You get grunge and then you get grunge. And then you get Camden grunge. I am the mom of a totally adorable (if I may say so myself) 9-month-old baby girl. Everyone loves her… including the hobos, the dustbin-diggers, the unbathed, the toothless, the druggies, the drunkards and the mentally challenged – all of whom inhabit the wonderful town of Camden, where I live. Before I proceed, I need to say that: I love North London, I love Camden and I am of the firm belief that babies are for sharing (not in a gross paedophile way but in an ‘aah sweet, look at the lovely baby’ kind of way). The privilege of being a parent does not form everyone’s lot in life and I am well aware that motherhood is, indeed, a privilege. The aforementioned life-philosophies that share space in my brain with the ‘I will never live in South London’ philosophy, have placed me in a predicament. Babies bring delight to so many and what kind of person denies the odd head-stroke or hand-touch? Except when the Camden grunge are concerned. Camden grunge has nothing to do with torn stockings, Dr Martins and over-sized dresses, but rather, old food, dirt and oil. Let me explain. (more…)

It all began with Vlad the Impaler and Stoker – Bram Stoker that is. Vlad came first. He was also known as Vlad III, Prince of Wallachia or, more simply, as Dracula – Drakyula in Romanian. According to folklore, tyrannical Vlad was sadistically cruel. His victims numbered between 40,000 and 100,000 (depending on who is telling the story) and favoured methods of punishment, other than the infamous impalement, included torturing; burning; skinning (skinning the feet of thieves, thereafter placing salt on the wounds and allowing goats to lick off the salt was a favourite); roasting and boiling people; feeding people the flesh of their friends or relatives; cutting off limbs; and drowning. Edward Cullen clearly missed out on Vamp101.

Most researchers agree that there is a connection between Transylvanian Vlad and Stoker’s Count Dracula; the extent of the association between the factual man and the fictional character is, however, a point of debate. More important than what inspired Stoker’s prolific character is how influential that character has been. The vampire trend has dipped in and out of consciousness since Dracula was published in 1897. In 2010, not only has vampire lore staked a large claim to popular culture but has also called into question the moral fibre of the community and thus raised a hullabaloo similar to the one elicited by Stoker in 1897. Gone is the attraction of long-haired Fabios waggling their penises around the lusty loins of hot blondes in Mills and Boon escapades. Vampire sex is IN; it’s dangerous, possessive and most importantly animalistic. And no tale exposes vampire magnetism better than Charlaine Harris’s Southern Vampire Mystery novels – recently translated into hit show True Blood. Harris has built on Stoker’s legacy; she has written a social satire that uses a seemingly innocent gal from Louisiana as a agent for astute commentary and shrewd observation. (more…)

My paternal grandmother died a week after my baby girl was born. As a new existence replaced an old one, the circle of life was never more vivid to me as it was then. I was not close to my grandmother and I wish that I had been. I called her granny but have never really appreciated the sentiment that is attached to the title. Retrospect can be a wonderful and yet decidedly pointless exercise but on this occasion I’ll allow my thoughts to run their course. I feel like I have been cheated out of a treasure. A treasure called wisdom: a sacred wisdom that belongs to a grandmother and is relinquished in death as a new matriarch, a grandmother’s successor, assumes the role. My grandmother’s wisdom has been lost in the sands of time due to my own apathy as a granddaughter. I’ve ignored the source and missed the scoop. And my head droops further in shame as I admit that I don’t feel sad about the loss of my grandmother, the person, but rather my grandmother, the wise one. (more…)

“Live by the sword, die by the sword” is a phrase that has adorned the lips of many South Africans following the death of AWB (Afrikaner Weerstandsbeweging ) leader Eugene Terre’Blanche. As the director of a neo-Nazi unit that boasts white supremacy with the assistance of a revamped swastika, it is not really a surprise that Terre’Blanche met a violent end. What is a shock (to those with their heads in the sand) is that South Africa is no “rainbow nation” – a slogan that is forced down the throats of international audiences. The concept of truth and reconciliation is in fact a farce – racism is rife and Terre’Blanche’s bloody murder is a statement to that effect. Black and white are as polarised in the year 2010 as they were during the Apartheid years, the only difference is that there is no law prescribing discrimination. As Zapiro suggests, in spite of Terre’Blanche’s best efforts over the course of many years, all he had to do was get killed to “incite race hatred”. (more…)

Richard of Devizes wrote in 1177:

I do not like the city at all. All sorts of men crowd there from every country…each brings its own vices and customs. None lives in it without falling into some sort of crime. Every quater abounds in grave obscenities. The greater the rascal, the greater man he is accounted…Do not associate with the crowd of pimps: do not mingle with the throng in eating houses: avoid dice and gambling, the theatre and the tavern…the number of parasites is infinite. Actors, jesters, smooth-skinned lads, moors flatterers, pretty-boys, effeminates, paederasts, singing and dancing girls, quacks, belly-dancers, sorceresses, extortioners, night-wanderers, magicians, mimes, beggars and buffoons…if you do not want to dwell with evil-livers, do not live in London. (A Thousand Years of Vice in the Capital: London The Wicked City, Fergus Linnane)

What strikes me about this observation is that nothing has changed. People still complain about foreigners and parents are afraid to let their youngsters loose in the lion’s den that is London. Sin and debauchery populate the city and to remain uncorrupted by the great Lion one has to be steadfast in one’s moral convictions: so it is thought. As I, in the year 2010, ponder the considerations of Richard of Devizes, 800+ years after the English chronicler wrote about London, a smurk appears on my face. In my mind, the very things that make the city of London deplorable to so many are what make it the fabulous, charming city that it is – from the haphazard grunge of Camden Town to the grandiose beauty of Westminster and the frenzied energy of central London. All of the aforementioned places have their own uniquely bewitching allure. (more…)

If somebody tells me about the “Mozart Effect” one more time I am going to start breaking faces. I realise that my metal music alliances may be enough to freak out the most liberal of thinkers but it would be most appreciated if people did their research.

The Mozart Effect is a theory that is based on a set of research results, which indicate that listening to Mozart’s music may induce a short-term improvement on the performance of certain kinds of mental tasks known as ‘spatial-temporal reasoning‘. Popularised versions of the theory credit the playing of classical music to babies with boosting IQ, improving health, strengthening family ties and even producing the occasional child prodigy. This idea was entrenched in the 1997 book by Don Campbell, The Mozart Effect: Tapping the Power of Music to Heal the Body, Strengthen the Mind, and Unlock the Creative Spirit. Although there have been numerous studies conducted in support of the Mozart Effect, the theory remains controversial and there are many academics and studies that debunk the extent and consistency of the proposed effects of classical music on babies. There are researchers who argue that the Mozart Effect represents only the short-term effects of classical music on mood and arousal. There are also studies concluding that although classical music may have a calming effect babies, it does not in fact improve IQ. This is why researchers continue to test whether the Mozart Effect is real and if any other styles and pieces of music have the same effect. (more…)

My favourite Barbie was the one with the blue party dress and the poofy eighties fringe. My second favourite was my Party Pink Barbie which came adorned in pink, jewels and glitz – the showstopper being a furry pink shawl sprinkled with sparkly silver stuff. I had some other pretend ‘Barbies’ that I managed to destroy: I used hand soap to wash one doll’s beautiful red hair and it remains, to this very day, stuck together in one giant dreadlock; and I had a mermaid Cindy (or something) which apparently was not supposed to be used in water despite the fact that she came with a beautiful mermaid tail – her crimped hair changed from ‘Darryl Hannah in Splash‘ to ‘Cameron Diaz in Being John Malkovich‘. Poor dollies. Taiwanese plastic is pretty sturdy but does allow for creativity that encompasses body modification, hair design and facial piercings. If my mom had taken a look at my Barbies perhaps she wouldn’t have been so surprised when I got my first tattoo, purple-black hair and piercing. I spent many a happy hour ‘playing Barbies’ with neighbours, friends, cousins and even brothers – although their version of the game was called ‘army bases’ and involved G.I. Joes, lego, micro-machines, farmyard animals and plants from the garden. (more…)

The Museum of Modern Art in New York is honouring Director Tim Burton with a retrospective exhibit of the artwork connected to some of his most beloved films including Edward Scissorhands and The Nightmare Before Christmas. The exhibition will include hundreds of never-before-seen paintings, sculptures and puppets from the artist’s own collection. Celebs including Johnny Depp, Patti Smith, Danny DeVito, Tim Burton and partner Helena Bonham Carter attended the exhibition premier in New York this week (see footage). The exhibition will run from 22 November 2009 until 26 April 2010 and has been described by MONA as an exhibition of Burton’s work “as a director, producer, writer, and concept artist for live-action and animated films, along with his work as a fiction writer, photographer and illustrator.” (more…)

I have been attending the Alpha course with my buddy Fauzia (aka F-Dawg) for the last three weeks. I am a Christian, F-Dawg is not, although her mom is a recent convert and to say that poor F-Dawg has received her fair share of bible-bashing is probably the understatement of the year. The course has been cool so far and the group sessions are mostly dominated by F-Dawg and I debating issues that we have debated on numerous occasions before – so, pretty much, the other ten people may as well be paintings on the wall. Occasionally somebody makes a comment and very rarely is it relevant to the debate we are having. Last week F-Dawg and I were chit-chatting about the fact that Christians preach that Christianity is the only way. She cannot accept the narcissism and arrogance of this view and wants to know why all religions are not correct. Why is Christianity the only right one? It is a valid point and, of course, makes many Christians uncomfortable as exemplified by the half-assed response from the Christians in our Alpha group: there is some truth in all religions. That’s it. That’s the whole response. I got so mad that I thought my heart was going to jump right out of my chest and splatter all over my increasingly red face. Here’s the reason: in a world that preaches relativism, Christians are afraid to say that what they believe is right. So they pussy-foot around it, not wanting to chase people away, by skirting the truth of the matter. Yes, there is some truth in all religions but the whole point is that Christianity is the truth. The whole irony is that Alpha is an evangelical course designed to show non-believers the truth of Christianity – so when confronted by someone at Alpha who wants to know why Christianity is right and other religions are wrong, to bullshit around the issue is like a slap in the face. (more…)

Whilst walking home on Friday night, I was fortunate enough to witness three guys perform a stealth operation right in front of my very eyes: one was the designated tip-tagger, and the other two were lookouts. Once the deed had been done they bolted down the street as if the armed forces were breathing bullets down their necks. I shook my head and then laughed out loud as I considered how bored and unstimulated one must feel to find the act of signing a rubbish bin so enthralling. The whole adolescent, gangster-wannabe thing seems just a tad … um … pointless. If I wanted to mark my territory I would find a more attractive way of doing it. Challenging authority through art or intellect seems to be far more useful than vandalising public property with some lame-ass signature. But dawgs will be dogs – at least urine wasn’t involved. (more…)