I'll tell you what I want what I really really want..
Yo I tell you what I want what I really really want sings Mel B in the opening lines of the Spice Girl’s first hit wannabe. This is promising. The age of Girl Power is dawning with a decisive woman. The suffragettes wanted the vote. Aretha wanted respect. Now it’s 1996 and a bunch of five feisty females are about to unleash their deepest desires on us. But they don’t seem so keen to get to the point. So tell me what you want, what you really, really want Geri echoes impatiently in response as Mel B tantalisingly repeats her first line. But, sure enough, following a brief interlude of guttural “huh – huh – huh ”-ing, Mel finally tells us what she’s after. It’s a
ZIG A ZIG AH
Zigazigah? I hear you cry. Zig-A-Zig-Ah? What the hell is a zigazigah? While hours have been spent debating the precise meaning of this set of incoherent syllables (and one can make a pretty good guess at what it might be), 13 years on this song has been playing on my mind. Mel wants something. She probably wants it bad. But somehow she is incapable of putting it into clear language. Right now I feel the lyrics are particularly poignant. For I know I want something, but I HAVEN’T GOT A FLIPPING CLUE what that might be, and this seems to be the problem.
While the Spice Girl’s may have turned their rather vague ideas of wanting into a number 1 hit record in 31 countries, this sadly seems to be my own stalling factor. In order to embark on the rest of my life I need to have some idea of what direction to go in. Ideally you need to have known this for some time if you plan on getting a job, so that you can spend countless vacations doing internships that demonstrate your determination. I’m quite a determined person, but this has started to ebb around the edges as I grasp blindly for somewhere to direct it. What is my zigazigah?
Thus far my life has been comfortably devoid of want (in the sense of need). To use a metaphor, it’s like I’m a hamster in a cage. I’ve had all the sunflower seeds and fresh sawdust any happy hamster could want. What’s more I’ve been cheerily turning away on my middle class “wheel of wants” for the past 22 years. I wanted good grades - I worked hard - I got them. I wanted to go to a good University - I did. I wanted adventure – I travelled to South America. But now the wheel is jammed, potentially broken. Worse the cage has fallen apart and I’ve been chucked off a cliff into a deep, dark, vast ocean. And I don’t think hamsters are the best of swimmers. So while everyone else around me has at least managed doggy paddle, my damp fur and tiny claws are making treading water decidedly difficult.
I had a similar feeling when I visited the latest Unilever series exhibition by Polish artist Miroslav Balka a few weeks ago. He’s constructed a giant black box, 13 metres high and 30 metres long, in the entrance hall of the Tate Modern. Walking inside this vast space of darkness was both exhilarating and unnerving. The adrenaline from the blindness made my blood course faster through my veins. The pounding of my heart became more prominent in my chest as my sight dwindled. But at the same time the darkness was oppressive. The air seemed weighty, heavy almost, as I waded forward, incapable of seeing where the expanse would end. Instead of striding purposefully I was hesitant, stumbling, suppressed.
My lack of want is a similar handicap.
Part of not knowing what you want is being reluctant to make a choice. On an everyday basis, just deciding between pasta and pizza for dinner can be an arduous ordeal. Because by making a choice, you are passing up the opportunity for the other.
For this reason I’ve been struck by the numbers of all you can eat restaurants that have cropped up in my town recently. This seems to be a product of recession. Recession is plagued by uncertainty and insecurity. Therefore going to a place where you know that every want can be satisfied for a set price and where the need for choice, at that moment in time, is eliminated, must be incredibly appealing. Why face family arguments over Chinese or Indian takeaway when there are places offering an array of delectable dishes for a set price. You can have a bit of all your wants.
But let’s face it. You’ll probably end up eating too much. Feel sick, guilty, fat and lethargic. You might possible throw up afterwards. Ultimately putting off choice might not be good for you.
So let me come back to the career thing. My recent foray into the world of unemployment has uncovered the odd existence of the Job Centre: a place that helps to channel wants (in particular the desire to work). The whole process, known as “signing on” is designed to recondition the individual from her inefficient behaviour, namely indecisiveness, by directing the wants into employment. It’s a way of making the hamster fit so she can spin happily in her wheel all day long.
For a start the Job centre is a place of discipline and structure – a bit like school. There are no normal appointment times. Instead the “signer-oner” is randomly allocated a time. I am 9.07. This random number is no doubt the result of lots of psychological studies and has a covert function – to teach punctuality. Aiming to get to a place for 9.07 is mentally harder than if it were 9.05 or 9.10. Secondly every signer-oner is expected to keep a log, of what they have been doing over the fortnight to actively seek employment, a bit like a homework diary. On my last visit a 9.01er was scolded for an empty book, while 9.03 was severely reprimanded for arriving almost ten minutes late. I have to admit I looked on slightly smugly. If they gave out gold stars at the job centre I’d probably get one. My advisor is delighted by my efforts (or easily fooled by the different coloured inked pens I’d use the night before to disguise the fact that I’d forgotten to record every job seeking activity as it happened). Again it is a sure sign of my upbringing that I can’t help being a goody-two-shoes even at the job centre. I like the structure. But while the job centre can help you find work, by providing a database of jobs, even funding suits for an interview or giving you a bike to help you get there, it’s not much use in helping you find out what you want. That has to come from within.
And while I ponder this rather big want, there are at least a few smaller ones that can be more easily satisfied. I’m thirsty. The only question now, is do I want tea or coffee?
ZIG A ZIG AH
Zigazigah? I hear you cry. Zig-A-Zig-Ah? What the hell is a zigazigah? While hours have been spent debating the precise meaning of this set of incoherent syllables (and one can make a pretty good guess at what it might be), 13 years on this song has been playing on my mind. Mel wants something. She probably wants it bad. But somehow she is incapable of putting it into clear language. Right now I feel the lyrics are particularly poignant. For I know I want something, but I HAVEN’T GOT A FLIPPING CLUE what that might be, and this seems to be the problem.
While the Spice Girl’s may have turned their rather vague ideas of wanting into a number 1 hit record in 31 countries, this sadly seems to be my own stalling factor. In order to embark on the rest of my life I need to have some idea of what direction to go in. Ideally you need to have known this for some time if you plan on getting a job, so that you can spend countless vacations doing internships that demonstrate your determination. I’m quite a determined person, but this has started to ebb around the edges as I grasp blindly for somewhere to direct it. What is my zigazigah?
Thus far my life has been comfortably devoid of want (in the sense of need). To use a metaphor, it’s like I’m a hamster in a cage. I’ve had all the sunflower seeds and fresh sawdust any happy hamster could want. What’s more I’ve been cheerily turning away on my middle class “wheel of wants” for the past 22 years. I wanted good grades - I worked hard - I got them. I wanted to go to a good University - I did. I wanted adventure – I travelled to South America. But now the wheel is jammed, potentially broken. Worse the cage has fallen apart and I’ve been chucked off a cliff into a deep, dark, vast ocean. And I don’t think hamsters are the best of swimmers. So while everyone else around me has at least managed doggy paddle, my damp fur and tiny claws are making treading water decidedly difficult.
I had a similar feeling when I visited the latest Unilever series exhibition by Polish artist Miroslav Balka a few weeks ago. He’s constructed a giant black box, 13 metres high and 30 metres long, in the entrance hall of the Tate Modern. Walking inside this vast space of darkness was both exhilarating and unnerving. The adrenaline from the blindness made my blood course faster through my veins. The pounding of my heart became more prominent in my chest as my sight dwindled. But at the same time the darkness was oppressive. The air seemed weighty, heavy almost, as I waded forward, incapable of seeing where the expanse would end. Instead of striding purposefully I was hesitant, stumbling, suppressed.
My lack of want is a similar handicap.
Part of not knowing what you want is being reluctant to make a choice. On an everyday basis, just deciding between pasta and pizza for dinner can be an arduous ordeal. Because by making a choice, you are passing up the opportunity for the other.
For this reason I’ve been struck by the numbers of all you can eat restaurants that have cropped up in my town recently. This seems to be a product of recession. Recession is plagued by uncertainty and insecurity. Therefore going to a place where you know that every want can be satisfied for a set price and where the need for choice, at that moment in time, is eliminated, must be incredibly appealing. Why face family arguments over Chinese or Indian takeaway when there are places offering an array of delectable dishes for a set price. You can have a bit of all your wants.
But let’s face it. You’ll probably end up eating too much. Feel sick, guilty, fat and lethargic. You might possible throw up afterwards. Ultimately putting off choice might not be good for you.
So let me come back to the career thing. My recent foray into the world of unemployment has uncovered the odd existence of the Job Centre: a place that helps to channel wants (in particular the desire to work). The whole process, known as “signing on” is designed to recondition the individual from her inefficient behaviour, namely indecisiveness, by directing the wants into employment. It’s a way of making the hamster fit so she can spin happily in her wheel all day long.
For a start the Job centre is a place of discipline and structure – a bit like school. There are no normal appointment times. Instead the “signer-oner” is randomly allocated a time. I am 9.07. This random number is no doubt the result of lots of psychological studies and has a covert function – to teach punctuality. Aiming to get to a place for 9.07 is mentally harder than if it were 9.05 or 9.10. Secondly every signer-oner is expected to keep a log, of what they have been doing over the fortnight to actively seek employment, a bit like a homework diary. On my last visit a 9.01er was scolded for an empty book, while 9.03 was severely reprimanded for arriving almost ten minutes late. I have to admit I looked on slightly smugly. If they gave out gold stars at the job centre I’d probably get one. My advisor is delighted by my efforts (or easily fooled by the different coloured inked pens I’d use the night before to disguise the fact that I’d forgotten to record every job seeking activity as it happened). Again it is a sure sign of my upbringing that I can’t help being a goody-two-shoes even at the job centre. I like the structure. But while the job centre can help you find work, by providing a database of jobs, even funding suits for an interview or giving you a bike to help you get there, it’s not much use in helping you find out what you want. That has to come from within.
And while I ponder this rather big want, there are at least a few smaller ones that can be more easily satisfied. I’m thirsty. The only question now, is do I want tea or coffee?
Comments
Post a Comment