Monday, February 28, 2011
Methods in Attraction for Women
How Can You Tell If He Wants to See You Again? 7 Amazing Tips That Will Answer All Your Doubts
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Internet Dating 101: Quality Over Quantity
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Why is breast milk ice-cream repulsive? | Sarah Ditum
If the Baby Gaga dessert from the Icecreamists has sexual undertones or just feels wrong, how about milk from cow boobs?
Eww! Ice-cream made out of breast milk! Gross! There's a good chance that was your first reaction to reading about the Baby Gaga ice-cream being served by the magnificently trend-baiting Icecreamists parlour in Covent Garden, and to be perfectly honest, even after thinking it through for long enough to write this piece, it's still my reaction.
I struggle sometimes just thinking about my food having a face. The idea of my desert coming from a milker with a name, the ability to speak and a business plan for her lactational products is simply too much. (The milk comes from the breast of Victoria Hilley, apparently, who receives �15 for every 10oz she supplies. Which makes me feel slightly sick in a different way, as I suddenly imagine every sodden breast pad I lobbed in the bin during my own nursing phase as a tenner in the landfill.)
But there's a deep hypocrisy in this revulsion. Why does food become more disgusting the more willingly it's given? I'm essentially like Arthur Dent, remonstrating with the bovine that wants to be eaten in the Restaurant at the End of the Universe, disgusted at the idea of consuming something sufficiently sentient to agree to be eaten. After all, the milk I pour in my tea and on my children's cereal comes from cows living in conditions far more unpleasant than a bit of dietary taboo-busting.
In the crowded field of farm-animals-I'd-least-like-to-be, industrially reared dairy cattle have a strong case for the number one slot. Food campaigner Elisabeth Winkler of the Real Food Lover blog says that "the way cows are currently treated is far more shocking". They calve early to start lactation, have their young removed from them, are treated with hormones to promote milk production and are hooked up to milking machines to extract the contents of their swollen udders. The perpetual lactation means dairy cows are vulnerable to infections such as mastitis.
It's incumbent on farmers to take the duty of care they have for their animals seriously, and do everything they can to minimise the stress and ill-health that a milk cow is likely to suffer ? and being around a well-tended dairy herd can certainly be a supremely soothing experience, as the cows go through their quiet daily business of grass-grazing, cud-chewing and gentle lowing come milking hour.
Sadly, while there are many smaller dairies striving for this idyll, there are larger interests vested in pushing for ever more production. Plans to build a US-style mega dairy in Lincolnshire ? which would have housed at least 4,000 cows in conditions described by Compassion In World Farming as a "disaster from an animal welfare point of view" ? have recently been rejected, but Nocton Dairies, the company that made the proposal (which insists its plans will meet welfare standards and environmental responsibilities) seems to intend to come back with a revised application.
And in a recession, with demand for cheap food up and consumer concern over the manner of production potentially dampened, who's to say it won't get a more sympathetic hearing at the next attempt? Cows kept indoors for as long as they're in milk, huge concerns about sewage, run-off and waste disposal, and animals treated as units to be squeezed for maximum productivity ? eww, again! But on the other hand, cheap milk!
Ultimately, I suspect there's a power relationship in eating that's unsettled when we begin to think of our dietary resources as having agency: if this food is willingly given, how am I supposed to feel like the top of the food chain? It's a power dynamic that probably feeds into the sexual connotations of adults consuming breast milk ? yes there is a fetish market, and yes, I'm sure that some of the patrons at the Icecreamists are attracted by something other than the lure of the ultimate natural and free-range food.
But if human milk is a sex thing, where does that leave those of us who drink milk that comes from cow boobs? The comparison doesn't bear thinking about ? or rather, it demands some pretty radical adjustments in the way we see our relationship to food and farming. Still, there's a pretty big "eww!" for us to get over first.
Dating Rules: Must follow before its too late
You are making biggest mistake if you pretend to be someone that you are not. Now days, people like to enjoy their lives life movie star or celebrity. Hence, they copy everything of those stars including, clothes, [...]
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How To Make Your Ex Want You Back - The 1 Thing Your Ex Needs You To Do Before They Take You Back!
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Istanbul: minarets and martinis
Istanbul straddles Europe and Asia, has a population of 13m and manages to be both lavishly ancient and vibrantly modern. But how do you pin down such a restless, dynamic city?
In the lobby of the cinema in Istanbul's Nisantasi district, salon-tanned kids stretch out on sofas overlooking the lights of the city, before a blue-lit cocktail bar. It takes me a while to realise that these glamorous teenagers aren't here to see Public Enemies or Ghosts of Girlfriends Past; they've come to the cinema lobby just to make the scene.
I'd heard for years that Istanbul, which was one of the European Capitals of Culture for 2010, calls itself "Europe's coolest city". It's certainly one of the most complex ? the centre of a country that is 98% Islamic yet increasingly famous for its watermelon martinis. Here is a place whose Blue Mosque has an LCD screen flashing the time in Paris and Tokyo. Turkey's most cosmopolitan metropolis has more billionaires than any city other than New York, Moscow and London, and when I went to its Istinye Park mall, it was to see Aston Martin DB9s and Bentleys jammed outside a gilded avenue of fortresses labelled "Armani", "Gucci", "Vuitton" and "Dior". To my friends in business, and to many proud Istanbulians, this city is where the Islamic world meets the global order, serving as a bridge ? literal and metaphorical ? between Europe and the outer edges of Asia. But still nothing had prepared me for the flash and glitter of it all.
We foreigners like to recall that Istanbul is the only city on earth with one shore in Asia and one in Europe. But its real heart, according to its eloquent son, Orhan Pamuk, in his evocative memoir Istanbul: Memories of a City, lies rather in the division between the old (which is usually the local and the Islamic) and the new (generally the western and the secular). The relation between the two is still tense: I had to walk through a security machine just to go to the movies. And Pamuk himself, though Turkey's most famous modern citizen, was brought to trial in 2005 simply for mentioning his country's brutal treatment of Armenians in 1915 (the next year, perhaps in response, he was awarded the Nobel Prize in Literature).
Istanbul today seems as compressed and vital a model of the larger globe as you could find; one morning, when I awoke just before dawn, I could hear the call to Islamic prayer from every minaret, even as I could faintly make out the sound of hip-hop pounding along the streets. I've always been something of a global creature: I was born in England to parents from India and I grew up in California, though I now live in Japan ? and for much of my life I've sought out global places that are trying to piece together, as I am, disparate cultures and identities, to make a stained-glass whole.
Istanbul is most attractive to many for its complex, layered past ? its harems and mosques and cemeteries and bazaars; but for me it's intriguing as an image of the future. It was no surprise, I thought, that President Obama visited the city within three months of taking office. The minute I arrived in town ? my first trip back in more than 20 years ? I could feel the contemporary excitement that makes Istanbul one of the hottest destinations around. The narrow, cobblestoned streets around Ortak�y Mosque were so crowded on a Saturday evening, close to midnight, that I could hardly walk. Little boys were letting off neon-blue paper dragonflies, like homemade fireworks, and local girls whose tiny skirts and wild blonde tresses suggested Shakira were slipping past black-clad doormen at the Angelique nightspot. A small stall was offering tarot readings and tattoos, and behind it the Bosphorus Bridge was bathed in red hues, then blue, then yellow, so it seemed more a giant Slinky than a thoroughfare between two continents.
The particular promise and confidence of the city today lies to some extent in the fact that it has been three times the centre of the world; for centuries it has known how to talk and trade with Russia to the north, Iran to the east, Central Asia just behind and Europe all around. Unlike, say, a Dubai or an Abu Dhabi it can be in tune with the future precisely because it has so rich a sense of the past and such seasoned wisdom about the cycles of culture and history. I walked into the spice bazaar one day and found LCD signs in Japanese (though the merchants there were fast-talking in French and Portuguese and Spanish). And the most commonly seen couples in the backpacker area of the old district of Sultanahmet were beaming young Korean women on the arms of leather-jacketed young Turks who'd just won them over.
Around them, the handful of restored Ottoman boutique hotels that had greeted me in 1986 now numbered 200. Everywhere there seemed to be a natural savoir faire that reminded me of cities such as Mumbai and Shanghai, able to rise from every setback to put themselves in sync with the moment. Even the 6th-century caverns at the Basilica Cistern are lit now in nightclub colours with "Summertime, and the livin' is easy" piped incongruously around its Medusa columns.
Yet for all the racy Italian fashion ads (on the Asian side of town) and for all the salesmen (on the European side) laying down carpets on the streets at 9pm from which to sell toys and electric shavers, the city can seem to the anxious as if it's on its way to becoming the next trendy, but perennially torn, Beirut. To this day, more than 97% of Turkey is Asian, which makes Istanbul an anomaly as well as a beacon. And a city of 500,000 souls in 1920 now contains up to 25 times that many as people flood in from the Anatolian heartland, perhaps unsure themselves whether the economic opportunities the city offers are worth embracing if they also bring with them secular European values. The newspapers were all talking, when I visited, about a new "hip" mosque in the �sk�dar area, said to be the first such building designed by a woman. But it seemed a fair guess that the silent majority across the country, away from the imported surfaces, still saw "hipness" and mosques as pointing in opposite directions.
"It's the most eastern part of the west and the most western part of the east," a Turkish student said when I asked a class in the smallish city of Isparta (through its American teacher) what they thought of Istanbul. He didn't add that that could result in collision as much as in collusion. I kept trying to remember how Istanbul might look to a Turk, for whom it is an invigorating model of the future. If foreigners are always drawn to what is "Turkish" about the place, the Turks who pour in from the interior are, for equally good reason, drawn towards everything that seems cutting-edge and international. One of the students I'd questioned told me: "People in Turkey say: 'The earth of Istanbul is made of gold.'"
It certainly can seem that way around the boutiques and caf�s of the privileged quarters. After staying across the street from the Blue Mosque in Sultanahmet, I moved one day over to the Bentley Hotel, near Nisantasi, and walked into a minimalist white-and-black lobby with fashion magazines from Sweden laid out on a table. A framed letter next to the front desk expressed the thanks of a cardinal who had stayed here recently while travelling with the Pope. And after checking into a designer room there, I took a taxi down to the Istanbul Modern Art Museum, whose in-your-face canvases shout out that Turkey today refuses to be boxed inside a foreigner's quaint notions of it.
Since the summer day was buoyant and warm, I boarded a cruise ship travelling up the Bosphorus, and as we passed the yali summer houses set along the water, I was forcibly reminded that affluence and style are nothing new here; novelist Gustave Flaubert, visiting in 1850, had said that Istanbul, a century hence, would be the capital of the world. At the Sakip Sabanci Museum, much of fortunate Istanbul was reclining on the museum's lawns listening to live jazz as men in polo shirts picked nonchalantly at slices of watermelon; the museum's restaurant had, in 2007, been named by Wallpaper* magazine as one of the hottest new eateries on the planet. In the old wooden houses of Arnavutk�y, not far away, trendy couples were dining on terraces filled with bright flowers, as if posing for a vision of what many young Turks in the countryside might see as the good life.
"Turkey managed to live through, in 2007, the paradox of an elected party rooted in Islamic tradition stating that it wishes to maintain the secular republic set up by Kemal Atat�rk in 1923," Manoutchehr Eskandari-Qajar, a political science professor in California, told me, and it survived the further paradox of the nation's military, determined to protect that secularism, refraining from taking over the new government by force. If Turkey could maintain such a balance, my friend, an expert on the Middle East, had said, he had high hopes for it. But culturally the whole country seems to be perched on a tightrope.
Just three weeks before I arrived, the city had placed a ban on smoking in its coffeehouses and eating places; this seemed about as plausible as banning red wine in Paris or noodles on the streets of Beijing. By the time I began walking around, angry proprietors were already launching loud protests in the streets, claiming that the ruling had stripped them of up to 80% of their business. And for those who love Istanbul, the small change seemed symptomatic of a city that was eager to show how European and modern it was, even though its heart ? and character ? lie in its very pungency and closeness to its eastern roots.
"Istanbul has always been about raw life, from the murderous driving and yawning potholes in the roads to the street brawls and the smoke-filled teahouses," Nigel McGilchrist, a sometime resident of Turkey and author of the Blue Guide Greece: The Aegean Islands told me of the city he has known for more than 30 years. "It's not Belgium or suburban Gloucestershire; it's the nearest thing to India in the west."
Even as Turkey cherishes its almost half-century-long wish to become a formal part of Europe, it seems reluctant to leave behind the ancient identity it still so proudly maintains. For centuries Istanbul has taken in Greeks and Armenians and Jews, and in areas such as Balat and Fener the echoes of their presence are what give the streets their savour. Yet none of those groups seems to have affected "Turkishness" at the core or coloured the city's sense of itself. After a week visiting every corner, I realised I had not seen a single woman working in a hotel or restaurant or caf�.
"I worry," McGilchrist went on, "that Turkey wants to become European in all the stale, bureaucratic ways, without embracing important, deep-rooted values of Europe, such as respecting the rights of dissenting writers to express their views."
And as I walked past the Robinson Crusoe bookshop, boasting its large selection of English-language books, as I sat in a little room in the orthodox area of Fatih, where a sheikh was leading followers in passionate Sufi chants to the sound of a tambourine, I began to feel that the power of the city lay precisely in the fact that its next move could never be anticipated. The true nature of Istanbul seems always in dispute ? or in passage, at least, like the boats constantly crisscrossing its waterways.
I had seen more chadors and head scarves here than I had noticed in Syria or Egypt ? but the women with blonde ponytails were still sipping $20 cosmopolitans among the trendy caf�s of Asmalimescit. There were few signs of the poverty I was used to in places like Jakarta or Marrakech. Yet outside the glamorous areas, Istanbul did not seem a wealthy city ? especially for the millions who stream in and end up in drab apartment blocks without the new lives they dreamed of. Statistically it claims to be one of the safest cities in Europe, but it didn't strike me as particularly friendly. Watchful and guarded, Istanbul seemed the place where the age-old reserve of Greece runs into the very different kind of foreignness of Pakistan.
Pamuk had been similarly circumspect in his evocation of the hometown he has been exploring all his life. "This is indeed a city moving westward," he had written, "but it's still not changing as fast as it talks." One day while I was there, phone lines back home to Japan went down for 24 hours. In the internet caf�s I found that Turkish-language keyboards prevented me from logging on to AOL. And as I checked out of my fairly fancy hotel in Sultanahmet, a gracious desk clerk asked me to write in a tip (a first, in my 30 years of travel). I did so ? but when he gave me back the bill I saw that he had doubled the amount on the sly.
On my very last night in Istanbul, I decided to put all my ideas and thoughts of a global future away. What really excited me about the place, I came to realise, was simply the sense of ceaseless movement, the way the energies of an Asian metropolis pulsed through largely European streets, so that the whole place seemed, intoxicatingly, a work in perpetual progress. And nowhere was the habit of making hard-and-fast distinctions dissolve more apparent than on the water.
So I stepped on to a ferry in Emin�n�, in Europe, and went across to �sk�dar, in Asia. On arrival, I passed through the turnstiles, turned around and bought another token for a ferry passing through the Golden Horn, back to Europe. The sun was starting to set, and the late-afternoon light turned every face to gold. Lovers were courting on the white wooden benches, waiters jounced past us carrying trays holding glasses of orange juice and apple tea. I watched secretaries in high heels teeter home through the sharpened dusk and giggling schoolgirls trying out their French on captive tourists on the boat. From every bridge we passed, men had thrown down fishing lines, which I'd never seen from the ferries of Hong Kong or New York.
To one side of us, the Bosphorus Bridge was turning red and blue and yellow again; to the other, the minarets and mosques of Sultanahmet looked more unearthly than ever, illuminated against a blue-black sky. As soon as you begin to know a place, I thought, all talk of "old" and "new" or "east" and "west" becomes redundant. Just the movements inside it, the way it comes closer and then slips away: that's all the excitement you need.
Essentials
Pegasus (flypgs.com) flies to Istanbul from Stansted from �65.56 one-way including taxes. Double rooms at Lush Hotel (+90 212 243 9595; lushhotel.com) start at ?139 including breakfast
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Sunday, February 27, 2011
Christian Relationship Help: Six Toxic Christian Relationship Beliefs
How Not to Be Nervous When You Ask a Guy Out - 7 Ways to Confidently Accomplish Your Plan
JustSayHi Review
Flrity And Forty
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Parent Child Relationship Basics
Thoughts and Revelations: Using the Internet to Meet People
I Never Get To See My Boyfriend?
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Interested In Younger Women Who Want Older Men? Chat To Thousands Of Them With My Sure-Fire Method!
Breakup Recovery: From A Broken Glass to A Beautiful Glass
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Online Dating Scams ? Are Legal Documents Real?
Online Dating Scams generally involve the sending of copies of legal or official documents in order to build up the victims trust. Official looking documents can appear impressive but how many people check if the information these legal documents contain is real? This post follows on from my last post about online dating scams – [...]
Managing Relationships
Dealing with a secretive spouse
Saturday, February 26, 2011
Simple things matter in love and marriage
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How to Manage Men Who Always Play Mind Games With You? Here Are the Tactics You Really Need
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Profile Pictures 101: What Makes a Good Profile Picture?
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If tokenism is what it takes to get on, so be it | Barbara Ellen
The move to have more women on FTSE 100 boards should be welcomed
Women on Boards (Wob) is the name of the inquiry led by Lord Davies of Abersoch into male dominance in UK boardrooms. "Dominance" is about right. Currently, only 12.5% of FTSE 100 directors are women, 50% of the FTSE 250 have no female directors at all and progress is so slow that Lord Davies estimates that, at this rate, it would take more than 70 years to sort out.
Wob wants 25% of board vacancies to be filled by women by 2015. Management consultancy McKinsey says this would require only one in three appointments to be women. However, there will be no mandatory quotas, a la Norway (where boards must be 40% female by law). Wob discovered "overwhelming opposition" to enforced quotas, concern that the appointments would look "tokenistic", leading to a devaluation of female achievements, basically a big, gooey lipsticked kiss of career death.
Lord Davies's conclusion was that companies should voluntarily set themselves targets and "frankly do their best to meet them". Hmm. And, if their best is, "frankly", not good enough? Well, there would be reviews, investigations. It might take a while, though. You know how it is, more meetings with posh biscuits, years passing, tumbleweed blowing. So, do women still think that tokenism is the very worst thing that could happen to them?
Who in their right mind believes that the glass ceiling could be smashed within a few years with a teensy weensy tap from a (voluntary) toffee hammer? More to the point, when did tokenism outstrip sexism as the big female corporate bogeyman?
So what if there is tokenism, especially with the odds so stacked against women? The inquiry cites "opaque" recruitment processes as one of the major problems ? men giving friends positions with barely an interview, sometimes just because they are golf or squash buddies. (Astonishing!) There is even something called the old boys' network. Who knew? Except we all knew, so what's with the self-flagellation over tokenism, ladies?
Indeed, one of the most baffling Wob findings was that many women opposed mandatory quotas (wanting to be judged on their own merits etc). But is this really so surprising? Or is it just indicative that even female high achievers of this calibre have been so skilfully groomed to apologise for their gender that they are now terrified of the "T" word? Has it got to the point that they balk at the thought of long overdue changes to unjust male-centric working practices?
Work practices that don't even work that well. A new book, Coaching Women to Lead, points out that "gender-rich partnerships with 50% women prosper up to 11% better than those that are all-male". Research from McKinsey found that companies with more women on their boards outperformed rivals in myriad ways. Everyone is better off with more women fairly placed at the top and yet still there's this fretting over a gender-based fast track.
Isn't it time that women stopped beating themselves up about tokenism and gave it its real name ? parity? Do the women who opposed mandatory quotas really want womankind spending the next 70 years fretting about Cliff from Accounting "not judging them on their merits"? In the twilight of their career, will they be thrilled that they never gave some pinstripe snot the opportunity to "devalue their achievements", even if it did mean having to watch much lesser talents, with different genitalia, swan past them through the double doors, to Rich Teas and glory?
It's high time for women to make tokenism their friend ? own the dreaded "T" word, have fun with the fact that, thinking about it logically, anyone could be lumped into a quota. Come 2015, a round of applause for the first female board member to turn to a male colleague and say: "Just because you're only here to fill the male quota of 75%, it doesn't mean I think any less of you."
A boy in a dress isn't evil, but size zero models are
Does Andrej Pejic modelling women's clothes truly symbolise "the ultimate rejection of the female body" by "evil" gay fashion designers?
The image I keep seeing is of Pejic in a Jean Paul Gaultier wedding gown. The same "Crazee" JPG who'd send a unicorn down the runway if he could, who designed Madonna's ultra-femme coned bra, whose perfume bottle is woman-shaped. Is this a gay man who hates women?
What's so shocking about a boy in a dress anyway? Marilyn did the same in the 1980s and no one had a rad-fem fit. For the true face of catwalk evil, look instead to the girl models, some so emaciated they made Samantha Cameron blench in shock.
As for the accepted "fact" that "fashion is full of gay men who hate women"? this isn't a fact ? it's snide, homophobic hogwash, offensive to the hordes of committed gay professionals in the fashion industry. If fashion has a problem (and, by Zoolander, it does), it's not covert hatred of the female, rather, it's overt worship of youth and the BMI that comes with youth. All this, and worse, could be said of fashion, but let's keep the gay-bashing out of it.
Radiohead are running on empty
There's a row about Radiohead's latest "difficult new album", The King of Limbs. Some people believe it to be in the postmillennial Radiohead tradition or, as I like to put it: "More unlistenable, whiney-boy ear-poo." Their marketing division can use that if they like.
Others suggest that people have not spent enough time with Limbs to comment. Fair point ? some albums are "growers".
Then again, how much time do Radiohead need? They've already been flailing around (sounding like drunks tripping over Jean Michel Jarre's dustbins) for a decade. Are we actually supposed to take sabbaticals to search through their turgid cacophonies for a melody? Singular. Just one, guys, don't be tight.
In my experience, whenever reviewers are given no notice to, um, review, it's a sure sign that the band have produced a stinker. Or it's a media power-trip. (Keep the public uninformed! YAY! Smash the man!)
The truth is, one never needed "time" to realise that Fake Plastic Trees, High and Dry or Karma Police were works of chilling beauty. So why are we being urged to be "patient" with The King of Limbs? To hell with patience. I'll reserve my patience for helping old people across the road, not for new albums by millionaire professionals.
They were a great band in their day, but that doesn't give Radiohead the right to keep releasing bizarre dirges that sound like C-3P0 being murdered. To me, Limbs is the sound of Radiohead's fear ? fear that they can't hack writing melodies anymore, so they pretend they never intended to, and try to make people feel thick for "not getting it, ma-aan". It's rare and difficult to be able to keep writing beautiful tunes, so admit it, "Thom of Yorke", that's the real reason it's not happening.
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Millionaire Dating Tips: How to make first good impression?
First of all, it is important to find a good profile which should be compatible with your profile. Generally, people send the request to unknown people without reading their profile. As a result, they have to face numerous problems after that.
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Teacher Student Relationship for Success
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My Ex Broke Up With Me For No Reason? 7 Reasons Why Your Ex Left You Without Any Explanation!
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Want To Date A Single Parent?
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About BBW Erotic Personals - Advantages For Big Women And Those Who Love Them
Friday, February 25, 2011
Five Secrets Happy Couples Share
Extramarital Club
The Effect of Fear in Your Relationship
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Quick Tips On How To Attract Women
Have Them Fired Up on the Very First Day
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Dating Rules: Must follow before its too late
You are making biggest mistake if you pretend to be someone that you are not. Now days, people like to enjoy their lives life movie star or celebrity. Hence, they copy everything of those stars including, clothes, [...]
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Thoughts and Revelations: Using the Internet to Meet People
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Beware Of The Married People With Online Dating
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What Is Wrong With Dating in Our Modern Times?
How to Keep Romance Alive
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Dating Dilemmas For The Over 40's
Are men still dominating journalism? Yes, says new research
Women in Journalism (WiJ), the networking and campaigning organisation, is staging a seminar next Thursday entitled Are men still dominating the media?
Speakers on the panel will include Sue Matthias, editor of the Financial Times magazine; Natalie Bennett, editor of Guardian Weekly ; and Eve Pollard, the former editor of the Sunday Mirror and Sunday Express.
The event marks the centenary of International Women's Day (on 8 March). According to the WiJ website, "new research has shown that women are still underrepresented in Britain's newspapers."
It finds that women are "less likely to be promoted to senior editorial positions and less likely to write about hard news, politics and current affairs than their male counterparts. Even traditional areas like lifestyle and features are being taken over by male colleagues."
Details of the survey, carried out by Echo Research, are to be released to coincide with the seminar, which will be held from 7-9pm, at the London offices of the legal firm, Wiggin & Co, in the Met Building, 22 Percy Street W1T 2BU.
Thursday, February 24, 2011
Are You Addicted to the Wrong Kind of a Man? Learn the Main Reasons Why This Is Happening to You
Common Things Men Do That Women Find Unattractive
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The Perfect Profile: Creating the Perfect Profile
Why Would a Man Say He Likes You and Then Withdraw? 7 Possible Reasons for His Withdrawal
Local or Long Distance: A Pitfall of Long Distance Relationships
Are Jermaine Jackson's travel travails really over?
We thought he was trapped in Burkina Faso, but miraculously he has now been spotted in Cannes. Panic over
It's not often that Lost in Showbiz asks you, the reader, to dig deep into your pockets and support a charitable cause, but this week it felt impelled to do so. Its philanthropic bent was pricked by news of a situation that no one else seemed to be addressing: the plight of Jermaine Jackson, a man Lost in Showbiz has had a vast amount of respect for ever since he claimed that if he slept without a light on, he was visited by "people from 1800". He was apparently trapped in Ouagadougou, Burkina Faso. According to reports, his passport expired while he was visiting the West African country and, under Californian law, he couldn't be issued with a new one until he paid outstanding child support amounting to almost �62,000 to his former wife Alejandra, for their two fairly astonishingly named children Jaafar Jeremiah Jackson and Jermajesty Jermaine Jackson.
The tension in this dire situation was ratcheted up further by events back at what the media persist in referring to as The Jackson Family Compound in Encino, California, where Alejandra and children ? two by Jermaine and two by his brother Randy, oh do keep up ? appears to be engaged in some kind of Transatlantic Celebrity Squatting Challenge with Alex "The Reidinator" Reid, refusing to budge despite a court order demanding she leave so that building work can take place. Earlier this week, The Reidinator appeared to have edged ahead in the dignity stakes by complaining that his wife was telling people he was "living in a cupboard", but that was before Alejandra threatened to make her own reality TV series, which as far as Lost in Showbiz can gather, will, by necessity, essentially consist of footage of her sitting in the garage singing We Shall Not Be Moved.
Lost in Showbiz was all ready to dismiss suggestions that if that was waiting for you back home, you too might strongly consider the benefits of "losing" your passport in Burkina Faso, when it learned that Jermaine had been spotted, apparently not in Africa any more, but in Cannes: perhaps those suggestions had a point after all. Cancelling the telethon, Lost in Showbiz still fears the situation at The Jackson Family Compound could escalate into a terrifying David Koresh-style siege situation. It looks on aghast at the prospect of Waco Jacko and wonders what it can do to help.
When weight becomes a class issue
Broadly, the rich are too thin and the poor are too fat
Chloe Memisevic, at 18, is making a name for herself. Inside the fashion industry, she's the next big thing, striding down the most cutting-edge of catwalks. Outside the fashion industry, she is paraded as an example of the wasted, bones-only aesthetic that the mavens cannot resist.
Georgia Davis, at 17, gets more fleeting, less lucrative attention. At 40 stone, she is Britain's fattest teenager. With support, in 2009, she lost 14 stone. But she has since put that weight back on, and more. Her predicament attracts occasional media attention, but no one wants to employ Davis to flog anything. Thin is rewarded, fat is reviled, at all levels. "Eating disorder" denotes a private tragedy, of well-intentioned dieting taken beyond extremes. Davis clearly has an eating disorder too, but one that is most commonly referred to in public, collective terms. She is an extreme victim of the "obesity epidemic". Eating disorders that cause the flesh to melt and dis-appear have a glamorous, individualistic image, with its poster girls, models and actresses, and even its critics, beautifully groomed. Eating disorders that make people fat ? they're just sad and a bit funny, serious because of the harm they do to others in the form of giant, flabby health service bills.
Broadly, the rich are too thin and the poor are too fat.
There's no more visceral critique of the workings of class in consumer society than Memisevic's body compared to Davis's. When even the symptoms of obsessive compulsive disorders in very young adults are treated differently, depending on whether they have economic value, then the whole culture has gone mad.
Unfortunately, however, as an editorial in the Lancet confirms, physical and mental symptoms are hard to separate. New research has found that anti-psychotic drugs tend to trigger obesity and heart disease. Previously, it was acknowledged that mental health patients were more likely to have such troubles, but it was argued that this was due only to more general environmental factors.
Most people who have had experience of treating psychosis with drugs will understand that it can be frustrating when loved ones refuse to take their medication, and set back their recovery. Now it's proven that the awful symptoms that patients report are all too true, and all too physically debilitating.
It is still much better that these drugs are available, because they can and do help people to reclaim their lives. But the physical side effects of these medicines must be properly treated too. Many people struggling to stay on medication because of highly unwelcome side-effects will be cheered by this news.
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From which wedding venues can you see football stadiums?
Plus: Miserable goalscorers; Players on public transport (2); and footballer film names. Send your questions and answers to knowledge@guardian.co.uk and follow us on Twitter
"My wedding is booked at the London Wetland Centre at the end of May (a week after the season finishes, naturally), and all four of the Craven Cottage floodlights are clearly visible from the main ornithology viewing observatory, which is also the room where the ceremony will take place," writes Mark Haines. "In fact, that was a significant reason for choosing this location. Where else, other than in the stadium itself, is it possible to exchange wedding vows in full view of a ground?"
"I'd like to propose a church in Belgrade where my cousin was married several years ago," writes Ivan Grujin. "Though it doesn't quite fulfil Mr Haines' criteria of an unobstructed line of sight (mostly due to the Serbian Orthodox Churches' obstinate stance on transparent walls), it is located across the street from Partizan Stadium. I think it merits consideration since the wedding party and all the guests parked in the stadium parking lot, and since the north stand is the first thing you see upon exiting the church." It's the blue-green building you can see close to the stadium here.
But the place to get married if the key aspect of your nuptials is not the correct shade of red for your napkins but the ability to see as many football grounds as possible, seems to be the Ashton Memorial in Lancaster. "I was married at the Ashton Memorial," begins Alan Lamb. "From there you can see Lancaster City's Giant Axe. I've not been up to check, but I reckon you would also be able to see Morecambe's Globe Arena and Blackpool's Bloomfield Road. There's also a fair chance of seeing the floodlights at Barrow's Holker Street and Fleetwood's Highbury Stadium. With sufficiently powerful binoculars."
MISERABLE GOALSCORERS
"It has become the norm for players to look suitably solemn after scoring against their former club or clubs they support," states Lecce fan Gordon Blackstock. "But has anyone taken it to the levels of Fabrizio Miccoli, the Maradona of the south of Italy? The pint-sized poacher was so upset at scoring against his boyhood favourites, Lecce, while playing for Palermo last week, that he immediately burst into tears. This continued in to the dressing rooms at half-time where coach Delio Rossi had no choice but to hook the emotional Azzuri international, claiming he was 'inconsolable'. Is this the most extreme reaction a player has had after scoring against their beloved?"
Miccoli was indeed distraught after equalising for Palermo with a pearler just before half-time, and could be seen trudging back to the centre-circle, a look of abject misery on his face. "It is true, I started crying and I couldn't stop," he said later. "I cried on the pitch after the goal, I cried in the dressing-room. Lecce is my team and I hurt them, it is like hurting an old friend. It is not true that I asked to be substituted. I was upset, sat away from the squad in the locker room and the coach saw that, so decided to replace me for my own good and that of the team."
Not quite as spectacularly, Yoan Gouffran announced himself "extremely pissed off" after scoring the goal that relegated his former team. "In their last match of the 2008-2009 Ligue 1 season in France, Bordeaux played Caen," writes Ange Ebissou. "The former needed a win to stay at the top of the league and win the championship; the latter needed one too, lest they be relegated. The only goal of the match was scored by Gouffran, a young player who had been transferred form Caen to Bordeaux the summer before. At the end of the match, while his comrades were celebrating the title, he could be seen commiserating with his former team-mates and told an interviewer that he was 'extremely pissed off' for having sent his former team down to Ligue 2."
FOOTBALLERS ON PUBLIC TRANSPORT (2)
A couple of weeks ago we looked at players travelling on public transport to games and, as ever, the Knowledge inbox has been bulging with more travelcard-toting talents.
"As a student in the mid 60s I temped as a conductor on the Liverpool buses," begins Frank Pearson. "The 12C route came past Melwood (Liverpool's training ground ) and frequently players used to catch the bus to Breck Road with a quick walk to Anfield ? Chris Lawler was a regular (and we never charged) as was Alex Young (Everton-Belview by Melwood). Shanks used to talk to us when we slowed the bus as we passed him walking home from training."
And elsewhere on Merseyside: "Dave Hickson used to get the bus at the same bus stop as me to play for Everton," writes Pat O'Hare. "Everton had three club houses near us and he lived in one of them. A few years later, Brian Labone would always be sitting in the same seat next to the stairs, when I got on the bus to go to the match."
And players also happily hopped on the bus on the other side of the Pennines. "Ray Wilson took the bus when he played at Huddersfield," writes Colin May. "He would stand at the bus stop at the corner of New Hey Road and Crosland Road much earlier than us who were spectators. He lived few minutes walk away on Wheatfield Avenue. Sometimes we would leave home early just so we could stand at the same stop and ride the same bus as him. The funny part of this story is that Bill Shankly lived on Crosland Road and I don't know why he never stopped to pick up his left back."
More recently, as Tim Ward points out, the Coventry team hopped on the Tube to get to a match at Loftus Road after getting stuck in traffic. "We bought 23 single tickets at Hanger Lane station and our unsung hero was Jay Tabb, who knew we had to change at Hammersmith to go to Shepherd's Bush," said the then City manager Micky Adams. "We took a bit of stick from West Ham and Fulham fans and got to the ground at 2.20pm, went on to the pitch and won 1-0. Everyone talks about preparation but this proves it is a load of nonsense."
And a couple of players have also used public transport on the way home from matches. "In 2005-06 season League Two side (at the time) Orient dumped Fulham out of the FA Cup at Craven Cottage," writes Jonny Davies. "It was a stunning result and Fulham had a near full strength side out. O's midfielder Craig Easton scored the first in a 2-1 win and described it as "As my greatest achievement and also my most enjoyable moment in football so far."
"I write for the Orient programme and Craig (now at Southend) was interviewed recently to recall his thoughts on the match for a feature in the upcoming programme for the Arsenal game. When asked about how he celebrated, Easton revealed that he simply got the Tube home and said it was brilliant as the Tube was packed with O's fans so he joined in the celebrating with them."
And last, but certainly not least, there's crazy old Jens Lehmann. "In 1993 Lehmann was a promising talent for Schalke 04," begins Martin Appel. "But after conceding three goals at local rivals Leverkusen he was substituted at half-time. Instead of waiting for the end of the match he took the tram for the 40-odd km home to Gelsenkirchen."
KNOWLEDGE ARCHIVE
"Port Vale striker Leon Constantine appears to share his name with the titles of two films. Is he unique in this respect?" pondered Nigel Stubbs back in 2006.
Well, Nigel, regarding mainstream movies, he is. However, as Andrew Wright points out, when it comes to general films, he isn't quite on his own. "I may be stretching things a bit here," he begins ominously. "But how about ... Rocky Baptiste [formerly of Farnborough, Luton, Stevenage, Margate and Gravesend & Northfleet]? Obviously, one name comes from the legendary boxing flick, but the other is the name of a little-known 2003 French short film, sketchy details of which can be found here."
And while Paul Jenkins suspiciously claims that both Tommy Jaws and Alfie Schindler's-List played up front for Motherwell in the 1950s, he does also suggest much-travelled goalkeeper Eric Nixon. "He counts as there is a 1975 film about terminal illness called Eric," he explains, although our research suggests it may have just been a television drama.
However, special mention must go to Graham Clark, who comes ever so close by putting forward former Queen's Park defender David Alexander. "At least I'm presuming he's known as Dave," he says.
For thousands more questions and answers take a trip through the Knowledge archive
Can you help?
"Thanks to a combination of the Football League, Sky TV and Suffolk Police, Norwich City's final six games of this season are all due to be played on different days of the week (Tuesday, Friday, Thursday, Monday, Saturday, Sunday)," writes Ffion Thomas. "I'm intrigued to know whether any club has ever gone one better and had seven consecutive games spanning the seven days of the week?"
"Leyton Orient have been promised a holiday to Las Vegas after drawing with Arsenal," writes Eamonn Loach. "Have any other teams used holidays as an incentive?"
"Over the weekend in the match between Leyton Orient and Arsenal at the Matchroom Stadium, there were some supporters watching the match from neighbouring buildings," tweets Too Victor Qip. "At which other stadiums can you watch a match without having to pay an entrance fee?"
"In just two years, Savio Nsereko has gone from being a �9m West Ham signing to playing for Chernomorets Burgas in Bulgaria," notes Benji Lanyado. "What are the best falls from grace of all time?"
Send your questions and answers to knowledge@guardian.co.uk
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