain about his own inadequacy with foreign languages. When I pointed out to him that we were having this conversation in perfect English he said to me 'but English doesn't count as a foreign language.'
Another friend - a passionate defender of minority languages as a fundamental cultural right (he has even gone so far as listening to Gaelic radio), berated the tendency within the international community to take for granted that ’everyone speaks English.' I totally agree with him. Most people in the world don't want to speak English. Why should they? They want to speak their local language. For him there is English on the one hand - globalized, hegemonic, elite - and on the other , local languages - authentic, resisting and marginal.
But English IS my local language. And the English I speak, grew up speaking is in many ways not the English I speak in Geneva.
So if English doesn't count as a foreign language then what does that mean for those of us lucky enough to grow up with it?
Sometimes people don't understand me. Not because they don't speak English but they don't recognise my accent. After 15 or so minutes of conversation in a bar somebody once remarked to me 'Your English is very good. Where are you from?' It's like you can speak to everyone and no one. Unlike with other languages, there is no special interest in English speaking. Certainly, within the UN, it is 'our' institution.
As an aside, in UN terms, all official languages (Arabic, Chinese, English, French, Russian and Spanish) are basically colonial languages - languages of the dominant class that pushed aside indigenous, local languages. I guess it's just English is the language of the most successful colonisers.
Of course, language is power. I was recently at a reception at the 8th floor restaurant of the Pala is des Nations. Panoramic views over the lake and the Alps, smooth clean service from smart and polite waiting staff. The reception was to mark the conclusion of a course for academics from developing country universities. They had had their week of access in Geneva - access to knowledge, to decision makers, to resources, to power. They were called out to receive their certificates, their names foreign, complicated and exotic in this context. The course convenor pronounced each name almost perfectly, and with every syllable that she spoke her colleagues and peers smiled and laughed in appreciation of her ability. She was impressive for getting their names right. And yes there was a kind of nervous laughter but what it said was - 'you don't belong here.'
Thursday, September 14, 2006
In search of the alpha male (part 1)
Who was your first crush?
Discounting a strange childish attraction to Avon from Blake's Seven I suppose my first real adolescent infatuation was with Simon Le Bon. I had a photo of him, pouting in leather trousers, cut out of the Daily Mirror that I would gaze at longingly. I was 11 years old. It wasn't really sexual. I had no idea what I might actually do with him if I were to get my 'Jim'll Fix It' wish and he met me at the school gate. He looked pretty and glamorous. Basically, he was safe.
Crushes - whether on people you meet in your daily life, or pop stars out of papers - are basically safe. No risk, no threat, no reality.
My flat mate's first crush was on Luke Skywalker. Skywalker - the baby faced, and witless hero of George Lucas' Manichean universe - makes Simon Le Bon look positively sexually threatening. She has never had a crush (at least on anyone famous) since.
But perhaps there's a kind of sequence and logic to the Star Wars crush. You begin with Luke; the sweet, pretty golden boy.
As you get a bit older you graduate to Hans Solo - more alpha, more manly and commanding. He offers physical rather than fraternal attraction. Someone you can actually imagine having sex with. So far so obvious.
But then what about when Hans Solo starts seeming a little too sentimental, when the alpha sheen begins to wear off. I guess when he gets civilized by Princess Leia. When his wise cracking, one liners start seeming too much like a corny cover for what is in fact deep seated vulnerability and neediness. The serial "crusher" would then need to move on to something harder, more masculine, more dangerous. At which point, I guess Chewbacca starts seeming like a hot prospect.
But lusting after a bear-like, wookie-beast is maybe just a little bit too extreme in terms of the whole "real man" alpha male thing. I guess my point is that if you think about men in terms of some kind of abstract ideal of masculinity then bear-like, wookie-beasts are perhaps inevitably where you end up. Because if you want men to be tough, if you want the alpha male, then any kind of actual man (as opposed to "real man") will sooner or later become less alpha if the relationship moves away from the ideal level of the crush towards something more intimate and authentic.
As a digression, I have to confess to having done my own share of alpha males (perhaps unfortunately, not just at the level of a crush). The only one who didn't at some point reveal the underlying weakness behind the façade turned out to be a complete sociopath.
So maybe, in Star Wars terms, you could just go for Yoda. Or alternatively, for the sci-fi fag-hag there's always CP3O.
With thanks to Ale for the conversations...
Discounting a strange childish attraction to Avon from Blake's Seven I suppose my first real adolescent infatuation was with Simon Le Bon. I had a photo of him, pouting in leather trousers, cut out of the Daily Mirror that I would gaze at longingly. I was 11 years old. It wasn't really sexual. I had no idea what I might actually do with him if I were to get my 'Jim'll Fix It' wish and he met me at the school gate. He looked pretty and glamorous. Basically, he was safe.
Crushes - whether on people you meet in your daily life, or pop stars out of papers - are basically safe. No risk, no threat, no reality.
My flat mate's first crush was on Luke Skywalker. Skywalker - the baby faced, and witless hero of George Lucas' Manichean universe - makes Simon Le Bon look positively sexually threatening. She has never had a crush (at least on anyone famous) since.
But perhaps there's a kind of sequence and logic to the Star Wars crush. You begin with Luke; the sweet, pretty golden boy.
As you get a bit older you graduate to Hans Solo - more alpha, more manly and commanding. He offers physical rather than fraternal attraction. Someone you can actually imagine having sex with. So far so obvious.
But then what about when Hans Solo starts seeming a little too sentimental, when the alpha sheen begins to wear off. I guess when he gets civilized by Princess Leia. When his wise cracking, one liners start seeming too much like a corny cover for what is in fact deep seated vulnerability and neediness. The serial "crusher" would then need to move on to something harder, more masculine, more dangerous. At which point, I guess Chewbacca starts seeming like a hot prospect.
But lusting after a bear-like, wookie-beast is maybe just a little bit too extreme in terms of the whole "real man" alpha male thing. I guess my point is that if you think about men in terms of some kind of abstract ideal of masculinity then bear-like, wookie-beasts are perhaps inevitably where you end up. Because if you want men to be tough, if you want the alpha male, then any kind of actual man (as opposed to "real man") will sooner or later become less alpha if the relationship moves away from the ideal level of the crush towards something more intimate and authentic.
As a digression, I have to confess to having done my own share of alpha males (perhaps unfortunately, not just at the level of a crush). The only one who didn't at some point reveal the underlying weakness behind the façade turned out to be a complete sociopath.
So maybe, in Star Wars terms, you could just go for Yoda. Or alternatively, for the sci-fi fag-hag there's always CP3O.
With thanks to Ale for the conversations...
Sunday, September 03, 2006
Why internationalism is a good thing (or how I learnt when not to sing The Pogues)
There's a song on the 1989 album "Peace and Love" by The Pogues called "Young Ned of the Hill". It's a fantastic, angry diatribe against Cromwell and the crimes he committed on Ireland and the Irish. It celebrates a brave young rebel - the eponymous Ned, and laments the poor fate of the Irish who were forced by Cromwell's victory from their lands in the East to Connaught in the west.
Sample lyric:
A curse upon you Oliver Cromwell You who raped our Motherland I hope you're rotting down in hell For the horrors that you sent To our misfortunate forefathers Whom you robbed of their birthright "To hell or Connaught" may you burn in hell tonight
Sample lyric:
I often listen to the song while running or at the gym. In the clean neutral spaces of my Geneva life, I enjoy its energy and anger and would imagine myself drunkenly singing along.
I work in an international organization. The overwhelming majority of my work friends and colleagues are not British. And none of them are Irish.
I work in an international organization. The overwhelming majority of my work friends and colleagues are not British. And none of them are Irish.
A few of us organized an end of year party and we were thinking about the kind of music we should have. I was about to put forward this Pogues song as a good choice for drunken, end of the night singing and foot stamping. And then of course it occurred to me.
Not only would nobody else in the room have the same kind of emotional connection to this song, not only would they probably find it musically and lyrically baffling (rapparee - what the fuck is a rapparee?) but more to the point, would I really want to unleash the musical equivalent from the other people who would be at the party. My Ukrainian colleague, the friend from East Germany, the guy from Japan? Did I want to open the door to other violent, bloody vengeful histories. Much though I absolutely love the song, I could see that it might be a short step from "Young Ned of the Hill", to throwing jews down the well.
And I supose it's really quite obvious, but in spite of the many things that are really awful about working in an international organization, just this one thing - the fact that even on the most basic level of sociability we have to put aside certain versions of identity, the fact that we all somehow exist as international civil servants, makes the world a better place. Even if the price of that is "Life is Life" by Opus...
Tuesday, August 15, 2006
Walthamstow man
There's a good article on The Guaridan's "Comment is Free" by James K Gailbraith (any relation I wonder?) which touches on what might motivate young British Muslims to become suicide bombers. Which got me thinking...
I grew up in the same neighborhood as most of the suspects (the unfashionable, ugly corner of North East London just before you reach Essex) There is very little of Cool Britannia or Swinging London about the area. It's not fashionable or stylish but property there is by London standards, relatively cheap. I also used to teach in schools and colleges around there and many of my friends and family still do. So I have been following this story with interest (and even a touch of nostalgia).
Gailbraith suggests that the events of last week might have less to do with international terror and more to do with a group of "loudmouth amateurs"
This implies that maybe the factors that contribute to and motivate these particular people are as much, if not more, to do with British domestic policy. Blair has come in for a great deal of criticism for his approach to international affairs - but what gets overlooked is the impact of his government's domestic polices - which have, to put it crudely, focused on privatizing everything.
This has had the effect of undermining any sense the public. You can see this in London in the dystopic energy of a Friday night in Hoxton or Soho (two of the main social/drinking areas in London), or the extreme consumption and private wealth, but it's also expressed through behaviour and attitudes that are now not only tolerated but encouraged in schools and other public institutions.
Two anecdotes:
My aunt teachers in Leyton Sixth Form College. This college attracts students aged between 16-19 from precisely the area that the alleged bombers come from and has a very large and very vocal Muslim student body. Post 16 education in the UK is basically a market, where different providers compete for students. Recently, a highly organized group of radical students launched a campaign against a (jewish) teacher. Despite the support of the union and the other teachers, the principal of the college effectively backed the students against the teacher because she did not want to risk upsetting the Muslim "community" - her main customers.
My sister has a student whose family are originally from Lebanon. He is extremely pro-palestinian and anti-Israeli. He is also a real "hip-hop boy", who hangs out with his "bloods" - an ethnically and culturally mixed group of young men who's patterns of consumption have appropriated Jamaican/black US styles of dress and clothing. He wears Palestinian flags on a necklace along side his "bling" mobile phone. According to my sister, the symbolism of Palestine has a similar symbolic/youth culture capital as, say, Che Guevara T-shirts (or Celitic football shirts for the Irish Diaspora).
I think there's something extremely interesting going on here in relation to actually quite local/domestic political issues, that are linked to, but not necessarily caused by wider international policies. Some kind of globalized radical youth culture… I don't know but when I read about these arrests, it reminded me of my teenage years, feeling intimidated by groups of boys on the top of the 97 bus in Walthamstow who were aggressive, antisocial and threatening. I guess now they have graduated from buses to airplanes, but somehow the logic feels similar.
I grew up in the same neighborhood as most of the suspects (the unfashionable, ugly corner of North East London just before you reach Essex) There is very little of Cool Britannia or Swinging London about the area. It's not fashionable or stylish but property there is by London standards, relatively cheap. I also used to teach in schools and colleges around there and many of my friends and family still do. So I have been following this story with interest (and even a touch of nostalgia).
Gailbraith suggests that the events of last week might have less to do with international terror and more to do with a group of "loudmouth amateurs"
This implies that maybe the factors that contribute to and motivate these particular people are as much, if not more, to do with British domestic policy. Blair has come in for a great deal of criticism for his approach to international affairs - but what gets overlooked is the impact of his government's domestic polices - which have, to put it crudely, focused on privatizing everything.
This has had the effect of undermining any sense the public. You can see this in London in the dystopic energy of a Friday night in Hoxton or Soho (two of the main social/drinking areas in London), or the extreme consumption and private wealth, but it's also expressed through behaviour and attitudes that are now not only tolerated but encouraged in schools and other public institutions.
Two anecdotes:
My aunt teachers in Leyton Sixth Form College. This college attracts students aged between 16-19 from precisely the area that the alleged bombers come from and has a very large and very vocal Muslim student body. Post 16 education in the UK is basically a market, where different providers compete for students. Recently, a highly organized group of radical students launched a campaign against a (jewish) teacher. Despite the support of the union and the other teachers, the principal of the college effectively backed the students against the teacher because she did not want to risk upsetting the Muslim "community" - her main customers.
My sister has a student whose family are originally from Lebanon. He is extremely pro-palestinian and anti-Israeli. He is also a real "hip-hop boy", who hangs out with his "bloods" - an ethnically and culturally mixed group of young men who's patterns of consumption have appropriated Jamaican/black US styles of dress and clothing. He wears Palestinian flags on a necklace along side his "bling" mobile phone. According to my sister, the symbolism of Palestine has a similar symbolic/youth culture capital as, say, Che Guevara T-shirts (or Celitic football shirts for the Irish Diaspora).
I think there's something extremely interesting going on here in relation to actually quite local/domestic political issues, that are linked to, but not necessarily caused by wider international policies. Some kind of globalized radical youth culture… I don't know but when I read about these arrests, it reminded me of my teenage years, feeling intimidated by groups of boys on the top of the 97 bus in Walthamstow who were aggressive, antisocial and threatening. I guess now they have graduated from buses to airplanes, but somehow the logic feels similar.
Thursday, August 03, 2006
Is it just me or is everything.... sometimes actually pretty good?
Inspired by the best selling book "Is It Just Me or Is Everything Shit?: The Encyclopedia of Modern Life"....
I like the world view in this book, I liked its take on modern life and the authors are right, there is a hell of a lot of shit out there. But in the same way - not to be complacent - there are many things that are actually pretty good.
So one insomniac night, the result of jet-lag and anti malaria tablets, I decided to write a list of small simple things that I thought basically made life OK. Actually, more than OK. That made life worth celebrating.
1. The view at night from my former-flat mate's living room on the 10th floor of a tower block, overlooking Elephant and Castle roundabout and all the movement and madness that is London
2. Mashed potato
3. Pre-meditated sickies - the feeling you get after you put down the phone to your boss, like staling 24 hours of time...
4. ... especially if you spned some of that time in a warm London pub on a cold London evening or drinking by the river over a long long summer lunchtime.
5. Tea in bed, first thing in the morning, bought to you by a lover of friend.
6. PG Wodehouse
7. Simon Day's face
8. A glass of chilled champagne (or prosecco or cava) - a signal to be celebratory, even if there is no celebration
9. Ella Fitzgerald sining "You're the Top"
10. Smoke magazine
11. Public swimming pools....
And others?
I like the world view in this book, I liked its take on modern life and the authors are right, there is a hell of a lot of shit out there. But in the same way - not to be complacent - there are many things that are actually pretty good.
So one insomniac night, the result of jet-lag and anti malaria tablets, I decided to write a list of small simple things that I thought basically made life OK. Actually, more than OK. That made life worth celebrating.
1. The view at night from my former-flat mate's living room on the 10th floor of a tower block, overlooking Elephant and Castle roundabout and all the movement and madness that is London
2. Mashed potato
3. Pre-meditated sickies - the feeling you get after you put down the phone to your boss, like staling 24 hours of time...
4. ... especially if you spned some of that time in a warm London pub on a cold London evening or drinking by the river over a long long summer lunchtime.
5. Tea in bed, first thing in the morning, bought to you by a lover of friend.
6. PG Wodehouse
7. Simon Day's face
8. A glass of chilled champagne (or prosecco or cava) - a signal to be celebratory, even if there is no celebration
9. Ella Fitzgerald sining "You're the Top"
10. Smoke magazine
11. Public swimming pools....
And others?
Tuesday, August 01, 2006
How much pleasure can you get from a kitchen?
There’s a shop I walk past in Geneva nearly every day that sells beautiful minimalist kitchens. I can’t walk by without imagining myself enjoying a glass of wine over a granite work surface, chopping mint and chilli. One day, I went in there with Jose, just to have a nose around. The saleswoman – very Genevois and hands off – showed us a catalogue. We took one look at the prices and walked out. The kitchens are lovely but 100000 franc lovely? And then there would be the stress and the pressure of living up to such a kitchen.
It reminded me of a friend in London who owned a flat in Muswell Hill. It wasn’t much of a flat but she owned it, it was hers. She wasn’t particularly interested in DIY or having a beautiful house. She liked nice things and for her flat to be clean and tidy but she wasn’t obsessive.
But the thing she was most proud of in her flat was the white carpet in her living room (she called it her living room but she didn’t actually do much living in there). She didn’t eat in there or drink in there. She did watch television but when she did she made sure she took her shoes off.
She had friends around quite regularly. When they visited they’d eat and drink in the dining room on wooden backed chairs and if they did go into the living room where there were softer more comfortable chairs, they too, would take off their shoes.
I think that white carpets and beautiful kitchens are very nice. But how much pleasure can you ever get out of a nice kitchen? You can enjoy the food you cook in it, the people who sit in it, the giving and taking of being sociable that a good kitchen has at its heart.
But if you have an immaculate, expensive kitchen or a beautiful white carpet – the kitchen rather than the sociability can become the focus. The people you invite into your home might leave a mark on your carpet or your kitchen or, indeed you life. But I think that’s why you invite people in – so that they will leave a mark. Otherwise, why bother?
Another way around this dilemma of reconciling people and property is to be careful about the kinds of people you invite into your home. Either people who can be guaranteed not to harm your home in any way – which at the very least rules out children, old people, smokers and anyone who’s had more than four drinks. Or people who will not object in any way to you demanding of them that they alter their behaviour and manners to suit your priorities – for instance by taking off their shoes.
Surely no one would rationally say that a floor is more important than a friend is? But I think there’s a kind of rationale of certain friendships which are based on an implicit understanding of zero risk and therefore zero damage – a tacit acknowledgement that your floor, or kitchen, or career is actually more important. But can this really be called friendship?
This is a kind of friendship that rests on a kind of reciprocity of under-commitment – you wont give away anything that really costs you anything, but then you wont expect anything really valuable back in return.
This attitude kind of sums up social life in Geneva and why it can be described as soulless. This doesn’t surprise me. Soul comes from what you are prepared to give.
It reminded me of a friend in London who owned a flat in Muswell Hill. It wasn’t much of a flat but she owned it, it was hers. She wasn’t particularly interested in DIY or having a beautiful house. She liked nice things and for her flat to be clean and tidy but she wasn’t obsessive.
But the thing she was most proud of in her flat was the white carpet in her living room (she called it her living room but she didn’t actually do much living in there). She didn’t eat in there or drink in there. She did watch television but when she did she made sure she took her shoes off.
She had friends around quite regularly. When they visited they’d eat and drink in the dining room on wooden backed chairs and if they did go into the living room where there were softer more comfortable chairs, they too, would take off their shoes.
I think that white carpets and beautiful kitchens are very nice. But how much pleasure can you ever get out of a nice kitchen? You can enjoy the food you cook in it, the people who sit in it, the giving and taking of being sociable that a good kitchen has at its heart.
But if you have an immaculate, expensive kitchen or a beautiful white carpet – the kitchen rather than the sociability can become the focus. The people you invite into your home might leave a mark on your carpet or your kitchen or, indeed you life. But I think that’s why you invite people in – so that they will leave a mark. Otherwise, why bother?
Another way around this dilemma of reconciling people and property is to be careful about the kinds of people you invite into your home. Either people who can be guaranteed not to harm your home in any way – which at the very least rules out children, old people, smokers and anyone who’s had more than four drinks. Or people who will not object in any way to you demanding of them that they alter their behaviour and manners to suit your priorities – for instance by taking off their shoes.
Surely no one would rationally say that a floor is more important than a friend is? But I think there’s a kind of rationale of certain friendships which are based on an implicit understanding of zero risk and therefore zero damage – a tacit acknowledgement that your floor, or kitchen, or career is actually more important. But can this really be called friendship?
This is a kind of friendship that rests on a kind of reciprocity of under-commitment – you wont give away anything that really costs you anything, but then you wont expect anything really valuable back in return.
This attitude kind of sums up social life in Geneva and why it can be described as soulless. This doesn’t surprise me. Soul comes from what you are prepared to give.
In praise of womanisers and one night stands
I was in a fake Irish bar with two men, both in their way very attractive. In standard faux fashion the bar was covered with little wooden frames containing dumb sayings and puns. One stated: wanted – one night stands. Apply at the bar.
Making conversation, I said that I thought that one-night-stands were under-rated. The two men disagreed with me. The sex was always bad, they usually involved too much alcohol, which interfered with performance, and if there was anything more to it than sex then there was no point having a one night stand. It would be better to get to know that person in the context of a more meaningful relationship.
I let it pass. They obviously had not had very enjoyable or satisfactory experiences. It seemed to me that this was because they understood one night stands only in terms of the sexual act itself.
I think that coming (or not) is really only a fraction of what a one night stand involves. Just as you can have more or less meaningful relationships, you can have more or less meaningful one night stands.
Simon LeBon, lead singer with Duran Duran introduced me to the concept of the ONS. I was 10 years old. In the song ‘Save a Prayer’ LeBon sings to the woman who is the object of his desire – “some people call it a one night stand but we can call it paradise.” The imploring vocals accompanied by a lush video of beaches and sunsets made me think that a one night stand, whatever it was, had to be something wonderful.
To enjoy one night stands you need to see quality of an encounter not just in terms of length but also depth. A good one night stand can be time out of time. It is good precisely because it has no meaning or consequence outside of what it is. But while it is going on it can be as intense or serious as the two people involved are prepared to make it. It can be two people breaking through politeness and convention for random and pointless intimacy. And this is what, it seems to me, womanisers instinctively understand. Whether they are the type that likes women or hate women, women are the subjects of their interest and concern.
A good womaniser can make you feel that you are the most interesting and important person in his world, and even for just 2 hours, that’s something. You can have a two year ‘serious relationship’ that never achieves that level of emotional intensity. I find that men who want girlfriends - serious relationships - want someone to do things with – like a hobby or a new computer. The Romantic or emotional aspect - if it exists at all – can be so abstracted from the woman herself as to be experienced as something closer to religion.
Of course, one night stands (ONS) can lead to relationships but even if they don’t they have a special quality of their own. The experience of a good ONS is about seduction, anxiety, hope, persuasion, negotiation and victory – amidst all this, whether you actually fuck someone or not, is almost a digression.
ONS’s do require performance – not just sexual. For a man to pick up a woman at a bar or a party he has to put himself out. He has to separate himself from the safety of his friends and take a chance. There are the easy ways of doing it of course – extreme inebriation, crude desperation. But these types of encounter have the air of abuse and harassment rather than attraction and fulfilment.
I can understand how ONS are intimidating for men. And always risky for women. A man has to convince a woman that it’s worth taking that risk. So a good womaniser has to play into something else – into a connection, interest or even, in the truest sense, fun. If you see a ONS purely in terms of sex then it’s probably not worth the risk for either party. And for womanisers, the risk is part of the pleasure…
Womanisers know that the most important sexual organ is the brain. At the end of the day their motivation may just be a quick fuck, but their methods to achieve this end, play on individual desire. And desire is not an anatomical function – it is assembled from memories and associations that are cultural, social, personal, political. Womanisers can often be nasty, selfish, egotistical and dangerous people, but implicitly they understand that there is no such thing as “just sex”. And this is something that my two friends in the bar just don’t get.
Making conversation, I said that I thought that one-night-stands were under-rated. The two men disagreed with me. The sex was always bad, they usually involved too much alcohol, which interfered with performance, and if there was anything more to it than sex then there was no point having a one night stand. It would be better to get to know that person in the context of a more meaningful relationship.
I let it pass. They obviously had not had very enjoyable or satisfactory experiences. It seemed to me that this was because they understood one night stands only in terms of the sexual act itself.
I think that coming (or not) is really only a fraction of what a one night stand involves. Just as you can have more or less meaningful relationships, you can have more or less meaningful one night stands.
Simon LeBon, lead singer with Duran Duran introduced me to the concept of the ONS. I was 10 years old. In the song ‘Save a Prayer’ LeBon sings to the woman who is the object of his desire – “some people call it a one night stand but we can call it paradise.” The imploring vocals accompanied by a lush video of beaches and sunsets made me think that a one night stand, whatever it was, had to be something wonderful.
To enjoy one night stands you need to see quality of an encounter not just in terms of length but also depth. A good one night stand can be time out of time. It is good precisely because it has no meaning or consequence outside of what it is. But while it is going on it can be as intense or serious as the two people involved are prepared to make it. It can be two people breaking through politeness and convention for random and pointless intimacy. And this is what, it seems to me, womanisers instinctively understand. Whether they are the type that likes women or hate women, women are the subjects of their interest and concern.
A good womaniser can make you feel that you are the most interesting and important person in his world, and even for just 2 hours, that’s something. You can have a two year ‘serious relationship’ that never achieves that level of emotional intensity. I find that men who want girlfriends - serious relationships - want someone to do things with – like a hobby or a new computer. The Romantic or emotional aspect - if it exists at all – can be so abstracted from the woman herself as to be experienced as something closer to religion.
Of course, one night stands (ONS) can lead to relationships but even if they don’t they have a special quality of their own. The experience of a good ONS is about seduction, anxiety, hope, persuasion, negotiation and victory – amidst all this, whether you actually fuck someone or not, is almost a digression.
ONS’s do require performance – not just sexual. For a man to pick up a woman at a bar or a party he has to put himself out. He has to separate himself from the safety of his friends and take a chance. There are the easy ways of doing it of course – extreme inebriation, crude desperation. But these types of encounter have the air of abuse and harassment rather than attraction and fulfilment.
I can understand how ONS are intimidating for men. And always risky for women. A man has to convince a woman that it’s worth taking that risk. So a good womaniser has to play into something else – into a connection, interest or even, in the truest sense, fun. If you see a ONS purely in terms of sex then it’s probably not worth the risk for either party. And for womanisers, the risk is part of the pleasure…
Womanisers know that the most important sexual organ is the brain. At the end of the day their motivation may just be a quick fuck, but their methods to achieve this end, play on individual desire. And desire is not an anatomical function – it is assembled from memories and associations that are cultural, social, personal, political. Womanisers can often be nasty, selfish, egotistical and dangerous people, but implicitly they understand that there is no such thing as “just sex”. And this is something that my two friends in the bar just don’t get.
Why Swimming Pools?
Two words that sum up for me all that was best about the municipal socialism I grew up with. Hot lunches prepared on site and milk at school, inexpensive public transport (5p per ticket in the glory days of the GLC), summer activities from tennis to trampolining open to everyone at school and organized by the local authority. Drama club at the Local Education Authority youth centre, un-sponsored and un-branded outdoor music festivals with steel bands and reggae.
Swimming every Saturday with family, and as I got older, with friends - only a cheap bus ride away.
I was a pretty ordinary child in a very ordinary place. In a no-doubt vaguely careless and inept way, my health and my happiness were the interest and the concern of the authorities that oversaw my development. I grew up feeling looked after.
This somewhat rose-tinted picture of childhood is full of things I took for granted would always be there – that are a feature of childhood. And as an adult in a different kind of London – of bars and clubs, theatres and museums – both childless and no longer a child, I assumed that they somehow carried on existing in a parallel universe.
And then I talked to a friend about public swimming pools in Hackney. This was, I think 1999 or 2000. There aren’t any. There was one in the south of the borough in Haggerston. A beautiful old Victorian public bath of the type where my Granddad would have learnt to swim. But that got shut down. Probably turned into flats.
Over 50 million pounds was spent on a health club and swimming pool in Stoke Newington. Millions spent that went somewhere – the building contractor, to the planning authorities whatever. But the swimming pool opened for less than one month then had to close because it was unsafe. It has never reopened.
Of course Hackney is a basket case but in Camden (population just under 200,000 larger than Geneva) there are 3 pools. Geneva, in contrast has 8. All of Camden’s are managed for the LEA by private health clubs Southwark – one swimming pool, easily accessible only to the South of the borough.
This doesn’t mean that there aren’t swimming pools or that children don’t learn to swim. Now if you search Camden council’s web site you can find swimming pools listed in every post-code. But if you look closer you will see that these belong to private health clubs, universities or private schools, Over the past 20 years private health clubs and gyms have exploded all over London. Children who’s parents belong to Cannons or Holmes Place – in Islington or in the City, can access these immaculate and pristine pools in off-peak hours (so they don’t disturb the high-paying clientele).
These kinds of pools represent something qualitatively different. They are private, they are inaccessible, they have a door policy policed to discriminate against the non-member, and they are fundamentally not spaces designed with children in mind. They represent a completely opposite view of public health and happiness and who it is open to.
Swimming pools – a digression embodying this feeling I have that the best is behind us. That I will be saying to my hypothetical grandchildren – I remember the days when the police weren’t armed, when security meant social security and not the war on terror, when there were no id cards, when schools weren’t run by private businesses, when children could learn to swim for free.
Which is absolutely not to retreat into rose-tinted nostalgia. All those things are good, no great and they still, to some extent, exist. And the political processes for demanding these things, creating them, defending them absolutely do exist. I am very clear about a vision for what politics in both it’s smaller and larger manifestations should be about. Swimming pools -not just bread but roses too.
Campaign for swimming pools in London
All we will leave behind - National Museum Of The Middle Class Opens In Schaumburg, IL
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)