Being Ginormica

Being really tall is really weird. As a kid I grew up with a very tall Mum and tall uncles and even for a while a really tall step dad. I was always the tall kid at school, always noticeably taller than those my age. Yet when I watched my ever beloved WWF around my friends house with their rather magical (for the time!) Sky TV, I always marveled at how tall the guys were and couldn't imagine ever being that enormous!

Yet I am. I don't feel it. You'd think being 2.03m high would be noticeable but you know what... it's just natural to me. I couldn't imagine life being short. Not being able to touch the ceiling? That's weird now. Not being able to easily reach the top shelf in a shop? Weird. Not being able to see above the heads of people in crowds and effortlessly know where to go? WEIRD!

But being tall isn't the dream some seem to imagine it to be:

Chairs

Chairs of all sizes and descriptions are my second least favourite thing. Go find one of those small chairs they use for first years at primary school (US translation: first grade or kindergarten chairs). Now sit in one. Your knees are up around your ears (not in the good way! You are disgusting sometimes Dear Constant Reader, get your mind out of the gutter!), you feel completely stupid and it really is not comfortable. That's how I feel most days. Desk chairs, armchairs, barbers chairs (complete with a woman with scissors snapping around your face... shudder), airplane chairs, and worst of all; fixed booth chairs and fixed bench/table ensembles. I draw small crowds as they watch me attempt to contort into a fixed booth. It's not funny people!

Doors

Well doors are okay, I suppose. But doorways. They are another kettle of fish. At 2.03m my forehead is almost perfectly in line with the top of your average door. This has led to me developing an automatic ducking mechanism, but about once a week I forget and... BANG! Ouch... And it's always in the most public place/situation where every can see the shame of the idiotic giant who can't even duck under a door. D'oh

Umbrellas

Superman/Kryptonite, Hitler/Stalin, Scientology/Anonymous. Everybody has their nemesis. Mine is umbrellas. Each rainy morning, I reluctantly step out of my door knowing that my trip to work is to be spent avoiding being poked in the eye by badly handled umbrellas. Pet hates: i) people who RAISE their umbrella to eye height when they seem me coming, aim for the stomach people!! ii) tiny people with golf umbrellas, ok... anybody using a golf umbrella when commuting. DIE! iii) People using umbrellas when it's only spitting.

Standing In Bars

I love drinking. LOVE IT. I love being with friends. But there really is no point if I'm standing. Your mouths are over a foot down from my ears and my ears are usually one foot closer to the music speakers/ceiling echoes than yours. I cannot hear you. I can only smile and drink. That's it. Sitting makes things a lot easier for me.

Crowds

Being tall means I can see over everyone's heads. This helps me navigate more easily. But it also means I can see every stupid, annoying thing everyone does. I can see the pushers in. I can see each and every slow person holding us up. I can even see that the cause of the whole crush is someone standing in a doorway chatting on their mobile. You might give them a passing annoyed look, but by the time I've had time to plan their tragic accident involving their mobile phone "accidentally" ending up in an unpleasant place. This brings me on to:

Stupid People

I'm tall not blind/death/stupid. I can hear you when you whisper "Isn't he tall?" to your equally stupid companion. I can see you when you stop dead in your tracks, directly in my path and stare up at me like the gormless simpleton you are. I sometimes wonder... if I draw this much attention to myself I can only imagine how those who have some visible disability must feel. My heart goes out to them because I feel a little of their pain!

I really don't mind someone coming up to me in a social situation (at work, in a bar, round someone's house) and asking me how tall I am. But one of my least favourite things is when people do it in the street. I'm calmer now than I was... when I was a teenager I was rather nasty to those who did it, especially those who'd go out of their way to stop me when I was on my way somewhere. It is not cool to ask someone how tall they are in the middle of them doing something. It's not like it's a secret. I'm in front of them. They can see EXACTLY how tall I am. Do they really need to ask???

Other annoying things: getting clothes, being in direct eyeline with top shelf magazines (eek and yuck), seeing your feet and thinking "OMG they are in a different timezone!", submarines (I am officially too tall to navigate a publicly accessible submarine unless it's totally empty and I am thus able to throw myself through each hatch [as I used to do on the Soviet sub in Folkestone]), small cars, low ceilings, market stall urnings... etc etc...

But this is all made up for by the very cute macrophiles. ;)

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What A Beautiful Morning

Had a rather lovely day yesterday. Spent most of it in the pub, which is always a god start, but also went shopping (although was a rather strange incident where a man accused Jim and I of letching over his girlfriend, LOL). We popped into Pets At Home and discovered their new reptile section, and Jim fell in love with bearded dragons. I give it a month until we have one scurrying around our home *pretends disinterest while secretly suppressing his joy*. Really pleasant sort of day.

Today we started early, went and got some breakfast, sat and ate it in Greenwich park feeding the starlings and pigeons and being looking at longingly by passing dogs. Then went round the Queens House and admired the painting collections and the scary Tulip Stairs.

The Ghosts Of The Tulip Stairs

On the way back we stopped off at the market where some idiotic old man grabbed my arm and told me to mind my head. HA! A tall joke I thought (and basically said). I think I am no more than two more tall jokes away from breaking somebody's neck. I was so pissed off that not only did he think making a tall joke to a complete stranger was appropriate behaviour but that he thought TOUCHING me was acceptable. Well it's not and the next person who tries it will die. Unless they are beautiful. Then it becomes acceptable. Grab me all you like I'll shout as I laugh at their hilarious tall jokes. I'm such a hypocrite.

Want to help me get featured in a book? Just click on this link and watch the video. It's about a trailer for a book, safe for work yadda yadda. Pass it round! ;)

This blogger works for nothing but the joy of writing but always appreciates things bought from his wishlist

The Sexualisation Of Height

One of those things that sets me out from the crowd, other than being as gay as a window and causing chaos and destruction where ever I go, is my height.

Whatever it may be 6'8" - 6'10", it sure does draw me some attention. I think my now well practiced sour "London face" has assisted in keeping street level interaction down to stares and double takes. This is a vast improvement on being stopped every ten feet by an old lady who just wanted to tell me her Grandson was my height. After a while I realised that the population of Britain was either 50% giants or these old women were batty/annoying. Thankfully the scare stories about crime in London have scared the old ladies into minding their own business and no longer stopping me from getting on with my day.

However my height is not something I am ashamed of or that causes me undue distress and so I'll often add it to profile pages, such as Myspace, if the question is asked. This has lead me to discover a whole underground movement of people who have a fetish for height.

Now I've already discussed macrophiles before, and I've come to terms with them. But I'm not talking about macrophiles here... I'm talking about random men and women who seem to be stalking me on social networks and bombarding me with questions about my height.

You'll find them lurking around groups such as "I'm Tall, So I Am Better Than You". They will find someone tall and add them as a friend.

Now I foolishly changed my friends policy from "I need to at least vaguely know you" to "I'm bored of worrying about whether I know you or not, it's easier just to accept you". This was a stupid move that has meant every so often I now get a pop up message on Facebook along the lines of:

"Wow, you are soooo tall. What's that like?"

Sometimes I think this is just a conversation opener and if I reply it won't be long before we are discussing life, the universe and everything and become life long friends. Alas...

"So, what is your shoe size?"

This is a danger signal, ignored only at your peril. Soon it will be what's your weight? Where would I come up to? and other personal questions.

What I find so weird about all these folks is they don't even make a pretense about it. They don't try to pretend they just want to talk about any of the 500 other groups, subjects or people I've expressed an interest in so they can form a friendship and then investigate my height. No it's straight in at the height questions and within 5 minutes you'll get something like:

"So you could lift me up and do me against a wall?"

or

"If I pay you £100 will you beat me up please?"

Do they not read my status "In A Relationship"? Of course not because they also ask question like:

"Where do you live?"

"How old are you?"

"Are you straight or gay?"

They took the time to find out my height from my profile but can't be arsed to read it for two seconds and find out these simple answers.... grr....

So here's an idea for all you people who get off on tall guys and girls. Firstly: chatting them up is a good thing to do before you start to live out your sexual fantasies. Secondly: read a bit about them. If they are in a relationship like me, they probably aren't interested. Thirdly: be intelligent.

I think tonight I shall begin the process of deheighting my social network profiles, just as once I degayed my university rooms for visits from my Mum, so as to avoid these crazy people in the future. Sure some of the guys are very, very cute but I've got Jim. Who needs anyone else?*

*Please note whilst I do not need anyone else I am not ruling out completely the idea of sex with Charles Dera, Matt Damon or Brent Corrigan. ;)

Phantom of the Opera

It was Zoe's birthday yesterday and her mother was kind enough to buy Zoe and I tickets to see the Phantom of the Opera at Her Majesty's Theatre.

I met Zoe at Charing Cross and we immediately headed up to Seven Sisters to see John and Vixie. I thought Seven Sisters was... how can I put this... "interesting" during the night time. During the day time it sure is... something... Anyway we arrived at John and Vixies flat (they've moved, and it's got a lot more space) and found Vixie sitting on the floor making flags for Eurovision. It didn't take me long to find out she was a rabidly unpatriotic person who was supporting the Ukraine and HATED Scooch. Vixie is off my Christmas list, and just wait until she sees her wedding present... ;) As always Vixie and John were delightful as always.

After an hour or so of Pingu watching (yes, Pingu) Zoe and I headed back into town and randomly choose an Italian restaurant that 1) neither of us had been to or heard of before and 2) wasn't part of a chain. Food was nice and very filling.

And then it was off to the theatre! Firstly I owe a big thanks to Zoe's mum who, unlike most people, remembered my special requirements of needing some where to put my legs so seated me at the end of aisle. We settled in, but just as the show was starting a small drama unfolding behind us as two kindly old ladies were dragged from the theatre having turned up a day late. Bless them.

The show was wonderful, the acting good, the songs great and the set AMAZING. The chandelier was a triumph. The actress playing Christine was the same one who played Cosette in the last Les Mis Jim and I attended.

Randomly bumped into Elliot on way home, sorry I was so tired and out of it!

Thank you Zoe for a brilliant day.

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Jae Gets Lost

Ah London is a brilliant city. Last night work drinks were held in the Royal Oak in Vauxhall. Sam America chose it as she said it was "quaint". Hmm... this is not the kinda pub for a work night out. It was a smokey, old men's pub. Spit and sawdust to boot. Good if you with one or two blokey mates and you want a drink. Bad when your with 20 people half of whom are loud travellers. The old men stared at us all evening. All the Brits quickly left, leaving me with the Americans and Sarina. Never again Sam. Never again.

Today I got up early and rushed into town to High and Mighty on Edgware Road. The Central Line was PACKED at 9am on a Saturday. Weird. Why do I always feel compelled to use the stairs at tube stations? I left Marble Arch a little out of breath... Rushed into and out of High and Mighty with a new shirt and coat and without a lot of money. Then I headed, via tube, to Forbidden Planet. It was closed. Reluctant to retrace my steps I headed down a side street calculating it'd lead me back to Charing Cross Road. That's when I got lost.

I've been wandering in the Charing Cross area since I was about 16. I feel like I know pretty much every nook and cranny. It's nice to know I was wrong. I wandered among weird shops "New Age Music Here" and huge flags (how big a French flag does a small shop need???). I found a little round about that was quite pretty, I discovered an entire street of large stores and was that Channel Fives HQ?? Who knows... I kept wandering until I came to Covent Garden tube station... quite a bit off course! Oh well... nice to know London always has a surprise up it's sleeve. Headed home, got a haircut on the way and now here I am.

My God it's cold today!

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Being Tall

Most of the time I don't really notice being tall. Sure I'm 6'9" but I've always been tall, I feel normal!

But some days I really do feel extra tall! Days like today. I feel so awkward on days like this. Just walking through the doors becomes annoying. Normally I duck under them without even thinking about it. But when I feel like this I get to the door, stop, stare into that dusty place above it that very few people ever get to see (trust me when I come round your house I will always find those dusty places you missed!), and then awkwardly duck under the door. It's all a lot of effort.

Recently I've noticed something worrying. I'm starting to get broader. My shoulders are certainly larger than they used to be (I can remember I used to measure them with my hands and wish they were larger... so I know!!) which is not quite as desirable as you might think. The doors in our flat are quite short and quite slim. I'm approaching the point of actually filling them!

And trains. They are becoming annoying. I don't know whether I'm growing again or something but I am now a couple of inches taller than the crevice that leads to the door (I'm probably now half a foot taller than the doors themselves). This makes for interesting travelling on busy trains. Or on trains with an annoying shortarse blocking my way out of the crevice.

And it's winter. And you all know how I feel about umbrellas.

I've started to notice the staring again. And the whispers behind my back. No I'm not paranoid!

When I was 16 I was about 6'5" and people began to stop me in the street so they could exclaim "God, aren't you tall?". A couple of years later I got to the height where people stopped doing that and instead would just stop whatever they were doing and stare. Even if they were directly in my way. And they often thought I was deaf and say to a mate "Fuck ain't he tall??".

As a self conscious teenager this used to bother me a lot. But as I grew older I stopped even noticing it. It still happened but unless who I was with pointed it out I wouldn't hear or see it. But it's started to bother me again. And it's starting to make me angry. I want to go up to them and scream at them about how I didn't stare at them despite their horrendous looks, so they might want to extend said courtesy to me. And I didn't really want to mention just how fat their were but if we're mentioning the bloody obvious... etc... etc...

I hate days like this. Maybe screaming at someone might make it better... that'd sure put the fear of God into them.

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