Tag: CD

Guest Post: 7 Reasons My Wife Buys The Best Presents

Just supposing, for instance, that this was the last Guest Post we ever published. Who would you like it to be written by? I suspect at least 26% of you would choose Richard O’Hagan. Like Dr Simon Percy Jennifer Best who posted last week and Liz Gregory who posted a few weeks ago, Richard is a 7 Reasons stalwart. He’s the author of The Memory Blog, the face behind @theskiver and he likes marmite. That, we think, is all you need to know.

Crisps!

It recently came to my attention that there are people out there who make a career of going shopping for other people. Now, personally, I cannot think of anything worse than going shopping for other people. I mean, going shopping for myself is stressful enough. Going shopping for presents doubly so. Why on earth would you want to make a career out of it*?

Fortunately**, I am married to a woman who also hates shopping. Which therefore makes it even more surprising that she is the best present buyer ever. I don’t just mean by comparison with me, either, because I am completely rubbish at it (one year I gave her a cheese grater as a gift). Just consider this: The People Who Buy Presents For Other People need you to give them some sort of a list, so that they know roughly what to get. I have a wish list on Amazon – two of them, in fact – and my wife almost never uses it. Instead, she uses her initiative to come up with wonderful gifts such as this:

1. A Box of Seabrook’s Tomato Ketchup Crisps. My life is an endless quest for ketchup flavoured crisps, and has been ever since I first tried them on our honeymoon. Since when I have rarely seen them in the shops, not even in the USA where, frankly, you’d expect the locals to be munching them down for breakfast lunch and dinner. It had never occurred to me to simply see if you could buy them off the internet, but my wife did.

2. A Cross Pen. No, not an angry writing implement. I once commented to my wife that my Tombo fountain pen seemed to be nearing the end of its life. I then thought no more of it until, approximately three months later, I received a beautiful Cross pen as a Christmas present. A pen of such high quality that I’ve had to learn how to write with it. And I didn’t even ask for it.

3. A Book About Scriptwriting. For almost two years now (or over two years, depending upon when this gets published) I have been labouring over a script for a television comedy. It is very hard to get a script commissioned if you are not either an established writer, or related to one, or both. It hadn’t even occurred to me that there are books that I could consult about the subject, but this one now nestles in my bedside cabinet where I can dip into it whenever I want. So far, it has been invaluable.

4. A Letter Opener. I don’t get much mail, and most of what I do get is either bills that I have already received online and magazines that I subscribe to. But every now and then I get a proper letter, in a proper envelope, and I need to open it. My fingers are not only large, but they are often in a state of mangledness after a close encounter with a cricket ball or a rugby boot. I have always wanted a letter opener and was therefore extremely pleased when my wife gave me one as a Christmas present, even though I still cannot recall mentioning to her that I wanted one.

5. Marmite Spoons. That’s right, spoons for scooping the yummy delight that it Marmite out of the jar and onto your bread, toast or whatever. Each has a different Marmite jar on the top. You can’t beat being able to offer your guests Marmite with a special spoon. Words cannot describe the envious looks that I get.

6. A CD Subscription. Did you know that Rough Trade Records have a subscription service? I didn’t. My wife did. It is a very simple plan. You give them money and each month they choose a new CD and send it to you. You discover music that you might not listen to otherwise. It is like the Olympics ticket lottery, only you actually get something at the end of it. A brilliant idea, and a brilliant gift

7. Cricket. Not a gift that you can easily giftwrap, I’ll admit. Cricket may be the best game on the planet, but even I have to admit that it can take a little while to play. Despite this, my wife has never once tried to stop me playing it, or going to watch it, and lumbering her with our exuberant child to look after. There are not many better gifts that selflessly letting someone do something they love.

All of which means that you can forget using any of these services, because they will never be as inventive at gift buying as my wife is. Now, where did I put that cheese grater?

*Unless you are my mother, who would regard this as a dream job.

**For me, not necessarily for her.

October 22, 2011
7 Reasons That Women Shouldn’t Listen to Chaka Khan

Yesterday my writing partner Jon wrote about a man in Folkestone who has had his stereo and CD collection confiscated for playing Chaka Khan’s I’m Every Woman at “ear-splitting” volume through the night. Jon wrote brilliantly. Jon, however, did not have an explanation as to why anyone would play I’m Every Woman at an abnormally high volume and put it down to “… feminist undertones that are far too subtle for my man-sized brain to detect”. He was wrong though. Chaka Khan’s I’m Every Woman is not a feminist anthem in the least. It’s a hateful piece of misogyny. Women: Here are seven reasons that you should not listen to Chaka Khan’s I’m Every Woman.

1. “I’m every woman”. Women are subjected to many idealised and unrealistic representations in the modern media: They’re shown waiflike airbrushed models in every magazine and told they should look like them; they’re shown domestic goddesses in ideal kitchens and told they should cook like them. They’re shown Kirsty Alsop and told to do whatever the hell she says. In short, women are burdened with unattainable and unrealistic expectations. It is oft said that a woman should be “a whore in the bedroom and a chef in the kitchen”, but for many women, this is an unattainable goal. Not for Chaka Khan though, she’s every woman: She’s a whore in the bedroom, a chef in the kitchen, an iron lady in parliament, a ballerina in the dance hall, a rocket-scientist in the rocket and Mother bloody Theresa of Calcutta in Calcutta all rolled into one. How is any mere mortal woman supposed to compete with Chaka Khan? They can’t. She’s every woman. Any woman hearing this will feel inadequate.

2. “It’s all in me”. Chaka is also a massive slut. It’s all in her. Whatever it is, she has all of it. In her. That leaves none for the rest of you. Not a drop. Not an inch. Not a sausage. And how does Chaka Khan spend her remaining leisure hours?

3. “I can…mix a Special Brew”. That’s right, she spends them making cocktails for tramps. Do you do anything as virtuous and worthy as that? No, of course you don’t. None of the rest of you have even considered donating your free time to servicing the beverage needs of vagabonds, have you? No. Only Chaka Khan is this benevolent.

4. “I can read your thoughts right now”. She knows what you’re thinking too. She knows that you’re thinking, “What a smug bloody bitch, how am I supposed to compete with her?” Or, if you live in Folkestone, “Aaaarrrggghhh!!!! Turn it down you bastard!!!!”. Whatever bad thought you are thinking about Chaka Khan, she knows about it. And this doesn’t bode well for you because…

5. “I can…put fire inside of you”. Yes, Chaka Khan can make you spontaneously combust! As if it weren’t bad enough that she’s making you ordinary non-super-awesome-Chaka-Khan-women feel like wretched and inadequate harridans, she’s threatening you too. She can summon the power of fire! The message is clear: Don’t anger Chaka Khan ladies; she can set your innards alight; she can singe your ovaries and toast other bits that I don’t know the names of. Chaka Khan can kill you with her disco inferno. And she probably will because…

6. “Danger or fear, instantly I will appear…” You’re aware that Chaka Khan knows when you think bad things about her and you know that she can make you burst into flame. So you are in danger, and you’re probably afraid. And you should be very, very afraid because that’s the very point when Chaka Khan will appear! Instantly! And she’s likely to be furious. But you shouldn’t just be afraid of spontaneous combustion, you should be afraid of being in the same room with her full stop. Because – even if she’s in a benevolent mood and you find that you aren’t on fire – you’ll look like a feckless inadequate in comparison. Because she can do even more than you previously supposed…

7. “Anything you want done baby, I’ll do it naturally”. It’s not enough that she’s bloody every woman that can have any man (and has) and that she can read your thoughts and make you burst into flame at will, Chaka goes on to tell us that she can do anything. Naturally. This means that she can change your mood with crystals, she can heal your ailments with reiki, she can beat you in a gardening contest without using fertilizer, she can probably put up bookshelves using whale-song. She’s not merely omnipotent, she’s environmentally sustainable, GM free, solar-powered, dolphin-friendly and her farts probably smell of unpasteurised organic monofloral honey (or at least they would if she farted but she never, ever does). The only thing that Chaka Khan apparently can’t do is nothing. Artificially. Which isn’t really much of a flaw as far as I can see.

So there you have it. Playing Chaka Khan’s I’m Every Woman at an ear-splitting volume is a crass act of misogyny that is calculated to make any woman listening feel inadequate, envious, unworthy, paranoid, afraid, very afraid and when – with tear-streaked make up – she’s sobbing in terror and doesn’t think she can sink any lower it makes her feel just that little bit more inadequate. And fat. Chaka Khan is a heinous oppressor of women and I say we should burn the witch.

March 23, 2011
7 Reasons Playing Chaka Khan’s “I’m Every Woman” Abnormally Loud Is Inexplicable

Anyone who witnessed the draft version of this post will have seen that it was originally entitled, 7 Reasons Having A Penchant For Chaka Khan’s ‘I’m Every Woman’ Is Perfectly Natural. And there were seven reasons. Loose reasons, but seven reasons non-the-less. It was ready to be published. Only, I couldn’t do it. For the first time in my life I had written something I couldn’t even pretend to believe. Having a penchant for Chaka Khan’s I’m Every Woman is not perfectly natural. In fact, it’s wrong. Very wrong. So wrong that it’s actually inexplicable.

Before we get to the reasons for this, let me first set the scene. Last night I choked on a peanut. Or at least I would had I been eating peanuts. I was quite happily half ignoring the BBC regional news – that’s South East Today for me – when a story shocked me to my very core. A man, a man from Folkestone, has had his stereo seized after he continuously played Chaka Khan’s I’m Every Woman at an abnormally high volume.

Here’s why that’s an inexplicable thing to do:

Chaka (or Khan)

1. Logic. Right from the outset this song makes little sense. ‘I’m Every Woman’? How is that even possible? Rosanne Barr was a big girl, but not even she could be classed as ‘every woman’. Rather surprisingly she has only ever been classed as one. From this I come to the conclusion that I’m Every Woman has feminist undertones that are far too subtle for my man-sized brain to detect. So while I can understand the need for Germaine Greer to dance around the kitchen with her rolling pin, for this man I can not.

2. Choice. While there is nothing wrong with this man pitching his tent in the camptastic field, one does have to question his choice of song. I mean, anyone with half an ear drum can confirm that I Feel For You is a much finer work than I’m Every Woman. It starts with a guy who has a stammer trying to say, “Chaka Khan” for goodness sake. Genius.

3. Realisation. I’m a fairly impassive person. What other people think of me doesn’t bother me in the slightest – which is probably just as well really given the current standings in Sunday’s 7 Reasons poll. I have never had a problem admitting that my music collection includes some inexplicable titles. Billie Piper’s Honey To The B for example. This doesn’t mean however that I actually enjoy listening to the album. No, honestly, I don’t. In fact I think it has been hidden in the loft by my girlfriend. As I have got older, my musical tastes have evolved. To such an extent that if I even so much as see my copy of Louise’s Woman In Me I break out in a cold sweat. I know not to touch it.* It’s a self-preservation thing I think. I don’t believe that Folkestone man doesn’t feel the same way when he approaches his CD rack. Which makes his decision to go through and actually play his music even more baffling.

4. Guilty Pleasures. Obviously, when I say my musical taste has evolved, that doesn’t mean I don’t get a twitch on when certain songs I probably shouldn’t like float out of the speakers. Boy Meets Girl’s Waiting For A Star To Fall is probably the most guilty of these pleasures. What I wouldn’t do though, is play it so loud that the entire neighbourhood has a party in the street and I appear in The Daily Express. The Daily Telegraph maybe, but not the Express.

5. More Logic. I think I do understand a little of what Folkestone man must have been going through. I can relate to his predicament slightly. If I am watching cricket and my girlfriend is vacuuming I have to turn the volume up to hear what the commentators are saying. That is the natural thing to do. I presume from my experience that Folkestone man had little choice but to drown out the sound of his neighbours banging on the wall by turning up the volume. What I don’t understand is why he didn’t pause his music until the banging had stopped? Obviously that’s not something I can do if I am watching live sport. The knowledge that I am watching something five minutes after it has happened makes me feel violently ill.

6. Jobsworths. I guess the thing that really baffles me about Folkestone man is that he clearly likes keeping ‘Noise Officers’ in jobs. Noise Officers! Do we really need people whose full time role it is to identify what is too loud or not? No we don’t. It’s bloody obvious. If can hear it and I can’t control it, then it’s too loud. Maybe if Folkestone man and his ilk turned down their music, these noise officers could go and do something useful. Like chase burglars.**

7. The 7 Reasons Test. It has taken me far too long to come up with six reasons, let alone seven and quite frankly I need to get on with my life. But this only goes to show how inexplicable playing Chaka Khan’s I’m Every Woman abnormally loud is. If it was explicable I would have probably been able to reason it in thirty minutes. As it is, it has taken me a good three hours to get this far. I’ll be honest, this has been my worst 7 Reasons experience since 7 Reasons It Sometimes Takes 7 Hours To Write 7 Reasons and at the moment I have very little interest in returning to this site ever again. I’m turning to drink. And for once I don’t mean tea.

*Rather interestingly this CD isn’t in the loft. I am looking at it right now. Sweaty, but tempted.

**Whoever came up with the idea of Noise Officers needs to get in touch with me today to prevent a 7 Reasons rant on Thursday.***

***Not that I’m coming back. I quit.

March 22, 2011
7 Reasons The Cassette Is Better Than The CD

1. CD Case Design Flaw: Part A. Whichever genius designed the CD case was/is not a genius. A genius would not have made the breadth of the case so bloody tiny that the name of the artist/album is impossible to see unless you have your nose pressed up against it. The breadth of the cassette case was ideal. Perfectly readable from a sensible distance and far less risk of adding a plastic splinter to your face.

2. CD Case Design Flaw: Part B. One for the environmentalists among you. The CD case uses three parts. The cassette case uses two. It isn’t difficult to work out where Global Warming came from is it?

3. Double-sided. When you bought an album on tape, you were in fact getting two mini albums. And A-side and a B-side. Musicians actually took this into account when putting the track listing together. And it made a huge difference. Oasis’ Definitely Maybe and What’s The Story (Morning Glory?) were both released on tape. Standing On The Shoulders Of Giants was not. Coincidence?

4. Sturdiness. A cassette is to a hammer what a HobNob is a to a cup of tea. The CD is a rich tea finger. Pathetic.

5. Write Protection Override. In the good old days when cassettes appeared on every shelf in Our Price, you could go to bed on a Sunday night happy in the knowledge that you wouldn’t ever have to set foot in that store. That is because you’d just used a bit of masking tape on your father’s copy of Born In The USA and recorded that week’s Top 20 over it.

6. Manual Rewind. Sticking your little finger into a cassette and giving it a turn one way or the other made you feel in control of your music collection. Sticking your little finger through the middle of a CD and spinning it makes you look like a prick. And you’ll get a knuckle cut.

7. Labeling. It was so easy to write on a cassette. Usually it came with specially designed labels anyway. All you had to do was get out the biro. With a CD though, you need a special pen. Does a special pen come with a blank CD? Does it hell. You have to go and find a branch of bloody Hobby Craft. And of course that is miles away. On an industrial estate. Next to a Wickes and Charlies Car Wash and a burger van.

February 23, 2010