This month is not really going according to plan.
What happened to the pilates ball? What happened to the photography? What happened to the daily blogging? Pffft. I am a disgrace to the blogging community and I apologise.
It’s just been a bit of a weird time. I’ve been up and down about Morag, about my life after Morag. I wrote some poetry. I watched a lot of TV. I had a friend come to London, a Turkish lady called Alev. I made it obvious that I wanted to sleep with her. She made it obvious she didn’t want to sleep with me, and that she was disappointed that I would willingly cuckold her husband, a man I also claim as a friend. I explained that I was in a tender place and that she smelled lovely. She forgave me.
I am in a tender place. I started crying when I read that Jade Goody wants to be reincarnated as an old lady. I cried because it made me sad that someone could be so close to the abyss and yet so far away from even the most basic grasp of how the world works. Her startlingly feeble understanding of life has clearly been loosened still further by her desperation to cling on to it. Now she actually seems to believe that old people are born that way. It’s tragic. I have heard it mooted that the whole illness is fabricated. I really hope it is. Because all life is precious.
In its viciousness, its lack of discrimination and its unpredictability, death is thoroughly amazing. In December 2007 when this blog was just a few days old. I spent an entire afternoon finding photos of ugly people and beautiful people for a post no one would ever read. Looking at those photos now, I don’t think you would ever guess that Jade Goody would be the one to die. You wouldn’t. In fact, I would have bet that she’d live the longest, simply because she was the least intelligent and most brashly annoying - and life’s like that. But it’s not. We just think it is when people we love die. In reality, it discriminates on grounds of neither intellectual nor financial wealth.
When I originally posted these pictures, the ‘game’ was to see if you could guess which celeb was ugly and which beautiful, thus proving that physical ugliness exists in an objectively quantifiable form. Now I find myself wondering which will die first.
Jessica Alba vs Jade Goody...
Bruce Willis vs Bruce Forsyth...
Tracey Emin vs Monica Bellucci...
Wayne Rooney vs Thierry Henri...
Scarlett Johansson vs Sister Wendy Beckett...
Johnny Depp vs Shane McGowan...
Jocelyn Wildenstein vs Beyonce...
I think I need to move on.
I have work to do for the next couple of days. Very boring copy writing. Pharmaceuticals. For Alev, who smells of ylang ylang and vanilla.
And then I’m going to clean the house.
And start again.
Wednesday, 11 March 2009
Awry
Posted by La Bête at 09:18
Labels: cancer, celebrity, Jade Goody, Morag
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19 comments:
Interesting... why did George Formby get edited out of this version?
I guess it was just something tedious, like the photo was no longer there.
Confession: I used to have a lover who I thought was (physically) ugly. I even had secret proud thoughts of what a wonderful person I was for seeing past their ugliness and loving them anyway. And I did love them, terribly. And they broke my heart when they finished with me and refused to take me back (not because I thought they were ugly, just because they didn't love me and did love someone else). They never showed any awareness of the fact that they were ugly. And interestingly, neither did anyone else. Sometimes I even thought I was imagining it. But I don't think I was.
On the very weird and unlikely offchance that any of my former lovers are reading this: IT WASN'T YOU.
There are a lot of grey areas, taste does vary, and there is no ugly person who can't look suddenly beautiful when they smile (I actually thought Mr Formby looked rather lovely in that particular photo you posted - is that why you removed it?)... but yes. It really does exist.
Sorry. Tangent. Should have put this comment on the other post really. Can't even remember what this post was about now. Oh yes. Death. It's a bummer. Although... don't you think Dying Jade is rather beautiful? With no hair, red lips and that tragic look in her eyes? There have been some stunning pics of her in the press lately. Death suits her.
I'm feeling the same way (not about Alev but maybe if I met her). It's this overwhelmingly cheerful sun bringing personal misery into relief.
I hope you transcend by shining the enamel bowl in your bathroom.
A few years ago I read somewhere that beauty is average. Average in measure that is. Research showed that the faces of people with more average measurements (for example the distance between the eyes) where rated as more beautiful.
I never had an eye for beauty. Pretty people are pleasant to look at, but they don't move my heart so to speak. Average is not my thing it seems.
How strange than that in recent years I find myself dreaming about being slim and beautiful. Being acceptable more honestly. Being average...
Perhaps it's because I am an old lady with all that endows, but I found it difficult to compare your pairs. I want to choose individually, and I have to fold in what I know of the person, and whether I'd want to spend time in their company, and if I don't know them, judging whether, by their appearance alone, I'm likely to find them interesting. For example, I do not find Bruce Willis the least bit attractive because I know too much about him, and I think Sister Wendy is the most attractive of your list. Her beautiful smile makes me smile.
So, I can't agree with your proposition "that physical ugliness exists in an objectively quantifiable form".
Or perhaps I have grown past "ugly/beautiful" and into "shallow/interesting" as criteria for attraction.
Thinking about this Mr. Death. Always male, no?
I saw Harry & Tonto last night, love that film, Harry (Art Carney who was never a looker, right?) is so beautiful in this. Every little thing about him and he was well into his seventies then.
We all, each and every one, have our brief shining moment in the sun.
Even Jade who wants the life of an old woman without the mess.
XO
WWW
"He's dead, Suds. That's why."
Doh. [smites brow] Of course.
On the topic of average = beautiful, you might like this.
what was the last picture of!???
She probably meant she wants to live again and this time live long enough to GET old. But she's not very articulate. Could be the drugs talking. Give her the benefit of the doubt.
And Sister Wendy IS lovely!
Maria in Oregon
Good, thought-provoking post.
Beauty U death = ugliness U death on a venn diagram. It's comforting to know that death is limited.
Math is a hell of a solace sometimes.
Lauren, what are you saying? What last picture? I'm sure I should know what you're talking about, but I've been in a dressing gown for 15 hours, and I'm not even sick.
I find comparisons of "ugly" and "beautiful" people problematic as I always really fancy at least one of the supposedly "ugly" ones. In this case it's Tracy Emin. I totally would. I think she's got a fascinating face and would probably be completely filthy. I guess it's the truism that you don't have to be conventionally beautiful to be attractive.
Sorry to hear that you've been feeling somewhat out of sorts.
That link illustrates the beauty = average idea well Larry. And I read there that this effect was discovered in the 1800's. So old news it seems!
now THERE'S a glimmer of the bete I'd grown to love ... you're coming back round, are you?
Um. Tracey Emin isn't ugly. She is just screwing up her face in that pic.
And interesting choice of T-shirt...are you trying to say something about feminists?
No, I'm not trying to say something about feminists. Tracey Emin was trying to say something about feminists. I'm not her dresser.
I'm kind of sick and tired of being ignored in the comment box. just sayin' ...
NOOOOooooooooo! Say it isn't so. Little Sparra! Not ignoring you, just building up to a gigantic explosion of joy at your very existence. And here it is.
HURRAY FOR LITTLE SPARRA AND HER VERY EXISTENCE! JOY! JOY! JOY TO THE WORLD!
OK?
well.
okay then. THAT's more like it. hah.
what can I say. I'm a bit of a needy bitch, aren't I?
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