Okay. Here I am.
Wednesday, 3 March 2010
And so it begins.....
Okay. Here I am.
The blank screen in front of me, my future stretching out like a highway in a David Lynch film. Okay, so that's clearly the highway in Lost Highway (a film I once insulted a film studies lecturer by claiming it only existed as a showcase for Patricia Arquette's tits. Apparently it doesn't - something about neo somethingism, pesky neo somethingism - digging up my front yard.) Or possibly Wild at Heart.
Anyway, that's not important right now. I, Tommy Lassoo (new name, quite liking it) am here to embark on a very important mission.
But first some background. I'm 30 years old, I live in London. I have a job I love, friends I adore, a brand new shiny boyfriend, a deeply obsessive and sad knowledge of films and, to a lesser extent, music, and an often misplaced and intermittent creative streak that keeps me alive and miserable in equal measure.
I've embarked on so many different creative ambitions in my life it's difficult to keep up. From flute playing to screen writing, from the embarrassing Ginsberg rip off teen poetry to my equally ill thought out Kevin Smith tribute student days. I've finished one novel and plan a second, I've written three perfect short stories and keep claiming that if not published soon I'll cook up some cheap porn. I made unintentionally Ed Wood short film, I can't decide if I want to be Emmylou Harris or Patti Smith but I know the requisite 10 chords on the guitar and can also play it and sing at the same time. But somehow I can't commit. I am an artistic tart. Hopelessly devoted to each and every one of them, before I start sniffing around the next.
Surely this isn't a way to live? Surely there's redemption for me? Should I marry an art form and spend the rest of my life in blissful.... something?
The other problem, of course, is society.
As I mentioned before, I love my job. I'm lucky enough to have stumbled into PR and it's ace. I get to use my creativity to think of weird and wonderful ways to play with the media and into sending great stories out into the ether. The one drawback is a constant knowledge of what's happening in the great British press. Suffice to say I once glanced the letters page of the Daily Express by accident and I still suffer from acid reflux when I remember. Holy shit, even the Guardian had Lilly Allen - that fucking pointless purveyor of repetitive shit and arsehole celebrity feuds - commenting on the closing of 6 music this morning, because obviously 6 Music does nothing but play Lilly bloody Allen songs, day in and day out, because she's so fucking indie.... ARGGHHHHHH.
Yep, there's the acid reflux.
There's already a lot out there about tabloid lies, but it's not just that. As a proud and shouty feminist I'm sick to death of hearing about the sort of body shapes human beings should have, I'm sick of rape being put in different pigeon holes according to who the victim is; I'm sick of little girls wanting to dress in pink and be Cheryl Cole because no one on ITV is pushing how much cooler Jessica Mitford or Gladys Gillem were. I'm sick of endless billboards of emaciated 14 year olds; of violent porn being mistaken for how sex should be; of not being able to eat cake!
There's so much negativity in the world. And I'm lucky. I'm blessed enough to be able to counteract all the hate in the world with the people I love, with art and music, with nights out and random conversations with amazing people. I've seen the giant redwoods in California and no world that can have giant trees is all bad.
So what's my plan?
Believe it or not this rant was coming to some sort of conclusion.
I've seen hate, like everybody else I see hate every day. I also see the opposite of hate. I see it in me and in the people around me. I'm past thinking that party politics will change the hate, but I do think that people can do it.
So this is what I propose. In the next twelve months I'm going to do the opposite of hate. I'm going to pick twelve things that make me angry, that send me on foaming rants and make the bile flow from me like cliches pour from Richard Littlejohn. I'm going to pick twelve things, one a month, and I'm going to offset them. I'm going to pay off that hate with a single creative act. It might be a comic, a photo story, a batch of free cookies for strangers, a Dear Deirdre column or just a plane old fake charity record featuring everyone I know. I'm going to offset twelve wankerish acts with twelve original ones.
It won't change the world. It won't make me the next Cheryl Cole (or Lilly Allen!), but it might get me to do something positive and make everyone I know do the same thing.
It might just help inject a little bit more love into this world. And surely that's worth a try.