“Dawn Gets Naked”

I happened upon this last night, after posting yesterday’s entry:

“Dawn Gets Naked”

It’s a 1-hour BBC “special”...well, maybe it’s not all that special. It’s one of a series of shows in which Dawn Porter, a British TV “presenter”, explores various issues.

Anyway, it’s not bad. She does ask a few interesting questions.

But I’ve noticed more and more videos online that seem to be British TV programs exploring nudity. I wrote about another such show not long ago, “My Daughter, the Teenage Nudist”. I wonder if this general topic is just being used for the titillation effect and to boost ratings. Or does it reflect a broadening interest in nudity among the young (and no-so-young) folks watching the BBC? Maybe both.

The video above is part 1 of 4. Here are the other 3 parts:

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

rant (wish I had a better title)

I’ve mentioned the TV show, Skins, a couple of times before in this blog.

Something that occurred to me about the show is that no matter what these kids do, what happens to them, or what they bring on themselves—whatever trouble or drama or heartache they deal with—they have each other. They go through it all with their mates. They fight and cry and eventually laugh and have a few drinks with each other. The only time they get into really horrible, awful, terrible, life-ruining shit is when they aren’t together, when they keep something from the others for a long time—like, more than 2 or 3 episodes. 

I was thinking about this the other night, while lamenting my life, my lack of mates. (In fact, I started writing this the other night, while drinking. Now, in the sober light of day, I’m not entirely sure how this connects. It was quite clear before.)

Anyway...a few days back I was turned down (for dates) by 2 women in 2 days.

Yes, I asked a few people out. What? It’s not that surprising. I was thinking, enough of this sequestering, this hermiting myself. Okay sure, I’m leaving town soon. But I don’t have to just mark time until moving day.

(That’s what I’ve been feeling like lately: that I’m marking time or treading
water until I leave; like there’s not much point in trying to change my life
here now that I’m leaving.

Oh, and on that point...I’m thinking I may make a very small tour the first
week of August, between North Carolina and Mississippi. I need to go there
for a few days to look for an apartment, and I’ll need a place to stay for a
few days. Also, at least one night between here and there I’ll need to stop
somewhere. So if anybody wants to put me up, let me know.)

Well...maybe I do have to mark time. I can’t seem to get a date. I wasn’t even looking for anything serious—just thought it’d be nice to hang out with somebody. These weren’t random women I walked up to on the street or something. They were people I’d been chatting with, exchanging banter on the facebook.

(Sigh.)

I’ve not made a big deal about this move. I’ve told a few people, but not everyone.

My feeling about it is a bit like my birthday. I don’t really like hearing “happy birthday” from a bunch of people to whom I’m not close, because it just emphasizes my lack of connection. Where some people are “overwhelmed” by the “outpouring of love” from so many people on their birthday, I have the opposite reaction. If someone wanted to do something to actually make it a “special day” I’d love that. That would be awesome. But it doesn’t happen. And while I don’t like nobody saying anything about my birthday (pretty-much like last year) I think it’s not quite as bad as everybody saying it.

Anyway, the whole move thing is like that. I don’t really want people telling me “we should do something before you go” ‘cause that’s what’s been lacking here. And if they don’t say something like that, I’d want them to.

Yes, it’s fucked up. Yes, I’m fucked up.

I don’t know who said this but... “Some people build walls not to keep people out, but to see who cares enough to break them down.” I guess that’s me.

I remember once when I was in college, or maybe just after, getting drunk at a party and walking off sort of sulking, and then sulking even more because the girl I was interested in didn’t follow me to ask what was wrong. Well why would she? How is someone supposed to know the difference between when I actually want to be left alone and when I want someone to come after me? They both look the same, right?

Well, this has been a bit of a ramble. Well, to wrap it up, or summarize, I suppose...being alone too much can cause problems; I am and have been alone too much.

And...here’s a picture of me naked. You know, just in keeping with the theme of My Naked Blog.

The Worst...

So, in keeping with two recent themes from this blog...

I was watching a TV show on the netflix recently in which a particular character needs to be more open and honest. (Being open & honest is one theme. Stuff on netflix is one theme; I watch way too much netflix; I need a life.)

The show is The Worst Week of My Life (series 2 & 3). It’s a BBC sitcom from several years ago.

The main character, Howard, is sort of an idiot. He’s clumsy and socially awkward. He keeps getting into trouble. Sometimes it’s due to his awkwardness, and sometimes that’s funny. But at least half the time he just makes it worse and worse and worse by lying and lying and lying. Eventually, when he tells the truth about the mistake he made or the misunderstanding or the accident or whatever it turns out okay. People understand. But the lying is totally ridiculous. I realize it’s just a dumb TV show, but it kind of makes me mad. I keep watching, because the funny stuff is funny. Plus I’m bored. (See above about my needing a life.)

Another issue in the show pisses me off a little: it’s that the family in the show is rather well-off. And I keep thinking how ridiculous their whole life is. The mother-in-law gets upset because the landscaper can’t show up on some special day due because he had a heart attack or something. Ridiculous. They have this huge house full of fancy shit, some of which gets broken or whatever. Ridiculous. And they’re often worried about impressing all the right people. Ridiculous. Nobody needs that big a house nor that kind of money. It’s completely ridiculous.

These are probably the bastards running the world, fighting wars and all that shit.

Oh...sorry. I was watching a documentary called Zeitgeist earlier today. (It’s unrelated, except for that the too much netflix-watching thing.)

Anyway yes, there’s a little nudity in The Worst Week of My Life. There’s an incident where Howard, the idiot, gets kicked out of a house while naked.

Hahahahahahaha! Nudity = hilariousness.

Not really.

And there’s a scene where he bursts in on a woman receiving a bikini-line waxing. And then he later tries to comfort her by saying how he didn’t see any of her “doo-dah”.

That’s right, “doo-dah.”

Ug. An adult...saying “doo-dah”.

I believe you mean “Vagina”.

Stupidness. 

“Lady doctor” 2

So I’m continuing to watch Bramwell.

It’s good.

A lot of the British shows I’ve been lately watching on the netflix are good. I’m sure there are mediocre British TV shows. Of course, I know there are tons of mediocre American shows.

(Started out very promising; half a season later, not so much.) 

Anyway, yesterday I said (wrote) “I don’t expect there to be any nakedness in the series...”

Well, I was sort of wrong. I mean, there’s what I guess would be considered “nudity” in an episode I just finished watching. In this episode, there’s a woman who has breast cancer. Now this show, Bramwell, is not a blood spurting, showing lots of injuries and such type of show, although sometimes those things are shown. In this particular episode, they do show the woman’s breast during a couple of exams.

Well, the thing about this episode which I find most worthy of comment is this: the husband of this character with breast cancer is a doctor, (There are lots of doctors in the show—3 who are main characters, but various others come and go.) and it becomes evident that this husband and wife simply don’t really talk to each other about important stuff.

I just don’t understand that. I mean, I realize that at times we may find it difficult to talk about stuff, but to consistently keep everything hidden—important stuff about yourself, your health, you children, whatever—from your spouse, particularly when he or she is capable of dealing with such things, makes absolutely no sense to me.

Okay, yes, this TV show is set in Victorian England.

But I have the sinking feeling that this behavior is still common today. I remember when I was a teenager and seeing a therapist; there was a woman I knew who was seeing the same therapist and who complained how the therapist kept asking her about stuff she didn’t want to talk about. Well, duh. That’s the whole point, right?

People! Talk about shit. Seriously. Be open and honest and direct with the people you care about.

The only reason to hide things or lie is if you’re a disreputable type trying to pull something over on someone or deliberately hurt them. And if that’s the case, shame on you. Don’t be such a selfish bastard.

“Lady doctor”

I started watching Bramwell last night on the netflix. It’s a British TV series from 1995-98.

It’s about a woman who is a doctor and the difficulties she faces as a woman and due to her attempts to help the poor in late Victorian England.

Jemma Redgrave as Dr. Eleanor Bramwell

The first episode kept reminding me of the recent Michigan “Vagina” controversy that I wrote about yesterday and several days ago.

There are these older, white, male establishment doctors who keep performing ovariectomies on women for various conditions such as “female hysteria” (a very common diagnoses in that time) and refusing to discuss a diagnosis of syphilis because it’s improper, especially for a woman to discuss.  

After Dr. Bramwell challenges all this, she gets kicked out of the hospital, banned from working in its wards.

Sounds ridiculously familiar. When watching this sort of thing in a TV show, it’s obviously wrong and stupid and pig-headed and blind. Perhaps the Republican leaders in the Michigan State House should watch it. But that may be unlikely, as it’s the sort of liberal “claptrap” they show in other countries, or maybe on PBS.

I don’t expect there to be any nakedness in this series, but it relates to other stuff I’ve written about, so...why not, eh?

Anyway, here’s what I have to say to late Victorian England: Vagina, vagina, vagina!

Oh wait, no... HERE’S what I have to say to late Victorian England: Let that “lady doctor” do her thing. She’s right. You’re not.