A bad day

I'm at a seriously low ebb today. On so many levels.

Yesterday evening, I went out for a drink after lectures. For the umpteenth time, I ended up staying out for the rest of the night, sleeping it in this morning (on someone else's couch) and missing lectures. I've just come into college now to pick up a report I handed in last week, and found that I had got a crap mark. Added to an assessment I got in the same subject a couple of weeks back, where I barely passed, my record so far for this year has been rather rubbish.

I've lost count of the amount of times I've gone out for the 'just the one' and ended up staying out all night. I've lost count of the number of occasions I've checked my bank balance the next day, dreading what number is about to come up on the screen. And I've lost count of the how many days running upto an exam have seen me in bed, trying to sleep off a hangover.

I've had it. Starting today, I'm on the wagon. I'm going take it one month at a time, but at the very least, I'm aiming to be alcohol-free between now and Christmas, if not beyond.

Another example of Dan's recent penmanship

Received when I had first returned to Brighton in September, for passing my repeats.

Philadelphia

Recently, I saw Jonathan Demme's film Philadelphia for the first time since I saw it when it was released.

Along with Tom Hanks' Oscar win for his role, it was proclaimed as a major progression in the recognition of the 'plight' of gay men, in particular with regard to AIDS. The truth is that it finally, and rather belatedly, reflected the acceptance of same by the masses.

I remember a fairly mild backlash since then, denouncing the film as a bit simplistic and patronising, with its 'Gays are people too' message, and I watched it carefully the other night, and I noticed a few things. The following day I searched the internet, and came across a few sites, one of which was this, a critique of the film.

As is often the case with overly academic film criticism, the author draws some conclusions that are seriously open to debate, and tosses out questionable statements as if they were as obvious as night following day. That said, there are a number of points on which I agree with him.

a) Denzel Washington's character (Miller) was an annoying gnat. As a lawyer, he's obviously an educated, middle-class man, yet at times speaks like a small-town boy who never got the experience of the big city lights, so to speak. When we see his homophobia for the first time, with his wife, he excuses himself on the grounds that he's 'old-fashioned' and 'conservative'. I've heard people defend their homophobia in this way before, and it's bollocks, not to mention offensive. Do we take it, then, that anyone over a certain age automatically operates this kind of dicrimination, or that the acceptance of gay men is 'radical' or 'progressive'? You might, if you weren't the brightest light on the christmas tree, but this is what is put forward. Then there is his wife, who instead of doing what most people would do (and especially most women, and most women with gay relatives), which is telling him to shut it, just laughs it off.

A similar train of thought is put forward later when Miller tells Beckett (Hanks) that When he was growing up, they were taught that gays were weird, gays were afraid to fight, gays were this, gays were that, etc. etc. At times like this, Miller represents the voice of the lowest common denominator, but it's not all that necessary.

Then there are the images of Miller at home with his wife, presented as they are directly after scenes of substantial interaction with Beckett, and could, if one was predisposed to paranoia, be interpreted as a sort of escape back to normality for him. Either that, or they show him up as rampantly insecure, especially when he lies next to his wife in bed after the scene where Beckett waxes lyrical during a section of an opera.

Finally - at least, this is as far as I'm going to go with him - there are the scenes in the courtroom, where his opening lines about how he shares with most people (!) the desire to keep gays and AIDS far away, and the especially toe-curling posturing about how attitudes to AIDS is determined by attitudes to gays just make you want to chuck him into an all-night BDSM club and lock the door.

b) Tom Hanks' character Beckett, and his relationship with Miguel (Antonio Banderas) are about as neutured as any representation of gays up on big screen. Did anyone see a single mouth-to-mouth kiss between them during the film? I didn't. Yet (again!) Miller is repeatedly shown with his arms wrapped around his wife. Demme really played it safe here, and there was without doubt room for improvement in this regard.

c) The characterisation of people as either rampantly homophobic or completely accepting was a more than a little simplistic. The part where Hanks is holding his baby nephew in his arms may as well have had 'HIS FAMILY LOVE AND ACCEPT HIM FOR WHO HE IS' writ large across the screen, and the senior lawyers on trial are almost ridiculous: These are men of the law, and should at least know better than to open themselves to potential lawsuits by making homophobic jokes in a sauna, where they could be overheard by anyone.

d) The eternal connection between promiscuity and AIDS. At this point in the essay, the author argues the following, with regard to when Beckett is cross-examined in connection with his visits to a porn theatre:

"The film presents this connection in a negative way, however, by putting it in the mouth of the defense. This leads audiences to believe that the connection between AIDS and gay sex is unwarranted..."

Perhaps it could be argued that this is true at some level, it certainly didn't strike me as such during either of the times I saw it, and I'm pretty sure most other people wouldn't see it that way either. What it most likely did was reinforce in a lot of people's minds that AIDS is some kind of retribution for promiscuity in the gay community ("Oh yeah, it's a shame about him, but he was always sleeping around blah blah blah"), which is interesting in and of itself, because while promiscuity amongst gay men often makes some squirm, promiscuity amongst heterosexual men is still tacitly celebrated.

So, Demme could have done better in some respects. The closing scene, though, showing a home movie of Beckett as a child, was very moving. I've always found that a powerful device in any kind of film, and I've flagged it with high importance.

One thing I've noticed in this essay is the barely concealed contempt for liberals - another term so overused it has also started to lose all meaning - something that is shared by many of the more militant activists in the gay community. I can appreciate that the earnestness sometimes hides something a little darker within the well-intentioned, but which is better: A gay basher, or someone who speaks out against it?

One thing that was missed (and I'm not making this up) was that in the movie poster, Hanks appears to have had some lipstick photoshopped onto his lips, and looks strangely androgynous. What's that about?

Have said all of the above, the film was aimed squarely at heterosexual middle America, and Demme included Springsteen on the soundtrack as a way of reaching people who wouldn't otherwise be aware of the film, or wouldn't consider going to see it. With that in mind, we can't expect all that much, and the film still serves some purpose in that respect.

One quote I leave you with though, which jumped out at me the minute I read it:

"In the post-Philadelphia imagination of the Screen Actors Guild, straight-identified actors will consider such characters as Beckett a prestigious opportunity to explore their histrionic expertise. But God forbid an openly gay actor and actress play Harry and Sally types. Then again, openly gay men and women are rare commodities in Hollywood."

Never a truer work spoken.

A night in Kemptown

I went to the Bulldog last night for the first time in a while.

They've decided against their 24-hour weekend drinking hours, thanks to a recent fight that allegedly was started by a straight couple - or by two lesbians, depending on whose version you hear - and spilled out into the street.

However, compensation has arrived in the form of a darkroom night on Tuesday night. This means that on Tuesday nights, you can go upstairs and get upto things not entirely dissimilar to what you could once get up to in Schwarz bar before it closed.

I went last night (just for investigative purposes, mind!) and had a rather enjoyable time moving around, before settling on a rather dashing chap, whose contact details I have since secured. After that, he walked me part of the way home, which would have been nice were it not for the bloody rain.

Still, it was good. Must do it again sometime.

Thoughts on failing

I've been thinking a bit about someone recently.

In first year, when I was living in halls of residence, I might have mentioned that I lived with an Irishman, who was originally from Carlow.

Sophistication wasn't exactly his middle name, and it wasn't long before he had got an (albeit fairly harmless) reputation as a bit of a muck savage. However, it became obvious over time that good-naturedness wasn't a trait intrinsic to his personality either, and as time went on, he began to alienate the irish students in the pharmacy class one by one, and upto a point where we had agreed to disagree on a couple of things, I was one of them. By the end of first year, most of his so-called fellow countrymen were having very little to do with him.

It's pretty difficult to come over to the UK from Ireland to study pharmacy and not fall in with a group of friends, such is the number of Irish people coming over here to study for that degree, yet he managed it.

When we returned last autumn to proceed into second year, we all noticed, as time went on, that he was keeping very much to himself, hanging out only with the international students in the class, and probably nursing a grudge against the Irish crowd for the way things had turned out. We were all a bit nonplussed, as by then we had all decided that if he wanted to start over, that would be fine. But he didn't.

He wasn't the most gifted student in the class by a long way, and at times I wondered what kind of role he would be able to take up when (if) he graduated. It turns out I was being optimistic, as he failed his summer exams (4 of them), and was not given the option to repeat them.

One of the things I've noticed about the faculty of pharmacy department over here is that if you fall foul of the end of year exams, sometimes the faculty can decide, where you have failed coursework or clinical exams, that you don't get a chance to resit them in the autumn, and if you're really unlucky, that you don't get a chance to do them ever again, i.e. you get thrown off the course. The latter scenario was what ended up being played out for Martin, and in spite of him attempting to appeal the decision made by the board of examiners, he was out.

I can't fault the board entirely, because he would have been at best a very mediocre pharmacist, no matter what area he would have ended up going into. The reason I do feel sorry for him is that he had spent quite a few years, prior to his entry onto this course, just trying to get in. Ideally his unsuitability should have been spotted sooner, and some advice or help offered. Also, he has spent quite a bit of money getting as far as he did, and now it's all for nothing. I've spent quite a bit of money myself already, getting this far, and I'd die if that happened to me.

One of the big motivating factors for people to go back to college as mature students is a substantial dislike for the kind of job you had before, and that is the way it was with me. I gathered, from various conversations, that it was also the way with him. Now he has to go back to that.

That kind of failure is more than a little difficult to take when you're a little bit older than the average young twenty-something. All I can say is that if that had happened to me, the way forward afterwards would be more than a little unclear. Thank God it didn't.

The Pink Patrol

Dublin police go undercover to combat gay bashing

I must say, the image of police in 'jeans that are tight, and shirts that show off their pecs' brought a smile to my face. A good idea too, and not before time.

Interesting that all the perps seem to be from the same gang, though this could just mean that the police are targeting the usual suspects first.

Oh, and while I'm writing in this vein:

Same-Sex Parents No Impediment To Child Development Court Told

First day on the job...

... and it was soft.

The boss is cool, the work undemanding (consisting mostly of helping students open an MS Works file using Word) and best of all, the use of the printing facilities free. I've pretty much printed out all my lecture notes from last week - in colour where I deemed it necessary - and it didn't cost me a penny. The co-workers seem pretty cool too.

It beats standing behind a till for eight hours, having to ask chavs for ID all the time.

In keeping with the tradition of this course, I have my first exam of the year next week. Time to get on it.

An exchange

This morning, during a lecture on medicinal chemistry, thanks to the cold I've caught and the attendant constant nose-blowing, I got a nosebleed. On a Visa bill that Dan had given me earlier (I've had all my mail go to his place while I was staying in the hostel), the man started writing on the envelope, and I replied back. His contributions are in the slightly darker ink. My writing is a bit untidy as I was pinching my nostrils shut with my left hand.

You have to take your entertainment where you can find it in a Friday morning lecture.

Bleurgh!!!

The week is over, and starting it as I meant to go on, I went into all my classes, and not only that, I was early for them. I was rewarded with my diligence by being rained on so much, I have now caught a cold.

I swear, on the walk to college from my house, as soon as I came out onto an open road with no real protection against the wind or the rain save for a poxy umbrella, the heavens would open and a force ten gale would appear out of nowhere. I got soaked from the waist down this morning on my way to college, and later on when I got off the bus near Sainsbury, in the distance I ran to get to the supermarket, it suddenly started raining so hard, my only recently dried pants got soaked all over again.

So that's it. Runny nose and acres of tissues for the next few days.

I start my part time job as a computer helper for the college on Monday. Basically, I sit behind a desk in an office in the computer pool section of the library, do some extremely basic admin work and, when required, answer any computer-related questions the students may have. It's the first time I've ever had a boss who has used words to the effect of 'You can work as little or as much as you like'. Sounds right up my street. The only balls is that I get paid a month in arrears. As if I wasn't broke enough already.

Oh well...

A pet hate of mine.

Oh, for fuck's SAKE!

There is a term in the above Guardian article that in the past has been applied so indiscriminately and, it has to be said, by some of the greatest gobshites that have ever come to popular attention, that it has now ceased to lose any proper form of meaning.

Oh, and the concept is largely fictitious as well, having very little basis in reality.

Can you the reader spot what it is?

Interesting...

I found out, via my sitemeter, that if you type haemhorroid treatment (the english spelling) into Google, this blog is second in the list of search results.

Whatever next?

Landlords and lesbians...

I have finally got the keys to a new and quite nice house with the same two pharmacy students I referred to in the previous post. It nearly didn't happen, as the landlord wanted to convert the sitting room into another bedroom and squeeze a fifth person in there, but we revolted en masse and he compromised.

So now I can relax and chill at long last. Well, apart from the fact that I am now almost penniless after handing over the deposit and month's rent. Roll on the grant cheque.

I went out last night to the Brighton Uni LGBT pub crawl, but arrived too late for it to be any good for me. I ended up in Candy Bar, a pub for girls who like girls. At some point in the night, a fight broke out between two guys, and lots of people (girls an' all) waded in to restrain them. So did I, and the bouncer ejected me afterwards telling me that I had too much to drink, when I'm sure it was just because I was in the wrong place at the wrong time. I promptly threw a tantrum, so the manageress shut me up by promising to buy me a drink the next time I'm in there.

Which should be some time next year, going by my current pattern.