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Dear Auntie:
I started watching this film about earthlings that had Joaquin Phoenix in it the other day, but it turned out it wasn't a sci fi flick like I thought, it was a documentary about the way animals are treated and Joaquin was the narrator. I couldn't watch the whole thing because it was like really so gross. But I saw enough to make me think that maybe I should become a vegetarian. (There seemed to be an awful lot of suffering and cruelty going on amongst the cows, pigs and chickens.) My mother says that being a vegetarian won't make me a better person. She says Hitler was a vegetarian. Is that true?
At Least Beans Don't Cry
Dear At Least:
The answer to your questions seems to be: MAYBE NOT. Apparently, not everybody believes Hitler was really a vegetarian. Or at least not all the time. But, personally, I don't see what it matters. So what? He also wore shoes. Are you going to walk through the snow in bare feet because Adolf Hitler wore shoes? (I don't think so!)) How ridiculous is that? And besides, there are plenty of famous vegetarians who made absolutely no contribution to the holocaust (Gandhi, Toby Maguire, Leo Tolstoy and Chelsea Clinton, to name but a few). But before you stand up in the cafeteria and announce that you're no longer going to be responsible for footless chickens, I think you should know that being a vegetarian isn't just about not eating any animal that looks really cute when it's a baby. You have to read every packet before you open it. They sneak meat products into everything you can think of. You can't even eat Bounty Bar for God's sake! Or a bowl of jelly. Or sugar! (I know it sounds incredible, but apparently it's true!) If you're willing to put all that work into it, then I think you should follow your conscience and embrace the soybean. (Especially if your conscience is strong enough to resist the temptation of a burger, medium-rare, with pickle and chips on the side!)
Dear Aunt K:
I've never written to an Agony Aunt before, because usually if I have a problem I just talk to my friends. They all have mothers and brothers and sisters and boyfriends and really irritating teachers and body problems, just like me - the normal things that cause so much angst and distress and make you wish you were someone else. But this time my friends aren't any help, because this is such an unusual problem that they don't know what to do either. Here's the thing. I've been invited to a Guy Fawkes party by a girl in my year. The invitation says to dress for the occasion, but I don't know what that means. I'd know what to wear to a beach party or a wedding, but I didn't realise Guy Fawkes had a special dress code. I thought you just turned up in any old thing that you're willing to have smelling of smoke or accidentally set on fire. I tried asking this girl, but all she said was, 'Oh, you know...' - and then her phone rang and cut short our conversation. I can't ask her again. It's too embarrassing. What do you think 'dress for the occasion' means?
Baffled and Embarrassed
Dear B&E:
Life really is FRAUGHT, isn't it? Absolutely NOTHING is straightforward and simple. So it's no surprise (at lest not to me) that a friend of mine was once in a very similar situation. Only in hr case the occasion wasn't Guy Fawkes. An American girl in her school invited her over for a big Thanksgiving do. Come to a Festive Feast of a Party! it said. Dress for the Occasion. My friend said that, with hindsight (which seems to be the best kind!), she saw that she should have asked for a more detailed explanation of what that meant - but of course she didn't have hindsight when she got the invitation. What she had was a picture of pilgrims, Indians and a turkey (the sort that's still walking round with its feathers intact, not the sort that's bald and on a platter), surrounded by pumpkins, and all smiling like the best of chums. Not exactly an expert on American holidays, and confused by the pumpkins, she mixed up Thanksgiving with Halloween (which if you ask me is a perfectly reasonable mistake to make, given the circumstances) and assumed the invitation was to a costume party. So she went as Pocahontas. And she looked tres cute - red feather and beads and her mum's old slippers that looked like moccasins (which actually turned out to be an über bad idea because they disintegrated in the rain on the walk over). Everybody else was just in regular clothes. Nobody said anything (like what the heck do you think you're dressed for?), but she felt she could tell that they thought there was something seriously wrong with her. Not only were they excruciatingly polite to her (not a word was said about her being shoeless and leaving footprints all over the carpet), but they didn't even get upset when her feather fell into the creamed onions. She said she felt more like a turkey than an Indian. So my advice to you is to ask for clarification. It may be embarrassing, but it's not going to be as embarrassing as turning up in a doublet and a lace shirt when everyone else is wearing T-shirts and jeans.
Dear AKIA:
I know you'll say I'm just a victim of our materialistic, consumer society but I really want to make A LOT of money in my life. Not just a good income but loads of dosh. I think the best way to do this would be to become a film star, but my father says a plastic surgeon would be a safer bet (because there are a lot more plastic surgeons around than Angelina Jolies). What do you think?
Worried about My Career
Dear Worried:
I think you're both wrong. Let's face it, there is no sure-fire way of becoming a movie star (unless your father is one). You could slog at acting in mediocre films for years and never be more than the dorky sister of the leading lady. But even if you (unlike the other million actors in the world) do become a mega star, think about all the pitfalls and possibilities for future failure there are! Posing naked with a bowler hat over your breasts. Doing rehab with Paris Hilton. Appearing in a film with Robin Williams. Marrying someone like Tom Cruise. Let's be realistic: you'd never be able to sleep at night. Dark circles would form under your eyes. You'd become short-tempered and tetchy. No one would want to work with you any more. You'd end up on the street, pushing all your possessions round in a trolley (and believe me, there wouldn't be that many of them). On the other hand, of course, there is a sure-fire of becoming a plastic surgeon (go to medical school), but even though you make a lot of money all it takes is one slip of the knife for you to find yourself in court. Sued for millions. Your picture all over the tabloids with the caption When Beauty Met the Beast! In no time at all you'd find yourself lucky to work as a volunteer medic in a war zone. No, what you want is a job where you get paid BUCKETS of money but all that happens if you make some mega mistake is you get more money. You're laughing. You remember you were fired from that Mexican restaurant for breaking too many plates (and you had to PAY for them!). You don't think a job like that exists. BUT YOU'RE WRONG!!!! You should be a CEO. CEO's get paid by the lorry load. And they don't even have to be good at what they do. Here's an example: the head of the investment bank Merrill Lynch lost his company EIGHT BILLION DOLLARS. So what did they do? Did they sue him? Did they make him pay it back? NO!!!! They gave him over a million and a half dollars just to leave. That's what I call a job.
Dear Aunt:
My uncle has offered me and my boyfriend his cottage in the country for the holidays. I love the idea of sitting by the crackling fire at night and walking hand in hand down snowy lanes in the day. There'll be starry skies and breathtaking dawns. Instead of hearing traffic, sirens, planes and police helicopters all the time, we'll be surrounded by peace and quiet and hear only the occasional bird calling to its mate. Instead of worrying about being mugged for our cell phones the only thing we'll have to worry about is not getting a signal on them. I reckon it'll be a real chance for us to completely relax and unwind from all the pressures of school and work, and spend some quality time together. But my boyfriend's a city boy. He thinks it'll be dead boring. How can I convince him that he's wrong?
Pining for Pine Trees
Dear Pining:
Have either of you ever BEEN in the country? There is nothing peaceful or quiet about it. Or boring either (unless it's raining so much you can't go out without drowning). You can't sleep past dawn because there's always some chicken crowing away, and then it's barking, mooing and baaing all day long. And it's dangerous. The last time I was FORCED to go to the family stone hut located dead centre in the middle of nowhere, I was actually attacked by peacocks!!!. Yes, you read that right. Feral peacocks! God knows how they got there. One can only assume they got lost (which is about the only way anyone would ever find this place). Anyway, there I was (having only recently recovered from being chased by a cow the last time we visited), walking the twenty miles into the village for a packet of crisps when all of a sudden this GIGANTIC peacock flew squawking straight at me. Have you ever seen an aggressive peacock? Believe me, it's not a pretty sight. I was so frightened I thought I'd swallowed my tongue! If you want peace and quiet, stay home, even if it means you have to sit in a cupboard.
Dear AK:
My mother's been reading nothing but scare stories in the papers and magazines about how we're all going to be obese in a few years and how everything we eat is bad for us. It's made her obsessed with my weight (which, yes, is a little bit more than it should be but I'm exactly going to be mistaken for a mountain). She won't stop nagging me to go on another diet. She says that just because the other dozen diets I've tried didn't work doesn't mean that a new one won't. Why don't you have some nice carrot sticks? What about a bowl of spinach? Those crackers that are made out of Styrofoam are brilliant with a couple of bean sprouts and a slice of tomato... (She even tried putting me off my breakfast by telling me that bacon buttys cause cancer! I couldn't believe she'd stoop so low!) But to tell you the truth, I'm sort of terrified of diets. It's a lot of suffering to go through to lose two pounds that you're going to put straight back on when you stop the diet. All those long, dark nights of thinking about nothing but macaroni and cheese. Having to run past the chip shop wearing a pollution mask and your jacket over your head so you don't give in to temptation. Avoiding your friends in case they eat in front of you. I'm not a person who thinks about food ALL THE TIME - unless I'm on a diet. When I'm on a diet that's all I can think of. I actually bit into a candle once because it looked like a chocolate cupcake! How desperate is that? So to get my mum off my back I was thinking I might invest in some of that gear I've been reading about. There's something you can wear under your clothes that makes you look really thin like a model, with no tummy or wobbly thighs or anything. I can't remember what it's called, but it's supposed to be like a miracle. Thing is, it sounds almost too good to be true. What have you heard? Does it really work?
I Don't Want to Lose It, I Just Don't Want it to Show
Dear Don't Lose It, Abuse It:
Oh that this too too solid flesh would melt, right? I, like you, know the pain and anguish of trying to shed just a few measly pounds. I never ate a candle, but once, in the cinema, I did help myself to some of the popcorn of the girl next to me while she was otherwise engaged snogging with her boyfriend. (But I ate it too fast - in case she suddenly declinched - and nearly choked to death. It was tres embarrassing. Especially since quite a bit of soggy popcorn landed on its original owner.) Anyway, what you're talking about here are body shapers (because they give you a different shape - though not permanently of course). From what I've read lots of celebrities swear by this stuff, but I'm not sure I'd put too much stock in that. Most of those women make stick insects look overweight. My sources say that the speficic item you're thinking of is called a body suit. But, as Mr Shakespeare would have said, a girdle by any other name is still a girdle. (An item of clothing my own aunt - the feminist, lesbian bra-burner - says is just another male invention of torture.) And you do have to wonder what happens to the tummy and the wobbles and the flabby bits when they're strangled in Spandex and Lycra. I mean, where do they go? (Probably up around your neck.) And what happens if you get all done up in your body suit and one of those dresses that look like a bandage - then what? You meet some gorgeous bloke and one thing leads to another and he puts his arms around you in a warm embrace - and then discovers that you're wearing armour. It's going to make him wonder what else you're hiding from him.
PS: Your mother wasn't stooping really low. She wasn't even bending over. Apparently, bacon buttys do cause cancer. That just shows you what sort of world we live in!
[to be continued!!!]
(Note to You: For those of you trying to find my old Diary it is here... )
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Sunday 4th November 2007