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?