Sadness and everything after

Kaya Koyu, or Levissi to the Greeks who inhabited this village. It was abandoned in 1923 when the Anatolian Greeks were evacuated. Taken by me.

I’ve been wanting to write about this for a good few days now, but the words never seem to come. I think too much at the best of times, and I can hardly describe the last few weeks as that. Thoughts that tumble around in my cranium, little snippets of quotes from sources that I never remember. “If you’re not lost, you’re found”. “Life is what happens when you’re making other plans”.

I used to think that one day I would win this silly battle with depression, but I’m not sure if it’s really something you can win. You just learn to cope with it a little better, one day you’ll get off your medication and hopefully learn to love the you that you are. There are alternatives to this outcome, but they are not worth considering.

One of the things I have struggled with most lately is how the chemicals that mush my brainful of cells together seem to think these other outcomes are worth thinking about. These dark thoughts that fill me, engulf me. It feels like a taboo, almost. I told my mother that I’ve been having really black thoughts, and she patted my hand and told me to go to the doctor, like you’d tell a friend who had missed her period to take a test. I told an SL friend, whose inworld name is Bette, and she was fantastic – the right balance of not over-reacting, but not being patronising either. I told writerJames, and he was brilliant too, trying to focus me on the brilliant things that there are in my world – like him! (He’s right!).

But then, in the quiet of the end of the day, when all the people have stopped saying the right things, the only company I have is myself. As Grandma Death said in Donnie Darko – every living thing dies alone.

I would never do anything like that. Never. In a way, that’s why I feel like I can be as honest as I have been here. I am not an angsty teenager crying for help or attention. But these horrific thoughts are a very real part of a very, very common mental illness. Your inner monologue can be very hard to stifle.

Depression isn’t really something you recover from, and it’s not a battle I will ever win. I realise this now. I will relapse, like I am now. Like plucking your eyebrows, like breaking in heels, like dumping someone – it will always be painful, but every time you do it, you manage it a little better.

Addicts of the Modern Age part 2: The Retweeting

A while ago, I wrote a blog about how I became addicted to the information age, and I resolved to make some changes. I have since shut down my Twitter updates and only occasionally check my Facebook page.

It’s a start.

However, I now feel compelled to defend Twitter and the instant-information age a little more. There are problems, as any new technology is wont to have. Inevitably, Twitter has seen its fair share of faux pas, such as Arnold Schwarzenegger posting a clip of him wielding a knife whilst discussing budget cuts, to a man potentially losing the job he had just obtained thanks to some indiscrete tweeting http://bit.ly/Q5MNo . Any sane person must also acknowledge the fact that Facebook and Twitter can be very invasive. We sometimes know too much about people and we tell others more than we should, occasionally for the worse; this is mostly down to the fact that the medium in which we communicate alters our sense of what is private.

However, making faux pas or sending out information we shouldn’t have has been around long before the age of the email and the internet. To err is human and, to paraphrase the NRA’s infamous slogan: “Twitter doesn’t fuck up – people fuck up.”

At any rate, I believe Twitter to be one of the most fascinating recent developments in information communication. In fact, you could say I am a little in love with it. Obviously not everyone shares that view, so if you are not a fan, cease and desist: you won’t much like the rest of this article.

Anyway, as is the case with most of my stories, it begins with, “So, I was getting plastered with my friends…”

So, I was looking forward to getting plastered with my friends, enjoying a nice evening of alcohol and board games (I’m middle class). The aim was to drink and be merry, or at least drink and eat some awesome chilli. I cannot remember how it began, but Twitter and its purpose came up.

Now, as mentioned before, I admit that I have some issues with Twitter (oh, blog-reading-people, how many times have I used it as a place to moan about my life, without thinking about who was reading it or whether they would care? Yes, I am aware you may be reading this thinking the same thing, but shut up, that’s why). However, I see it as a useful tool for everyday, modern life, and I was discussing this point of view.

One of my friends did not agree. Her main issue was: “I just don’t see the point of it!” I explained all the uses I got out of it: politics, comedy and, most recently, the events surrounding the Twitter Joke trial.

The Twitter Joke trial is something many of my friends and colleagues have not heard of. For those of you not yet familiar with the Twitter Joke trial, see here: http://tinyurl.com/36wb6bp It is, to me, a fascinating tale, detailing abuse of power by the CPS, who really should have known better. Was Paul Chambers a foolish man? Probably. Should the CPS have pursued the case when even the police, after investigation, dismissed the threat as ridiculous? I’ll go with a big “no” there.

Anyway, I used this as an example of a news story I would have been unaware of and explained it to my friend. The reply was, “But why do you need to know that?”

This, I’ll be honest, stumped me. I have very rarely asked the question, “Why do I need to know that?” To me, knowledge and facts are fascinating things and I love absorbing them. I want to know everything. I remember that my desire for reading when younger, for gathering new stories and information, was a slight cause of concern as I tore through books voraciously.

So, Twitter is a good surrogate for my information addiction. Why would I need to know all these things? To paraphrase some of my favourite characters, my beloved Tramalfadores from Slaughterhouse Five, “Why anything?”

But apart from giving me bits of news I find intriguing, what is the point of Twitter? Well, for one, it’s not just about finding new information;  Twitter can be the perfect place to expose information and trumpet freedom of speech. Take the case of the attempted silencing of The Guardian by the law firm Carter-Ruck. Using a super-injunction, Carter-Ruck (acting on behalf of their client, Trafigura, one of the world’s largest oil companies)  wanted to prevent The Guardian newspaper from reporting on any details of a question posed by Paul Farrelly MP in Parliament. You see, he had asked a question about the right to press freedom, as well as the dumping of toxic waste by Trafigura on the Ivory Coast. This sludge, by the way, caused a number of deaths.

Trafigura obviously did not want this little comment getting out. Unfortunately, a super-injunction was not something that would prevent Twitter getting a hold of the details. Soon, thousands of users had seen and spread the information. After the Twitter outbreak, Carter-Ruck and Trafigura gave up their attempts to gag The Guardian because it was just too late. Soon, Carter-Ruck became synonymous with heavy-handed tactics and cover-up scandals. The attempted silencing of a national newspaper by an oil company badly affected Trafigura’s reputation and meant they could not dodge the bad publicity for their actions. There is something deeply satisfying about watching the public hold a financially powerful company accountable.

Twitter isn’t all just exposing scandal and news, however; it can also be a powerful tool for charities and campaigns.

Thanks to tweets and retweets containing links to the Red Cross website, Haiti’s earthquake disaster victims received massive amounts of charitable donations. The Red Cross received $35 million in donations in 48 hours, with the Red Cross saying Twitter had played a “substantial” part in achieving this. Wyclef Jean, through his tweets alone, raised $1 million for the earthquake victims through his followers and their retweets. A recent charity Twitter auction also raised money for Haiti in an innovative way by getting people to bid  for a tweet/retweet from celebrities such as Jessica Alba or Simon Pegg, or to have said celebrities follow them on Twitter. On the first day I checked the bids, amounts were already in the thousands of dollars.

I suppose my point is this: yes, there are many tweets containing irrelevant and useless information, but it also does a lot of good, too. It is easy to reject out of hand a piece of technology that many use simply to stay connected, or to post photos of their pets in amusing outfits. However,  when others dismiss why I use Twitter, I can point to things like the overturning of a super-injunction thanks to a Twitter campaign, or the raising of millions of dollars in only two days for earthquake victims. Then I can say, “There. That’s why.”

Adventures in Burlesque

“I can’t find it!”

These words were the first indicator that I was about to attend a burlesque show.

I was on the verge of killing Emma for losing the tickets. You see, we were in Edinburgh, back in 2006. Emma, Maddie and I were attending our first Fringe Festival and we were having the most amazing time. Everything was new and vibrant. Everything was exceptional.

And then Emma lost her tickets to a comedy improv show, one I’d been dying to see.

Standing outside the venue, bereft at what was happening, I contemplated what we were going to do that evening.

“How about going to that burlesque show? It’ll be on in a bit.”

I don’t remember who said this, but in hindsight, I should have seen it coming. Maddie and Emma had been so excited when, earlier that day, someone on the street handed us a flyer for a burlesque show. It was called “Warming her pearls” and showed two flawless-looking, buxomly seductive women wrapped in an embrace.

I remember pointing out to my giggling companions that, unfortunately, the burlesque was on at the same time as the comedy show for which we had just bought tickets.

Now, you make up your own mind as to whether Emma really lost her tickets or “lost” them. Either way, we ended up standing outside a doorway on a cold, Edinburgh street, before extravagantly dressed people ushered us downstairs.

What followed was one of the most enjoyable experiences of my life. It was silly, ridiculous and full of colour and music. The expressions on the burlesque players are still burned upon my memory; they looked like they were having more fun than all of the audience combined. Their joy was infectious and we were sad to leave it behind when the show finished.

Fortunately, we didn’t have to. We were one of the last tables to leave and, as we sat there, a member of staff came over and asked if we were there for the cabaret afterwards. Sadly, we hadn’t bought tickets and so got up to go. Maybe they were short of audience members or maybe she was just nice, but the staff member told us not to worry and just to stick around.

We left at 3 am, four hours or more after first arriving and having enjoyed the actors’ after show frivolity, too.

It is, by far, one of the best things I’ve ever experienced.

The reason I mention all this is so that you understand the fondness I have for this kind of entertainment, how any burlesque show I now see has a lot to live up to in the face of these memories. Last week, for Maddie’s birthday, we enjoyed an Afternoon Tease at Volupté. They’re located down a little side street just past Chancery Lane tube station (http://www.volupte-lounge.com/), which just adds to the fun of feeling like you’re discovering something no one else has.

To give you an idea of what the whole afternoon was about, let me just say that they make the best cocktails ever. Decadent little cocktails made from freshly smushed ingredients in front of our eyes gave us a hint of the indulgence to come.

And by God, was there indulgence. The lovely thing about the place is that people are encouraged to dress up in 20s or 40s dress. The effort our fellow diners had put into curling their hair or searching out authentic vintage dresses put me to shame. I had gone for an evening dress approach. Let me tell you this – evening dresses on the Shenfield to London trains do not go down well with bemused fellow passengers.

Anyway, a member of staff escorted us from the bar to our table. The restaurant and performance area were atmospherically lit, with room for about 100 people. The idea is to serve you a high tea in these surroundings whilst performers come on stage at various intervals.

The food was delicious and, despite Maddie’s increasing demands for scones and other food as quickly as possible (try to imagine a pixie screaming for clotted cream and you have a good idea), they were worth the wait. We were kept amused by the antics of our ninja burlesque waiters, stealthily cleaning our tables whilst we weren’t looking (“I’ll just tidy up the…HOLY SHIT, where did the used plates go?!”). Some people may think a cream tea during a burlesque show sounds like an odd combination, but there is a weird feeling of sophistication one feels eating cream scones whilst watching a woman dance around with pasties and fishnets on.

The performers were by turns funny, titillating or both. The first act was an angst-ridden character called La Poule Plombée, created by Sarah-Louise Young. I think Maddie and I were the only ones laughing at this tortured French singer’s lines about self-harming and open wounds, but everyone generally enjoyed her darkly humourous songs and digs at “hooker” Edith Piaf’s relative success to hers (“She was the little sparrow, uh? I am La Poule Plombée: the frumpy pigeon!”).

There were two main burlesque acts: Kiki Kaboom and Tallulah Tempest. Tallulah performed a feathered fan dance, mostly en pointe, which looked painful yet energetic. She captivated the room as no one could take their eyes from the sight of the burleque dancer ballet-dancing around, slyly revealing and then covering her skin with giant ostrich feather fans.

Kiki Kaboom was on twice. Whilst her geek to freak routine (where she slowly transformed from a 50s-looking geeky girl to a black corset-clad temptress, gyrating to the sounds of “Superfreak”) was fun, her Judy Garland tribute was most memorable. Kiki quickly moved from miming an early recording of Garland discussing her Dorothy audition, to popping pills in reference to Garland’s long battle  with addiction to prescription drugs. It was a sight to behold, as was Kiki stripping down to a silver corset and red heart pasties, singing “That’s Entertainment!” whilst wrapped in the American flag.

It’s one of those things you know you’re unlikely to see ever again.

All the way through, there were also some “Gateaux Vivants”. Tableux vivants are “living pictures, costumed people who stand, often in striking poses, without moving. In our case, the theme was cakes, and so we were treated to the sight of a striking redhead coyly covering herself with baking books, a mixing bowl and, at the end, cherry bakewell tarts.

What impressed me was how many women were there. Some were there for birthday parties, another for a hen do. There is nothing really erotic or sleazy about it; it’s just some fun, naughty but nice.

As I left the club that afternoon, I recalled the joy I had felt upon leaving the Edinburgh show, the night we walked up to the top of a stupidly high hill and gazed out at the city until 6 am.

I don’t often focus on the good times – it’s nice to be reminded every now and again that something in the present can jolt those memories so vividly back to life.