Zero Gravity

When films get great reviews and are tipped to win a fist full of Oscars it can be very difficult to give an honest personal opinion.  There is a touch of the 'Emporors New Clothes' about the whole thing.  You don't want to be the first person to say that the film was the biggest pile of horse poo you've seen in years, just in case you show your ignorance.  Cloud Atlas, Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, The Matrix and Lost in Translation are all films like that.  You feel as though they must be really clever but if you are me then you probably don't really 'get' them.  Then there are the films that have had so much hype that by the time you see them they can only disappoint.  For me, The Kings Speech, Lincoln, the Curious Case of Benjamin Button and probably Titanic fall into this category.  And finally, there are big budget films that are just rubbish but no one seems willing to say so.

Today, I went to see Gravity.  The reviews are brilliant.  Every national newspaper has given it 5 stars.  Sandra Bullock is tipped for an Oscar and I would be mad to disagree with any of this.  The Telegraph reviewer said, "(it) is a heart-achingly tender film about the miracle of motherhood and the billion to one odds of any of us being here."   "You must watch this film in 3D and the bigger the screen the better.  It's a life experience you can't miss," said another review.  I was a bit concerned about motion sickness, which is considered to be the only problem of this film.  As I have been known to be sick on Dodgem cars and the chair planes at the fair I thought that spinning around in space might be a risk.  Hot Fuzz and Eragon both made me sick. The signs on the door of the cinema warned me too, so I was prepared.

Being prepared for a bit of travel sickness is one thing but nothing could have prepared me for just how truly terrible this film actually was.  I had persuaded my son and the Long Suffering Husband to go and watch the film and by the end I was almost hysterical at the look on their faces.  I had deprived them of 2 hours of their lives that they were never going to get back and I found that really funny.  Clearly, I am mad, because I disagree with every single reviewer.

The film starts with the trailer that everyone has seen, where Sandra Bullock is spun out into space and that is the best bit.  We never get to empathise with the characters.  It was impossible to care whether they lived or died.  I was quite pleased when George Clooney seemed to come back, not because I cared about his character but because I was getting a bit bored of Sandra Bullock although apparently his appearance was all in her head.
I thought her survival was completely unbelievable and maybe that is what we are meant to interpret as the 'billion to one odds of us being here' The problem is, when you know that in real life, if it wasn't a totally made up film she wouldn't have survived then the whole premise falls apart.

I had issues with the film from a feminist point of view too, which is really sad because I know that Sandra Bullock is a feminist and would have been thrilled to play a female astronaut.  The film gave us a 'softened' version of a female astronaut.  She was a doctor, working in a hospital who had only had a few months training and her appearance there seemed all very accidental.  Female astronauts (there have been 57 out of 534) have higher level degrees such as PhDs in Science or engineering, years of experience in the Navy or as test pilots.  There were medical doctors but they all undertook at least a year of NASA training and often had other degrees in Chemistry and lots of flying experience. There have only been about 7 women who have walked in space and they were all long serving military officers.  Sandra Bullock's character is given a man's name and is morbidly sad because her daughter died.  These were not the things that I really cared about though.

This is what really made me laugh:

And I did laugh.  Have you ever seen pictures of female astronauts in their vest and pants?  No, of course you haven't.  The film maker had to have her as nearly naked as he could, so he could promote the idea that this is some kind of birth metaphor.  If she could have been starkers in the foetal position he would have been thrilled but I guess that would have made the film an 18 and he'd never have received Oscar nominations then or made back the cost of all that green screen technology

She was also completely lacking in body hair, after a week in space!  I can't believe that female astronauts shave their legs, bikini line and armpits in outer space.  Male astronauts have to use a special razor attached to a vacuum to remove their beards because little stray hairs are not allowed to float around the space ship.

There will be people who are thinking that she was in her vest and knickers because she couldn't go back to her own craft and get a proper orange or blue boiler suit on.  That is true but I have checked and this is what astronauts of both sexes wear under their space suits.

This underwear is essential space kit as it keeps a space walker cool.  It has 300ft of narrow tubes running through it through which cool water is pumped.  There are vents in the undersuit that draws sweat away from the astronaut, which is then recycled in the water cooling system.  Oxygen is pulled in at the wrists and ankles to help with circulation around the suit.  She would have also been wearing one of these:

Astronauts don't take toilet breaks on their 6 hour space walks.

At the end of the film she lands in water, doesn't drown and crawls onto a sandy shore (this is probably meant to be another birth metaphor - this film maker really needs to get out more!).  The only question the Long Suffering Husband wanted answering about the film, was where the lake was.  I suggested that maybe she didn't really land anywhere but had died at the beginning of the film and it was all some elaborate dream, like Pamela had in Dallas.  He didn't care if she had.  He just wanted to know the location of the lake because he liked to look of it and would like to visit one day.  I've looked it up for him and it was Lake Powell near Utah, so maybe we will visit one day.

This film didn't make me sick but I would give it zero stars.  The only upside is that I have learnt a lot about female astronauts, what they wear under their space suits,  if they cut their hair, wear a bra (most don't bother) and how hard they have had to work to get their job.  I have read a lot about Space missions on the NASA website and I suggest that if you are interested in seeing Gravity you give it a miss and just check out the fantastic pictures and stories that NASA provides. http://www.nasa.gov/index.html#.Un__efm-3Kk

Peggy Wilson is the woman who has done the most number of space walks (5)

Twinkle

Yesterday I took my year 5/6 choir to sing at the Royal Albert Hall. They were brilliant and we had a fantastic day. It was a concert organised by and in aid of Barnardo's. I hope that it was more than just a fantastic experience for my choir and that it has also raised shed-loads of money to help other children who aren't quite so lucky.

I was so proud of all the children in the choir who had worked so hard to learn the songs (and even told me off when I got the verses of Hey Jude muddled) who stood up and sat down when they were told, who watched the conductor, who were happy and cheerful even when they were tired. I was especially proud of the boy who sang a solo. Sometimes I have to pinch myself just to remember how lucky I am to be working with such wonderful kids. 

We had also learnt how to play the Ocarina for the concert. We played a tune called Ode to a Joyful Star, which was a 6 minute combination of Twinke Twinkle, Ode to Joy and the New World Symphony. Ocarina Workshop and the Schools Music Association had decided to use the Barnardo's concert to attempt to break the Guiness  World Record. I admit that I was skeptical about how good it would sound. My choir had worked very hard to learn how to play, and being recorder players it was quite an easy transition but I know how long it can take to blow gently enough and in the right way, cover holes with fingers, have the coordination to move fingers in time and follow the music. They had said that they were going to teach the audience and have them join in as well. Some of my choir were worried about this and assigned themselves the personal challenge of teaching their families. They probably weren't the only ones because it didn't sound too bad. There were loads of squeaks but the tunes were recognisable. 

The conductor, Sir Douglas Coombes deserves another knighthood. He was lovely all day: he smiled even when telling children not to blow the ocarinas, or trying to fix a mis-learnt song. I learnt a lot just by watching him. He was very clever in getting us over the 4pm hump by making us dance like Old People to Trevor (I think I'm a little bit in love with Trevor) playing the organ (it's rare to find a man who can really handle his organ). I did feel very sorry for him though during the concert. He had 1300 children in the palm of his hands but there were lots of audience members who were so badly behaved it was untrue and I could see that this upset him a bit. When a conductor has silence from his choir and is just about to start the song he doesn't expect people to shout out their child's name. At first I thought it was an unfortunate person with Tourette's who couldn't help themselves but if it was then Tourette's is catching. I don't understand what they thought they were adding to the evening and if their children are anything like those in my choir they would have been mortified.

At one point I thought I might not be able to take part in the ocarina world record attempt. When some children were told not to blow their ocarinas it was suggested they tuck them in their T- shirt. Unfortunately, my ocarina became firmly wedged in my cleavage. On the plus side, though, it was nice and warm when I got it out. 

We smashed the current world record. The Chinese had managed to get 808 people playing together for 6 minuites and we managed to get 3400 people playing. Some people had to be disqualified for acts such as laughing, getting lost, running out of puff (totally understandable) and stopping to take pictures or shout out their child's name to distract them (not understandable)

Because I knew my choir were going to be stars I made some end of concert cakes, as a sugar rush when on a post concert high always makes for an interesting coach journey.

Back to normality today, I had to teach year 5/6 their normal music lessons. I showed them the painting of Bacchus and Ariadne and told them that we would be using the picture as a stimulus for composition. I told them that there was a tune that they had to use in their composition and asked them to try and guess that it was Twinkle Twinkle Little Star that I wanted them to use from the story of Ariadne. I said that Ariadne had been made into a constellation. 

"Who can tell me what a constellation is?" I asked

"It's the stuff you have in the loft."

"Mmm. That's insulation."

"It's when you can't squeeze a poop out!"

"No, Twinkle, that's constipation," I laughed until I cried.

And now for the Tweather

I'm a little bit obsessed with the weather.  I follow loads of extreme weather sites, the met office, weather forecasters, volcano and hurricane watch Twitter accounts.

This morning one of the earthquake and tsunami sites posted that there had been an earthquake of magnitude 5 near Tokyo.  This isn't very unusual.  There are about 5 earthquakes of that sort of magnitude a day but not often near such built up areas.  I was also interested because I have a friend in Tokyo at the moment.

So I checked the hashtag and it was the first time I have ever felt sorry for a natural phenomenon.  You can't rely on Twitter for accurate weather reports.  In the last storm that hit England, you would have encountered a mix of people who were disappointed with the lack of devastation (I think they were hoping for a re-enactment of The Wizard of Oz) to people who were devastated because trees had fallen on their houses and everything in between.  The only way to really decide what was going on was to get out there and find out for myself.  I discovered that it was mainly OK but there were some really strong gusts (I don't like the word gust but I can't think of a better one) that were enough to push trees over.

I was hoping that Twitter would give me an early warning about whether people were OK.  Twitter was very vocal about the quake and apart from a cute picture of a scared panda clinging to his keeper's leg most people were saying that it was a bit shaky but not too bad. I will admit, that not being able to read Japanese did put me at a slight disadvantage because I have no idea what the words say.

The worst thing about this Earthquake, though, was that it angered One Direction fans.  You think being in an Earthquake would be scary.  That's nothing compared to angry 1D fans on Twitter.  How dare this natural phenomenon threaten their boys, the love of their lives, the only reason they have for living?  Then to make matters worse the pop lads didn't seem to understand their fans concern and didn't immediately Tweet to say that they were alive.  That must mean they were dead, damaged, hurt or had had their thumbs blown off. I like to think they just slept through the whole thing after a heavy post-gig party but I will probably never find out, as I'm not interested enough in them to follow them on Twitter. (They are probably lovely people with great singing voices. Please don't hurt me!)

I am pleased to tell you that my friend posted her safety on Facebook, although she did have to sing, "These are a few of my favourite things," to get through it.  I love that there is always a song for every occasion.  I wonder what the One Direction lads were singing?

Bra Burning Feminist

I haven't stopped thinking about 'feminism' and a good alternative word since the Newsnight programme.  Ruby, of the beautiful eyes and lip-biting self deprecation, from the British Bake Off has written another brilliant comment piece for the Guardian today.  http://www.theguardian.com/commentisfree/2013/nov/01/woman-feminist-shout-down-ruby-tandoh?CMP=twt_gu
She says that we mustn't "facepalm" (I can promise you I have never facepalmed in my life) when Angela Epstein says that her blow-dried hair is evidence that she's not a feminist.  Mrs Epstein's position is one shared by many women.  Many women think that they can't be feminists if they want to look nice, wear make-up, be a princess, pole dance for their boyfriend, knit or have children.

I am a domestic feminist.  I knit, make cakes, stayed at home to raise my children but I still advocate women's rights on the basis that there is (or should be) equality between the sexes.  I raised a feminist daughter, who loved pink, would still like to be a Disney Princess and spends her free time thinking about make-up; a feminist son, who loves science, food, geography, maths and cooking and am married to a feminist man, who likes shopping, moaning, drumming out of time and films.  Everyone in my family would want women to be treated fairly and equally because they believe that there should be equality between the sexes and that's what makes us feminists.  That is the definition of feminism.

Maybe, Angela Epstein and others who agree with her are saying that men and women are not equal.  If so, I think they are confusing equality with being the same. Of course, men and women are different.  Women don't cry for three days if someone throws a ball in their crotch and men don't have babies or have breasts that require support. No two humans are the same but that doesn't make them less equal, or it shouldn't.  Because women have been suppressed for so long (I would love to be a fly on a wall to go back in history and find out how that happened) we have become used to gender stereotypes and associating male roles as good things to want and female roles as bad.  This is where feminism may have made it's big mistake.  Instead of agreeing and denying the female roles they should have said how great these things are and allowed men to do them too.  There are men who want to wear make up, smell nice, have shiny hair, shop, cook, knit, sew, remove all the hair from their bodies, have tidy houses with nice curtains, stay at home to raise their children.  There are men who would be better at these things than their wives or partners.  There are also women who want to build things, be strong, run enormous companies, dig allotments, do maths or science who would be better at those things than men.  We need to stop assuming that there are things that only women do.  My daughter and I were having a discussion about feminism yesterday and she was telling me how she had analysed a 'style' magazine, as part of her course, looking at roles of men and women.  She said that they had found all the top jobs, editors etc, were taken by men but all the writers were women.  She qualified her statement with, "of course all the writers were women because of the content of the magazine."  This is what we need to change.  We need to teach our boys that feminine qualities are great and we need to be less frightened that they will steal these great things from us.

Denying female activities was what defined feminists in the 1970s when I was growing up.  They railed against some things that many women wouldn't want to give up.  If a couple wants a baby, it is the woman that has to have it and if a woman has breasts over a certain size they will need support.  I grew up with the images of women burning bras and would have probably been put off feminism if my mother hadn't shown that you can wear a bra and be a feminist and that you can even wear those big 'suck everything in knickers' and believe in women's rights.  As a teenager, I was desperate for a bra, despite having nothing to put in it and so my mum took me to be measured.  It was a humiliating experience for someone who really should have been wearing a tight vest and so I refused to be measured again until I had my first child and really needed proper support.  Since then, when I was a 34H I have been measured about 5 times and each time the answer is amazingly different.  I have been everything from 32AA to 38D, which is a surprise to me and probably would be to anyone who has known me because I have remained a constant size 10-12 dress size.  Each time I have been measured I have then bought a bra that the shop assistant insists is the right size but I am unable to wear for more than 4 hours without permanent injury.

This half term holiday, my main job was to buy some new bras.  I threw out a draw full of uncomfortable ones and discovered that I had two that were still just about possible to wear.  One was that horrible washed, I don't know if I'm white, grey or beige colour and the other has a small hole at the edge of the underwiring which is threatening to pop out and stab me to death the next time I bend over.  The Long Suffering Husband came with me for the first attempt.  He likes to shop and has opinions on what makes a nice bra.  I couldn't find anything that seemed to fit.  I tried all the sizes I'd been told I was before but nothing was right.  "You'll have to get measured," he said.  I resisted and went home and measured myself and went back to try more on, still without much luck.  Then on my 4th trip to the shops (and if you know how much I hate shopping you will realise how difficult that was for me) I gave in.  I stood in the Debenhams' changing room in a bra, with a little roll of fat hanging over the top of my jeans, looking older and uglier than I remember ever looking and reluctantly called for the young, pretty assistant to come and stare at me.  Yesterday, I wore one of the bras that she decided were perfect.  By 4pm I was on the verge of tears, there was a stabbing pain just above my left rib and I still had a 3 hour drive before I could properly take the thing off.

Suddenly being a bra burning feminist seems like a good idea. Ignore everything I just said about women and men being different it's a tight vest for me from now on.

It's Just Semantics

Last night Newsnight did feminism.  They did feminism in two short films and a 5 minuite discussion with 4 white, middle class, well spoken, highly educated women. The films were interesting.  A black woman discussed how black women are objectified into bottoms, sticking in the air in music videos and a white singer talked about her run-in with the press after her shirt slipped at a concert and she accidentally exposed a (what looked like a bra-covered) breast.  Then the presenter talked about the EveryDaySexism project on Twitter and the guests were asked to comment.

The Every Day Sexism project was started as a way for women to talk about sexism, equality and women's rights.  It is a place where women can say that actions of a man made them feel uncomfortable or that they feel they have been unfairly treated just because of their gender.  This site makes for depressing and quite uncomfortable reading.  It makes you realise that many women do not feel equal and they definitely don't feel safe.

The first question that the presenter asked her three guests was, "Would you call yourself a feminist?"  And there began the only thing that seemed worth talking about.  They discussed the semantics of a word.  You can only answer the question if you have a clear idea what the word means and as a word feminism means so many different things to different people it becomes a circular argument.  The Daily Mail Journalist said that she wasn't a feminist because women had won the war already.  Women went to University, had educations and so 'job done' no need for feminists any more.  I understand her point of view.  I'm pretty happy with my life.  I don't feel opressed. The Long Suffering Husband and I work as a team in the house.  I have a job that I love and do not feel a man doing my job would be paid more or treated in a different way.  But I can't help feeling that I'm just lucky.  If I wanted to be a CEO of a large organisation, or I was poor, or had a husband who didn't believe that men and women were equal, or lived in a different country then things might be different.

Let's just stop arguing about a word.  Women in the whole world should have equal rights to men and men in the whole world should have equal rights to women.  And all gender's have the right to feel safe and not threatened by each other. It's a human rights issue.

Thank you for the suggestion Universe, I'll consider it.

"There is no such thing as reading too much"  This is what I tell the Long Suffering Husband as dirty clothes and dishes pile up around us and we dine on a paket of biscuits for tea.
"Reading improves the mind," I tell the dog, as he crosses his legs and dreams of a nice long walk.

Beside my bed I have a pile of about 9 novels that I've been meaning to read but just haven't been able to get into.  There were 9 but already that number is down to 6 and I am beginning to wish the week was longer.  If I were less of an all or nothing kind of person it wouldn't be a problem.  I would be able to read and work but I fear that moment.  You know that moment? The moment when nothing else matters except the story.  You can't put the book down.  No one can talk to you.  The house could explode and you wouldn't notice. It's the moment when commuters live in fear of missing their stop.  I have been known to walk home from school, a train station or the beach still reading because I'd reached that moment.

Einstein thought that you could read too much after a certain age because it diverts you from your own creative persuits and makes you lazy.  He didn't specify what that age was but I think I might have reached it.  I am definitely lazy when I'm on a reading spree.  I don't think that reading makes me less creative, though.  It makes my brain work overtime.  I wake up in the middle of the night with ideas that I just have to write down, which are unfortunately both illigible and unintelligable in the morning.

The last book I read kept referring to an author I had heard of in another novel but who I thought was made up.  I was told by a rather serene Taoist once that if you hear something three times then the Universe is really trying to make to sit up and take notice.  He said that books that are recommended by three people are very important for you to read.  So when I started reading the last novel the author, Kurt Vonnegut's name kept popping up and I wondered if maybe he was a real person after all.  The way he was talked about in both this book and the last was as a literary genius and I had never heard of him before.  Then actual book titles were mentioned.  I know someone had mentioned Slaughterhouse 5 before.  After my three hints from the Universe I thought I might need to check this out.  The problem is though, that the characters in the books I've been reading who like Kurt Vonnegut are slightly odd self-obsessed teenage boys.  Would I be able to relate in the same way that they can?

Then I was taking a break from my reading by reading my Twitter feed and Letters of Note posted this letter.
http://www.lettersofnote.com/2013/10/make-your-soul-grow.html

I like the idea of my soul growing, so I clicked the link.  Kurt Vonnegut.  There he was again.  Ok Universe, I'm listening.  But this is terrifying.  Kurt Vonnegut has written 15 novels, 10 books of short stories, a play, 4 novellas and 11 non-fiction books. Do I have room on my bedside table?

Can I have another couple of weeks off work to get through all of these?

Opinion Makers

Having worked in Market Research, I know that some interviewers make up answers to questions that they don't want to ask their interviewees.  On a questionnaire for a toilet paper company there was a question about how often the respondant had sex and there was no way that I, as a kid studying for A levels, was going to ask anyone that question so I just left it blank but when I asked the other interviewers how they got on with the question their answers ranged from making up a number that was impossible, to asking the person and reducing the number by half because they knew it would be an exageration.

Today I saw The Opinion Makers at The Mercury Theatre in Colchester, which is a new musical based in a market research company, with researchers who make up the data. I really liked it and so did my son.  The Long Suffering Husband, unfortunately missed a lot of it, as he was overcome by the warmth and dark and had a little snooze.

It has made me think about public opinions and what makes things popular.  It doesn't make sense to me that a new comedy musical with tickets selling at £12 each wasn't full.  Even more surprising when you factor in the cast, which consisted of Julie Atherton, Daniel Boys, Justin Edwards, Stacey Ghent, David Mountfield, Benjamin Stratton and Mel Giedroyc.  With a cast that features West End musical stars and famous people off the telly you would think they couldn't go wrong and the theatre would be full for every performance.  And it should be.  If my opinion counts for anything you should go and see it.

Before I saw it I was a bit worried about it.  Julie Atherton, who I have stalked on Twitter since I saw her in Avenue Q, tweeted this:

Then before the show started a representative from the theatre apologised as a member of the cast, Benjamin Stratton had been taken ill and wouldn't be performing.  Checking Twitter in the interval, I discovered that he had banged his head during the first performance and it turns out it's quite difficult to perform with concussion.  This was a shame, as I love watching actor-musicians who manage to combine the skill of playing, singing and acting without dropping their instruments.

Fairly soon after it started I was convinced that this small but brilliant cast were an absolute joy to watch.  Julie Atherton has the most fantastic voice and the lullaby alone is worth going to see the show for. Daniel Boys is another West End star, who gives a fantastic performance and the TV stars Justin Edwards and Mel Giedroyc are able to fill the stage with comedy just with a twitch of the face or by lifting an eyebrow.  Bake Off fans will be pleased to know they even managed to squeeze a soggy bottom reference in.

I wouldn't review a musical without mentioning the band, which were brilliant.  A good show always makes you covet something that you've seen.  For the woman sitting next to me, it was the blue tartan bed covers but for me it was the Alto Flute (such a beautiful sound)

After the show, my son was waiting for us in Cafe Nero, while we finished a bit of shopping and he texted that some of the cast had come in.  He was really excited to not react but listen (he really does take after me) to their conversation.  Apparently, someone else had banged their head and they were laughing about Mel's coffee order because it was low calorie with extra cream and sprinkles.  You don't get that in the West End.