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31 July 2007 @ 06:15 pm

 

    Internet advertising. Gods, is it irritating. Advertising generally is a cause of annoyance in many homes, but on the Internet the irritation is doubled. Every time I see a pop-up window I want to take the person who first programmed it and strangle him by his bollocks. 
     What, so because I see a cartoon in a skirt when I'm checking my email, I'm suddenly going to rush onto eBay and buy some tampons? Get real. All it makes me do is scowl and click past the advert faster. If any effect is caused then it's going to be negative - no woman want to think about things like that, even if the issue is current. She'll just go to the shop, choose a pretty packet or a well-known brand and remove herself from that particular aisle as quickly as possible. And seeing adverts like that is hardly good for men. I've noticed two reactions to adverts like this, firstly my boyfriend's, who pretend not to see it and goes a hideous shade of red whilst clicking on anything to change the screen, or secondly my brother's who snickers at it and carries on, but the next time his friend is over and you've lost your hair dryer, he'll smile sweetly at you and whisper in a carrying tone "Don't worry mate, she's on the blob" or something equally eloquent. 
      Neither of these reactions act to endear me to either party – I end up either praying for strength and throttling my brother or rolling my eyes because my boyfriend is such a (there really is no other word for it) sissy.
    But it’s not just these adverts that pee me off. My next complaint? Charity adverts. These not only annoy me but upset me as well. It’s not my fault animals and children are abused or that there’s a drought somewhere so a village of African people is dying. I cannot do anything, so ruining my day by making me feel guiltily for the things me or my parents work hard to earn has no effect. Sure, I give to charity. My friends laugh at me when we go into town and I buy food because I nearly always end up sharing it with a tramp, I spent all last summer working in a charity shop for children and I help out at two youth groups. I’m seventeen, poor and time is all I can spare for these causes, so why make me feel bad? An advert like this actually made my little cousin of nine cry, but I think people like her and me are the only ones who notice them. Now, I’m not vegetarian or one of these ‘Save-The-whales’ types, I’m just human, and it’s that human empathy that makes me feel for these poor creatures.
      I detest the makers of these adverts only slightly less that what they are fighting against – they are too extreme, and it’s this thoughtless extremity of belief that leads to things like suicide bombers. Also, this type of people are the same type that post shocking ‘Meat is murder’ propaganda videos on places like YouTube under the names of popular songs and shows. I was physically sick when I saw one of these. And it’s not like I don’t have heavy morals on animal rights and welfare. My form tutor last year actually banned any discussion of the former after a particularly lengthy lashing at the end of my tongue.   

      I’m not saying that all advertising is bad here. No, used well it is a powerful tool that can really help flagging internet-based businesses, but misused it is a irritating, pointless and on occasion disturbing.     

 
 
31 July 2007 @ 06:12 pm
     You know how at the start of a summer holiday with eleven weeks stretching before you like a beach of golden sand, you are always filled with an amazing urge to do things. To go out an explore, to find someone to frit the idle hours away with, to do something so memorable you'll be able to remember it as the best summer of your life even when your old.
     And then your holidays actually begin. The weather shuts down and pens you in, your mother starts nagging you to get a job or to cut your hair, and as if that wasn't an insult enough a well meaning friend sends you a postcard from some terribly exotic location that even she can't spell, and suddenly it all seems pointless. 
     That's pretty much what's happened to me this year. When my holidays end, I'll join a sixth form college and start to truly appreciate the meaning of hard work, and from there I will be funnelled into higher education, then a job and in a flash, my youth will be over, and I'll be a middle-aged loser with saggy tits stuck in a dead end job where even the photocopy guy won't want to shag me.
     Now let me make something quite clear. I'm no prize bit, and I'm certainly not easy or the adventurous type - personally a good book does more for me that any night of wild sex - but it still doesn't contain my desperate desire to get out there and really enjoy my youth, while my cellulite is discreet and my face unlined.
      However, I confess to finding my spirit somewhat dampened. It's not just been the endless downpour of rain that started just after the brief glimmer of summer in April, or even my mother's endless list of chores, errands and commands that usually takes the prize place on the Bane-Of-My-Life shelf. No, this year my usual optimism has been crushed by the general attitude towards people my age.
    Now I'm not claiming to be perfect, far from in fact, but it shocks me that old ladies on a crowded bus fear to take the only seat free because its next to me, or even my own when I offer it with a smile.  Have the youth of today really become such an object of fear that I cannot walk into a bookshop without being all but stalked by the security guard, or innocently try to make an polite enquiry without being sent packing?
    This most certainly worries me, and in fact now I am down to wearing only a fifth of my wardrobe (which is fairly limited anyway) as I strive to dress in the least inoffensive manner possible, eschewing all dark colours, that slimming angel black, colours that could be perceived as too bright, humorous logos that could be seen as rude or outspoken, or even my favourite jeans that maybe have one to many holes because they are so well worn. I am reduced to dressing like, well not even like my mother - her clothes are brighter, smaller, tighter than anything I'd dare to wear anymore - so what have I become? I am not a loud mouth teen as these adults once were, I do not have the freedom to burn my bras and rejoice in the name of peace and love. Instead I am quiet and well behaved, and still suffer the same vicious glares that should be reserved for drunken louts and over-pretentious drama queens.  I am the new 21st century teen that will look back on there beautiful youth that once glistened with opportunity with shame, and cry.
 

 


 

 
 
Current Mood: blah
 
 
 
 

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