Sunday 27 June 2010

one of those types

It's been an emotionally tumultuous week, part self-inflicted, part-Daily Mail readers being shitty. This is actually severely hypocritical because I utilise/depend on/enjoy dialogue of the internet, but what I theorised over a year ago, the internet allows any shitty, banal, unimportant thought that pops into your head, to post it online, anonymously without any recourse. And it can never go away.

There's an expression here that says: today's newspapers are tomorrow fish and chip wrappers. Or something along those lines. But unfortunately stories that are in the paper, are also posted online. And because they're posted online, they subject to ignorant people's scrutiny of something they just don't understand.

Now last week's comment of "i've maxed on being nice..." quite literally now. I work for a national charity in the press department and not that I've ever seen myself as the type to work in the third sector, but that doesn't mean that I don't think I'm a good person and have compassion for people, because I do always feel interested in anyone's story, specifically those who are marginalised. So this campaign we've been working on has now launched, and part of working for a health charity is placing case studies throughout the media to highlight their condition and their experience of living with it. So our case study was placed in the Sun, Daily Mail, Daily Mirror and the Metro. Fine, red tops, great. Story is a bit contentious that's alright. So our case study has gained some weight since her condition because she's on steroids, and she's on oxygen 24/7, and she's in a wheelchair and the only thing she can do for herself is prepare food. Everything else someone needs to help her. She's 50, and speaks frankly about how she is dying from passive smoke. Also, she's the loveliest woman, with nothing but an incredible heart and huge spirit.

So the story appears in the papers, and immediately readers start making comments about 'oh maybe she's dying because she's fat...' and it's appalling. By 12noon, there are around 90 comments, 50% of which are so ignorant, and disgusting, the other 50% are defensive towards her. She called me later that day really upset, and I got all choked up as well speaking with her. I just couldn't imagine making a comment about something I know absolutely nothing about, but jumping to cutting judgments because I can, anonymously.

Within our team, we were discussing the best course of action. I still do believe that calling someone fat, and saying they're in a wheelchair because they're fat is an abilist remark and by the terms and conditions of these papers, such comments should be deleted. But each paper is so reluctant to take down any comments that aren't either racist or homophobic (their policy) because of censorship and the issues surrounding brazen action deleting on the internet. But regardless, it never goes away. Posted online, yesterday's papers aren't fish and chips wrappers, they're a constant reminder, a tick that you keep scratching, an emotional cut on your arm.

That night, Chris dragged me to a gig that I didn't really want to go to in the first place, but it was marred by this. And by inability to protect someone. And I thought that wouldn't happen in the charity sector. But she's in much better spirits now, because she's incredible and can move on. But I'm still sitting here in disbelief and disappointment. Both in myself and in manking (or the small fraction who read the Daily Mail).

Sunday 20 June 2010

good example

In the midst of my working hell, I managed to do the ungodly task of clearing out my closet and drawers. I'm now subjected to watching football (i.e. unmanageable hell, mainly because England are rubbish) and thought I would think further about purge. This is also because it isn't so much about clothing but about the personal and professional anxieties that I need to delete from my database.

This blog is in real time, because we had the in-laws down this weekend, and I'm not coming round to stopping smiling. In all seriousness, my cheeks hurt from smiling all weekend. I did utter the words "I've maxed out on being nice" at work. I'm not a malicious person, and have always considered myself as a "nice" person, but I simply cannot be any longer. I noticed the first time at the grocery store when, I was paying up at the till, the check-out person asked how I was today, and I of course cordially replied, I'm well thank you, but did not pose the question back. And I have consciously not posed it back all weekend. When it's genuinely not a lack of disingenuine interest, I do care if the aren't well. I worked customer service and it's a wonder pleasantry when if people can at least feign interest in you. And I was ridiculed when I was younger (probably still now by my brother and sister) for being quote unquote too polite at restaurants.

Ok back to real time. E.T. is on and I can barely think of that film without crying. Still being capable of emotion is at least a positive. So this is me deleting stress, and inadvertently taking it out on other people, who don't even realise it.

Here's football, bin bags, and my Sunday afternoon.









Saturday 12 June 2010

bad example

I have been completely consumed with work and therefore have nothing remotely interesting to say. Well one thing. Only that I would like a holiday.

Next week everything comes to a head and then should hopefully calm down. And then there's another peak of work. And then hopefully by third week of July, I will have other thoughts again.