The thrill of the chaste

The other day I wrote a post about a dubious article in the Mail attempting to convince women that they don't really want equality in the workplace, because all they're really interested in is 'marrying up'. Depressingly, the paper followed up that story with another piece that gave its female readership 12 reasons to distrust their menfolk.

Rather than take a positive approach, and advise people on how to strengthen their relationship, the Mail chose to set off a series of psychological distress flares. Earn more than your husband? He'll go off and fuck the au pair. Is he working long hours? He's probably doing his secretary in the stationery cupboard. And if he's been married before, well, you might as well give the ex-wife keys to your house, because that bitch is already rumpling your bed linen. And she hates your curtains.

But have no fear, because help is at hand, courtesy of those ingenious folks at CB-6000. They're the self-proclaimed 'world leaders in male chastity', and offer a number of innovative solutions to keep your fella's fella under lock and key.

Taking their inspiration from the clunky medieval contraptions designed to keep women's virtue intact, these snug devices encase the right honourable member in plastic. Suddenly, man's real best friend is out of bounds until you say so.

Obviously, there are issues of emasculation to consider here. So the thoughtful designers have created a range of finishes to ensure that your man still feels all man, even if he can't actually feel his old man.

There's a beautiful carved model that gives new meaning to the term "getting wood". And if hubby's a military man, you might want to invest $160 in the special camouflage edition. Now that the US government has finally repealed DADT, countless soldiers will want to protect their privates from other privates' prying eyes. Plus, it even matches their workwear - everyone's happy.

According to the company's website, the devices aren't just for keeping wayward husbands on the slightly-crooked and narrow - they can also be used to spice things up in the bedroom: "In reality the majority of customers purchasing a male chastity device fall into two main groups: either fetish devotees or couples interested in expanding their sexual experiences with chastity play."

It all sounds like a great idea. But surely, couples interested in "chastity play" could save themselves a bunch of money by just taking it in turns to claim to have a headache and sleeping in the spare room.

Reality bites, sucks

Isn't it a shame that real life isn't more like porn? As a homeowner, I've had to call out all kinds of tradesmen, but the only tools any of them have ever whipped out is a socket wrench. Although a friend of mine did once have a bed delivered by a well-built van driver who offered to help break it in, but that's a story for another blog.

Anyway, the point is, pornography and mundane reality are like two divergent axes (see fig.1 below). The sexier the situation is, the less likely it is that a road tax application or a Tesco bag-for-life will be involved.

But all that's about to change, thanks to the Playboy channel, which has unveiled bold plans to create a pair of sexy new reality TV shows, with hijinks high on the agenda. Channel bigwigs presented their concepts to the Television Critics Association last week, in a move that shows God (like a porn casting director) loves a trier.

Aimed at loved-up couples, rather than onanistic singles with a 12-minute attention span, Swing will follow pairs of contestants as they visit a swinger compound - think Windsor Safari Park with more water-based lubricant. They'll "establish the ground rules" with the resident sex and relationship expert, explore the group, and meet with a therapist to discuss their feelings.

As Playboy TV Senior VP and GM Gary Rosenson explains, “No elimination stuff, no tribal councils, no craziness. Just really people hanging out, having fun, goofing off and eventually it gets hot because that’s what they’re there to do.” Well, that and the fact that this is going out on the Playboy channel after all.

The second show being prepped for the 2011 season is A Brooklyn Kind of Love, which follows the ins-and-outs-and-ins of coupledom in the New York borough. But unlike other relationship shows, this one will follow its subjects into the bedroom.

Speaking about the show's explicit action, co-producer Joe Gantz claims that “...a lot of reality shows and TV shows in general are about sex but they dance around sexuality in such a way that it’s all innuendo and there’s no authenticity.  So it was nice to be able to do a show where you didn’t have to worry about things being too real, too authentic.”

Admittedly, authenticity isn't something that automatically springs to mind when you think of the Playboy channel, especially in its depiction of lesbianism. But 'Brooklyn' comes with real-life lesbians Bek Allen and Erin Williams; a genuine couple who agreed to go naked "with no hesitation".

And they're hoping to tackle some serious social issues, when they're not squirting aerosol cream somewhere unhygienic, with Williams stating “Our decision to do this show was primarily to show that gay couples go through the same stuff as straight couples go through and that we’re not all that different from anybody else.” Allen chipped in, adding that the show was “...a once in a lifetime opportunity to kind of be a spokesperson for homosexual couples..." Let's just hope these spokespeople manage to articulate a little more than "Oh, yeah, that's hot" and "Do me again".

According to Gantz, the shows are about more than titilation: “As we were interviewing couples, we felt that sexuality is a spectrum and I don’t want any hard distinctions. It’s a continuum and it’s a lot of overlapping... It’s on every aspect of their relationship but when it’s about the sex, it’s just right out there. You don’t have to worry about pulling it back for Playboy."

All this talk of 'overlapping', 'hard distinctions' and 'pulling it back for Playboy'. I'm turned on already and the shows haven't even aired yet.

It's (still) a man's world

Blame it on the popularity of Downton Abbey and Upstairs Downstairs. The heady stew of crinoline and corsets has got people regressing back to the good old days, when men were men, and women had to leave the room to blow their nose. 

Whilst millions of people peered through their fingers at the depiction of a world where the 'help' had to ask permission to swoon in front of their employer, the editorial team at the Daily Mail was hanging out the celebratory bunting at the fond memories it brought back.  So perhaps we shouldn't be too surprised that this nostalgia for the way things used to be, has inspired them to ramp up their campaign for a return to old-fashioned values. 

Take women in the workplace for example. In the Mail's eyes, women serve two purposes - scribbling poisonously homophobic columns, or cleaning the offices once the journalists have gone to the bar. So they're delighted to discover that women don't really want to be working anyway. According to a new survey, they'd rather be raising kids, so that Mr Big can go out and earn the big bucks. 

Across the country Champagne corks are popping, as beleaguered bosses are realising that they can finally throw out all those diversity training handbooks. No need to worry about how many women hold a place on the board; they're happier cleaning up yellow shit. 

Let's all raise a glass to Dr Catherine Hakim, who's produced incontrovertible evidence that ladies have no business in the workplace. Her research on behalf of the Centre for Policy Studies shows that "men dominate the top positions because women simply do not want careers in business". Glad someone cleared that up. 

Instead, the majority of women prefer to "marry up", finding a husband who brings home a bigger pay packet. Rather shockingly, more women feel this way than in the 1940s. Although I'm not sure how many women would have dared to imagine that they might earn more than their partners 70 years ago. 

Dr Hakim states that "Research evidence consistently shows that most husbands are the main bread winners in their family and that most mothers would prefer not to have competing demands of family work and paid jobs." She would have said more, but she had to get home to put the dishwasher on. 

Political implications aside, this is yet another academic study designed to confirm what everybody already knows. Given the choice, I'm sure most people would be happy to keep the whisky decanter topped up, leaving the hard graft to their significant other. 

It's interesting that no-one seems to have conducted a similar study, asking how the husbands of major female breadwinners feel. I'm prepared to bet the keys to the executive washroom that they're perfectly happy hitting the golf course, leaving the Mrs to bring home the bacon. Hasn't anyone seen Mr Mom?

Flipping the birds

This week, Mac nerds were in heaven as Apple proudly unveiled its latest App Store - this time offering desktop applications to enhance your home computer. So now there's a funky new symbol added to your Mac dock, which means you can access the latest software and upgrades with a single click of your ergonomically perfect magic mouse.

Take a look at the App Store and you'll see it's just a more cost-effective way of ordering software online, with all the familar products given pride of place in the listings. However, one hold-over from the iPhone and iPad App Stores now making its desktop debut is Angry Birds, the most addictive time-waster since Saturday Kitchen.

Inspired by, of all things, the swine-flu epidemic, Angry Birds cost just $100,000 to develop. And thanks to its low cost (59p for the standard edition game), combined with its publishers' willingness to keep offering free upgrades and enhancements, the game has quickly become one of the most popular titles in history, making its Finnish creators Robio Mobile millions of dollars. After only ten months on release, the game had been downloaded from iTunes 7 million times, with the free limited version shifting a further 11 million copies.

With its bulbous heroes now internationally recognised icons, Robio was quick to investigate the licensing potential. It developed new versions of the software for other mobile platforms, an HD adaptation for iPad, and even began manufacturing plush versions of the avian assassins which are now available from the Angry Birds website. There's even talk of a film and cartoon series based on the game. Well, they can't be any more derivative than The Snorks or Battleship: The Movie.

But what's got people really excited is the forthcoming Angry Birds game by Mattel. Lovingly rendered in chunky, colourful plastic, the game painstakingly recreates the physics of everyone's favourite app in three dimensions.

Simply pick a card, build the structure, load your birds in the catapult, and fire away to score points. There are 56 mission cards to choose from, and the first player to score 1000 points wins. Of course, it lacks the urgency and accessibility of its pixelated counterpart, since every play requires the obstacles to be carefully constructed. It's highly likely that some health and safety-obsessed do-gooder has also put the kibosh on having any exploding birds. Or the triangular species capable of flying at bullet speed.

Clunky moulding and limited playability aside, it's interesting that this is a digital app evolving into an old-fashioned, plastic and paint game. Every new technological innovation scares people into thinking that old-world physicality and interaction will become a thing of the past.

And yet here's a computer game, only a year old, being made into a 'thing of the past' and we can't wait to get our hands on it. I guess the more things change, the more we stay the same. Still, I probably shouldn't hold my breath for the Grand Theft Auto board-game.

The devil in the details

On the lookout for gift ideas this Christmas, I found myself fondly remembering the Innovations catalogue. A prominent feature on everyone's doormat, this bulky little magazine featured all kinds of wonderous inventions designed to make modern life a little more tolerable.

Despite its bold claims of 'innovation', most of the products on offer were either staggeringly surreal or needlessly niche. But they were described in breathless terms, as though readers might literally die without a crocheted scarf to keep their boiled egg warm.

Although the Innovations catalogue is now a footnote in the long and varied history of dust-gathering knick-knacks, its spirit is still alive and well. That's the only explanation I can find for fashion designer Andrew Christian's curious new creation - The Shock Jock Flirt Boxer and Brief.

Taking their cue from the Wonderbra, Christian's new padded pants give men a little extra lift in their luggage: "Guys want underwear that looks natural, feels great and makes them feel confident." The thing is, there's nothing natural-looking about this built-in bulge.

Rather than just stuffing the seams with some artfully arranged padding, Christian has created a "soft hidden cup, sculpted into a penis shape". Just not a very realistic one.

So throw away those rolled up sports socks. If you want people's gaze to be drawn groin-wards, there's no need to stuff anything down the front of your jocks. The only drawback is that once you've attracted someone with your prominent pubis, you may have some explaining to do once the clothes start hitting the floor.

Enhancing your bulge is one thing, but wearing an unconvincing prosthetic cock is inexcusable. It may add up to two inches to your "frontal measurement", but it's a pretense that holds little water under close scrutiny. After all, nobody likes unwrapping a Christmas present to find an empty package inside.

Grin or bear it?

A decade is a long time in pop music, as Toni Braxton knows only too well. Despite plugging away with her smoky vocals and dinner party R&B, it's a good ten years since she had much on impact on the charts. 

Two bankruptcies, angioplastic surgery and an autistic child have helped keep her on the cover of the trashy gossip magazines, but her musical output has been decidedly low key. Which is a shame, since many of her early hits are now considered pop/soul standards. 

But it's a different kind of magazine that wants now wants her splashed all over its front page, and not because of her acute angina. Although the reason sounds similar. 

Taking to everyone's favourite public forum yesterday, Toni tweeted that Playboy has been pursuing her to appear in a future issue of everyone's favourite one-handed reading material: "New Year, New opportunities. So I have been considering taking up Playboy's offer to feature me on their cover this year. What you think?" Given the financial fix she's in, it's hardly surprising that the offer is makin' her high.

She may claim that the shoot will be tastefully done, but she needs to consider America's puritanical view of nudity. After all, the producers of long-running police show NYPD Blue are still having to contend with legal proceedings for a flash of bum that took place when Toni was still a musical force to be reckoned with. 

Eight years ago, an episode of the show aired that featured the buttocks of actress Charlotte Ross. After six years of legal wrangling, the FCC slapped network ABC with a $1.4 million fine for the scene. Today, ABC managed to get the fine overturned by a federal appeals court. But the Parents Television Council watchdogs aren't happy at this "egregious example of legislating from the bench". 

When TV shows are filled with graphic scenes of violence and torture, groups like PTC are happy to look the other way. But when an actor or actress turns and bares their other cheeks, these activists are less willing to do the same.

Toni might dismiss her impending spread as "Just a lil T and A", but not everyone will see it that way.

Hairdos and don'ts

Move over, Margaret Drabble. Take a hike, Iris Murdoch. There's a new authoress on the block, and she means business. Promising plenty of subtext, allegories aplenty, and a razor-edged insight into the human condition, Nicole 'Snooki' Polizzi's debut novel 'A Shore Thing' is certain to live up to its name when it comes to selecting this year's winner of the Orange Prize for Fiction.

She may only be 4'9", but Snooki's already a towering colossus in the world of reality TV, having shot to fame as the tangerine terror of MTV's hideously compelling 'Jersey Shore'. Making The Hills look like Downton Abbey, Jersey Shore follows the misadventures of a bunch of mahogany-hued Italian Americans sharing a beach house. 

Despite a contribution to popular culture that amounts to little more than a beehive hairdo and being punched in the face in a nightclub, Snooki is the breakout star of Jersey Shore, singled out by the New York Times as the one to watch. It doesn't seem to matter that she looks like a "turnip turned on its tip", her attention-seeking behaviour has made her an easy audience favourite.

Whilst her fellow cast members pursue their own business ventures, largely based around tackily bedazzled clothing lines, Snooki has more literary ambitions, which is why she's turned her well-manicured hand to writing. With a plot that "mimics her escapades" on Jersey Shore, the book follows the adventures of two cousins, Gia and Bella, who head to the beach in search of "hot guidos, pool clubs, fried Oreos, and lots of tequila." It's like Hotel Du Lac with a six pack.

Ahead of the book's launch today, the New York Post published exclusive excerpts, and it seems that we have a new Anthony Burgess on our hands. His celebrated novel A Clockwork Orange painted an evocative picture of dystopian future, using an invented language called Nadsat that blended rhyming slang with Slavic words.

Showing a similar visionary confidence, Snooki writes boldly about "badonks", "shimmies" and "juiceheads". Here's hoping the book comes with a glossary of terms so that we can decipher sentences such as "Yum. Johnny Hulk tasted like fresh gorilla." Melvyn Bragg is going to love it.

What less certain, is whether or not Snooki's loyal fanbase will lap it up. They may have made her one of America's most popular TV stars, but they're unlikely to even know what a bookstore is. Their heroine readily admits that she's only ever read two books in her life, and one of them was 'Twilight'. Let's just hope that Snooki's first adventure in publishing doesn't land on its badonk.

Vote for me

Hurrah, it's almost Oscar season again. That means Hollywood's finest will be appearing on every talk-show imaginable to sing the praises of their most recent output. He was a pleasure to work with, she's the kindest soul imaginable, it all starts with the script, blah blah blah.

As Joan Rivers' crypt door opens, and a bony hand reaches out to stick a cordless microphone on its charging station, the gliteratti are all hitting the campaign trail. Because although they might claim through gritted veneers that "It's an honour just to be nominated", they all know that the little bald guy translates into cold hard cash. And possibly your name above the film's title on the poster.

It used to be just the actors who had to press the flesh in order to court those all important votes. Now everyone involved in a production can be found canvassing Academy approval. But sadly, not everyone understands the subtlety required when it comes to promoting a picture.

Screenwriter Chris Sparling is learning the hard way, having sent a letter to the writers' branch of the Academy, singing the praises of his own film, Buried. In case you missed it, this was the harrowing tale of a man buried alive in the Iraq desert, with only a mobile phone and a limited supply of oxygen.

Critics originally doubted the suitability of Ryan Reynolds in the starring role. Could the artist formerly known as Van Wilder really pull off the kind of meaty dramatics needed to sell such a stark concept. It seemed to make about as much sense as auditioning Rob Schneider as Hannibal Lecter.

Despite the reservations, Ryan surprised everyone with a gritty and harrowing turn. Audiences left the cinema claiming to feel breathless and anxious, like Rosie O'Donnell getting a gym induction.

To be fair to Sparling, writing an entire film set in a 2' by 7' box, with only one on-screen actor is a considerable achievement. However, writing a letter to other screenwriters, claiming "no film this year — or ever — has done so much with so little" is perhaps overstating the claim a little. And although he attempts to sound magnanimous by acknowledging the "hard work of so many people", it's clear that he's the only one who'll be getting the credit if he manages to get the film on the ballot for Best Original Screenplay.

Despite his best intentions, it's looking increasingly likely that the only consideration taking place where Buried is concerned, is whether or not to disqualify the film. The Academy takes a dim view of any active solicitation of voting, its rules clearly stating: “Mailings that extol the merits of a film, an achievement or an individual are not permitted. Mailings containing quotes from reviews about a film or achievement are not permitted, nor should they refer to other honors or awards, past or present, that have been received by either the film or those involved in the production or distribution of the film.”

This is one Oscar bid that can reasonably be considered dead and buried.

Best foot forward

Better book the trestle tables from the local church, whip up a batch of sausage rolls, and learn the words to 'God Save The Queen' - there's a royal wedding coming. Who cares about the fact that the Monarchy is an outdated and grotesque institution; just think of the magnificent hats.

On April 29th, even the most avowed anti-royalists will be raising a glass of own-brand fizz to our future king and his bride. After all, it's not every year that we get an extra bank holiday.

It seems as though everyone is getting in on the excitement. Agnetha Fältskog has hinted (in rather oblique terms) that an ABBA reunion might be possible if the band was asked to attend the wedding. And one of Kate's friends has come up with a great hen party idea: shooting illegal immigrants in the East End. Unfortunately, Emma Sayle was cautioned by the police for making racist comments before she had a chance to invite Kate to join in.

Not to worry though, the young couple have plenty of other things to keep their minds off the nerve-wracking nuptials. William has been earmarked by hair loss brand Rogain as their ideal celebrity spokesperson. In a timely press release, they announced "We've been watching Prince William's growing bald spot closely for years, and we believe Rogaine can help…" If nothing else, that lucrative sponsorship deal could help pay for the big day. After all, it's not like they're having a registry office ceremony, followed by a Scotch egg at the local pub.

But if you find that you can't contain your excitement for the next four months, you could always book yourself on a walking tour of the 'William and Kate' love story. Sod the traditional tourist traps for just £15 you could traipse around the streets of the capital and visit such landmarks as Mahiki, where William once declared his reinstated bachelorhood when the couple split in 2007. Or how about the branch of Jigsaw on Dover Street, where Kate briefly worked as an accessories buyer? Failing that, there's the offices where Kate's great-grandfather used to work as a solicitor. Fascinating stuff, I'm sure you'll agree. 

Most of the other stops on the tour are more concerned with Charles and Diana. Even Camilla gets a mention or two along the way. Because, any way you slice it, the young couple simply haven't had the chance to accomplish that much in their short lives. Like Justin Bieber's recent 'autobiography', it's a little too soon to try and concoct a compelling narrative around a story that could almost be told in real time. 

Bashing the Beeb

The first of January is a time for fresh starts, new beginnings and changed behaviours. Most of us probably spent the best part of today nursing sore heads and swearing 'never again', some might even have come up with a resolution or two.

But not everyone is so keen on the concept of self-improvement; they're more than happy to keep doing the same things and pursuing the same predictably unhealthy activities. Take the Taxpayers' Alliance, for example. Despite the fact that it clearly gives them a communal ulcer just thinking about the BBC, they keep on conducting ridiculous studies into spending within the organisation, and churning out press releases for the right wing press to regurgitate verbatim.

Today's attack on the world's most respected public broadcaster, courtesy of the Telegraph, is a searing indictment of profligate spending and wanton recklessness. According to the esteemed broadsheet, BBC executives in Cardiff have been spending "more than £1,000 a day on taxis". In total, BBC Wales spent £595,551 on taxis over the last 18 months, a sum that the paper helpfully converts into "more than 2,800 annual licence fees".

To the organisation's critics, it's of little or no consequence that BBC Wales also managed to produce 1,500 hours of TV programmes, and another 14,000 hours of radio output in the same 18-month period. Not when accusations of 'Champagne socialism' can be thrown about.

The BBC is everyone's favourite media whipping boy - its directive to represent the opinions, perspectives and communities of all the audiences it serves, means that it's destined to be forever damned by anyone who occasionally finds a contrary viewpoint receiving airtime.

And even a comprehensive diversity, representation and inclusion policy isn't enough for some people. The gay community is currently up in arms about the corporation's recent coverage of Elton and David's newborn baby. They're unhappy with the fact that Stephen Green of Christian Voice was invited to take part in a discussion of the couple's December 25th miracle birth.

Green has something of a reputation for being anti-gay, having described gay rugby player Gareth Thomas as a "wicked role model for children" and compared H from Steps to a mass-murderer. To be fair, he did help to kill our fond recollections of Tragedy and Chain Reaction. 

So it will have come as no surprise to anyone that Green wasn't planning to send a gift-wrapped breast pump to the glowing new parents, telling the BBC “This isn’t just a designer baby for Sir Elton John, this is a designer accessory… Now it seems like money can buy him anything, and so he has entered into this peculiar arrangement… The baby is a product of it. A baby needs a mother and it seems an act of pure selfishness to deprive a baby of a mother.”

PinkNews.co.uk is currently advising its readers to complain about his inclusion in the coverage of the Elton story, and for the fact that the BBC neglected to mention some of Green's more extreme views. Whilst their intentions are noble, and their outrage understandable, it's important to remember that the BBC takes its responsibility for objective coverage seriously, even if that means giving airtime to objectional viewpoints. 

There's nothing homophobic about enabling alternative voices to participate in the debate. And demanding that they be silenced or excluded is to reject the very principles on which the BBC was founded. As long as gay marriages, adoptions and surrogacy are discussion points in the media, there will be pro and con arguments demanding to be heard. 

If we use our energies to decry every perceived slight or lapse of judgement, our argument is weakened when something genuinely outrageous occurs. Nobody wants to be the boy who cried homophobic wolf.