Wednesday 30 May 2001
THE STATE THAT I AM IN
Well, I expect by this point you're probably pretty worried about
the economy. And so am I. Do you know what the two industries
that thrive during a recession are? Entertainment, and booze.
I don't see 'content' on that list, do you? Nah. 'Content' is
not something that people need during a recession. Jeez, I
just got laid off. I'm so depressed. Think I'll check me out some
content on that ol' intermesh thing. That'll really cheer me up.
Like, chaaa, man. Don't fink so.
To think that three years ago I was shaking my little rumpah all
covered in sequins as a BELLY DANCER, and i jacked it all in to
become a CONTENT PRODUCER. Talk about spakky. Being a bellydancer
certainly is entertainment. I cannot say for sure that the ability
to Write Short Snappy Sentences and Facilitate Conversation Between
Community Members is, though, is it?
And which, after all, is the better skill? Imagine, as I frequently
do, especially now I am unemployed, that one is kidnapped by five
sweaty, hairy, frighteningly ugly truck drivers in really bad
shirts. Imagine that you had, by any means necessary, to escape
from their rough-handed clutches. Imagine that your quaint habit
of smoking Marlboro Lights (Sarah Jessica Parker stylee, bien
sur, i.e. utterly glamorous and gorgeous and so fabulously
matching that corsage and your new £65 dark denim Levis jacket
and your adorable ringlets but NONETHELESS unhealthy as all hell)
meant that the obvious escape route of RUN LIKE FUCK was barred
to you. What would you do? There they are around you with mischief
on their minds. There you are all small and white and girlish.
Holding your hands up before you, you cry:
'Nao! Don't do bad things! For I can provide a weekly trend report
detailing which areas of the boards are most active! Don't give
me a scary lecherous look, for I can stimulate the relationship
between the site and its community! Take your hands off me, old
man, for I am highly skilled in linking site content to relevant
discussions!' Would this keep you from your doom? Hell no! You
would be dead meat in, ooh, seconds! Their boredom alone would
seal your fate; you would, no doubt, be doubly tormented and would
die with the word 'Nathan' ringing in your ears.
BUT, if you could bellydance; if you could persuade one of them
to part with their nasty check lumberjack shirt; if you could
tie it tight round your hips and tell them to imagine it is a
coin belt; if you could encourage them to sit down on these rickety
chairs (because, suddenly, as is the way with these things, you
have been taken to a log cabin in the woods somewhere, which has
rickety chairs and an old oil-burning stove): IF you could do
those things, THEN you could most surely lull them into a false
sense of security with your undulating hips, your shimmies and
twirls, and that thing that you can do with your breasts, and
- this is the clever bit, see, because I know you are thinking
well that won't help her to escape, will it, that will merely
incite their lust, but bear with me please - because, you
see, THEN they would LIKE you and want to keep you alive for a
bit longer and then, see, you could persuade them to let you make
them some coffee BEFORE they did the bad man things to you, and
THEN, THEN you could slip some sleeping pills which you happen
to have on you for some reason into their drinks and then, MUAHAHAAAA,
you have escaped, and you won't even need to RUN, and all because
of the mighty power of BELLYDANCE!
My point is proven. My case is closed. All my skills, all of them,
are as naught, save for my incredible talent for ass-wiggling.
Brain? Chaaa. Intellect? Cuh. Feminism? Fuck
dat! I embrace the alcohol industry with open mouth, and the
entertainment industry with open legs. Recession time, folks!
And here is Miss AMP: selling her knickers over the internet,
brandishing a worthless content producer's CV in her be-ringed
right hand, and shaking her rumpah, Egyptian stylee.
Now, who'll tuck a fiver into her cleavage?
