Davina Fit

"Will pose as teapot for money"

Hey fatty. Is it becoming a struggle to lift yourself off the sofa? Are children starting to point and laugh at you in the street? Has your gym membership got lost in the rolls of your belly flab? It's OK, I don't blame you because I understand it's not entirely your fault. Modern living has made you lazy; your television keeps you entertained whilst you force factory bred chicken wings down your bloated throat with podgy, grease-smeared fingers that you don't even have to leave the house for because someone gets paid less than minimum wage to deliver it straight to your door. You have everything you need right where you are, technological advancements at affordable prices have made it possible for anyone and everyone to enjoy the sedentary lifestyle which was once the sole luxury of the Royalty. Luckily for you, someone out there cares. Not just one person either, a veritable army of celebrities have rallied up in droves, abandoning their jungle camps and glittery ice skating tournaments to help you; Fatty McFattson, sort your life out via the visual medium of Celebrity Fitness Workout DVDs. It's time to dust off those jogging bottoms, crack out the rice cakes and warm ourselves up for an in-depth analysis of THE Super Celebrity Fitness Workout DVD of 2010: Davina Fit.

The box art is fairly self explanatory; there's Davina McCall, the ex-Big Brother presenter and inexplicably popular loudmouthed British household name, dressed in sporty gear and leaning against what appears to be some white structure, probably the pyramid of cocaine she bought from her last DVD sales. She's got the kind of body that you only get from having a personal trainer, following a strict dietary routine and access to all sorts of fancy gym equipment, but don't let that put you off buying the DVD, because it's Davina, the voice of the people and if she deserves to look that good then so do you girlfriend. Let's pop this sucker in and see what all the fuss is about.

She's in yellow, in case you forget who the queen bee is

Yeah! Title menu's! I always judge a good DVD by it's ability to have title menu's. And where is it more important to have title menu's than on a Super Celebrity Heavyweight Fitness Workout DVD?  OK, let's start with 'Introduction'. There's Davina, looking nice and toned and the camera's zooming towards here and she's saying stuff but I can't concentrate because it's all happening so fast and now she's gurning and what was that I don't even but it's OK because that's over now and we're moving onto the next topic and she's predictably fluffed her lines but she's carrying on because she's a professional and where the hell is the fitness this is just like some presenter trying out her half-assed comedy routine but no she's clapping her hands so it must be business time oh yeah quick transition of fitness montages and straight back to Davina for more gurning and predictable line fluffing and now it's over but wait did I learn anything it's not important because Davina McCall spoke personally to me. Well, I imagined 'Introduction' would be a basic rundown of some warm-ups and stretching exercises, but instead it's a rather bizarre story from Davina about how much she loves exercising. Now Davina, I have no problem with people being passionate about their work, but that's twenty minutes you just spent talking about it, by which time your audience have sat down and started stuffing themselves stupid with the nearest fatty food they can lay their hands on to quell the maddening disappointment at never  being able to be as enthusiastic about loving their own children as you are about keeping fit.

The next title selection is of the four 30 minute workouts; 'Aerobic Fit', 'Top Fit', 'Bottom Fit' and 'Kick Fit' and the bonus 'Yoga Stretch'. I went straight for 'Top Fit' because it sounded the most manly as there was no way I was about to watch the choreographed school disco which was undoubtedly going to be the premise of 'Aerobic Fit'. Finally we get to some actual workout routines. We're introduced to Davina's dopplegangers; ex-marine Mark who looks like a camp Jason Statham and ex-dinner lady Jackie who looks like she still is a dinner lady. Mark is the one who barks the orders for the two woman and yourself to follow,  and from his constantly bitter expression you can tell he's only getting paid a fraction of what Davina gets despite this being his carefully planned routine as her fitness instructor. Tough luck buster because that's the way the fitness world works, you spend hours training up some high-profile celebrity only for them to put their name to your technique and reap the rewards.

Yeah, probably best to leave the old one out for this

So we start with our warm-ups for five minutes and they're actually really good, I can feel my limbs stretching and toning already. I'm finding it a bit hard to try and not disturb the people living below me as much as possible so I lay some cushions on the floor as a noise dampener which works pretty well, (that's a protip for you lard bags living in shared accommodation. Write it down). Then, just as I'm feeling great about the whole thing and planning my next 6 months around doing this routine every day, Mark announces it's time to go and get the weights. I stare dumbfounded as they actually stop the routine to go and get their weights while I think; hang on, I don't have any weights, if I had weights I wouldn't need this stupid Super Celebrity Heavyweight Maximum Fitness Workout DVD. If I had weights Mark I would be doing some curls and dead-lifts right now without your stupid guidance, Davina's constant gurning or that tinny rendition of "I Feel Free" by Belinda Carlisle. I suppose for the 'Bottom Fit' they ask you to get your exercise bike out, and woe betide anyone who failed to buy a James Corden calender as target practice for 'Kick Fit'.

I don't know, I didn't check. I realised after the weight fiasco that I had left the front door on the latch, and my neighbours had more than likely walked past and seen my sliding around in my jogging bottoms on cushions whilst Davina McCall shouted at me to think of how good I would look in a bikini all year round. I don't care how good I was going to look in my bikini, I am not in the habit of making a fool of myself. 4 out of 10, because I at least learnt that gurning counts as exercise now.

Other Blogs: A Descent Into Madness

Before we begin today's review, we're going to try a little experiment. What I want you to do is click that little link at the top of the page which says 'Next Blog' and see where it takes you. Make sure you come back here afterwards and we'll discuss your findings. Go on, I'll wait here, you go and have a little explore, I dare you. You back? Okay, well I'm Sorry. I really didn't want to have to do that, but sometimes we hurt the ones we love in order to teach them valuable life lessons. Think of it as an immunisation, now you've had a little  taste of what lies out there, you'll never be tempted to try it again. So what did you get? Poems about dead cats? Tips and tricks for keeping your 'shakra' in line with your convertible? Recipe's for colour-blind lepers? Most likely you stumbled upon the most common of all, the smug middle class family from America documenting every single day of their lives on-line because their friends, families and local Samaritans have all threatened them with restraining orders.

This is what happens when you use the internet as a
dumping ground for your wasted thoughts

This review takes a close look at one of those in  particular, entitled 'Moose Antics'. Click Here to have a look for yourselves if you want, but you really don't need to because I have intrepidly braved that particular frontier for you, bringing back the choicest samples for your visual delectation. 'Moose Antics' is a blog written by this lady on the right, who calls herself 'The Moose'. I don't know why, she doesn't seem particularly large or ugly, it probably all stems from some traumatic childhood encounter in the Canadian Rockies that the rest of the family try to ignore. She lists her interests as "My family, learning the Bible, SINGING(sic), gardening and dancing like a pathetic white girl." In her 'About Me' she just writes moose noises and them makes a lame joke about chickens crossing roads. Buckle up tight 'cos this is going to be one bumpy ride into a very dark psyche. Let's roll.

Before I begin; this is NOT a personal attack on 'The Moose'. I have never met 'The Moose' and therefore have no opinions based on her or her family. This is a review of her blog, which she has laid bare for criticism on an open source website. She knew what she was doing, so stop feeling sorry for her. She lives somewhere in North America with her husband Jon who is rarely mentioned, and her son William, who is mentioned so many times you start to wonder whether he really exists at all and she isn't just making him up because her husband's impotent and allergic to dogs. Here's one of the more recent posts she has written about her adorable little kin "William and I made 9 huge snowflakes last week and then wrote bible passages on the backsides of each one of them. We hung them up over our kitchen table and at night it warms my heart to see William standing on a chair to look at the backs of them to pick out the passage that he wants to read from his bible before bedtime."

William being forced to work in 'The Mooses'
underground salt mines

Hey Moose, if you're reading this and that scene is true I think you may have misjudged the situation a little there. Here's what I think was really happening that night. What you thought of as being a tender moment between you and your child, William actually saw as his opportunity to escape. See, those weren't just Bible passages written on the back of those snowflakes, they were cleverly coded messages to your husband with whom he is clearly in cahoots. When you walked in on him, he was checking to see what your husband had updated them to, leaving plans for how to reach the escape tunnel he has been burrowing out of your basement. I think they're both getting a little sick and tired of your constant documentation of every facet of their lives via your personal blog.

That isn't a one off case either, once I noticed it the first time, examples started popping up everywhere, like this one written a few months before the first quote, "Almost every day that Jon isn't home with us, William has been known to come flying down the stairs and say, "Where's daddy?" He doesn't like for Jon to be out of his sight for more than 5 minutes at a time." Lady, one day you're going to have to wake up and smell the roses. Have you ever noticed how your families eye's twitch when you ask them to tell you what they want for dinner via the comments section in that day's blog post? Your child does not want to be alone with you and your husband spends as much time away from you as possible. No wonder you spend so much time with your pretend on-line family, at least they don't stop talking when you walk into a room or occasionally break down crying when you gleefully tell them you've spent the life savings hiring a professional photographer to follow you all around every day, so not one precious moment is missed or forgotten.

OK, you're in a wood, I still don't get why it's Moose

Sometimes the posts are open letters to one of the family. Hey Moose, you know every time someone posts a passive-aggressive open letter to someone who has slighted them that day a puppy dies right? You've single handedly killed enough  young dogs to end rabies. Here's one for you; and I personally know the puppy this one will be  killing. Believe me, it's an act of mercy.

Dear Moose,

No one gives a shit about you or your problems.

Sincerely,

Fuck Off

Aesthetically I must say the blog is presented fairly tastefully. The colour scheme is a warm dusky orange hue for the background and I quite like the picture at the top for it's the rustic charm, a hastily scrapped together montage of bow-ties and picture of a moose with random font types. It's such a shame about every single other aspect of the blog. The little 'Moose'-isms everywhere, the picture of William titled "My Smoochie", the consistent use of the word 'Bloggity' and the general God-awful smugness of the posts only possible from a rich, American middle aged housewife with more time on her hands than sense. I hope one day when William is much older and 'The Moose' develops some form of mental retardation brought on by the inevitability of old age, he starts his own blog about her 'wacky' exploits. 

Let's face it, to be constantly amazed that your child doesn't quite see the World from the same mature perspective that you do is a bit like getting angry at someone who suffers from Alzheimer's disease for forgetting where they put your keys, both pointless and quite uncomfortable for anyone else involved. For these reasons 'Moose Antics' earns itself 2 out of 10, and that 2 is for the colour scheme, because I really do like that orange.

Slender Man

I would make a stupid joke here, but He won't let me

When I was a young child, I only ever really wanted two things. One was a massive aquarium which could house a colossal squid and a sperm whale because I thought it would be amazing to see the two fight, and the other was to be able to live in the middle of some deep forest far away from the strains and disappointment of grown up life I found myself hurtling closer and closer towards. My affinity with woods started from a very early age, where I grew up they were fairly plentiful and there was nothing I liked more than climbing their trees and exploring as much of them as possible. Their sheltering comfort and collection of woodland creatures symbolised a world just beyond human comprehension, each wood represented a self sufficient organic city where the only rules were those which pertained to the laws of the jungle. 

They were simpler times but undoubtedly good times. Those days are gone now. Now I know of the lurking terror within even the smallest copse, watching and waiting for me to dare to try and live out that childhood dream. What could possibly cause such a drastic upheaval in logically fuzzy yet morally sound ideals? Slender Man, that's what. He's big, he's mean and he wont be happy until everyone is dead. He wears a suit because he means business and has tentacles for arms, all the better to wrap around your throat my dear. Never heard of him? Lucky for you, but I aim to change that. For your own sake of course.

The uncomfortable story behind this sinister figure came into the public eye a relatively short time ago, when the above picture appeared on an internet forum from an anonymous poster. The story which accompanied was that it was taken in 1983 in the American town of Stirling, and shortly afterwards there was a huge fire in the same local school which killed every one of the children inside. The fire was supposedly started by Mary Thomas, the same person who took the photo, who has been missing since the event. Like the snarling beast that it is, the collective consciousness of the internet took the Slender Man mythos to its blackened heart and suddenly supposed sightings were cropping up everywhere, from Japan to Norway and every country in between. Thousands of people had their own Slender Man story to tell, mostly involving a dark suited figure emerging from surrounding forests, with unusually long limbs and no memorable facial features. The 'bogeyman' had been reborn with a terrifyingly new persona, a modern day fairytale for the cynical Nintendo generation.

My, My, Whiskey. How you have grown.

One of the most creative iterations of the Slender Man legend is that of the YouTube channel known as Marble Hornets. If you follow that link, have a few hours to spare and don't mind wasting the precious little time you have on this Earth, you can watch all 33 episodes, back to back, whilst you also slowly watch your sanity slipping away. The videos are a supposed documentation of an American graduate going through a friends forgotten rushes for a film he was supposed to make. As he delves further into the tapes, he realises his friend was being stalked by a mysterious figure dressed in a black suit of indiscernible features, sort of like a burns victim James Bond. The series is brilliantly made, relying mostly on the viewers imagination to fill in most of the gaps as all of the greatest horror stories do and is a work in progress, being updated with new posts sporadically.

Whether you choose to believe in the Slender Man or not is of course up to you, I'm not here to preach the words of any creeping ancient evil just like I wouldn't preach the words of any shining triumphant deity. I'm just laying down the facts as I hear them, and you're free to take from it what you will. Part of the thrill of watching the Marble Hornets videos is the underlying uncertainty as to it's validity, and it's far more fun to suspend your disbelief whilst watching than it is to scorn it for being a poorly produced sequence of films.

We didn't want to go, but its persistent silence and outstretched arms
horrified and comforted us all at once 

I suppose through the willingness of the collective internet to keep him alive and further his presence through  spurious photographic evidence and scant recollections, Slender Man represents a need in society to have an ambiguous mystical ubiquity haunting the general psyche. It's much easier for us to anthropomorphise death as a skeletal Grim Reaper figure or a Yeti or a blurry faced businessman than it is for us to admit death as being the far scarier unknown that it is. Either that, or it's a very clever marketing ploy by the logging companies to make people more willing to the idea of decimating every rainforest on the planet in the hope of ridding ourselves of his omnipresent terror once and for all.

I've decided to give Slender Man a very middle of the road 5 out 10, because my respect for him is perfectly counter balanced by my fear of him. Sleep Well.