Ikea’s Invisible Woman

Today there’s been a storm in the Swedish media (and most others too) about Ikea. Apparently they’ve been airbrushing women out of their catalog for the Saudi Arabian market. The Saudis don’t like looking at photos of women. Especially not women hanging out at home and having the audacity to WEAR PYJAMAS. The filthy tramps. Pyjamas! What will the children think? Or maybe they’re not allowed to think at all? Phew, close one.

So, anyway, Ikea doesn’t feel it should take any responsibility for the way their oil-rish customers would very much like to shit on human rights. They’re just there to sell furniture, they say. Very nice, Ikea. How useful that your corporate “ideals” are exactly the same ideals that will earn you lots of money. What a very happy accident. Let’s suck money out of a country that oppresses half of its population, while rabbiting on about “female empowerment” in other areas. Areas, by another amazing co-incidence, that will ALSO earn Ikea lots of money. Wow!

Screw you Ikea, you corporate slug with your shitty furniture and your high opinion of yourself, using your power and influence for nothing good whatsoever. Take your carefully constructed “we care” bullshit, insert it firmly into slot B and turn it a full revolution. Either direction is fine.

Click through the photos in the Swedish newspaper (first link above). There’s a photo showing some Ikea designers, and the same one in the Saudi catalog but with the single woman removed. I bet she’s happy about that and can’t wait to work for Ikea again.

But I have a solution for Ikea. Just release the catalog without women or men or any people at all, and instead put all the people on separate stickers. Then we can have a jolly old time putting in people of whatever race, sex, or flavour into any situation we desire. Imagine it! Grinning babies in ovens. A line of men’s heads on the top shelf of a Billy. A woman showing her hair. A scary man hiding under the children’s bed.

And presto – suddenly nobody is offended! Endless fun and chuckling for all! Except for the ones who have to suffer for it, in a country Ikea will do nothing whatsoever to improve. Unless, of course, there’s a profit in it for Mr. Kamprad. Then it’s all steam ahead, and corporate bullshit to maximum. Cash ahoy, mateys!

(Photos above were nicked from here, where there is also lots of other good photos.)

/ paddy

 

Tintin And The Massive Tit

Occasionally an article in a newspaper makes me so mad I just … just want to … dammit.

And here it is. And here too. And here in English. (Warning – it’s from The Local.)

This enormous cockwallop is the “artistic leader” at Stockholm’s culture centre (big building, middle of town, can’t miss it). And he has decided, in his beardy wisom, to remove all books that have “racist or homophobic” bits. Starting with Tintin.

Well, regardless of your view of Tintin and colonial literature, here’s some news for the sideways-cap wearing wonder. Which, as a “culture leader”, he damn well ought to know. You can’t ban books. I repeat. YOU CAN’T FUCKING BAN BOOKS. This is the one golden rule that we may never forget. You ban books, you’re a fucking dictator, or a fanatic.

However, this dopey-eyed git thinks he can, because it’s all in a “good cause”. He’s doing “the right thing”. Yeah right, like nobody has ever thought that before. And now he’s got his staff running around like his little minions and scouring the shelves for books that don’t fit his fucking defintion of “okay”.

Sure there are racist bits in old books. But surely they have to be written with racist intent in mind to be really racist? And perhaps instead of banning them, we could use these books to start a discussion? Explain to kids: “here’s how things were back then but now we see it like this. What do YOU think?”

But God forbid that people would be asked to decide for themselves. Instead this little hispster emperor will fix it so that no children or parents without money can make up their minds for themselves. Nice one, your majesty.

I have a serious plan to get a bunch of people together, buy all these “forbidden books” and sneak them back onto the shelves, one by one. Because we DON’T FUCKING BAN BOOKS to protect the poor innocent woman and children from their evil ideas. We just fucking don’t. Not now, and not ever.

And, let me add, none of this has anything at all to do with this cock getting exposure for his “music career”. He is a “rap artist” apparently. And I bet he’s just excellent. Really, I do.

/ paddy

 

Mars, Spam, Etc.

I occasionally venture into my spam folder on this blog to see what’s in there. I am rarely disappointed. Let me show you what turned up today:

http://www.popandexhibits.com/page/page/1005742.htm Being married might commemoration wherein a couple might be mixed throughout being married and even a the exact same association. Party manners and also fashions will vary to a great extent from countries, ethnic competitors, belief systems, nations around, and also national kinds. The majority wedding parties throw a major turn related to marriage ceremony vows by means of the several, visualization associated with talent (offering, call(s i9000), sentimental asset, fresh flowers, money), or a common public proclamation related to being married at a specialist think in addition to innovator. Individual marriage ceremony shirts can often be worn, in addition to commemoration may be in addition to a marriage event. Tunes, finery, praying in addition to psychic readings by divine scrolls in addition to articles might nearly always utilized in the main commemoration.

Different countries have adopted the average Conventional specialty of your respective processed marriage ceremony, certainly where a girl wears a good solid processed bridal gowns and also veil. Doing this customs was actually accepted with the marriage ceremony related to Cali king Victoria. Many declare Victoria’s array of a good solid processed dress up may well quickly already been a sign of deluxe, but then may well been recently dependent the main ideals he or she possessed which probably emphasised bedroom love.[1] Around the cutting-edge ‘white wedding’ customs, a good solid processed attire and also veil might be scarce ways for a woman’s next in addition to using marriage ceremony. The concept a good solid processed dress up will imply bedroom love appears to have been often digarded, and is particularly belittled at social grace webmasters just like Judith Martin seeing as undesirable.[2]

I cut it here. There was a lot, lot more than that. It went on and fucking on. What the fuck are they one about? No idea. But I’m glad some drunk copywriters in India are getting some work.

I am kind of flattered that random spam merchants will bother to post such drivel on a blog that gets like two and a half hits per day. Perhaps they think I’m a genius. Or maybe the other Paddy Kelly.

Anyway. I just saw John Carter. And despite it’s general low rating, I thought it was extremely good. It didn’t at all deserve to crash and burn to the extent that it did. On the other hand, I also liked Waterworld. Go figure.

/ paddy

 

The Lady And The Gadget

I just learned a fascinating fact which is definitely worthy of a blog post, or of a whole film. And luckily, there is actually such a film.

In Victorian Britain, ladies were sent to doctors suffering from “hysteria” - chronic anxiety, irritability and abdominal heaviness. (I’m quoting as well as borrowing from this article in the Guardian). A very common treatment was for the doctor to administer a ”pelvic massage”, performed manually with the fingers, until the patient reached a “hysterical paroxysm”. The doctors found this boring and so put their Victorian minds to the task of inventing a range of machines to do the job for them. And in the 1880s the first electromechanical vibrator was created, years before the electric vacuum cleaner or even the electric iron.

It became a huge hit and was advertised freely with ads like this one, from a 1906 issue of Woman’s Own magazine:

“It can be applied more rapidly, uniformly and deeply than by hand and for as long a period as may be desired.”

The vibrator remained in doctor’s offices (and the doctors were rather busy) until the 1920s when it became obvious what was going on. The vibrator went underground, then emerged again in the 60s. But, as the article points out, even in the 60s:

“… only 1% of women had ever used one. This was perhaps unsurprising, given that most vibrators by then were modelled on a very male notion of what a woman would want – a supersized phallus – replicating, in other words, the very anatomy whose shortcomings had precipitated the invention in the first place”

This is brilliant stuff. The most interesting things being that:

1. The past is full of unexpected surprises.
2. The past is very rude.
3. The Victorians were nuts.

What a filthy and excellent world.

/ paddy

 

Mars Day

Tonight I ate a Mars bar and a bowl of muesli for dinner. I didn’t even wash the bowl. That’s exactly what I thought being an adult would be like. Excellent.

In other Mars-related news, the Curiosity rover sent back some new amazing snaps. It really feels like somebody is up there, with a nice camera, just checking it out and sending us emails.

It looks a bit alien, but also familiar, and hence a bit freaky. Because we can see that Mars is an actual physical place. With ground and rocks and dust, just like here. And the universe is full of places. Worlds beyond counting. So let’s get out there and see them, shall we?

Or maybe stay here and spend the money on fucking roads and bank bailouts instead.

/ paddy

 

A Pad In The Hand

I got a free iPad from work a few months ago. I took it home, thinking I’d sell it on eBay. Because why on earth would I need one of those things? I have enough distractions as it is.

I opened it. Just to check. I turned it on. Just to see. I pressed a few things. They boinged. And then I fell in love with it in the space of two minutes.

The iPad is a strange creature. It does nothing brilliantly, but it does so much well enough that it’s become indispensable. I can check the internet, read books, watch videos, listen to music, take photos, play games, follow recipes, all on the same gadget. And the App Store. Oh baby, the bloody App Store…

Lately I’ve started buying games and apps without thinking about it. When they cost a dollar or two, who really cares? Just press that little button. I now have a dozen apps that I’ve never even used at all. But I’m still happy I bought them. It’s nice to see the little icons, all plump with possibility.

It’s odd how my consumer patterns have changed just because a device has made it so pleasant to consume. Or, actually, it’s not strange at all. It’s the whole point. Apple are extracting my money, but they are doing it in such a terribly nice and enjoyable way that all I can do it bend over and keep on smiling. And that’s the genius of the whole thing.

So app me baby. App me hard.

/ paddy

 

Orange Ladies And Beardy Boys

I came back to work last week and two things were immediately apparent.

First, all the orange ladies on the subway. This is a yearly phenomenon – the Swedes returning from their summer-houses, showing off their newly scorched skin. You notice it most on older ladies. Their skin is practically orange, wrinkled and leathery and disturbing. Some of them are so lined they look like fucking Yoda, but, you know, more orange.

While I understand that the Swedes grab whatever sun is going, I fail to see why they would want to damage their skin like this. They lounge around in the parks and beaches, in blazing sunshine and without sunblock, and then wonder why they get skin cancer. Deeply wrinkled, sun-blasted skin isn’t attractive, or healthy, and doesn’t even show status, as summer houses are seen almost as a human right over here.

So why do they do it? Beats me. But if you want to see one, now is the time.

Then there’s the beards. I’m now in the minority at work regarding facial hair. Most men in my office are bearded. It especially noticeable among men in the 25 to 32 age range. Two thirds of them now have beards. It’s like a bloody seventies folk concert.

This thing with huge beards on younger men has taken off to a ridiculous degree in Sweden. It was very noticeable when I went to Herräng dance camp for a week, and saw young men from lots of countries. They were all much less beardy than the young Swedes. It brought home again what a terribly conformist place Sweden can be.

Why is it like this? Because beards on young men is trendy, and Swedes go for trends in the same way that sharks go for icebergs made of spam. They claim to cherish their individuality, which they then express by striving to look exactly the same.

Not the same as each other, mind you. Just the same as whatever subculture they’ve decided they belong to. Be it punks, hipsters, slackers, whatever. You can be unique here as long as you are unique in a very clearly defined way.

Now I’m a big fan of facial hair, but this is all just a bit sad. If you like beards, then have one, regardless of what the rest of the world is doing. Just stop shaving, and presto.

I give it a couple of years. Once the football players start shaving, young Swedish men will shed their facial hair. Beards, after all, can be removed. But I can’t say the same for the swarms of young women with colorful and messy tattoos sleeves on their arms and shoulders. They might have a tad more trouble getting over this particular trend. And let’s see how those things look when they’re pushing 60.

As for the idiots with the discs in their earlobes … well, let’s not even go there.

/ paddy