Creeper gotta creep

Public transport is a great democratiser. The rich, the poor, the strange and the normal will all eventually find themselves traveling together cheek by jowl in metal oblongs. But in the case of public transport ‘all walks of life’ includes not only the walkers but skulkers, shufflers and worst of all creepers.

Chances are if you caught public transport and have a vagina* you’ve been creeped on public transport. You'll be sitting on the train, minding your own business and you’ll suddenly discover that the seat next to you has been filled by the kind of dude you’d usually cross the street to avoid. He’ll sit next to you and start doing something wildly inappropriate, absolutely disgusting and frankly confusing, thus rendering you really uncomfortable.

Me and my sisters have had my fair share of creeper experiences. Dingo once had a dude talk at her for a solid hour before grabbing her hand and licking it. She stood up in the middle of the carriage and shouted ‘this man is licking me! Somebody please help’ and no one did anything! I got stuck on a broken down train with a dude who just got out on prison who began reading Anne of the Island over my shoulder, out loud. I don’t think it’s unreasonable to think this kind of stuff is not on.

It doesn’t help that we are conditioned to be a bit skittish these days. A stranger asks me the time and I’m already making a fist with my keys. However, with a creeper there’s usually something, a crazed look in the eye, a prison tattoo or a peculiar smell which sends a clear message ‘this dude is a not someone I wish engage with’.

Maybe sometimes we’re over reacting and misconstrue a friendly conversation as a prelude to cutting off our head and putting it a plastic bag. Clever creepers know this and use this against us. You say to someone ‘I don’t wish to be rude but I don’t feel like talking, I’m reading my book’ and they accuse you of branding them a rapist just because they were being social.

Whilst everyone is entitled to the benefit of the doubt, and a person could be made awkward by personality, situation, social ineptitude and emotional health, the point is that you know when you feel venerable or consider behaviour inappropriate and you have every right not to put up with it. We all should be allowed to say no, we should be allowed to keep our personal space personal and we should be allowed feel safe.

If you wish to escape the clutches of the creeper, the following tactics should work;

-Pretend not to be able to speak English. This one is chancy as it is completely foiled if you phone rings, if they speak the language that you are pretending to know or if you are with a mate. Actually, that works better, cos if you insist that you can’t communicate with the creeper but continue a completely normal conversation in plain English with your friend they may just get the jist that you aren’t interested in how they lost their hook hand in a turkey factory.

-The Jenna Marbles face.

-Call a friend and have a conversation about how you’re being made really uncomfortable by this guy sitting next to you on the train and yes, he does smell like rotten vegetables and wee and absolutely, you’re calling the police as soon as you hang up, but just in case you are carrying your Taser today.

-Come prepared with something like a book, laptop or headphones.Even better if your headphones are obviously not connected to anything.

-Change carriages. I know that this is not really fair, as we have as much right to be in a space as they do without being made to be uncomfortable but if it’s a choice between your safety and peace of mind than making a point that may easily be missed then just move.

*look this is from my experience. I'm not saying that all dudes on trains are creepers or the all creepers are dudes on trains. I am especially not saying that it's only dudes that creep, I have been creeped by ladies too, and I also know a couple of dudes who have been creeped upon. My point is that these sentiments are fluid... suspiciously warm, beany smelling, mysterious fluid.

Dear Davy, I thought you were wavy gravy...

A couple of weeks ago, someone in the media referred to the late Davy Jones as a ‘prefab- Paul McCartney’. Does that seem like a veiled way of saying that this guy’s entire career was just a cynical attempt to cash in on the Beatle phenomenon and he was an evil facsimile of a sham pretendy man, or is it just me? A bit inappropriate considering he died, and this was a eulogy style situation, but maybe I’m just being sensitive.

Liking the Monkees is a little contentious as the band has come to represent music marketing at its most contemptuous. Everyone knows that the group was put together as an attempt to create the American Beatles, marketed almost exclusively the ‘the kids’. This proved to be very lucrative for a very short time and annoyed a very large group of people. However, you’d think 45 years on everyone would be able to stop being offended and concede the point that they did play their own instruments and they did write their songs… eventually. Authenticity, in some situations, is a matter of time.

Talking about the manufactured Monkees kinda brings up the Lana Del Rey issue. Poor Lana has been given a lot of shit lately. ‘They’re not her real lips’. ‘That’s not Mike’s real hat’. The arguments are the same and in the end I think we should stop and ask ourselves ‘do I really have time to give a shit about this? Shouldn’t I just focus on staying alive, comfortable and happy?’

I mean so what if Del Ray does not necessarily write her own music? Who cares if she might not make her own clips? So what if her fantastic Gangsta Nancy Sinatra trash chic image was perhaps crafted by a group of cynical execs to sell records? I still want ‘Video Games’ played at my wedding.

I think everyone’s beef with Lana/Lizzie/Gangsta Nancy is that she’s denying all these things so emphatically and even I’ll admit that there comes a point where you have to stop trying to justify your lies, wave your hands mysteriously and whisper ‘smoke and mirrors, my friends’. Just admit that you can’t have art without artifice and move on. The Monkees, starting life as a TV show, never had to pretend they were something else.

Ironically the careers of both Del Ray and the Monkees suffered without appropriate marketing. I had never heard of Lizzie Grant and from what I saw on Google, very little could have convinced me to care. Enter cynical musical marketers and boom; I want ‘Video Games’ played at my wedding. The Monkees were running along fine until they demanded creative control (threatening physical violence apparently) at which point the whole endeavour started haemorrhaging money and sense faster than stuck pig.

In any case, I’m sad that Davy Jones is dead. I liked seeing him crop up in teen sitcoms and strange movies, and I was really looking forward to the Monkees tour that was rumoured to be happening this year. He may have started off being the strategic Dream Boat in a fictional band but he went on to be a widely appreciated pop-star, cruise-line attraction and all round good sport, which is more than can be said for Mike Nesmith.

And as I am such a bad sport I’m laying down all my arguments supporting the credibility of the Monkees now before I go:

- The Monkees had a number of credibility increasing connections. Carol King, Neil Diamond, and Harry Nilsson were all involved in the Monkee music making process, either as song writers on performers. Jack Nicholson and the creative minds behind Easy Rider helped with their experimental film Head.

- Mike Nesmith was an established musician who went on the develop the concept of the music video to something of an art form, watch anything form Elephant Parts and tell me I’m wrong.

- Peter Tork was good friends with Steve Stills, if he hadn’t gotten his Monkee break it would have been Crosby, Stills, Nash and Tork (and sometimes Young).

- It would be a very sad thing if we only judged people by a section of their whole career. George Clooney may very well have been in Return of The Killer Tomatoes, but he also gets nominated for Oscars

- One of Lou Reed’s favourite songs is ‘Goin’ Down’- a Monkees song. And if Lou Reed does not have discerning taste then I don’t know what else I can do!

- They are famous and you are not so there.