Lazy Shmazy; or, Ell-Leigh's too lazy to come up with a clever title.

Ell-Leigh says:

I had a really lazy day today. In fact, I’m having quite a lazy week. So far I’ve watched four movies, at least 10 episodes of Criminal Minds (the attractiveness of that cast is criminal, hohoho), read half a novel and am two chapters into another one, and it’s only Thursday. I’ve also hit the gym twice and dusted off an old yoga dvd. And I did a load of washing. This equals my total achievements this week.

I’m not complaining, in fact, I feel quite the opposite, as if I’ve stumbled upon a very undeserved holiday. However, I’m apprehensive of lazy weeks, because to my understanding they can often turn into lazy months, and even sometimes into lazy years, which in some unfortunate circumstances then morph into lazy lifetimes. Laziness isn’t for me. The more opportunities I take to be lazy, the less I seem to do and the more they seem to compound until I’m living on par with an actual sloth.

-actual sloth. Source: http://fuckyeahsloths.tumblr.com/

It’s not that sloths aren’t adorable, especially the baby ones. In fact, I may have made that point entirely to include a photo of a sloth (who could blame me?). It’s just that I’m not a sloth. I’m a person, and a particular type of person who puts a lot of pressure on themselves to meet a very high standard of success. Which makes the compounding laziness thing a problem, since if I’m lying about all the time watching Sense and Sensibility (GIANT SIGH, be mine, Colonel Brandon!) or wasting my time perusing the endless pages of my Tumblr feed I will never get around to making that Oscar winning film that is waiting patiently in the pages of my destiny, thus never fulfilling my potential and never meeting a high enough standard of success, etc, etc, unfulfilled life etc.

This is especially bad since I mostly work from home.

Compounding laziness, however, seems to be a societal issue. Super Size Me, the controversial documentary from a few years back tagged the obesity crisis in America to the convenience of fast food (read: laziness of consumers). The addictiveness of the products then lead to increased amounts being consumed, etc. I think however that my compounding laziness theory seems to point to lazy behavior as being addictive in itself. Gala darling recently posted a link to this article that likens television watching to heroin and hypnosis. The more TV we watch (a seemingly harmless way to pass a few lazy hours) the more we want to watch, and the hours in front of the box multiply, and before you know it you have a schedule from 11am (Ellen) to 3pm (The End of Dr Oz), then Family Ties and Mork and Mindy, followed eventually by Sabrina, and if you keep this up you can kiss those shiny red carpet dreams goodbye, Ell-Leigh.

On top of this we live in a world where convenience is king. You can get any type of food you like delivered – no need to cook or go pick it up. The Internet can provide you with movies, so no need to head over to Video Ezy or Blockbuster, they’re right here on your desk. You can even get rock hard abs in the comfort of your own home, thanks to the Ab Swing Pro, according to the infotainment I’ve watched so much of lately. The question is; where does convenience end and laziness begin? When did getting a pizza delivered once or twice a week become an acceptable norm? When did we start shunning the video store for the convenience of dvds delivered to our doorsteps? When did “it conveniently unfolds to fit under a bed” suddenly trump a gym membership that allows you to do more than just cardio with your abs?

There are garbage cans every 5 to 7 metres on my street. I still find litter. Yes, I’m writing an old person style rant about littering, but stay with me. These garbage cans are brightly coloured and there isn’t a moment when your eyes are open when you can’t see one. When did having this many garbage cans become necessary? And secondly, what on god’s green earth are people doing littering when the garbage can to resident ratio on this street is almost 2:1?

Having a lazy week is nice on occasion. In fact, this week has been super enjoyable all round, especially having the time to read so much. Convenience isn’t the devil either, in fact without modern conveniences like grocery delivery (for elderly/seriously busy types) and weekly visits from the garbage man modern city living would be impossible. The trick is to keep yourself in check. How much television is too much? Pick a number of hours that you’ll allow yourself to watch the idiot box and stick with it. If you have a few weeks where you know you’ll be able to waste a few hours, make them well wasted hours, with a facemask, a yoga session, some meditation or relaxation exercises, or meet up with friends. There is no need for one week of downtime to establish habitual laziness… Is there Ell?

- PS: 2 sloths! Source: http://fuckyeahsloths.tumblr.com/

Lauren says:

Laziness. We all hate it in other people, we all exhibit it ourselves. You know it’s true, in one way or another we all have our own lazy vice. I like to call mine Vazy (because obviously calling it Lice would be gross) and she sure does get plenty of exercise, especially on washing day.

Sometimes I stun myself at how much Vazy and I get along. At about eleven every morning we take a break together, usually just to hang out with a snack and some tv; it’s nice to take time out with someone as chilled as Vazy. This would be fine, except for the fact that the planned twenty minute break usually extends into a two hour procrastination interlude. But that’s what Vazy’s like, she knows how to suck you in and get you comfy and before you know it you’ll never be productive again. She can’t help it, it’s just in her nature.

As I said, Vazy gets particularly active, and I get particularly inactive, on washing day. Also on shower cleaning day. And on pamphlet drop off day at work. Or on car vacuuming day…in fact Vazy has worked her way in to many facets of adult life that I’ve decided I don’t really like to partake in. But there’s one thing that Vazy and I don’t do, one place where I draw the line, and that’s go out together in public.

Taking your Vazy, or your Lice if you prefer, out in public is pretty uncool, haven’t you heard? Apparently a lot of people haven’t, because I’m running into Vazy’s all over the place these days! I see them hanging around trash cans, loitering about a metre away where someone has decided to not quite bother walking their rubbish that extra step. I see gangs of them in movie cinemas after people leave, slinking about with the half empty drink cups and chewed on popcorn kernels littering the seats. Groups of them lay about on trains next to the scrunched up newspapers left half read and unwanted by the morning’s commuters and I’m pretty sure I catch a glimpse of one skulking in a public toilet every so often, when some silly has broken the flush mechanism but not bothered to let anyone know.

As much as me and my Vazy are good old mates when it comes to deciding between tv time and cleaning the fish tank, I’d like to think I know when enough is enough. After all, I need to make it clear to Vazy who is in control here, because she can be a pretty wilful creature; give her an inch and just you watch her think about taking a mile but then deciding not to because it’s harder than staying on the couch!

My point, dear people, is that Vazy’s are like special home treats. Like the cute/ugly fluffy slippers you wear at home*, Vazy’s are meant for leaving at the front door, where you step into your responsible in-public shoes ready to do the responsible and decent things people expect of you. I fear at the moment that we are breeding a ‘Culture of Vazy Dominance’, and that pretty soon there’ll be no turning back. It’ll just be plumber’s cracks views and very unparallel parallel parks that really required two more manoeuvrers everywhere.

What do you say? Ready to show your Vazy who’s boss?

*If your Vazy just piped up to reassure you that it’s really ok to wear your cute/ugly fluffy slippers out of the house, GET HELP NOW.

Awkward Equals Feminine

Is the rise of the 'socially awkward' girl a dangerous fashion or a flighting fad?

Searching back through my consciousness, I can’t pinpoint the moment when I first heard someone label themselves as ‘socially awkward’ or ‘socially retarded’. But I do know that I never questioned the choice, I completely bought this new brand of cool hook, line and sinker.

At first this language and labelling didn’t trouble me, in fact I rejoiced in there being a popular social movement that I could easily slot into. As a late teen it was so easy to define any lack of self confidence as cute awkwardness or a disregard for having social skills. You could clumsily kill a conversation with a cute boy or alienate an important connection during introductions and instead of being humiliating it would add to your cool cred. The more it went on the more deliberate sabotaging of social situations became almost like a sport. I knew friends who would happily boast about how awkward or tactless they might be, when in actual fact they were some of the most confident and out going people I had encountered. Being socially awkward became less of a trait and more of a style, and it was just about as chic as you could get.

As I got a bit older and moved away from spending every waking moment surrounded by a gaggle of friends, though, this attitude became less convenient. I learnt quickly that if I didn’t make a move towards confidence I would also never make any new friends or work connections. Making doe eyes and shyly not answering questions just doesn’t impress the directors of theatre companies or actors that you might one day want to hire. There’s actually not much room for cute in our fast paced world, and if it’s hard work getting you to elicit some semblance of an intelligent response to the most basic questions, then people will quickly pass you by.

So I grew a bit of a spine and moved on from this particular phase, probably a process that most people would call growing up. I wouldn’t say that I’m the definition of cool, calm and collected, but I’ve certainly changed the way I view social interactions in the last couple of years. I’ve also changed my mind about this trend depicting awkwardness as the height young femininity and what it means for my generation.

The awkwardness fad seems to be linked to being ‘girly’. It plays on the idea that ‘hot boys like smart girls’, and that there’s something mysterious and alluring about the quiet girl in the corner. More than just a traditional sex thing, though, is the rivalry it builds between female friends. It’s not exactly expressed outright, but it’s pretty clear to see that the girl who is the most quirky and off-centre (read: off putting) is the one who is winning at this sort of opposite social interaction game; the more inept your people skills, the higher you rise.

Developing as a group of twenty-somethings, particularly twenty-something girls, who don’t want to fend for themselves socially, who think nothing of offending people or humiliating themselves because they can just pass it over as cool, is worrying. Deliberately pretending to not have opinions, personality or confidence is no way to work towards having fair and stimulating relationships with other people. Regardless of how much it makes them want to pinch your cheeks, it’s fair to say this kind of behaviour doesn’t inspire many people to respect you.

But maybe I’m overreacting. Maybe this is just my version of those who cried, “His hips are a portal for the devil!” about Elvis Presley. After all when I google ‘socially awkward’ I just get a bunch of pictures about Kristen Stewart and un-clever memes, neither really making me anxious about the state of young girls’ ability to socially interact. Or maybe it’s just a thing that happens amongst the people that I mix with, a very tiny dissection of society to be sure…but I just don’t think so.

As I try to understand this movement and our motivations when subscribing to it, I am puzzled. I think maybe we are all just a little bit scared about having to grow up and be ‘women’ now, whatever that means these days, and we’ve realised that there’s a way out of it. It’s kind of a Peter Pan ideal for girls, involving emulating the three year old with the wide eyes and pout hiding behind her mother’s skirt and not answering the “big adults’ questions”.

I have to ask, when did we start excusing being scared with being awkward and shy, when did we decide that that was a good choice to make? Shy girls have long held their place on the social spectrum, yes, but this obviously isn’t all true shyness. It’s playing pretend about how strong and poised we can really be, and it’s damaging to our image as a whole and as individuals.

Remember the Days of the Old Schoolyard? We Used to Laugh a Lot! Right?

Boy do we have a lot to say on this one! Be warned, it's lengthy and you may want a beverage. Don't worry, we won't bully* you in to reading the whole thing!

Ell-Leigh Says:

Having gone to an all girls’ school from grade two I’m happy to say that the closest I got to physical bullying was when one of my friends slapped the other during a heated argument in the tuckshop in grade 10. I wasn’t there at the time, but news of it spread through the school like head-lice (exponentially fast without anyone having any idea of its origins – time to whip out the trusty ol’ lice comb). As it goes however, I learnt more than my fair share about manipulation and psychological bullying, and after years of being told “so and so doesn’t sound like a good influence”, can sniff out a bitch with bad intentions from three blocks away.

As the media has made us quite aware, bullying can harm a person not only physically but can emotionally scar much deeper, and for much longer than the bully might have intended.

I’ve watched enough family based sitcoms and Glee to know that standing up to a bully without an adult behind you usually ends with a black eye or being covered in sticky partially frozen liquid.

I’ve watched enough Criminal Minds to figure out that the sidelined freaks that are picked on as fourteen year olds become psychopathic football team murderers at 17.

I’ve watched enough Youtube footage (mostly from television) of phone-recorded fights between school kids and seen enough outrage from adults who are convinced that there wasn’t this much violence before the camera-phone came along to know that awareness is critically low but increasing.

I’ve heard enough from my Mum about cyber-bullying to know my little sister can give up the hopes of getting a Facebook profile before she turns twenty-one.

I’ve watched enough of the news to know that we don’t seem to be getting any better at solving the issue, and I’ve had enough work experience to know that bullying isn’t exclusive to the schoolyard.

I’ve also watched enough interviews to know that many of the world’s greatest performers, brightest minds and interesting personalities were bullied in their high school years.

It must be hard when justice seems to only exist in comic books and tv shows. Turning the other cheek isn’t something that comes naturally, and it can’t be surprising when victims of bullying lash out against their offenders after months or possibly years of verbal abuse and physical assault. It’s hard enough being a teenager, being different to those around you, trying to establish some sort of identity without daily harassment, but with it it’s near impossible to keep your head. It might feel like the safe world around you is crumbling down, you aren’t safe at school, you aren’t safe at home and in between is just short moments between two nightmares.

This, however, doesn’t justify being violent to your bully. It might taste like sweet revenge or just desserts at the time, but lashing out is never going to be something you can be proud of. It might teach the bully a lesson to a certain extent, sure, but then you’re left to face the consequences.

If you are a victim of bullying, whether it be physical or emotional, you are stronger than you realise, and you can make it through without turning to violence. It sounds cliché, but you must let an adult you trust know what you’re going through and how you feel, and chances are after you tell them it will be a load off your shoulders, and you’ll feel a lot safer. You can make it through whatever humiliation they throw at you, I promise, just prove to yourself that you can. The only person who can make the decision for you to give in is you. No one can give up for you. Stay true to yourself and watch as you grow up to thrive and eventually, one day, those bullies will be so far in the back of your mind cause there is just too much brilliant stuff going on in your life to leave room for them.

High School finishes, your life changes and you can make more decisions about how you spend your time and who you spend it with. Time and love can heal all wounds, and when you put effort into acknowledging your talents and amazing-ness you will mend even quicker. It sucks when people say that High School isn’t forever, but it really isn’t, and now that I’m almost 5 years out I barely think of my time there at all. I have a bit of latent baggage from the era, but who doesn’t? I’m working through it and probably will be for a while, but I’m leaps and bounds from where I was four years ago. Society makes out like High School is the best time of your life, and that youth and beauty are the only things worth having. Well, I put it to them that they’re full of crap, cause I’m pretty sure I’m much happier, vibrant and awesome now than I was in grade 11. Most people I know agree with me (not that I’m more awesome, but that life in general is more awesome). You just have to hold on to find out.

And, if I wasn't convincing enough, here's a video of Colin Farrel arguing my point! 

Lauren Says:

Youth bullying is regularly a topical issue in Australia, and recently the discussion has become particularly heady with the release of an appalling video showing a bullying incident in a school yard. The resulting interviews, talk show segments and opinion articles that always come from such a conspicuous show of an otherwise far too prevalent but somehow easily avoided topic have the media in a frenzy, bragging exclusivity and unseen new angles. It always amazes me just how many people are slathering to get in on the action when it comes to a situation like this, how many are keen to publicly put forward their own opinion about what has happened and how it could have been avoided or could be solved. Does no one else find this an incredibly difficult issue to talk about?

Being a reasonably opinionated person, I enjoy discussing the current goings on of the world, but I’m not immune to awkwardness or criticism. Youth bullying is not only a difficult to solve problem, but an incredibly personal topic for many, and as such emotions run high whenever the subject comes up. Not liking to cause undue offence, I’ve learnt to tread carefully and listen closely in areas where I don’t have apt experience, knowledge or solutions. So I won’t be discussing youth or schoolyard bullying here today, because I know that I don’t have the expertise to make a positive contribution. What I will talk about is bullying in the realm of young adults, a topic I am far better versed in, currently being a young adult myself, and where we are finding ourselves with bullying as a part of our lives and relationships.

Bully seems to be a word dropped from the descriptions of adults. Between young adults, I find, bullying isn’t really a subject discussed. The word seems almost immature, like something we should have left back in a time when we still imagined that nothing in life would be so difficult as passing our year twelve exams. It’s an issue that is remarkably prevalent though, incredibly so, and our not naming it allows it to lie unfixed and unrecognised. We go so far to not acknowledge the problem that we almost celebrate it, our media encouraging judgement passing and ‘shaming’ on every topic and person we can get our hands on. It’s a far more ingrained problem in our society than many of us want to think, and so instead we gloss it over with sayings like ‘that’s just how girls are, they’re bitchy’ or ‘young men are always competitive’ and refuse to face the truth.

The difference, I’ve found, between bullying at school and bullying in the adult world, is the relationship the victim has with the bully. It goes without saying that all cases are different, but often in childhood the bully is seen as the enemy; things are black and white in that the bully is bad and the victim good. Things change with time, though, and by adolescence the bully is also often the friend and the role model and it’s not so easy to dislike them. By the time people you’re in your twenties, it becomes pretty uncommon to interact at length with people outside of your social circle, and we see bullying breeding within friendships.

It’s often less blatant than what exchanges between eight year olds, there’s more room for subtlety and passivity and what once needed words to be shouted can now be conveyed in a mere look. Just because we are older doesn’t mean that bullying always focuses on issues any more deep or meaningful; we judge people for the music they listen to, the movies the like, their clothes, their hair cut, their university course, their car. By picking on the most obvious things, we directly target self confidence and limit self expression. We take judgements far beyond ‘helpful stereotyping’ and into exclusion and cruelty and we do it for no good reason.

You might notice I’m saying we a lot; I certainly don’t think that I’m immune from this. As people grow older, the line gets shaky between who is a bully and who is a victim, and things are not so clear cut. When I look around the people I know, we all make these judgements but we’re all also victims of being judged. The quiet gossiping behind other’s backs and sarcastic patronising of each other end up meaning that few feel comfortable or secure all the time, a sad state of affairs when you’re talking about just hanging out with your friends. The weird thing is, though, that we’ve all grown to become used to it, to somehow accept that this is how adulthood is and to treat the issue almost as something innocuous and meaningless. The idea that ‘life is tough and people are complicated’ excuses the fact that sometimes we don’t all choose to play nice. It’s like being initiated into adulthood included being hit with a wooden paddle of realisation that we’d all just quietly bully each other to make ourselves feel better until we eventually got either old and bored of it or moved on to bigger fish to take down.

James Cook University defines bullying as such:

“Bullying constitutes unsolicited, offensive treatment through vindictive, cruel, malicious or humiliating attempts to undermine an individual or group.”

I challenge any late teen or early twenty-something to think carefully about whether they indulge in bullying behaviour, whether it seems severe or harmless. If we want childhood bullying to stop, we might need to think about the role models we’re providing them with and get our act together.

*Oh the puns! Please don't judge us, for that would be bullying and bullying is bad, surely you've got that if you read all the way down to here!