It's not easy being green

So, I recently admitted that I enjoy being a consumer, that I love these new 24-hour mega-super-markets, and that I'd rather peel off all my skin and roll around in salt than purchase the goods in my local corner shop. Supermarkets are better for one simple reason: choice of products.

But, rather than being allowed to wallow contentedly in the fact that I can eat foods from all over the world; rather than being allowed to marvel with my fellow consumers at the ever shrinking nature of our spinning space-planet; gasp at the wonders of modern technology that allow us to purchase apples from New Zealand and bananas from South Africa; and cosy up in some sort of feelgood "we're all one global village" cotton-wool world; rather than being allowed to do all this, I'm being made to feel guilty. Why? Because I'm not buying local, and thus I am effectively strangling the very same world that I thought was marvellous just a few moments ago.

When did everyone suddenly become so obsessed with the number of air miles their food has travelled before it reaches their plate? I don't really care if my food has travelled to the moon and back four times before I wolf it down. I agree that, in theory, it's a good and moral stand to take, but I have a few issues with it.

The problem that I have with buying local produce is that I live in England, and local produce means cabbage, asparagus and potatoes. Now, I agree that locally grown food can be delicious, if you like that sort of thing. But I don't. I prefer foods that actually taste of something, like chillis, pineapples and mangoes. It's hardly my fault that they don't grow locally, so I have to buy the foods that are imported from Mars or wherever. Why should I punish my taste buds just because I live in a climate where the food I want to eat couldn't, and wouldn't grow, even if you held a gun to its... eh.... roots?

I do actually try to shop locally when I can. When I did my grocery shopping last week, I bought all British fruit and veg (with about three exceptions), so I felt quite proud of myself and I'm sure the checkout clone girl was thinking what a hip and PC young woman I was.

I'm feeling a similar sort of pressure with the car that I drive. When my car was born, the words "fuel" and "efficiency" would never have been uttered in the same sentence, and, thus, my car is a petrol-guzzling behemoth. I would drive a hybrid car if I could afford to buy one, but I can't so I don't. I would car pool with the people at work, insteading of driving to work by myself each day, except I work with just three other people, each of whom lives in the opposite direction from me. I would cycle to work, except I live 35 miles away. I would get public transport except I work in the middle of fucking nowhere and the nearest train station and bus stop are an hour's walk from the office (no exaggeration - I did get the train to work one day. Never again).

I have similar problems with recycling. I used to recycle pretty much everything when I lived in Ireland. I even had a compost bin! But in England, all I'm allowed to recycle is paper (magazines and newspapers), tin cans (beverage cans only, please!), and glass bottles or jars. I can't recycle cardboard and I can't recycle plastic bags, which is just ridiculous. If I did want to recycle these items, I'd have to drive to a specialised centre which is over 50 miles away from where I live, so I'd still be killing the planet with my pollution-belching monster car.

I just can't win.

I want to buy local produce, but I can't get the foods I want to eat locally. I want to buy Fairtrade produce when I can't get it locally, but it costs almost 50% more than "normal" (unfairtrade?) food, and I can't afford that. I want to buy a hybrid or fuel efficient or planet-loving car, but they're also too expensive for my budget. I want to recycle, but the country doesn't have the facilities for me to do so.

So, in summary, I have three things to say:

1. Kermit the Frog said it best when he said: "It's not easy being green".

2. Denis Leary also hit the nail on the head when he said: "I didn't break the planet, it was this way when I found it".

3. I've tried to be a good person. I've tried to look after the planet. I've tried to do the right thing. But, at the end of the day, I figure I'll be long dead before the world becomes some sort of Mad Max-type desert planet.

So, screw the air miles. Screw the pollution. Screw the dolphins getting caught in the tuna nets. Anyone for a spot of tiger hunting?

In new music we trust? (Or, radio killed the really good bands)

I love music. I listen to music all day long, every single day. Radio in the morning while I'm getting dressed; cassette tapes in the car (CDs weren't invented when my car was born); Internet radio at work; side two of the tape on the way home in the car; iPod in the gym; CD at night when I'm reading in bed.

I'm a slave to music.

In fact, sometimes I like to pretend that the music is actually the soundtrack to the movie that is my life. And I'll change the songs on myPod according to my mood and/or current situation, as one would expect in the movie. For example, if I'm feeling particularly down, I'll put on some really lonesome tunes, and imagine the camera panning out from my face as I stare disconsolately out the window, the rain lashing down outside, and the sound of a blues guitar wailing the background.

Yes, I am sad; no, my real life isn't fulfilling enough; yes, I have an over-active imagination; and, yes, I have far too much free time on my hands. Thanks for asking.

However, I've started to notice that new music is crap. And not in the good way. I like plenty of crap music, for example, Good Charlotte (they're hilarious, and they look so ridiculous that I'm convinced they're just doing it for a laugh!) and Fall Out Boy (I love the fact that they're fugly, pot bellied little things, with lamb chops on the sides of their heads, and they write great lyrics - "loaded god complex/cock it and pull it"). But I don't see why people feel justified in ridiculing my taste in music, while at the same time, jumping on the Arctic Monkeys/Dirty Pretty Things bandwagon.

Don't they realise that the only reason these bands are "famous" is because the likes of Radio 1 hypes them up so much?

Let's take a couple of prime examples - Coldplay and Franz Ferdinand. Remember when Coldplay used to be good? I know, it was a LONG time ago, but just try to remember.... The first album? Something about Parachutes..? No? Well, it was a really good album! But then it got played so much on radio that it became painful to listen to. Then, the band started believing the hype written about them (I read something about Chris Martin saying they were going to be the next U2... Why anyone would actively seek to become the next U2 is beyond me.), and now they're just another bunch of pretentious posers with shite songs that all sound the same.

Same thing with Franz Ferdinand. Their first couple of songs were quite good. But, again, they were overplayed and talked up to the point that when I did actually see them live, they seemed to expect the audience to prostrate themselves in glorious wonder before them as they wowed us with their Scottish accents and funny straight-legged trousers.

The Arctic Monkeys make me laugh. And not in a good way. In a cynical, bitter, "You think you're great, but you'll not last the year, you one-album-wonderless maggots" kind of way. They released one song (which was actually quite good) and next thing they're nominated for about ten Brit Awards, knocking Kaiser Chiefs off the charts. What's that all about? According to Radio 1, they're the best thing since sliced bread, and yet their last single sounded like somebody gently placed an out-of-tune guitar against an amp, turned it all the way up to 11, and then stood about five feet back, shouting nonsense into a microphone. What rubbish! That's one band seriously in danger of disappearing up their own arses in a vain attempt to find the sun that supposedly shines out of there.

And now all this hype about Dirty Pretty Things, who are only famous 'cause one of them used to be in The Libertines with Pete Doherty who used to shag Kate Moss and is now addicted to heroin and is in court every day, but keeps getting off 'cause he promises to be good. Or something.

As for Gnarles Barkley.... Now, I love Zane Lowe. I think he's done wonders for new music in this country, and I'd have his babies tomorrow if he asked me to. But, god help me, if I ever see him in the street I'll break out the pimp hand and give him a taste of my knuckles for introducing that bloody "Crazy" song. Of course, I'll offer to kiss him better afterwards...
Then you've got people like James Blunt; "singer/songwriters" who get overplayed so much that they pretty much destroy any hopes of real talent (such as Paddy Casey or Josh Ritter) making a breakthrough into the charts.

*sigh*

It makes me sad that my gorgeous baby niece will grow up in a world where lyrics and sound doesn't matter half as much as who the lead singer is dating, and what drugs he's currently trying to snort up his nostrils. Where radio DJs have the power to make or break a band, depending on the amount of airplay he's willing to give them (for a price, of course).

When it comes to new music, I think the Kaiser Chiefs said it best when they said "Every day I love you less and less".

<--------------------- END RANT -------------------->

"And that was the latest effort from blackie, who's slipped a further five places in this week's chart. Next up, Beyonce, with another song that sounds exactly like all her other ones! Time now is ten past eight..."

Driving Miss Crazy

A friend was over from Ireland at the weekend to see her man, who lives in Scally-land (that's Liverpool for all you people fortunate enough not to live in this country). And I got invited along to play gooseberry, which suits me fine because in his house, playing gooseberry means I get unlimited wine and access to his extensive DVD collection whilst they canoodle on the sofa. Hey, I have no shame.

So, anyways, I thought, great, a chance to hang out with my mate and her man, and so I set off at 2pm on Saturday afternoon for the half hour drive.

Six hours later, I finally arrived at his house.

What went wrong? Did I drive through a Bermuda-type triangle near Warrington? Did aliens abduct me, perform strange (yet sort of exciting) experiments on my nether regions before spitting me back onto this godforsaken planet? Did I just drive REALLY SLOWLY in the granny lane all the way? Nope, nope, and nope again. I got lost. That's what happened.

Now, I know all the guys reading this are snorting and thinking "But, of course you got lost, for you are female and everyone knows that girls are shite at directions, navigation and driving in general". But youre wrong! I'm really good at driving! I'm quite nifty at navigating. I'm a whiz at reading maps! I've driven across most of Canada and the United States without getting lost once, goddamnit!

And yet, I cannot understand driving in England. I get lost ALL THE TIME! Even on routes I drive every bloody day. At first, I'll admit, I thought it was me. I thought that listening to Radio 1 every morning had finally caused my few remaining brain cells to leak out my ears, rendering me vegetable-like and unable to negotiate getting from Point A to Point B, even though its a straight road between the two.

But then, I realised, that it wasn't me (of course! Ptsh! As if!). I realised that it's actually England. Or, more precisely, England's road signs. Let me demonstrate with a recent example of a journey of mine.

Not long ago, I was going from somewhere to somewhere. I can't remember exactly where, so we'll call the two places Point A and Point B. I was travelling from Point A; destination Point B. I set out, and saw a road sign, pointing straight ahead for Point B, Point C and Point D. Great! Ill follow that sign.

Couple of miles down the road, another road sign, pointing straight ahead for Points B, C and D. Fantastic. We're sucking diesel now, boys and girls!

Next thing, I get to a T junction. Theres a sign. Arrow pointing left for Point C, arrow pointing right for Point D. No sign of B. Nowhere. Nada. Zip. Not being a native to this country, I had no idea whether B was nearer to C or D. So, basically, I was fucked.

As luck would have it, I turned left (one of my life philosophies has always been "If in doubt, choose C", and it's always worked for me), and a bit further down the road, I saw another sign for Point B, so I was ok. But, what on earth is up with those road signs? Is it some sort of sick joke that the British government has come up with to piss off foreign people so much that they'll leave the country, never to return? I think it might be. And I think it might just work!

Course, I was relating this same tale to my beau, who is English, and he just rolled his eyes, made some sort of piffling sound and intimated that I shouldnt be allowed to drive anywhere by myself because I'm just a girl and girls are stooopid.

Then he got lost the other day driving into Manchester..

It doesnt happen very often, but every now and then I'm reminded that life is just and sweet ;)