Nicole in London: Tales of A Los Angeles Expat

Grrrrr

2006-11-25T17:50:00.000Z

The Web hosting co that Stu and I use is evil. The regular page is down right now. Stuart is working on sorting it right now. . . So hang tight!

Problems!

2006-07-07T15:54:00.000+01:00

If any of you are going to the travelingtreefrog.com site you will find a lovely little message saying that the account was suspended. At first I thought Stuart had forgotten to pay the bill- It turns out that they think I am a spammer. . . > Hello, > > Our Network technicians have been alerted to > unsolicited emails sourced to an add-on account > created under your primary account: > > ---> > (Link: http://travelingtreefrog.com/wp-admin/moderation.php)http://travelingtreefrog.com/wp-admin/moderation.php > on monroe - exploited blog comments section beign > used for spamming. I've been being hit with a lot of gambling spam- and I added a trackback validar pug in- I'm wondering if that is the problem. . . I'm sad.

Turning out the lights

2006-05-01T21:19:00.000+01:00

So it is now time for the big switcheroo. . . For the twenty of you that like to read Nicole in London, you can now find me at www.travelingtreefrog.com.

Bank Holiday Weekend

2006-04-30T10:16:00.000+01:00

This weekend is a bank holiday weekend. I'm not sure why they give us May Day off here. I assume it has more to do with the traditional Roman Festival than the power to the workingman reasons, but I would like to think it is a mixture of both. Singing The Internationale around the May pole maybe? My plan was to relax Friday night. Maybe go to the pub for a pint but no more than that because after two nights of drinking, I felt pickled. Saturday was yoga in the morning then a walk along the river then maybe a movie in the evening. Sunday was Kew Gardens, Monday is David's birthday lunch at David and Amanda's house in Kent. Then life happened while I was making plans. Friday after lunch, I felt a tickle in my throat. Full on cold. Blah. So. . . no yoga and no Kew today. I'm hoping that tomorrow I will be ok for David's birthday. I did make a nice soup yesterday however. I took Barbara Kafka's recipe for garlic broth and mixed it with some ingredients from Rick Bayless' Mexican chicken soup. Even Stuart had some. I was well chuffed.

LA Times Festival of Books

2006-04-28T11:35:00.000+01:00

If you are in Los Angeles this weekend, I strongly recommend that you go to one of my favourite things to do- The LA Times Festival of Books at UCLA. Next year I am planning a vacation back to America since I have now missed it two years in a row.

The Circus

2006-04-28T11:20:00.000+01:00

They sent us to a Circus Training School for a team building event yesterday and it was a lot of fun although today my legs are killing me from the acrobatic balancing part. I was rather disappointed that we didn’t get to go on the trapeze, but given the number of people that we had and the opportunity for serious injury and likely death, I’m not surprised that they skipped that portion of the circus training. The walking on a wire thing was really frustrating and it gives you an enormous appreciation for performers that do it. I vacillated between having fun and feeling like an elephanty cowish blob when we did the pyramid thingy. They were taking pictures of all of us and I am rather terrified of what photographic evidence there is of the day. . .

First London Concert

2006-04-27T00:47:00.000+01:00

Jen (Preston) dragged me to my first concert in London tonight. . .Wolfmother. They are a mix of Led Zeppelin meets the Doors meets AC/DC meets White Stripes meets. . . I don't know what - but it Wolfmother. They are a lot of fun. Although I was rather frightened by the liberal use of the devils horns symbol from the masses. If they had yanked out a lighter at a slow song, I wouldn't have been surprised. So my evening was: Drinks Vietnamese food Venue drinks Concert Drinks Tube with people all more tipsy than we were. (We were rather concerned about one Bankerish fellow listening to his iPod that he would tune out and miss his stop but he pulled it together. He was wearing a black suit jacket, purple tie with pink swiggles and a pink gingham shirt. I have to say that I respect the London Mans ability to wear pink. I think it suits them. For whatever homophobic reason, you don't see men wear pink in the Western states of the US.) Kebab Water Blogging. Bed. Life is good. So what I got audited. I only owe a little less than 2K. I'm on a payment plan. . . It's all good dude. Rock on. * *Please forgive my use of the phrase "rock on" as well as the word "dude". It was brought on by retro head banging music and two double vodkas on the rocks with a twist. I promise it won't happen again.

You know you have been in England too long when. . .

2006-04-26T10:12:00.000+01:00

Spying a woman on the tube wearing a monkey vomit hounds tooth jacket, flouncy skirt, fish net stockings, leather ankle scunchy Madonna circa 1982 boots and instead of thinking. . . “If she only knew how ridiculous those stockings are and how fat those boots make her look.” You think, “Maybe I should buy fishnet stockings and ballet slipper flats.”

Big Envelope

2006-04-25T20:52:00.000+01:00

When you get a letter from the Internal Revenue Service, you do not want to get a big envelope. A big envelope means that you are being audited. Being audited is bad. Today I got a big envelope. For 2003. There is a benefit to being across the world in that I do not have to go to the meeting. I don't have my receipts anymore so it's a big case of "Okay. . . tell me what I owe." Sigh.

You have to be kidding me

2006-04-25T13:35:00.000+01:00

Window shopping online at Banana Republic. A number of the skirts include the blurb, "Now in size Double-Zero". So there is some skinny anorexic bitch out there that a size ZERO is too big for her boney ass?? So not fair.

Feeling English

2006-04-25T10:12:00.000+01:00

The Northern Line was dire this morning. I was running late to start, couldn’t push my way onto three trains and when I finally did, I was stuffed between two men. If you’re going to be that close to someone, you really ought to use a condom. At Oval I managed to squeeze over by the door against the flexi glass. A woman got on and she proceeded to take off her jacket. Normally this action would be fairly innocuous but when you are jammed in like we were, it is a grave offence indeed. I felt a, “You have got to be kidding me look” on my face. I noticed another woman watching the Jacket Remover and we locked eyes and we shared a silent, “What a dumb cow” moment. I felt very English.

PAYDAY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

2006-04-25T09:58:00.000+01:00

First paycheck in six months. I feel giddy. I am getting my hair cut. I am eating sushi. I may need to buy a pair of shoes.

Happy St. George's Day!

2006-04-23T19:32:00.000+01:00

Who is St. George you ask? He is the patron Saint of England. The myth about him is that he slayed a dragon and saved a Princess, but that probably didn't happen. . .What with there being no such thing as dragons and such. Also Happy Birthday Mr. Shakespeare!

Having a lay in. . .

2006-04-22T12:37:00.000+01:00

Saturday morning. Slept in late. Scrambled eggs with smoked salmon I brought back from Seattle, (The salmon. Not the eggs.) mushrooms, onions and sundried tomatoes. Stuart and I sitting in the living room surfing the internet on our his and hers powerbooks. Coffee. More coffee. Sunny, clear spring day. Even more coffee. Movies later.

World Cup Rules For Women That Don't Like Football

2006-04-21T13:42:00.000+01:00

I am very lucky that Stuart doesn't like football. . . LIST OF RULES 1. From 9 June to 9 July 2006, you should read the sports section of the newspaper so that you are aware of what is going on regarding the World Cup, and that way you will be able to join in the conversations. If you fail to do this, then you will be looked at in a bad way, or you will be totally ignored. DO NOT complain about not receiving any attention. 2. During the World Cup, the television is mine, at all times, without any exceptions. If you even take a glimpse of the remote control, you will lose it (your eye). 3. If you have to pass by in front of the TV during a game, I don't mind, as long as you do it crawling on the floor and without distracting me. If you decide to stand nude in front of the TV, make sure you put clothes on right after because if you catch a cold, I wont have time to take you to the doctor or look after you during the World Cup month. 4. During the games I will be blind, deaf and mute, unless I require a refill of my drink or something to eat. You are out of your mind if you expect me to listen to you, open the door, answer the telephone, or pick up the baby that just fell from the second floor....it wont happen. 5. It would be a good idea for you to keep at least 2 six packs in the fridge at all times, as well as plenty of things to nibble on, and please do not make any funny faces to my friends when they come over to watch the games. In return, you will be allowed to use the TV between 12am and 6am, unless they replay a good game that I missed during the day. 6. Please, please, please!! if you see me upset because one of my teams is losing, DO NOT say "get over it, its only a game", or "don't worry, they'll win next time". If you say these things, you will only make me angrier and I will love you less. Remember, you will never ever know more about football than me and your so called "words of encouragement" will only lead to a break up or divorce. 7. You are welcome to sit with me to watch one game and you can talk to me during halftime but only when the commercials are on, and only if the halftime score is pleasing me. In addition, please note I am saying "one" game, hence do not use the World Cup as a nice cheesy excuse to "spend time together". 8. The replays of the goals are very important. I don't care if I have seen them or I haven't seen them, I want to see them again. Many times. 9. Tell your friends NOT to have any babies, or any other child related parties or gatherings that requires my attendance because: a) I will not go, b) I will not go, and c) I will not go. 10. But, if a friend of mine invites us to his house on a Sunday to watch a game, we will be there in a flash. 11. The daily World Cup highlights show on TV every night is just as important as the games themselves. Do not even think about saying "but you have already seen this...why don't you change the channel to something we can all watch??", the reply will be: "Refer to Rule #2 of this list". 12. And finally, please save your expressions such as "Thank God the World Cup is only every 4 years". I am immune to these words, because after this comes the Champions League, Italian League, Spanish League, Premier League, etc etc. Thank you for your cooperation. Regards, Men of the World

Commitments

2006-04-20T16:16:00.000+01:00

I’m working on my work commitments, which is a fancy-dancy way of saying goals. It is a bit more involved than a goal and while on the surface it appears to just be semantics, it does imply a greater ownership that just a goal. The structure of a commitment is: Commitment/Execution Plan/Accountabilities So a commitment might be: Go to war in Iraq Execution Plan: Create a culture of fear. Link unrelated events that provide an impetus to action Have a respected former member of the milatary produce cooked evidence. Have everyone say yellowcake and mushroom cloud. A lot. Hide from the American people the cost of the war Accountabilities Achieve the following US casualties: 2003- 486 2004- 848 2005- 846 2006 YTD- 198 Achieve the deaths of 34,000 to 40,000 Iraqi civilians by April 2006 Prevent the photography of coffins Never attend a single funeral of a dead serviceman Demonize the mother of a dead soldier Use the phrase “evil doers and “they hate us because of our freedom” and “you’re doing a heckuva job (enter name of lunkhead here)” You got the idea. . .(this was more fun that doing the work one.) I’ve been looking at the commitments of our US counterparts to get ideas (steal) and one of them made me laugh and scared me. Maintain work/life balance./ Maintain energy by participating in extracurricular activities, Maintain energy by adopting healthier habits, Foster spiritual life, and maintain proper perspective of what’s important./ Go at least one night a week without checking work email, Work out at least 4x a week; run at least 2x a week, Eat vegetables 2+x a week, Attend church every week, and read Bible at least 5x a week. I hope that his manager really didn’t approve this. Reading the bible 5 times a week while admirable is not an appropriate work accountability. And how the hell is a manager suppossed to measure that? It did make me laugh however.

Global Positioning System

2006-04-20T13:46:00.000+01:00

GPS. I need it. I can get lost while holding a map. Part of the problem is of course I can't read maps. I am one of those people that feels like North is always the direction I am facing. I do eventually learn which way is north based on landmarks- In LA and Seattle west was water (although Seattle that meant the sound. Not the lake(s). And if you were in Alki, it just messed the whole thing up. Walking through a building I am never able to visualize what wall is facing what outside without actually looking out a window. Today I got lost walking back to work from lunch (at the very tasty hummus bros.) In my defense, London (and Soho especially) has all these little streets snaking around and nothing makes sense and everything looks interesting. Cut To: EXT. NARROW LONDON STREET - AFTERNOON Thousands of OFFICE WORKERS mill down the street holding iPods or talking on cell phones (er mobiles I mean.) A group of men wearing entirely too much hair product duck into a pub revealing-- NICOLE the directionless wonder. A thirty something with no attention span (the type that gets excited when you drive past a cow) she wanders aimlessly from Wardour Street through Soho ending up near Carnaby when she should be closer to Piccadilly. She tries to pretend she isn't lost so no one mugs her. The wind keeps pulling up her skirt and she clutches at it, holding it down as she hobbles down the street. She trips on a curb, falls into the street and is tossed up into the air when she is hit-- by a Black Cab. Okay, that didn't happen. The being hit by a Black Cab part. Or the worrying about being mugged part. Odds are you won't be mugged in Soho. You are far more likely to have your handbag nicked while you sit in a restaurant or the pub. The tripping part also didn't happen. That came later when my shoe caught on the door on the lift. But, yes. I need GPS. If they make one with a Samuel L. Jackson voice I'll get that. "Turn Left Motherfucker!"

Watching The English

2006-04-19T19:33:00.000+01:00

David recommended Watching The English a few months ago and I have only now started to read it. Vol mentioned it a few posts back regarding the landmines an unsuspecting foreigner could get into while discussing the weather with a Brit. Reading it, I immediately see things that I have done terribly wrong according to this book. Things like shake someone's hand with confidence and introduce myself. Apparently that isn't done. It is also considered rude to ask what people do or where they live. Such land mines. Areas I have down almost as if I was from here, the invisible queuing at the pub and the pantomime with the publican, the please and thank you's when exchanging money, saying sorry when someone bumps into you and never speaking or looking at others if you can help it on public transportation. The longer I am here, the more I feel part of it, yet also further away from it, from the culture. Does that make sense? The more I know, the more I know I don't know type of thing. . .

Proof. . .

2006-04-18T23:10:00.000+01:00

I’m old. I discovered it today. I’ve suspected it for some time, but today I was provided definitive proof. It’s not because my knees creak as much as Paris Hilton’s bed springs. It’s not because I am working on a Bonnie Raitt, Susan Sontag streak of grey. It’s not because I actually have Gregorian Monks chanting on my iPod. I’m old because today, I tut-tutted a young girl on the street. I had to return my videos so I got off the tube at Clapham South and along the high street there were three kids, I’m guessing twelve – thirteen years old. One was on a bike and he kept popping wheelies the way twelve-year-old boys do. His breaks had more squeak than stop. His friends, two girls, were walking along side him. One of the girls had Icelandic white blond hair and violent blue eyes and was at least a year away from filling out her training bra. She was holding a bag of crisps (potato chips) sprinkling them along the street. At one point she looked back at me, grabbed another handful of potato and Hanseled and Gretled it along the high street. When the bag was empty she stuck it into the metal wire cage around a tree. I couldn’t help myself. I called out to her, “Is that a trash can?” She turned. “Wah?” I think my saying trashcan is what got her attention. “Is that a trashcan?” I fished the bag out from the wire and handed it to her. “Go toss it in the rubbish bin.” She turned away from me, toward the rubbish bin, but she had to get a last word. She ripped the bag in half, let one bit flutter onto the street putting the twin into the bin. I have to say, I was rather impressed. As non-verbal improv fuck you’s go, it was nice. Well done little slapper on the dole in training. Well done. When she turned down her street, she turned around and looked at me, her eyes narrowed. I narrowed mine back. I was thinking, “Little bitch.” She was thinking, “Fat cow.” So yes. I am old. Any day I will start screaming, “In my day, we walked to school in our polyester bell bottoms tying yellow ribbons round the old oak tree!” Sigh.

Feeling Pathetic and sad

2006-04-16T14:03:00.000+01:00

So the boys are off in Porto doing the trip that I organised, Preston has a sleep in shift and I am here with no food in the house and the grocey stores are closed. This sucks ass. My plan had been to cook a little Easter dinner for myself. Not that I am a Christian but I will take any excuse to eat a baby sheep. I thought that they might have a few hours of being open in the morning like they do in America but Stuart told me that I was wrong so I didn't even try to go look. The pub should be open though right? Well. Right. I'm just going to have to turn that frown upside down. I'm going to have a bath then get something to nibble on and a pint at The Duke of Devonshire where I will finish reading Anna Karenina- one of the things I love about this country is that the pub is like a coffee house. You can go as a woman alone and not be messed with. . . (for the most part.) Then for dinner I am going to have sushi. Yes, a sushi Easter dinner. We got a reccomendation from a friend visiting from Germany about one in our neck of the woods in Tooting Bec - Fugisan. Is better than sitting at home eating the Stuart's chocolate that he foolishly left behind. Pub lunch, one pint, two pints, sushi, sake, finishing a great book, starting a book to be named later, time by myself. . . What was I moaning about before?

I grow old ... I grow old...

2006-04-16T01:20:00.000+01:00

I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled. I whinged about my knees a few weeks ago. Cliff notes: They snap. They crackle. They pop. My knees are Rice Krispies. Except different. I am slowly making my way down the stairs in the dark to go to the loo. I'm reading the stairs with my feet looking for the Braille signs for the landing while I clutch the banister like an old woman. I miss a step. I fall back on my ass to the sound of snap, crackle, pop and pain. A good bit of pain. I'm rather glad that Preston didn't open the door of her room to see me spread out on the stairs, my dressing gown all kerfuffled. In a word. Pretty? Not so much. I'm adding swimming to the list of things I need to start doing. I suppose if they get really bad, I could just have my legs amputated at the knee, but I am short enough as it is.

Home!

2006-04-15T14:29:00.000+01:00

I'm exhausted but I am home. I'm exhausted but I know that this is now home. It's a nice feeling.

Going Home

2006-04-14T18:32:00.000+01:00

I feel great today. Perfect timing to get on a plane and get jet lag again. At least I have an aisle seat. They took us to dinner last night to a lovely little Italian restaurant so any Seattleites that want to drive to Bellevue, I strongly reccommend Firenze.

Snore Wars

2006-04-14T14:48:00.000+01:00

Preston's teasing of the boys continues. . . A long time ago in a land far, far away.......... Two men were born. One German. One French. Over the years, they both developed nasty smoking habits....... In a recent BBC investigation, it was proved that smokers are twice as likely to snore because of inflamed airways.... Other contributory factors are......drinking alcohol. Matthieu and Buettner are sharing a room in Porto..... HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA

Weather

2006-04-13T20:28:00.000+01:00

Yesterday one of the Brits on my team said, "I'm not talking about the weather." It cracks me up that they were annoyed by Seattleites talking about the weather. I guess they met their weather talking match. . .

Shananigans

2006-04-13T15:29:00.000+01:00

Richard is taking my place for the Porto trip. The thought of Stuart, Matt, Ollie and Richard roaming Portugal is rather frightening. Preston sent them the following. . . Hello Boys!!!! Here are some tips for your weekend away. Pay heed. I want you all to come back both emotionally and physically intact.(well....as intact as when you left....ahem...ok...I just want you all back intact). 1. NEVER share a bed 'innocently' with a mate. Inevitably, you will wake up spooning each other and wonder where it all went wrong. 2. Spin the bottle is a game only intended for hetrosexual teenage parties. 3. If you're doing well chatting up a woman....and the other guys are laughing and egging you on....look again!!! SHE'S PROBABLY A MAN!!!! 4. There is no such thing as male bonding. It's just GQ's nice way of referring to gay sex. 5. Drinking multi-coloured shots are never a good idea, whether home or abroad. 6. All prisons abroad are likely to mirror the conditions in Midnight Express. 7. I'm not bailing any of you outta gaol. 8. The appropriate amount of alcohol consumption is the equivalent to what you normally consume in an average evening at home......to the power of 10. Good luck!!! Preston

ready to go home

2006-04-13T14:53:00.000+01:00

Had a wonderful time last night hangimg out with Sara, Meredith, Brent and Katie. Got in a little after midnight, climbed into bed and slept. Until I woke up at 4AM. The work people are taking us out to a meal tonight so I can't back out. I would like traveling for business so much more if you could sleep in.

Priorities

2006-04-12T18:25:00.000+01:00

Watching Condi on CNN. She's talking about Iran. I think, "As much money as she makes, you would think she would fix her teeth." I am amazed how insipid I can be. But she really should fix them.

Horrible Jet Lag

2006-04-12T04:05:00.000+01:00

I'm riding out the worst jet lag of my life. I was going to go to dinner with Seattle friend's tonight, but I feel so crapified I'm canceled which I feel terrible about. Just ordered room service and then I am going to climb into bed.

Don't know what to do with this tossed salad and scrambled egg*

2006-04-09T10:27:00.000+01:00

Off to Seattle for a week of training. Is good timing because Tuesday is my friend Meredith's birthday so I am hoping I will be able to break away from the corporate social activities. I also have $67.00 on my Gap card and a little over $100 on my Banana Republic card so SHOPPING and not deal with the exchange rate they way I do when I shop here. It will be so nice to be earning pounds and spending pounds rather than losing money from the crap exchange rate from the US to UK. Of course you won't here me complaining about the exchange rate when I am turning pounds into dollars. . . Anyway off I go. I really wish I could have Scotty just beam me over there. I really hate long haul flights. God help me if I ever go to Oz. *Fraiser reference

The X-Files

2006-04-08T10:16:00.000+01:00

I didn't get into The X-Files when it first came on. I imagined that it was for people that ate a lot of paste in Elementary School. I thought the same thing about Buffy The Vampire Slayer. Both shows, a couple of seasons in, I became a huge fan. Buffy, I watched to the end and I went back and caught episodes from the first three seasons. I still think it was one of the best shows out there, deftly mixing comedy and the horror genre. The Body, Once More with Feeling and Hush are masterpieces as far as I am concerned. I stopped watching The X-Files a few years before the finale and I never went back and watched the early episodes like I had with The Buffster. The main flaw that with the show was I don't think Chris Carter ever knew what the big truth was for the “The Is Out There” so it ultimately became a big, make it up as you go along. That being said, this last week we have been watching the first season on DVD and I can really see how people got hooked. It’s really fantastic. It's also a big hoot to see the early 90's fashion.

Cheney's Aide Says President Approved Leak

2006-04-07T16:43:00.000+01:00

This is a beautiful, beautiful turn of events that may result in my believing there is a God.

American Express Card and Mobile

2006-04-07T11:51:00.000+01:00

I almost feel like a business woman. Yesterday my company mobile was turned on and today I got my American Express Card. I almost feel like a grown-up. You would think the fact that I am on average ten years older than everyone else that I work with would do it. . .

One Year Ago Today. . .

2006-04-06T20:54:00.000+01:00

Stuart asked me out for the first time. It wasn't obviously a date. Well, I wasn't sure. And if it turned out that he thought it was a date, I planned on blowing him off. I had met a boy the Saturday before and we had got on. Lots of e-mails and texting flying back and forth. (What's with it with texting here? I never texted in the states. I hate it. Takes me three hours to compose a simple sentence of one-syllable words.) Plus, I had a "boyfriend" back in LA. (More like, there was someone that I should have broken up with months before. Like when I got back from Hawaii and he left me a voice message that he had drank all of my beer. Sigh. It is my fault. When your "boyfriend" wants to meet you in Paris and the thought fills you with revulsion, it's a good sign that maybe you should break up. Another break-up reason is when they don't even give you a card for Christmas when you spend $300 on their Christmas present, but that is another story.) Weeks before I left for London a year ago, I told my friends (who all hated the "boyfriend") my plan. My plan when I came to England was to have a good time. In other words, my plan when I came to England was to have as much sex as possible. With as many people as possible. Of course safely. Then Stuart asked me out and I knew immediately walking down the sidewalk or pavement (whatever they bloody call it here) along Shaftsbury toward The National Gallery that I wasn't going to blow him off. I knew immediately. So much for Nicole going wild in London. Thirteen days later he proposed. We were walking along the tunnels in the underground to meet friends in Brighton. He turned to me and said, "Marry me." I said, "Ask me properly in a few months." It is amazing, looking back now, how slowly time moved. Everything made sense. It made sense that we made plans to marry so that we could be together after thirteen days. Thirteen days??? I don't even have the excuse of being on drugs to explain it away. One year ago today, the dominos were set up that changed the direction of my life in a way that I could not have imagined. I thank the gods. I am so glad I said, "Yes."

Follow-through

2006-04-05T20:26:00.000+01:00

Work. Brainstorming session. What are the things that we consider to be part of providing stellar customer service? I say, "Follow-through." Everyone titters. I feel like a deer in headlights. That terrible, I said something funny, but didn't mean to say something funny, what did I say that was so funny feeling. My boss says, Well, I know what you mean. Why don't you tell them what you mean." I define follow-through adding, "I don't understand why that was funny." Boss says, "Let's wait until tomorrow when we have had a couple of drinks." While I have been unable to find anything online that provides a slang definition of follow-through, based on their reaction, my boss’s reluctance to define the word and the British compulsion to be a bit naughty, I infer the word to mean something with sex. Defining follow-through through that prism, I can imagine a few colorful new Oxford English Dictionary entries. Note to self. Do not say follow-through ever again.

When I heard. . .

2006-04-05T08:27:00.000+01:00

That DeLay was resigning this is the sound I heard in my head. . . Ah, bliss.

AAANNNNND in this corner!

2006-04-04T22:09:00.000+01:00

In the comments of one of my posts last month Kieran asked: "Could you provide the definitive answer: who has the best culture - the UK or the US? Go on, you can say. I'm only messing. What I really want to know is have you listened to anything by Joanna Newson? I've just discovered her and want to know more." I responded, "I've never heard of Joanna Newson so I did a search and I immediately wondered if you are taking a piss. Then I listened to the snippets of her album on Amazon and I became fairly certain of it. . . then it sort of grew on me a bit so now I really don't know. . . Stuart will hate her though so I may need to buy her stuff just for torture purposes. If you don't know her, check out Neko Case. UK vs US. I've always been an Anglophile, so I feel fairly comfortable here. It isn't an easy answer- and I am from the West coast which as a different culture than other areas of the US. Both have good and not so good things. For example. . . UK Good: Apple crumble with custard UK Bad: Washing Machine/Dyer combos that take three hours for one wash and the dryer just makes your clothes wet and hot. US Good: 24 Hour Grocery stores where you can purchase anything your little heart desires US Bad: No one uses or even knows about electric kettles." He hasn't left a post since so I hope I didn't offend with my flippant response regarding Joanna Newson. But, out of that little exchange, I have been thinking of doing a weekly UK vs. US thing. So. Here we go. I now have something to say every Tuesday on this blog. Guaranteed. This week's installment. UK Good: Pub Quizs. I've only been to two so far, but it was good fun and I would like to attend again. The problem is, the quiz at The Frog and Forget Me Not is so popular, you need to get there two hours before the quiz begins, which means you get far more pissed than a girl should on a Tuesday night. UK Bad: Mums with prams. Mothers pushing their children in strollers (at least in my baby heavy Balham neighborhood) seem to think that the child is a get out of jail free card that allows them to aim said stroller with said child, sometimes twins, often twins - straight at you as you as you walk down the sidewalk. I say this as one of the most hyper and polite members of the sidewalk community out there. I'm always thrwapping Stuart on the side of his head when he cuts off a blind man with a seeing eye dog. I am hyper uber psychotically aware of people walking toward me and moving over to let them pass (and why the hell is it always bloody me that lets them bloody pass? When is someone going to move the hell over for me? I'm just saying.) Mums here are VISCIOUS. They use their child as an excuse to take up all room on the sidewalk and to stop traffic. Seriously. If I see one more mother push her pram out against the walk signal daring the traffic to stop, I will choke her with her child's dummy. (Pacifier for my us readers.) US Good: Cheap manicures. You can get a manicure AND a pedicure in LA for $24.00. I try not to think about the fact that the woman scrapping the dry crusty epidermis off of my heal is probably an illegal alien and she is working off being smuggled to the US in a boat and that as she rubs the lotion into my arms in legs, she is thinking, "Stupid white girl. If she only knew how much I wish she would DIE. DIE, WHITE BITCH, DIE!" US Bad: George Bush. He's the President.

soon, soon. . .my precious. . .

2006-04-04T21:30:00.000+01:00

Very soon there will be a pretty new template and you will need to go to just www.travelingtreefrog.com to find me. . . In fact, if you have bookmarked me, think about adjusting the link now, because I redirect to blogspot. Excited. . .

Silly and Vain Girl

2006-04-02T09:43:00.000+01:00

Shoes From Planet Evil I should know better. For the last five years or so my knees crunch when I walk up stairs. Lately, I have been feeling a sort of vague pain- sort of like I am always sitting in a cramped space. We went to the theatre last night to see Sinatra at the London Palladium (more about that later) so I grabbed my Kate Spade evening bag, put on a pretty red dress and the shoes that you see above. I'm one of those people that believe you ought to dress up when you go to the theatre. It never fails to shock me when people show up all casual and scruffy in jeans. Maybe it is because The Theatre is my church. I dunno. There are certain things that I think are a sin and wearing jeans to an evening performance is one of them. A matinee is another story. So I dressed up. Put on the pretty red dress and the shoes that I knew would probably hurt my feet because that is what you do. I can put up with feet hurting for a certain amount of time. I'm genetically wired that way. I didn't think about my knees. Walking down stairs was a bit of torture like something Mengele would have thought up. I need to start doing yoga again. The show. . . Big Band, dancers and big screens with Frank singing. Some bits worked better than others-- Sinatra in voice over telling stories of his life with that rat-a-tat, ring-a-ding style was fantastic but a lot of moments felt really disconnected. Cold. Slick with no soul. My favorite bit didn't have any Frank at all. . . The orchestra did their version of Tommy Dorsey's Hawaiian War Chant and the four female dancers looked like they were seriously enjoying themselves as they bounced around on the stage and among the musicians. It was the most visceral moment of the entire show. There was a whole JFK homage (Sinatra was a big supporter and friend and had organized and performed at the inauguration.) Of course there was so mention of Judith Campbell, shared mistress Marilyn Monroe or that he became a republican when he became older, doing both inaugural balls for Ronald Regan. For the song The Lady is a Tramp, they flashed pictures of famous women he had affairs with, which I found. . . kinda tacky. We all know the man saw a lot of tail-- but really people. The Mia Farrow montage of course forgot to mention that they split up because he insisted that she quit Rosemary's Baby and she refused. But all in all it was a lot of fun. Chance to hear some fantastic music and a lot of it was really touching. It just needed oregano. (That's my shorthand for something was missing. It needed oregano.) But I am glad that we went. One section that really amused me was one of Frank’s voice-overs. He was railing at "What the kids today wear to the Theatre. " I can't remember exactly what he said, but it was one of the variations of the "In my day" speech. Looking around The Palladium at some of the outfits last night, Frank would not have been pleased. But I looked pretty for the Chairman of the Board. I have the sore feet to prove it.

Bad Blogger Girl

2006-03-31T21:13:00.000+01:00

I have been so busy this week. Along with being in training for work, we had a drink/dinner/work thing one evening and the rest of the week I had dinner and drinks with Stuart. (WHY? Why is it when I had no life and was a shut in the flat did I go no where for the most part???? WHAT THE HELL???? I'm really impressed with the company’s attempts to make this a global product. It really feels great. When I worked for Overture (Yahoo! Search Marketing) each country felt like a separate business unit. There were tools that we used in the US for years that they still haven't tweaked for UK use-- I can only imagine for the other markets. Anyway. . . Everyone seems very nice- they are trying to fatten us up like Hansel and Gretel with all the food and drink—but I think the Seattle trip will be a blast and that it all will be a lot of hard work as we go toward launch but well worth it. Good group of people that care about what they are doing. I have to say, I am so glad I didn't stay with Y! I'm very excited to be a part of this team. Okay. No more work boring shit. I promise to come up with NEW boring shit. Like: My cord for my powerbook started to fray, causing me to be afraid of fire, electrocution and the crisping of my computer. Like: My husband is (at this moment) in the pub with a French (male) Friend after I was promised an evening of watching silly things together on TV. (I could have gone to the pub, but I wasn’t in the mood.) Like: The new job welcoming people in Seattle are working to have our welcoming dinner at my favorite restaurants on the planet- Wild Ginger. . . Ahhhhhh Wild Ginger Seven Flavour Beef. . .

gig

2006-03-29T21:05:00.000+01:00

I'm really impressed with the people at my new gig. Everyone is so friendly and my boss looked into sending me back from Seattle early so I could do my trip. (not possible- but what can you do) My brain is crispy from all of the training and there are weeks more left- but it is all good. . . I'm really excited to get going with it.

**DISAPOINTED!!!!!!!

2006-03-27T23:49:00.000+01:00

So, good news with my job. They are sending us to Seattle for training in a couple of weeks. Very nifty. Lived in Seattle for a few years- have some old friends from when I lived there- also some new folks that I met through Stuart-- So this is a good thing. Bad news, we were going to go to Porto, Portugal over Easter weekend and the timing fucks it all the hell up. Oh well. First day at work? Good. I have a laptop with a little write on the screen thingy. Those of you that have worked in Internet land will appreciate the remarkable thing of having a working computer on your first day of work. The fact that it is a nifty peice of hardware is an extra. The day went by so fast-- Ah, to have days that go by fast again. . . FUCK- I wish I could go to Porto- the fuckers! **Lame "Fish Called Wanda" Reference.

One Year Later. . .

2006-03-27T08:13:00.000+01:00

One year ago today I arrived at Heathrow slightly spacey with luggage stuffed to the gills for what I thought was a three-month tour on this island. Today I am off to my first day of work after six months. Slightly nervous. Worried that they will figure out that I am an idiot. The great thing is it is a new team so everyone will be new so there will be none of that new person walking into a bonded team thing. Been a strange year. . .

I WANT AN OOMPA LOOMPA!

2006-03-23T18:57:00.000Z

Barbara Bush plays with her son, George W. Easter 1948 It was recently reported that Conservative families breed at a higher rate than Liberal families. Another interesting article was published recently in the Toronto Star detailing the results of a twenty year study that found that confident children usually became liberal while the whiney complaining beasts you want to beat with a stick often become Conservative. Verrrrry Intervestink. . . How to spot a baby conservative KID POLITICS | Whiny children, claims a new study, tend to grow up rigid and traditional. Future liberals, on the other hand ... Mar. 19, 2006. 10:45 AM KURT KLEINER SPECIAL TO THE STAR Remember the whiny, insecure kid in nursery school, the one who always thought everyone was out to get him, and was always running to the teacher with complaints? Chances are he grew up to be a conservative. At least, he did if he was one of 95 kids from the Berkeley area that social scientists have been tracking for the last 20 years. The confident, resilient, self-reliant kids mostly grew up to be liberals. The study from the Journal of Research Into Personality isn't going to make the UC Berkeley professor who published it any friends on the right. Similar conclusions a few years ago from another academic saw him excoriated on right-wing blogs, and even led to a Congressional investigation into his research funding. But the new results are worth a look. In the 1960s Jack Block and his wife and fellow professor Jeanne Block (now deceased) began tracking more than 100 nursery school kids as part of a general study of personality. The kids' personalities were rated at the time by teachers and assistants who had known them for months. There's no reason to think political bias skewed the ratings — the investigators were not looking at political orientation back then. Even if they had been, it's unlikely that 3- and 4-year-olds would have had much idea about their political leanings. A few decades later, Block followed up with more surveys, looking again at personality, and this time at politics, too. The whiny kids tended to grow up conservative, and turned into rigid young adults who hewed closely to traditional gender roles and were uncomfortable with ambiguity. The confident kids turned out liberal and were still hanging loose, turning into bright, non-conforming adults with wide interests. The girls were still outgoing, but the young men tended to turn a little introspective. Block admits in his paper that liberal Berkeley is not representative of the whole country. But within his sample, he says, the results hold. He reasons that insecure kids look for the reassurance provided by tradition and authority, and find it in conservative politics. The more confident kids are eager to explore alternatives to the way things are, and find liberal politics more congenial. In a society that values self-confidence and out-goingness, it's a mostly flattering picture for liberals. It also runs contrary to the American stereotype of wimpy liberals and strong conservatives. Of course, if you're studying the psychology of politics, you shouldn't be surprised to get a political reaction. Similar work by John T. Jost of Stanford and colleagues in 2003 drew a political backlash. The researchers reviewed 44 years worth of studies into the psychology of conservatism, and concluded that people who are dogmatic, fearful, intolerant of ambiguity and uncertainty, and who crave order and structure are more likely to gravitate to conservatism. Critics branded it the "conservatives are crazy" study and accused the authors of a political bias. Jost welcomed the new study, saying it lends support to his conclusions. But Jeff Greenberg, a social psychologist at the University of Arizona who was critical of Jost's study, was less impressed. "I found it to be biased, shoddy work, poor science at best," he said of the Block study. He thinks insecure, defensive, rigid people can as easily gravitate to left-wing ideologies as right-wing ones. He suspects that in Communist China, those kinds of people would likely become fervid party members. The results do raise some obvious questions. Are nursery school teachers in the conservative heartland cursed with classes filled with little proto-conservative whiners? Or does an insecure little boy raised in Idaho or Alberta surrounded by conservatives turn instead to liberalism? Or do the whiny kids grow up conservative along with the majority of their more confident peers, while only the kids with poor impulse control turn liberal? Part of the answer is that personality is not the only factor that determines political leanings. For instance, there was a .27 correlation between being self-reliant in nursery school and being a liberal as an adult. Another way of saying it is that self-reliance predicts statistically about 7 per cent of the variance between kids who became liberal and those who became conservative. (If every self-reliant kid became a liberal and none became conservatives, it would predict 100 per cent of the variance). Seven per cent is fairly strong for social science, but it still leaves an awful lot of room for other influences, such as friends, family, education, personal experience and plain old intellect. For conservatives whose feelings are still hurt, there is a more flattering way for them to look at the results. Even if they really did tend to be insecure complainers as kids, they might simply have recognized that the world is a scary, unfair place. Their grown-up conclusion that the safest thing is to stick to tradition could well be the right one. As for their "rigidity," maybe that's just moral certainty. The grown-up liberal men, on the other hand, with their introspection and recognition of complexity in the world, could be seen as self-indulgent and ineffectual. Whether anyone's feelings are hurt or not, the work suggests that personality and emotions play a bigger role in our political leanings than we think. All of us, liberal or conservative, feel as though we've reached our political opinions by carefully weighing the evidence and exercising our best judgment. But it could be that all of that careful reasoning is just after-the-fact self-justification. What if personality forms our political outlook, with reason coming along behind, rationalizing after the fact? It could be that whom we vote for has less to do with our judgments about tax policy or free trade or health care, and more with the personalities we've been stuck with since we were kids. Kurt Kleiner is a Toronto-based freelance science writer.

Springtime in Balham

2006-03-23T16:22:00.000Z

One of the great pleasures in getting to know someone is discovering what they enjoy. The little things that show that you know them. The little things that wind them up. . . There is an accordion player outside Sainsbury’s. I call Stuart. I hear the phone click as he answers it, but he doesn’t say hello. There is a long pause. “Thomas. Where are you?” “On our high street.” “There’s an accordion.” “Yes, I know.” “I hate accordions.” “Yes, I know.” I hold the phone out toward the music for a few moments then bring it back to my ear. Stuart isn’t amused. “I’m going to have you for that later.” “I was thinking of buying one. An accordion.” “Goodbye Thomas.” “Taking lessons.” “Goodbye Thomas.” “I could play ‘La vie en rose’ over and over and over. . .” “You’re a git.’ “I may sing with it too.” “Goodbye Thomas.” "In French." "Thomas. . ." “Quand il me prend dans ses bras. . .Il me parle tout bas. . .Je vois la vie en rose. .” ‘Remind me to beat you later.”

OINK!

2006-03-22T09:30:00.000Z

I live with a bed hog. The worse kind. He is a bed hog that projects his hogginess onto me. We have a full bed. I had a queen size back in America that was all mine except for those relatively rare moments when it was shared with a boy. I have had a couple of boyfriends over the years with futons (why any man still has futon in his thirties is a subject for another post) and my joints still haven’t recovered. A couple of nights ago, I woke up to Stuart snorting with annoyance as he pushed my feet aside. I looked down and I was against the edge of the bed and he was sleeping, as he would say, star shaped diagonal corner to corner. I squeaked, "Stuart!" He looked down. "Oh. Right. Sorry." Another move he has (which is really sweet actually) is I wake up to him cuddled up to me holding me like a teddy bear. The problem is he is using my head as a pillow. In the morning before he leaves for work, he tucks the ends of the comforter around my feet and hands, strokes my hair and kisses my forehead, my nose. I stretch out invading the entire bed. As he shuts the door he mumbles, "Bed hog. . ."

guest book and last days of freedom (or jail)

2006-03-21T14:37:00.000Z

I added a guest book to my little corner on the Web. It's just under my profile and above the paypal button. For those of you using IE on a PC - I know my links and everything are way down on the page. I'm not smart enough to figure out why. I'm waiting until my tax refund comes in and I can pay someone to figure it out for me. This is my last week of freedom before I have to go back to work and I will be so happy to get out of the house. Not working is great. Not working when you have no money and the weather is gray outside so that you become a pasty white doughy spotty shut-in is not so nice.

weird dreams

2006-03-21T11:33:00.000Z

I need to stop eating chili pepper garlic squid late at night from the takeaway down the road. Or stop drinking. Or drink more. Or realize that coffee is not a food group and there is no nutritional need to drink a pot a day. Sometimes in my dreams I can fly. I have flown as long as I can remember, but it isn't easy graceful Superman flying. It takes some work to take off. I flail my arms trying to catch a puff of wind to pull me into air. Once I am up, I soar and occasionally need to bird flap to keep from crashing. Sometimes I lose the wind and I drift down. Sometimes people are grabbing my legs and yanking me out of trees while I twist madly trying to catch a breeze to get away. Sometimes in my dreams I am a character rather than me. Or, I am me but different. My friends Mike and Joe were waiting to go somewhere in a moving van and I asked for a ride to school. They were my friends but I wasn't me, I was this girl still in High School. Mike wasn't sure if he could give me a ride because he was waiting for someone to contact him for something that he had to do. (If you knew Mike, this is really funny.) I am waiting to see if I could have a ride rather than taking the bus. Then they were ready to go but suddenly I wasn't dressed. I had clothes on but they were all the wrong clothes, so I was running around looking for the right clothes so I could have a ride to school. Then I was a Muslim girl. I'm Muslim and I am looking for the right clothes to wear and nothing I have is right. Mike and Joe are getting angry because they want to go eat sushi. Meanwhile the part of me that is me, not the character of a Muslim schoolgirl knows that the character me is sick. I have some flu or something. I find the right clothes and I go to the bathroom but the urine doesn't go into the toilet. It splashes back all over the floor and on my clothes. Now I need to clean this up and find new clothes and I'm not feeling well because I have this flu thing that the character me doesn't know about but the real me watching does and I can’t find my clothes and I can’t find my keys and I can’t find my shoes. And then I passed out because I was sick with this flu thing. No more chili pepper garlic squid. Definitely. At least I didn’t wake up in the bathtub.

Back from Byzantium

2006-03-20T20:19:00.000Z

Click to see all the Istanbul photos on Flickr,
originally uploaded by treefrog girl.

I want to go back to Istanbul. There is so much that we didn’t get a chance to see, the people are very friendly, it is such a vibrant city, rich with history and culture.

And there were cats everywhere. . . Athens had dogs and Istanbul had cats. Are their cat and dog personalities for cities like there are cat and dog people?

We stayed in the old part of town and it seemed that down every street you would see another mosque. When it was time for the muezzin to do the Call to Prayer (Adhan) it would echo over the city, mixing with the voices of muezzins at other mosques. You can listen to a Call to Prayer here. It was really beautiful.

One translation of the Arabic I found is:

God is most great.
God is most great.
God is most great.
God is most great.
I testify that there is no god except God.
I testify that there is no god except God.
I testify that Muhammad is the messenger of God.
I testify that Muhammad is the messenger of God.
Come to prayer! Come to prayer!
Come to success (in this life and the Hereafter)!
Come to success!
God is most great.
God is most great.
There is no god except God.

I had done a bit of research before we went and what I read suggested that women cover their hair when they went into a mosque. At the Blue Mosque a number of other Western women did the same, but it was surprising how many that didn’t. Built between 1609 and 1616, as the Sultan's answer to the Hagia Sofia, it is really magical inside. The Hagia Sofia (Ayasofya) is gorgeous. Built over the ruins of two older churches in 537 by Justinian the Great it was the largest place of worship in Christendom until the completion of St. Peter's in Rome one thousand years later. After the Turkish conquest of Constantinople in 1453, it was turned into a mosque with minarets, tombs, and fountains added. A substantial amount of the original Christian theme was left undistuburbed- including some of the most elaborate and best-preserved Byzantine mosaics still in existence. I was really impressed with the Archeological museum. They had a number of beautiful pieces. But the best part of the museum was the school kids. There were some (I am guessing) eight or nine year olds there on a field trip. I was trying to walk into a building just as a gaggle was walking out. I stood aside for them to leave and they looked up at me as they walked by smiled and said “Hello! Hi! Hello! Hello! Hi!”Fifty beautiful brown-eyed baby monsters. (Oh! My ovaries!)

The Palace Cistern (Yerebatan Saray) was a big surprise how much we enjoyed it. It was marvelously Phantom of the Opera-esc. It was built in 532 by Constantine the Great and was enlarged by Justinian in the 6th century. Largely neglected after the fall of the Byzantine Empire in 1453 the Yerebatan Cistern was basically became a muddy subterranean ruin until it was cleaned up and opened up in 1987.

I want to go back and go into more mosques and see more of the city and go to some nice restaurants. We found a couple of okay places but I didn’t get to try any fish really. It’s going to be a while before I get a kebab from the man around the corner from our tube stop.

I want to go back to Istanbul. I am also happy to be back home.

You need a thick skin to just walk down the street. The shopkeepers take Mamet’s famous line from Glengarry Glen Ross, “A-B-C. A-Always, B-Be, C-Closing. Always be closing, always be closing.” To an entirely new level. If you even glance at a shop you are asking to be accosted. One gentleman called out to us from across the street and then crossed over to get us to go into his restaurant/bar. It must be said that this approach did work because we went there the next day. After a while it is a bit exhausting. You might just want to read the menu of a restaurant when they pounce on you with a mixture of English, French, Spanish or Italian phrases. When we were walking along the Grand Bazaar they mainly called out in English while it was French at the Misir Carsisi.

When I bought spices at the Misir Carsisi, I was pressured me into getting more than I wanted. But that is part of the game. . . And it was a good deal. I spent thirty pounds on saffron, two kinds of tea, black and white pepper, vanilla beans, chills, mint and a pepper grinder. It would have cost much more in London.

At least the cabbies were honest - unlike Athens. (There should be a special corner in hell for the crooked cab drivers in Athens.)

We were nearly robbed when we were walking along the water. We were taking pictures of ourselves when a car driving by stopped, backed up and the passenger rolled down the window and called out to us. The driver kept both his hands on the wheel and stared straight ahead. We walked closer to the car but stayed three, four feet away. There was a barrier, a knee level wall between the walkway and the road.

The passenger said that he said he was with the police and Stuart said that he flashed a badge but I didn’t see it. He opened his door but stayed sitting in the car.

He asked if we had been smoking pot (we weren’t) where we were staying, pointed at me and asked Stuart if I was his wife.

I started to have visions of Midnight Express.

He then asked for our passports and I immediately knew that he wasn’t a cop and that he was trying to rob us. Of course we didn’t have our passports on us and even if we had we would have lied and said that we didn’t.

He tried to get Stuart to step over the barrier. Stuart looked at it and considered it for a moment.

I was screaming “No!” inside my head. It took everything in me to not tell these guys to go fuck themselves - which would not have been the right approach.

The guy gestured again for Stuart to come over by the car and Stuart said, “No, I don’t think I will.”

He kept at us, asking Stuart to unzip his jacket – I guess to see if he had a weapon. Kept asking us questions. Stuart said, “Tell you what. There’s a Police Station around the corner. (There wasn’t.) I’ll meet you there.”

Those were the magic words. He slammed the door of the car shut and speed away. I considered taking a picture, but I was worried that they would come back and that they had a gun.

I guess it isn’t a trip to Turkey without nearly being robbed or sold into white slavery. . .

Not Constantinople

2006-03-14T12:20:00.000Z

Baklava, round, honey-soaked pastries topped with green pistachios (Photographer: Greg Elms) © Lonely Planet Images Stuart thought it would be fun if we did a little trip before I start work in a few weeks so tomorrow we are off to Istanbul for a few days. A few weeks ago, I suddenly realized we hadn't looked into the visa requirements. Momentary panic- but after a quick bit of research we found you can get a visa at the border for ten quid. At least I hope it is only ten pounds. I am slightly worried that there might be a backlash extra special American price considering the wankedy wank-wank-wank-wank-wank-wank-wankness of the Bushies foreign policy. I'm certain it will be fine. I'm just being silly. I'm so excited to be in a city that was ancient when Christ was alive. I'm excited about the Grand Bazaar, the spice market and of course the book market. . . not to mention the Haghia Sofia and the Blue Mosque. And the food. I get giddy when I think about the food. One of the reasons why I love food is not just that I enjoy eating, (which the size of my ass can attest) but I love the story that food tells. There is a history found in how a dish is prepared. Can you imagine how great the food history is in a melting pot like Istanbul? Stuart could care less about food. He would happily wash a pill down every day with a Fosters for his nutrition needs if he could. I'm hoping he doesn't drag me into a Turkish McDonalds. When I return, there will pictures and an update on our visit to the oldest still existing city in the world!

The Holy Grail

2006-03-13T09:56:00.000Z

Stuart is a bag whore who will happily spend hours digging around in a luggage shop. Me, I look around maybe for fifteen minutes and I can immediately see what I would buy if I had money and if I do have money I am buying it. Stuart needs at least another hour. Even if he sees what he wants, he doesn't buy it. No. He needs to think about it. I now know how men who are dragged off to shopping while their wife, girlfriend, daughter leaves them with their pocketbook feel. Time stops. The illusive object that Stuart has been hunting is the bag Johnny Depp carries in The Ninth Gate. Personally I think that if Anthony Powell (the costume designer) handed Stuart the exact bag Johnny uses in the film, Stuart would still find fault with it. Over the last year I have seen him buy and then sell at least four bags that I thought were really lovely. I told him that the bag in his head has become the essence of bag and that he will never find it- sort of like Plato's theory of forms. When I told him this, he rolled his eyes. "Shut it Thomas." When he goes on one of his shopping benders I have learned to just walk away. There are other things that I can look at. Important things. Like finding the perfect tube of red lipstick. 1950's red. I know it is out there. Someday it will be mine. . .

My home planet

2006-03-11T09:48:00.000Z

What Planet Are You From?
this quiz was made by The Autist Formerly Known As Tim

The Conservative Epiphany

2006-03-10T20:53:00.000Z

March 10, 2006 Op-Ed Columnist The Conservative Epiphany By PAUL KRUGMAN Bruce Bartlett, the author of "Impostor: How George W. Bush Bankrupted America and Betrayed the Reagan Legacy," is an angry man. At a recent book forum at the Cato Institute, he declared that the Bush administration is "unconscionable," "irresponsible," "vindictive" and "inept." It's no wonder, then, that one commentator wrote of Mr. Bartlett that "if he were a cartoon character, he would probably look like Donald Duck during one of his famous tirades, with steam pouring out of his ears." Oh, wait. That's not what somebody wrote about Mr. Bartlett. It's what Mr. Bartlett wrote about me in September 2003, when I was saying pretty much what he's saying now. Human nature being what it is, I don't expect Mr. Bartlett to acknowledge his about-face. Nor do I expect any expressions of remorse from Andrew Sullivan, the conservative Time.com blogger who also spoke at the Cato forum. Mr. Sullivan used to specialize in denouncing the patriotism and character of anyone who dared to criticize President Bush, whom he lionized. Now he himself has become a critic, not just of Mr. Bush's policies, but of his personal qualities, too. Never mind; better late than never. We should welcome the recent epiphanies by conservative commentators who have finally realized that the Bush administration isn't trustworthy. But we should guard against a conventional wisdom that seems to be taking hold in some quarters, which says there's something praiseworthy about having initially been taken in by Mr. Bush's deceptions, even though the administration's mendacity was obvious from the beginning. According to this view, if you're a former Bush supporter who now says, as Mr. Bartlett did at the Cato event, that "the administration lies about budget numbers," you're a brave truth-teller. But if you've been saying that since the early days of the Bush administration, you were unpleasantly shrill. Similarly, if you're a former worshipful admirer of George W. Bush who now says, as Mr. Sullivan did at Cato, that "the people in this administration have no principles," you're taking a courageous stand. If you said the same thing back when Mr. Bush had an 80 percent approval rating, you were blinded by Bush-hatred. And if you're a former hawk who now concedes that the administration exaggerated the threat from Iraq, you're to be applauded for your open-mindedness. But if you warned three years ago that the administration was hyping the case for war, you were a conspiracy theorist. The truth is that everything the new wave of Bush critics has to say was obvious long ago to any commentator who was willing to look at the facts. Mr. Bartlett's book is mainly a critique of the Bush administration's fiscal policy. Well, the administration's pattern of fiscal dishonesty and irresponsibility was clear right from the start to anyone who understands budget arithmetic. The chicanery that took place during the selling of the 2001 tax cut — obviously fraudulent budget projections, transparently deceptive advertising about who would benefit and the use of blatant accounting gimmicks to conceal the plan's true cost — was as bad as anything that followed. The false selling of the Iraq war was almost as easy to spot. All the supposed evidence for an Iraqi nuclear program was discredited before the war — and it was the threat of nukes, not lesser W.M.D., that stampeded Congress into authorizing Mr. Bush to go to war. The administration's nonsensical but insistent rhetorical linkage of Iraq and 9/11 was also a dead giveaway that we were being railroaded into an unnecessary war. The point is that pundits who failed to notice the administration's mendacity a long time ago either weren't doing their homework, or deliberately turned a blind eye to the evidence. But as I said, better late than never. Born-again Bush-bashers like Mr. Bartlett and Mr. Sullivan, however churlish, are intellectually and morally superior to the Bushist dead-enders who still insist that Saddam was allied with Al Qaeda, and will soon be claiming that we lost the war in Iraq because the liberal media stabbed the troops in the back. And reporters understandably consider it newsworthy that some conservative voices are now echoing longstanding liberal critiques of the Bush administration. It's still fair, however, to ask people like Mr. Bartlett the obvious question: What took you so long?

I can stop anytime I want

2006-03-10T17:46:00.000Z

I am not a reality show person. When other people discuss what happened the night before on Big Brother or American Idol or The Apprentice I would think "Pshaw! I am better than you. I don't care about such silly things." Well, I never thought pshaw because that would be downright strange to use in a modern vernacular. And sometimes I did watch these shows because I happened to be home and they happened to be on- but I never sought them out. That has now changed. There are two reality shows that I have now searched out Masterchief and House of Tiny Tearaways. They are both Brit shows my friends in America or in other corners of the world so you cannot also be sucked into my vortex of shame. Masterchief takes four amateur chiefs, puts them through three tasks and at the end of the show three of them are voted off the island and the next person goes on to the semifinals and the finals. In the regular show the chiefs walk in to a box of random food and they have to make a nice two-course meal out of it in an hour. The second they all go to a nice restaurant during lunch, create their own dish based on the character of the restaurant and make it as it is ordered. The third task they make their own two-course meal. We’re in the semi-finals now so they are doing all sorts of crazy tasks like cook for 80 Marines in the artic circle in sub zero conditions. Oh the pressure! Oh the lovely food! I don't know how they manage to make these wonderful meals when they have no Mise en place- Cutting up their veg and preparing everything is part of the hour. House of Tiny Teraways is a clinical psychologist bringing three families into a house with more cameras than a London street and coaches them to turn their children around from being shrieking monsters to good little boys and girls. What I love about this show is every time the parents walk in saying my child needs to be fixed when what needs to be changed is the parent’s behavior and that the child is reacting to what the parent is doing. Odd show for someone who has no intention for having any children to watch I know, but I find it really fascinating, But I must go. Masterchief will be on soon. . . (I promise dear reader that when my job starts (when I get a life) I will be much more interesting and less shallow. Okay, maybe I won't be less shallow but I will try for the interesting.

Lost Days

2006-03-09T13:56:00.000Z

I just had to check to see what day it is. I seriously could not remember if it was Thursday or Friday. Having all the free time in the world but no money to do anything. . . I should be writing but I can't bring myself to do much more than surf the Web and sit for hours in the bathtub reading books. And eating. I have been eating all sorts of crap. Stuart's parents brought over these yummy store bought mini apple bramley pie tart cake thingies. They are dangerous. I am getting fat. One of my favorite new time wasters is Ah, Yes Medical School. He’s a third year medical school student with a biting wit and a few posts that made me cry. Of course that may entirely be due to my current sleep deprivation.

Insomnia

2006-03-09T08:22:00.000Z

I had another night of not going to bed until after 5 AM and finding myself awake at 8:30 AM. By my fuzzy math calulation, I have had 24 hours of sleep since Sunday. If I have another evening of this, I will be seeing spiders crawling the walls. Wait. There's one now.

So Angry

2006-03-09T02:59:00.000Z

After talking to my mom, I decided to pull this post until things are more sorted. I've deleleted the comments that detailed specific names and the situation. Sorry about that. Thank you for your concern.

Blog Against Sexism

2006-03-08T19:19:00.000Z

Today is International Women’s Day and Vegankid is hosting a Blog Against Sexism. I never really thought or felt sexism until I was older. One of the jokes I have about my Mom is if I had told her wanted be a prostitute she would have said, "Well, you go out there and you become the best crack whore that you can be." I always just assumed that I would do my own thing and if it were good enough, it would kick anyone’s ass. And, frankly. . . I did. Wait. I have. Wait. I do. I kick ass. The only time I have stumbled has been due to my own insecurity. No, I haven't won a Pulitzer or an Oscar or a VP position, but I've done okay in the last 35 years. I’ve had moments of male sexism that I have had to deal with like any one does but half the time it just makes me laugh. There were little moments when I was young. In high school a male friend said, (referring to the size of my breasts) “Someday you are going to make your husband very happy.” While, yes, okay the size of my knockers does make my husband happy, it was I now know, not the most appropriate thing to hear. I’ve been propositioned on the street and on public transportation, which has been excellent fodder for anecdotes at parties. One of the few times sexism has truly shocked me was when I was 23. My father had left my mother a few months before and I was meeting him for dinner at the TGIF in Las Vegas on Tropicana Ave. He was wearing a black silk shirt and these terribly garish wild print MC Hammer pants. He can be forgiven for this fashion disaster even in circa 1993 because he was going through his mid-life drama. Forgiven, but my sisters and I, evil bitches that we are, mocked him unmercifully behind his back. Somewhere in the conversation that evening, he said something along the lines of, "A man just wants his woman to shut the fuck up and support him." This is a paraphrase. I suspect what he actually said was worse, but I honestly don't remember. I also can't remember exactly what sparked his comment. I might have been saying something that pissed him off because he knew I was running circles around him. I suspect I was playing with him on purpose. Okay. Fine. I am certain of it. I may even have been smoking a cigarette and subtextually flaunting that he couldn't do anything to stop me. All I do remember is that he had tried to one up me in a number of conversations for a few years at that point. We'd gotten into one stupid conversation where he had confused Ben Jonson (No. Not the sprinter. Thank you for playing.) with Jonathan Swift and kept arguing with me when I knew he was terribly wrong. (Yes, I was an English Major and smug and obnoxious with my new found ability to kick my parents around the block when it came to any subject. I needed to be beaten.) I think he knew the moment that my sisters and I realized that he was a sham. The moment that we saw the man behind the curtain and that pissed him off. The moment that he wasn’t a Daddy-God but just a man. He didn't know that we would have been happy with him just being a man. Wasn't smart enough to know how to be just himself. I haven't spoken to my father in over twelve years. I started avoiding him at first because of the comments he made during that terrible dinner and it made me uncomfortable how hard he was trying to be "cool". It was like he was Dudley Moore in Foul Play. We slipped apart and after a stupid argument where I can't remember who hung up on who (although I think it was me), we haven't spoken since. -Yes, these are cliff notes, but it isn't important enough to be to air all of the dirty laundry. The writer in me feels sorry for him. He was angry. He was leaving a bad marriage. His daughters didn't enable him any longer. His rejection is understandable. The daughter in me used to be very angry that I had so little value. That he could so easily say, fuck her. I have gotten over it. I could pretend that I haven't and write something Steven Spielbergish that pulls your heartstrings. Cue violins and all that shit, but I am over it and that would be lame. It must be said that my sisters haven't gotten over his rejection. After he and I had my falling out he eventually fell out with both of them and recently they have each reached out to him, only to be rejected again. While both of my sisters are certifiable, I felt terrible that they experienced this additional abandonment. Were they brave, weak or stupid for reaching out? I haven’t contacted him. Does that make me brave, weak or stupid? For me, I decided a long time ago that just because someone raised me and provided my genetic makeup doesn't mean they get to be a part of my life if they are a class A ass-wipe. My father was the son of career navy man who was an even longer career alcoholic. He was the son of a woman who made you feel social status, how well you played gin and how small your ass was offered more value to the community than your character. I don't believe that this is how my Nana honestly feels, but often it appears that way. He chose to not to pull himself out of that vortex. What does this have to do with sexism? This is all a long way to say that I think a lot of misogynism steams from men that are so wildly insecure that they lash out. They are angry. Women are an easy target. So easy, that a father will cut his own daughters to pieces if it makes him feel better. I am lucky that I am with a man that values my intelligence and doesn't need him to enable him-- he just needs my love, which I am happy to provide. Well, it's not that I am lucky. There is just no way in HELL I would be with a man that thought my XX status would be open season for attacking my character and intelligence. My mother has been married to a wonderful man, my stepfather Gary for ten years now- or is it eleven? I've lost count. He loves her and has put up with more drama from my crazy family than anyone ought to be subjected. He spent hours and hours and thousands of dollars preparing his house for Stuart and I for our wedding and was so pleased to be part of our celebration. He is more my father than my real father ever was. It used to upset Stuart that I called Gary my stepfather rather than my father until he realized that the word "father" to me means asshole. My father is now remarried and I hope that he is happy. I am also pleased that he is out of my life. Mary Wollstonecraft wrote "A Vindication of the Rights of Women" in 1792. It depresses me beyond words that there is a need for a "Blog Against Sexism" over three hundred years later. We have come a long way baby. But we've got a long way more. I don't know what the answer is. I suspect it has something to do with every little girl knowing that she could kick anyone’s ass. If she wanted to.

Rain

2006-03-08T18:27:00.000Z

It happened when I lived in Seattle too. I got cocky today. Somehow my umbrella found its way out of my bag and even though it has been raining off and on for days, I didn’t take the time to look for it. It started out as a mist. Even if I had my umbrella with me, I wouldn’t have pulled it out. But an hour later it was a steady down pour. My wool scarf, jacket and hair were soon sopping. But I didn’t care. The rain was warm (as warm as it can be at 50 F) and it tasted like spring.

Live-action Simpsons Opener

2006-03-07T16:52:00.000Z

Bloody brilliant. They even give the actor playing Homer plumber butt as he runs through the garage.

Best Picture?

2006-03-07T12:44:00.000Z

I didn't see Crash. I was going to when I came back to America in July even though the reviews were tepid because I was curious about how they handled the subject matter and I am a sucker for ensemble flicks with lots of actors I like. Then my friend Darren and his boyfriend went on a rant telling me how bad it was, so I spent my $14.00 somewhere else. Why did the Academy go with Crash? The producers sent out a crazy number of screeners to members and sometimes (often) people confuse the importance of the subject matter with a good story. I'm sure I'll catch Crash someday on cable. I admire the filmmakers for making the film. Brian at Faggoty Ass Faggot said it best in his post regarding Crash vs BBM: "There's still hope for Brokebreakin' 2: Electric Boogaloo Somewhere this morning, Ann Coulter and her orgy of sycophants are orgasming in glee that Hollywood turned back that faggot cowboy movie from winning Best Picture honors last night. Equally as shrill are gay bloggers everywhere shrieking about deep-seated homophobia in the film industry torpedoing Brokeback Mountain's rightful place as the top movie. Me? I'm a'ight with the world today. If you're not going to give the Oscar to the ground-breaking fag flick, why not award the film that tries to start a dialogue about race in America? Clearly, though, Crash was not the best picture this year. When I walked out of the theater last summer, its message left me broken. Even flawless Tinseltown beauties living perfect tanned and toned lives can't overcome their own racism? I was defeated by the overwhelming helplessness of race relations in this country. After the heartbreaking Brokeback, though, I was determined. Determined to write something equally as beautiful someday. Determined to work so that no one would ever feel such fear that they could not find and accept love. Determined that I would never pass up the opportunity to grab happiness when I stumbled upon it. Now that's my picture of the year." Hear, hear! Let us all be determined to never pass up happiness when we stumble upon it.

Fox Bark

2006-03-07T10:21:00.000Z

Screaming. I wake up. Heart in my throat. I wake up and I can hear a woman screaming outside in the night. I’m alone. Stuart is away on business and Jennifer has a sleep in shift. What do I do? A woman is screaming and I am alone. Wait. As I wake up, I realize what it is. It’s a fox. In Tucson in the early morning I would often wake up with my heart thumping at dawn to the sound of rabbit screams as they were being killed by coyotes. I had been told that fox barking could sound like screams but this was the first time I’ve heard it. (If you have Real Player you can listen to a red fox barking here) So far, I’ve only seen one fox here in London. I was walking home at night and we saw each other at the same time. He was larger than I expected. We both froze, and then he glided into the front garden of the house we were standing in front of and disappeared. It felt like I imagined him. There is something magical about seeing a wild animal in an urban setting. It also is rather sad. My apartment in Los Angeles was walking distance from Griffith Park Deer would sometimes wander down to the parking lot at the AFI, and you would often see coyotes skulking around the Hollywood streets. One night, I noticed what I thought was a new cat hanging out outside one of the apartment buildings on my street. There were always three or four that lounged around the front door. When I got closer I realized that it was a skunk that was hanging out with the kitties. Walk away. Just walk away. On the list of bad things that can happen to you, getting sprayed by a skunk comes just after getting cut up into tiny little pieces by a serial killer. My friend Nanci’s cat was sprayed and her house reeked for weeks. If you even drive by an area where a skunk has sprayed the smell will waft into your car. When you go hiking in Los Angeles (yes, there is lots of hiking in Los Angeles) there are signs warning you about mountain lions. Attacks are rare, but have been known to happen. Back to foxes. . . There was a lot of hoopla about the banning of fox hunting in this country. I’m all for it. It isn’t as if you eat the fox. There doesn’t seem to be any point in it. The population is self-regulating depending upon the availability of food. While I must admit when I walk outside and I see that a fox has ripped into one of our trash bags, I do curse them for a moment, I think hunting them is wrong. At his flat in Brixton, Stuart used to have a fox that would hang out and sleep on the front step. This last September when he was walking home one night, he saw three foxes together-- which was really unusual since they are so solitary. He got the bright idea to chase them away. One ran down the street, one bounced straight up into the air over the wall into a front garden and the third got pissed and rushed him. I’m guessing she must have been a vixen and the other two had been her babies. I told Stuart my theory. “Well Thomas. When it’s dark and it’s chasing you down the street, you don’t really think about that .” It never fails to make me giggle. . . imaging Stuart running down a dark London street lined with Victorian houses, waving his arms in the air like Kermit The Frog, a red fox hot on his heals.

My little brain

2006-03-06T20:39:00.000Z

I still haven't memorized my mobile or our landline. Every time I need to give someone my number, I look at a copy of my CV. I'm not sure why I haven't sat down and memorized my info. There are four year olds that can memorize their phone number. I finally got all my bank stuff sorted and have a ATM Visa and a Barclay Visa card that each have their own four digit pin code that you need to know when you use the card. There is a special membership number that you need to punch in along with your password and you need to detail random letters from a secret word to view the account information online. There isn't enough room in my brain for more numbers.

Drunk and Blogging

2006-03-06T13:01:00.000Z

I must remember to not drink and blog. Stayed up until five like an idiot then woke up at 9 and I can't fall back asleep even though I am exhausted. . . All just to find out who won the Oscars. I need to join a support group.

awesome

2006-03-06T03:41:00.000Z

bullshit interview. Idiot ass reporter interviewing Altman- makes a comment about Altman "inventening" intercuting dialogue in Mash. ????????????? Altman says, (major paraphrase) "Did you ever watch Howard Hawks? He did it first." Fucking AWESOME! If you don't know Howard Hawks, go rent one of his flicks NOW. Blows my mind the idiots that ask questions about film that don't know their bloody history. Saw Altman at the AFI for a screening. What a gentleman. Was so impressed with him. God, I hope The Prarie Home Companion Movie is good. Please. please, please be good. Please?

?

2006-03-06T03:33:00.000Z

This most recent rant is regarding Best song and the award going to "Hard Out Here for a Pimp' The song sucks. IT SUCKS ASS. BIG FAT HAIRY ASS.

!!!

2006-03-06T01:48:00.000Z

The online telecast went from The Oscars to the backstage masturbation interviews. Ach.

Three down

2006-03-06T01:35:00.000Z

First Three Awards- and I have picked right. I enjoy being right- money is on the line. Crossing my fingers for the rest of the evening, Listening to the Oscars, rather than watching is interesting. No clothes to admire or mock- and my computer keeps kicking on me. I can't help it. I know these awards are silly- but I love them. And my 1st boyfriend now has an oscar. Go George! If I may say so sir, you kick ass. I love you- and it is not just because you have a pet pig.

oscars

2006-03-06T01:04:00.000Z

Okay- I can't see it but I can hear it on oscar.com. I'll live with that. I love you Jon. . .

the dinner party

2006-03-06T00:08:00.000Z

It went well over all. I did, just seconds after tasting the gravy and proclaiming it to be orgasmicaly good, manage to spill it all over my left hand and arm. For a moment my arm went bright pink I was worried I would be making my first visit to a UK hospital, but no blisters--- so all is well. I was more upset my tasty gravy ended up waxing our floor. One of my good crystal glasses that I shipped from America managed to get broken, but that is life. Things break. It made Stuart's "Take of your shoes off in the house rule" look really silly when we were afraid of stepping on glass. It's funny how good crystal (it was good too. If I think about how expensive the glass was, I want to cry. Christmas present from my mom. Sorry Mom) It is funny how good crystal shatters like crazy but cheap glass is easy to clean. I think dinner was good. I've never made a meal for so many people and it was beyond nerve racking. I think the big ass chicken kicked ass. I will post the recipe I used tomorrow. Now- I want to watch the pre show and then the Oscars but it turns out it is only for a channel you have to pay for. For weeks I have been asking people, can you watch the Oscars here and they have been telling me yes. Grrrr. I know it is stupid, but I love watching the Oscars. I have never felt further from Los Angeles than tonight. WHATEVER. I'll get over it Heather* I am going to try and get what I can online and I will watch Mr. Stuart (my 2nd boyfriend after Mr. Clooney) later. It still pisses me off. This is my superbowl Sunday. Blah. *Reference to the cult classic 80's flick Heathers.

My oscar pics. . .

2006-03-05T10:52:00.000Z

Leading Actor- Phillip Seymour Hoffman Supporting Actor- George Clooney Leading Actress- Felicity Huffman Supporting Actress- Rachel Weisz Animated Feature- Wallace & Gromit Curse of the Were Rabbit Art Direction- Good Night and Good Luck Cinematography- Brokeback Mountain Costume Design- Memoirs of a Geisha Directing- Brokeback Mountain Documentary Feature- Murderball Documentary Short- God Sleeps in Rwanda Film Editing- Crash Foreign Language Film- Paradise Now Makeup- The Chronicles of Narnia Original Score- Munich Original Song- Travelin' Thru- Transamerica Best Picture- Brokeback Mountain Short Film Animated- Badgered Short Fim Live Action- Ausreisser Sound Editing- King Kong Sound Mixing- King Kong Visual Effects- King Kong Adapted Screenplay- Brokeback Mountain Original Screenplay- Syriana

Homeland Security is Watching You

2006-03-03T15:58:00.000Z

Be careful about paying off your credit card debt. They might think you are a terrorist. Pay too much and you could raise the alarm By BOB KERR The Providence Journal 28-FEB-06 PROVIDENCE, R.I. -- Walter Soehnge is a retired Texas schoolteacher who traveled north with his wife, Deana, saw summer change to fall in Rhode Island and decided this was a place to stay for a while. So the Soehnges live in Scituate now and Walter sometimes has breakfast at the Gentleman Farmer in Scituate Village, where he has passed the test and become a regular despite an accent that is definitely not local. And it was there, at his usual table last week, that he told me that he was "madder than a panther with kerosene on his tail." He says things like that. Texas does leave its mark on a man. What got him so upset might seem trivial to some people who have learned to accept small infringements on their freedom as just part of the way things are in this age of terror-fed paranoia. It's that "everything changed after 9/11" thing. But not Walter. "We're a product of the '60s," he said. "We believe government should be way away from us in that regard." He was referring to the recent decision by him and his wife to be responsible, to do the kind of thing that just about anyone would say makes good, solid financial sense. They paid down some debt. The balance on their JCPenney Platinum MasterCard had gotten to an unhealthy level. So they sent in a large payment, a check for $6,522. And an alarm went off. A red flag went up. The Soehnges' behavior was found questionable. And all they did was pay down their debt. They didn't call a suspected terrorist on their cell phone. They didn't try to sneak a machine gun through customs. They just paid a hefty chunk of their credit card balance. And they learned how frighteningly wide the net of suspicion has been cast. After sending in the check, they checked online to see if their account had been duly credited. They learned that the check had arrived, but the amount available for credit on their account hadn't changed. So Deana Soehnge called the credit-card company. Then Walter called. "When you mess with my money, I want to know why," he said. They both learned the same astounding piece of information about the little things that can set the threat sensors to beeping and blinking. They were told, as they moved up the managerial ladder at the call center, that the amount they had sent in was much larger than their normal monthly payment. And if the increase hits a certain percentage higher than that normal payment, Homeland Security has to be notified. And the money doesn't move until the threat alert is lifted. Walter called television stations, the American Civil Liberties Union and me. And he went on the Internet to see what he could learn. He learned about changes in something called the Bank Privacy Act. "The more I'm on, the scarier it gets," he said. "It's scary how easily someone in Homeland Security can get permission to spy." Eventually, his and his wife's money was freed up. The Soehnges were apparently found not to be promoting global terrorism under the guise of paying a credit-card bill. They never did learn how a large credit card payment can pose a security threat. But the experience has been a reminder that a small piece of privacy has been surrendered. Walter Soehnge, who says he holds solid, middle-of-the-road American beliefs, worries about rights being lost. "If it can happen to me, it can happen to others," he said. (Bob Kerr is a columnist for The Providence Journal. E-mail bkerr@projo.com.) (Distributed by Scripps Howard News Service, www.shns.com.)

Dingo Snack

2006-03-03T10:28:00.000Z

I know it is a long way to go for a joke, but it almost makes me want to have a baby just so I can put them in this shirt.

Caught on Tape

2006-03-03T09:18:00.000Z

An excellent column by Dan Froomkin at the Washington Post. You need to register to read it, but it is free. Thanks to Joe for forwarding it on. It discusses the Katrina briefing, how after 9/11 rather than call the Pentagon, Bush (1. sat and blinked for a few minutes and then (2. Worked on a statement for the press. His trip to India being such a wham bam thank you ma'am resulting in his offending the Indian Prime Minister and a number of officials. Bush, The Idiot in Chief said, 'If I were the scheduler, maybe I'd do things differently,' to a group of Indian journalists last week. He tried to put the blame on the White House Scheduler?????? (Excuuuuuuuse Me. You're the PRESIDENT. You tell the Scheduler what to do nimrod. If you are going to LIE, be a better LIER!) From Froomkin's article: It's something that has puzzled the locals, at a time when Bush hopes to deepen economic and political ties with the world's largest democracy. It also frustrates his own aides, who have repeatedly pushed the president to spend time on the softer, cultural side of his foreign travel. According to those aides, it is the president -- not his scheduler -- who cannot be convinced to carve out time to respect the local culture." Big Fucking Surprise. But he sure has plenty of time to be on vacation in Texas and look like he is a man by moving brush around. The Man has zero curiosity, which to me is one of the biggest sins a person can commit. (Oh yeah, that and cooking evidence to go to war so you can Nation build.) I disagreed with his father on a lot of things, but I never would have said that he was not a curious person. Froomkin cites a story that "former Clinton adviser Sidney Blumenthal writes in Salon, with a tale ostensibly from within the White House. "[A] Republican wise man, a prominent lawyer in Washington who had served in the Reagan White House, sought no appointments or favors and was thought to be unthreatening to Bush, gained an audience with him. In a gentle tone, he explained that many presidents had difficult second terms, but that by adapting their approaches they ended successfully, as President Reagan had. Bush instantly replied with a vehement blast. He would not change. He would stay the course. He would not follow the polls. The Republican wise man tried again. Oh, no, he didn't mean anything about polls. But Bush fortified his wall of self-defensiveness and let fly with another heated riposte that he would not change." Maybe he can explain all of this in a Press Conference? Oh. . . yeah. Forgot. He has the least number of Press Conferences than any modern President. The odds of him of doing one soon are right up there with his doing the right thing for the country and the world community. George W Bush. . . You are such a wanker!

"I don't think anybody anticipated the breach of the levees."

2006-03-02T11:26:00.000Z

I know Bush is a liar. And not just your basic, "I did not have sex with that woman" liar. I didn't need to see the videoof the briefing just released by the Associated Press proving that Bush knew how bad Hurricane Katrina was going to be to know that he was a liar. When will the people that glean their "news" from Fox get it? When will they get that this is not a high-school football game? You don't keep rooting for your side if your side has caused the death of thousands (THOUSANDS! And Thousands more will die. There is no escaping it) When they have turned a surplice into a deficit that would make Regan blush. When they have alienated every other country against America. When they refuse to do anything about the environment but pretend that they are. . . I could go on. I could cry. You don’t keep rooting for your Team when the very fundamentals that make America great are being dismantled in the name of patriotism. With all the hard evidence stacking up against the Bush Administration, when will something happen? When can I say I am from America and be proud of that? When will the Fox “news” people recognize the Bushies for what they are? That they could watch dead bodies bloated from drowning left to rot on the street while they stay on vacation or buy a pair of Manolo Blanicks. That for them we are nothing but lab rats in their grand experiment. Go ahead little rat. Press the button. Get the food pellet. What will the world look like in twenty years in the wake of this ineptitude? At the Concert for Hurricane Relief Kanye West said, "George Bush doesn't care about black people." I think he’s wrong. George Bush doesn’t care about Americans.

Roast Big-Ass Chicken Dinner

2006-03-01T11:22:00.000Z

We are having our first dinner party this Sunday. It all happened by accident. I was in Sainsbury’s and they had a big-ass chicken and it was only 5 quid. I thought, hey, big-ass cheap chicken! (It's enormous. 2.5 kg or 5.5 lbs) So since Stuart doesn't eat. . . big-ass chicken means dinner. Lunches for a week. Stock from the bones if I decide to go crazy. I told Stuart my plans to roast the chicken Sunday in the off chance he had plans to eat that day and it morphed into our having his folks and some of our friends over for a early dinner Sunday afternoon. I love having dinner parties, so I am excited about the idea. Although, I am slightly worried because the chicken is so large, calculating the when to put it in the oven time has me slightly concerned. When I am cooking just for me, I doesn't matter if it cooks faster or slower than I expected, but it is a different animal when you have guests. My plan. . . Going to use a variation of a cooking technique from The Cooks Complete Book of Poultry. Roast at 200C. Put chicken in the rack one wing up for 30 minutes, flip it for another 30 with the other wing up, then breast side up until it is done, which I guestimate to be another 40 minutes to an hour. Calling all cooks out there- Will that work? Should all be relatively easy. I can make my two of my sides the day before and they are served at room temperature so the chicken is my main concern. Will be interesting at any rate. Le Menu Marinated Mozzarella Olives Celery Carrots Big-ass Roast Chicken Roasted potatoes with shallots Roasted parsnips Yorkshire Pudding Red Pepper Terrine Mediterranean Eggplant and peppers Broccoli Green Salad with balsamic vinaigrette Bread Butter Roasted Garlic Dessert to be named later. Maybe brownies? Lots of red wine for the cook.

When Bush Falls in Love

2006-02-27T08:31:00.000Z

February 26, 2006 NY Times Guest Columnist When Bush Falls in Love By SARAH VOWELL The charges of cronyism against the current administration have piled up higher than the rotting rubble in New Orleans: "Heck of a job, Brownie," is fast replacing "Way to go, Einstein" as the wiseacre-to-dummy put-down du jour. And what of Harriet Miers, the good friend/lame nominee for the Supreme Court the president defended as "plenty bright." Then there's the 24-year-old political appointee who was rewarded for working on the president's re-election campaign with a job as a press aide at NASA, where he was accused of trying to silence a top climate scientist who is, go figure, concerned about global warming. That, and he demanded that the apparently too science-y NASA Web site insert the word "theory" after every use of "Big Bang." (To be fair, he resigned after it turned out that he'd lied on his résumé about graduating from college, so he might have dropped out before his class got to the textbook chapter titled "Just Big Bang: That's What Jesus Calls It, Too.") Plus, in a word, Abramoff. All of which is appalling. At this point, five years after oil and gas lobbyists started scoring Interior Department appointments overseeing national parks and the Bureau of Land Management, I'm heartened that I can still scrape up a glimmer of dismay. And yet, there is a tiny, honest voice in my head that has never let me condemn the president too loudly for wanting to work only with his allies and friends. Because that's pretty much how I live my life, too. The other day, I was on a plane where "Good Night, and Good Luck" was the in-flight movie. I'd already seen it, but watching it again afforded me the opportunity to look beyond its grand central theme and curl up with the film's lovely periphery. Around the edges, a second, softer movie flickers, an unpretentious but sly portrait of what real camaraderie looks and feels like. By opening with a party where Edward R. Murrow and his old staff are gussied up and drinking and giggling and taking pictures with their arms around one another as a saxophone plays "When I Fall in Love," the viewer figures out right away that this is more than Murrow vs. McCarthy circa "High Noon." This guy has backup. My favorite scene starts with George Clooney as the producer Fred Friendly and David Strathairn as Murrow a couple of minutes before Murrow goes on the air with a potentially controversial report about a Red Scare flare-up in Michigan. I don't think I've ever seen a subtler, truer image of partnership. And not just in the way the two men talk to each other, either confessing their fears or joshing around or both. When Friendly counts down the seconds left until Murrow goes live, Friendly sits just off-camera and taps Murrow's leg with his pen when it's time. The gesture is mundane and loving all at once. I'm lucky enough to have a Friendly of my own. Is there anything better than figuring out what you're supposed to do with your life and getting paid to do it? Yep, doing it alongside the calm and tweedy person you regard as the brother you never had. "Good Night, and Good Luck" taps into this understandable yearning for solidarity, for affectionate toil, for a shared mission, that's also behind the allure of the founding fathers, the Boston Red Sox, the Clash. Part of me can't blame the president for his pro-crony tendencies because I also have them to an almost sickening degree. Then I remember — wait, neither I nor any crony of mine has ever slept through the soggy downfall of an entire city, or failed to track down the genocidal maniac who still has a few American items left to check off on his mass-murder To Do list, or sent our soldiers to wage a berserk war crisscrossing the most dangerous roads in the world in flimsy vehicles with the protective capability of Vespa scooters. (But my comrades and I would like to apologize for that reading we "organized" at a noisy Chinatown restaurant in '98, when the short stories were drowned out by egg roll orders.) Bonhomie, as our ex-cronies the French call it, should have its limits. Seems as if American voters picked the current president because they thought he'd be a fun hang at a cookout — a jokey neighbor who charred a mean burger and is good at playing Frisbee with his dog. What we should be doing is electing a president with the nitpicky paranoia you'd use to choose a cardiologist — a stunted conversationalist with dark-circled eyes and paper-cut fingertips who will stay up until 3 tearing into medical journals in five languages trying to figure out how to save your life. Sarah Vowell, a guest columnist, is a contributor to public radio's "This American Life" and the author of "Assassination Vacation."

Personality DNA

2006-02-26T23:29:00.000Z

Fun little test fromDogwood Tales. Is spot on for me I think. Genuine Creator

Grieving mother hits out at 'cold' phone group

2006-02-26T19:23:00.000Z

And I thought my recent experience with TurboTax was bad. . . Penny Holloway thought it would be easy to cancel her murdered son's mobile account with Carphone Warehouse. It wasn't.

Ripped From The Headlines

2006-02-26T18:37:00.000Z

I'm trying to write a new short story that is the culmination of news clippings I have collected that somehow jumbled up into a story in my brain. A woman dealing with her husband becoming an Elvis impersonator. The Armin Meiwes cannibal case An African Gray parrot "telling" his owner that his girlfriend is cheating Young Adults going into their rooms and not coming out for years. As you can guess, it's an odd little story, this thing I have going on between my ears right now. I'm worried that the style is a bit too arch. I'm enjoying writing it too, which makes me wonder if I am in my head and not being "visceral" as one of my playwrighting teachers used to say. (It always amused me that he used a very intellectual word to describe what he meant. I suppose I need to not worry if it sucks or not and just write the fucker. My favorite line so far: The Inspector said, “I’m afraid. . . I’m afraid. . .” He was in the habit repeating certain phrases. It was due to his owning an African Gray Parrot. “I’m afraid the babysitter has eaten your son.” Yeah. I know. I need therapy.

BA-HA-HA-HA! (That's my evil laugh)

2006-02-26T17:23:00.000Z

You Are 54% Evil

You are evil, but you haven't yet mastered the dark side. Fear not though - you are on your way to world domination.

How Evil Are You?

Stuart's Reality Show

2006-02-25T09:12:00.000Z

"I had a great idea for a reality show. You drop students or just people you don't like, somewhere like Baghdad with some guns and you see how many of them can make it across the city."

Alaska can come too

2006-02-24T12:37:00.000Z

Found this at The Gina Blog. Flippen hysterical.

Ceremony of the Keys

2006-02-24T10:19:00.000Z

I was a weird kid. How many little girls do you know would actively choose to read about Cortés and the destruction of the Aztec empire? Another favorite topic was The Tower of London and all the grisly things that happened inside its walls. It had everything. Hundreds of years of history, intrigue, imprisonment, beheadings, ghosts, sex and a zoo. In fact, I just learned today that William Blake saw the tiger at the Tower menagerie that inspired his poem "The Tyger". I went in the spring when Aaron and Gina came to visit and spent a few hours there and I could easily go back and spend a few more. An old college friend is in town and Wednesday night we went to see The Ceremony of the Keys which has been done every night in some form at The Tower for 700 years. Basically it is a bit of British pomp and circumstance as they lock up for the night. But it is nifty. Standing in front of Traitors Gate, I could just imagine it full of water and a little boat drifting through the gate and the future Queen Elizabeth I lifting up her skirt to climb the steps to face imprisonment at the place where her mother had been beheaded. When we left, a woman that lives in the tower returned from walking her dogs. I can't imagine living there. All the tourists in the day and then the crush of silence at night. And it would be difficult to have parties. I don't think it would be in good taste to have a barbeque in the Tower Green.

The Department of Social Scrutiny

2006-02-23T18:38:00.000Z

Found a hysterical satire Web page thanks toDogwood Tales. The Department of Social Scrutiny Is sort of like America:The Book only with a British sensibility and if it is possible, even darker tone. Some of my favorite parts: "Either George Orwell or Winston Churchill probably said something really important about apathy, but we really can't be bothered to look it up right now." "The Department of Social Scrutiny has unveiled new proposals to counter the growing and unspeakably wrong practise of child identity fraud. Each year, hundreds of Britain's kids turn up to school to find their desk is taken by an adult pretending to be them. In many cases, the imposter has made convincing counterfeit copies of the child's only means of identification - a pencil case, packed lunch box or label sewn-in to the collar of their shirt, and teachers are unable to tell the difference. These attempts to fraudulently obtain services reserved for children, including meals cooked by Jamie Oliver and Metalwork lessons, must not be allowed to continue." "Work for the Government We need a team of outgoing psychopaths who are great at working under extreme pressure. No academic qualifications are necessary, but you will need to exhibit enough interpersonal and communication skills to win peopleÂs trust shortly before you have them assassinated."

The OC Part Two

2006-02-23T17:11:00.000Z

I have expressed concern regarding my recent addiction to The OC. Yes, it is a big soap opera but any show that makes a reference to This American Life can't be all bad.

G.O.P. to W.: You're Nuts!

2006-02-23T00:25:00.000Z

G.O.P. to W.: You're Nuts! By MAUREEN DOWD WASHINGTON It's enough to make you nostalgic for those gnarly union stevedores in "On the Waterfront," the ones who hung up rats on hooks and took away Marlon Brando's chance to be a contend-ah. Maybe it's corporate racial profiling, but I don't want foreign companies, particularly ones with links to 9/11, running American ports. What kind of empire are we if we have to outsource our coastline to a group of sheiks who don't recognize Israel, in a country where money was laundered for the 9/11 attacks? And that let A. Q. Kahn, the Pakistani nuclear scientist, smuggle nuclear components through its port to Libya, North Korea and Iran? It's mind-boggling that President Bush ever agreed to let an alliance of seven emirs be in charge of six of our ports. Although, as usual, Incurious George didn't even know about it until after the fact. (Neither did Rummy, even though he heads one of the agencies that green-lighted the deal.) Same old pattern: a stupid and counterproductive national security decision is made in secret, blowing off checks and balances, and the president's out of the loop. Was W. too busy not calling Dick Cheney to find out why he shot a guy to not be involved in a critical decision about U.S. security? What is he waiting for — a presidential daily brief warning, "Bin Laden Determined to Attack U.S. Ports?" Our ports are already nearly naked in terms of security. Only about 5 percent of the containers coming into the country are checked. And when the White House assures us that the Homeland Security Department will oversee security at the ports, is that supposed to make us sleep better? Not after the chuckleheaded Chertoff-and-Brownie show on Capitol Hill. "Our borders are wide open," said Jan Gadiel of 9/11 Families for a Secure America. "We don't know who's in our country right now, not a clue. And now they're giving away our ports." The "trust us" routine of W. and Dick Cheney is threadbare. The more W. warned that he would veto legislation stopping this deal, the more lawmakers held press conferences to oppose it — even conservatives who had loyally supported W. on Iraq, the Patriot Act, torture and warrantless snooping. Mr. Bush is hoist on his own petard. For four years, the White House has accused anyone in Congress or the press who defended civil liberties or questioned anything about the Iraq war of being soft on terrorism. Now, as Congress and the press turn that accusation back on the White House, Mr. Bush acts mystified by the orgy of xenophobia. Lawmakers, many up for re-election, have learned well from Karl Rove. Playing the terror card works. A bristly Bush said yesterday that scotching the deal would send "a terrible signal" to a worthy ally. He equated the "Great British" with the U.A.E. Well, maybe Britain in the 12th century. Besides, the American people can be forgiven if they're confused about what it means in the Arab world to be a U.S. ally. Is it a nation that helps us sometimes but also addicts us to oil and then jacks up the price, refuses to recognize Israel, denies women basic rights, tolerates radical anti-American clerics, looks the other way when its citizens burn down embassies and consulates over cartoons, and often turns a blind eye when it comes to hunting down terrorists in its midst? In our past wars, America had specific countries to demonize. But now in the "global war on terror" — GWOT, as they call it — the enemy is a faceless commodity that the administration uses whenever it wants to win a political battle. When something like this happens, it's no wonder the public does its own face transplant. One of the real problems here is that this administration has run up such huge trade and tax-cut-and-spend budget deficits that we're in hock to the Arabs and the Chinese to the tune of hundreds of billions of dollars. If they just converted their bonds into cash, they would own our ports and not have to merely rent them. Just because the wealthy foreigners who own our debt can blackmail us with their economic leverage, does that mean we should expose our security assets to them as well? As part of the lunatic White House defense, Dan Bartlett argued that "people are trying to drive wedges and make this to be a political issue." But as the New Republic editor Peter Beinart pointed out in a recent column, W. has made the war on terror "one vast wedge issue" to divide the country. Now, however, the president has pulled us together. We all pretty much agree: mitts off our ports.

Go Fug Yourself

2006-02-22T14:14:00.000Z

If you looking for an outlet for celebrity schadenfreude, look no further thanGo Fug Yourself. The sections on Courtney Love and Britney Spears are inspired. You will giggle for hours. And then you will be glad that their razor wit hasn't been directed at you. For example, I chopped my hair off into a bob yesterday and when Richard joined Jen and I at the pub, I waited a half-hour before I said, "Do you notice anything?" "What?" Richard said. His German accent makes him seem more droll than I think he intends. "Do you have new glasses?" "No! What is different?" He considered me. "You look good tonight." Bloody Germans. In any case, I am happy the ladies of Go Fug Yourself aren't around to mock my fashion sense as I have Herr Buettner.

Mussels

2006-02-22T10:37:00.000Z

One of the foods that I cook that disturbs Stuart greatly is mussels. I was scrubbing a batch recently and he came in and looked at me. One was open and I was tapping it to see if it would close. "Hello. Are you alive?" "They're alive? And you cook them in their little houses?" "Yep!" I said cheerfully. I stopped tapping on the shell and tossed it in the trash. "Why did you throw that one away?" "Because he's dead." He shook his head. "You are so wrong." Ever since I read Kitchen Confidential, I am rather nervous about eating mussels in a restaurant. Plus why would you when you consider the mark up on the things and how ridiculously easy they are to make at home? For a quickie Moules Marinères, I sauté shallots and garlic in butter. Add white wine. Boil. Add mussels. Shake the pan a few times. Steam seven to ten minutes. Add chopped parsley. Put mussels in bowl. Boil down the wine a little. Take off the heat and add a pat of butter. Pour over mussels. Eat. So easy and so cheap and so good. It also inspires abject horror in Stuart, which has its own pleasures. Two of my LA readers that found me through my illegal posting of New York Times Select columns, went looking for ancho chilies based on my post aboutChicken Adobado and had some problems finding it so they ended up making a mussel dish and they were kind enough to share it with me. Haven't tried it yet, but it reads delicious. Goan Warm Mussel Salad 1 cup finely chopped onions 2 tablespoons light vegetable oil 1 tablespoon finely shredded fresh ginger 1 tablespoon ground coriander 1 teaspoon turmeric 1 teaspoon ground red pepper 1/2 cup rich coconut milk Coarse salt to taste 4 pounds mussels (about 4 dozen), scrubbed clean Juice of 1 lemon 2 tablespoons chopped cilantro leaves 2 tablespoons grated unsweetened coconut (optional) Place onions and oil in a deep pot and cook, stirring over high heat until they turn light brown, about 5 minutes. Lower heat and stir in ginger, coriander, turmeric, and red pepper. Cook for an additional minute. Stir in the coconut, salt, and mussels, and bring contents to a boil. Cover the pot and steam until the mussels open up, about 7 minutes. Transfer mussels and the sauce to a deep platter. Sprinkle with lemon juice, cilantro and, if desired, coconut. Serve immediately.

The Mensch Gap

2006-02-22T03:52:00.000Z

Krugman's Monday Op-Ed. Taken with the chaser of the US reclassifying documents for no obvious reason, (other than to cover up embarrassing things the government has done, even if they happened a lifetime ago) makes for one hell of a hangover ------------------------ February 20, 2006 Op-Ed Columnist The Mensch Gap By PAUL KRUGMAN "Be a mensch," my parents told me. Literally, a mensch is a person. But by implication, a mensch is an upstanding person who takes responsibility for his actions. The people now running America aren't mensches. Dick Cheney isn't a mensch. There have been many attempts to turn the shooting of Harry Whittington into a political metaphor, but the most characteristic moment was the final act — the Moscow show-trial moment in which the victim of Mr. Cheney's recklessness apologized for getting shot. Remember, Mr. Cheney, more than anyone else, misled us into the Iraq war. Then, when neither links to Al Qaeda nor W.M.D. materialized, he shifted the blame to the very intelligence agencies he bullied into inflating the threat. Donald Rumsfeld isn't a mensch. Before the Iraq war Mr. Rumsfeld muzzled commanders who warned that we were going in with too few troops, and sidelined State Department experts who warned that we needed a plan for the invasion's aftermath. But when the war went wrong, he began talking about "unknown unknowns" and going to war with "the army you have," ducking responsibility for the failures of leadership that have turned the war into a stunning victory — for Iran. Michael Chertoff, the secretary of homeland security, isn't a mensch. Remember his excuse for failing to respond to the drowning of New Orleans? "I remember on Tuesday morning," he said on "Meet the Press," "picking up newspapers and I saw headlines, 'New Orleans Dodged the Bullet.' " We now know that by Tuesday morning, he had received — and ignored — many warnings about the unfolding disaster. Michael Leavitt, the secretary of health and human services, isn't a mensch. He insists that the prescription drug plan's catastrophic start doesn't reflect poorly on his department, that "no logical person" would have expected "a transition happening that is so large without some problems." In fact, Medicare's 1966 startup went very smoothly. That didn't happen this time because his department ignored outside experts who warned, months in advance, about exactly the disaster that has taken place. I could go on. Officials in this administration never take responsibility for their actions. When something goes wrong, it's always someone else's fault. Was it always like this? I don't want to romanticize our political history, but I don't think so. Think of Dwight Eisenhower, who wrote a letter before D-Day accepting the blame if the landings failed. His modern equivalent would probably insist that the landings were a "catastrophic success," then try to lay the blame for their failure on the editorial page of The New York Times. Where have all the mensches gone? The character of the administration reflects the character of the man at its head. President Bush is definitely not a mensch; his inability to admit mistakes or take responsibility for failure approaches the pathological. He surrounds himself with subordinates who share his aversion to facing unpleasant realities. And as long as his appointees remain personally loyal, he defends their performance, no matter how incompetent. After all, to do otherwise would be to admit that he made a mistake in choosing them. Last week he declared that Mr. Leavitt is doing, yes, "a heck of a job." But how did such people attain power in the first place? Maybe it's the result of our infantilized media culture, in which politicians, like celebrities, are judged by the way they look, not the reality of their achievements. Mr. Bush isn't an effective leader, but he plays one on TV, and that's all that matters. Whatever the reason for the woeful content of our leaders' character, it has horrifying consequences. You can't learn from mistakes if you won't admit making any mistakes, an observation that explains a lot about the policy disasters of recent years — the failed occupation of Iraq, the failed response to Katrina, the failed drug plan. Above all, the anti-mensches now ruling America are destroying our moral standing. A recent National Journal report finds that we're continuing to hold many prisoners at Guantánamo even though the supposed evidence against them has been discredited. We're even holding at least eight prisoners who are no longer designated enemy combatants. Why? Well, releasing people you've imprisoned by mistake means admitting that you made a mistake. And that's something the people now running America never do.

Pub Quiz

2006-02-22T00:23:00.000Z

I love London pubs. And it's not just because I can drink gallons of Guinness. Although, yes, okay. That's part of it. I love how the Stella goes into the Stella glass. Carling into the Carling glass. Guinness in the Guinness glass and Guinness Extra Cold in the. . . well-- you get where I am going with this. In America, at least in my limited experience living and visiting in eleven states, when you order a beer it comes in a generic beer glass. And the Guinness Extra Cold thing? How fantastic is it that you have regular cold and then extra cold? I like how you can go into a pub in the afternoon with a book or a notebook and have a pint and no one messes with you. I would never go into a bar in America by myself. Here it is like going to a Starbucks. My new reason why I love London pubs is the pub quiz. It's sort of like trivia pursuit with a hundred people and food and drink in close proximity. The last two Tuesdays we have gone to the pub quiz at The Frog and Forget Me Not (Of course I would adore any pub with frog in the title.) We haven't been completely slaughtered which gives us false hope that we will win someday. I am good for answers like Martin Chuzzlewit but then I messed up recognizing the first few notes of Sesame Street. There are a lot of soul destroying answers that I am glad we don't know the answer to, like the name of chat shows or how many men Paris Hilton has fucked*. It's all good fun. *This was a joke. No pub quiz that I have attended has asked how many times Paris Hilton has played hide the salami. First, there is no way the number could be substantiated. Second, given the fact she is a cheap whore, the number is in constant flux.

Fox Confessor Brings The Flood

2006-02-20T12:34:00.000Z

I've mentioned before what a big fan I am of Neko Case. Her new album comes out in early March which I am really looking forward to. You can download a video where she talks about the new album, Fox Confessor Brings The Flood and the creative process for it on Anti's Website. If you are in a city where she is performing, I strongly reccommend that you go. She puts on a great show.

The Yeti

2006-02-20T10:09:00.000Z

The weather has been a bit gusty here. When the wind blows just right, which it has been, it catches something on the roof just outside our bedroom window. We've christened the resulting wind tunnel vibrating noise The Yeti. Arrrruuuuuuughghhhhhhhhhhhggghhhhhhh. All night The Yeti was calling out. Mix that up with the wind in the trees and you get some interesting dreams.

TurboTax is evil and must be destoyed.

2006-02-18T10:44:00.000Z

Dante was wrong. It isn't Judas, Brutus and Cassius in Satan's mouth in the final level in hell. It is the customer service staff at TurboTax. Or, at any rate it should be. I've been using TurboTax online for years to do my taxes. I like it a lot. Is an easy program and it walks you through a lot of deductions that you may not be aware that you could take. Yesterday I sat down with all my forms and discovered that with a little creativity on my part, I get a refund. I get to the end where I have to pay and I can't because the online form doesn't allow for an address outside of The United States. I still have my American checking account but I changed the address to the one over here so I could get my mail. I foolishly call the customer service line. It takes me twenty minutes to explain to the man that can barely speak English what my problem is. . . (I have no problem dealing with people where English is a 2nd language. I wish I were bilingual. However when I call a customer service line, I expect a certain level of comprehension from the person I am speaking to. Call me crazy.) He tells me that I will have to buy the download product and will then need to do the taxes again. Okay. Fine. That's annoying but I'll do it. Then he tells me that the download product is more money than the online. Not acceptable. Why would I pay more when I could use the online product except for a substantial design flaw in their system? Round-round-round in circles we go. Speak to the manager. Basically tells me tough and transfers me back into the queue to speak to a technical person. There is a thirty-minute wait according to the message. I consider staying on hold but realized that there is no way this other person would help me and it will only result in my blood pressure reaching even further levels. I decide to think outside the box. I call Bank of America to see if I could switch my address on file back to the Los Angeles apartment, make the payment to Satan's minions at TurboTax and then switch it back. The guy was willing to do that. Great! I think. Can I confirm my driver’s license number? When I opened the account back in 1997 I had a Washington drivers license. I haven't had that license for ages and have given them my California license a couple of times. He refused to change the address because I could not confirm an invalid drivers license. The humor of the situation- that I changed my address from California to the UK before was lost on him. At least he spoke English.

Hunting and the VP

2006-02-16T21:28:00.000Z

I've just been giggling like a little girl watching The Daily Show blurbs on the Dark Lord (Cheney) shooting incident. I've controlled myself from blogging about it because (paraphrasing Jon Stewart) it is a really easy thing to make a joke about and I also didn't want to give it any energy. What I didn't realize until today was the Veep and his sycophantic entourage where at one of those places where the animals are farm raised and then released to be killed by fat assed fucks like our Vice President, who moments before were peeling their pasty, saggy skin off their SUVs heated leather seats. That is not hunting. I'm not sure what to call it, but it ain't hunting. Before I get a nasty gram from some right-winger freak like I have in the past, my father used to hunt so I know what the hell I am talking about. I also know how to fire a weapon. I'm not good at it and I don't like it much. So say what you want. The man wasn't hunting. I think they were beyond irresponsible in how they released the information but it is much ado about nothing. It was an accident. Accidents do happen. I wish the White House Press Corps were as rabid on any number of subjects rather than this. Am I enjoying the ballyhoo? Oh, sure. It's a hoot. I just think there are much darker things happening in America that we should be frightened about. . .

One Year Old

2006-02-16T11:50:00.000Z

Happy Birthday to Nicole in London. . . Happy Birthday to Nicole in London. . . Happy BIRTHday to Nicole in London. . . (big finish) Happy Birthday tooooooooooooo meeeeeeeeeee. Well not to me. But my blog is one today. I started it shortly after I heard that Yahoo was sending me to London for three months. There is only one entry in February. I think I figured since I wasn't in London yet, there was nothing to blather about. I've gotten over that now and blather away to my heart's content. It has been a weird year. It started with me not really liking my job and where I was. I was in a relationship with a very nice but passive-aggressive man who couldn't carry on a conversation with my friends and would drink my 20.00 bottles of wine and replace it with Trader Joe's Two-buck-chuck. I hated my job. Well, I didn't hate the job. I hated feeling like I never accomplished anything and what I did accomplish was never noticed and it took years for my suggestions on how to make things more better to be implemented. I was so stuck in a rut, I needed rock climbing equipment to climb out. One year later: I have traveled to five countries, moved myself and my books and my kitchen things and my clothes and my useless tchotchkes to London, and am with the sweetest (and most frustrating) man on the planet who I love very much. And, oh yeah. . . planned and executed a wedding with the end result being. . . I'm married. Guh! Be careful what you ask for. . . and all of that. But I am very happy. I'll be happier when I have a job to complain about but that will be happening soon. The blog was a way to quickly keep friends and family up to date with my little adventure and it has become in an odd little way, a sort of community. I'm now addicted to a few blogs, to the point that I sometimes repeat the funny anecdotes that they relate in their blogs to my friends. Soon there will some changes to this little space of Internet real estate. Back in September I got mydomain but I have just been redirecting it to blogspot. I've decided to switch everything over and use WordPress because it has an easy tool to move all the old posts over. My only snag is the templates that I have been adding to my FTP editor haven't been taking the images correctly. I spent all day yesterday fighting with the stupid thing. Not sure when I will unveil the new site, but when I do, all ten of my usual readers will just need to go to www.travelingtreefrog.com. I'll let you know when it's when. So, thank you all for reading my blather. It will be fun to see where the next year takes us all. . .

United Arab Emirates company to oversee six U.S. ports

2006-02-15T09:49:00.000Z

Found this today in The State.com a South Carolina paper. Is it just me or does this seem like a really, really bad idea. . . WASHINGTON — A company in the United Arab Emirates is poised to take over significant operations at six American ports as part of a corporate sale, leaving a country with ties to the Sept. 11 hijackers with influence over a maritime industry considered vulnerable to terrorism. The Bush administration considers the UAE an important ally in the fight against terrorism since the suicide hijackings and is not objecting to Dubai Ports World’s purchase of London-based Peninsular and Oriental Steam Navigation Co. The $6.8 billion sale is expected to be approved Monday. The British company is the fourth largest ports company in the world, and its sale would affect commercial U.S. port operations in New York, New Jersey, Baltimore, New Orleans, Miami and Philadelphia. Critics of the proposed purchase said a port operator complicit in smuggling or terrorism could manipulate manifests and other records to frustrate Homeland Security’s already limited scrutiny of shipping containers and slip contraband past U.S. Customs inspectors. Shipping experts noted that many of the world’s largest port companies are not based in the United States, and they pointed to DP World’s strong economic interest in operating ports securely and efficiently. DP World said it won approval from a secretive U.S. government panel that considers security risks of foreign companies buying or investing in American industry. The U.S. Committee on Foreign Investment in the United States, which could have recommended that President Bush block the purchase, includes representatives from the departments of Treasury, Defense, Justice, Commerce, State and Homeland Security. The State Department describes the UAE as a vital partner in the fight against terrorism. But the UAE, a loose federation of seven emirates on the Saudi peninsula, was an important operational and financial base for the hijackers who carried out the attacks against New York and Washington, the FBI concluded.

What if. . .

2006-02-14T18:34:00.000Z

Robert Kennedy at the Oxnard CA airport in June 1968 My mom did a bit of digging in the attic and she found a photo that a friend had taken of Robert Kennedy a few days before he was killed. I wonder how different the world would look if he hadn't been shot. Better, worse. . . I dunno. But I like the photo so I wanted to share.

V Day approaching

2006-02-13T10:21:00.000Z

Stephanie often writes things for the Reno News & Review and they had her do a Valentines Day story on how to have a good time on V Day without a sweetie. I hate V Day. Never had a good one even when I was dating someone. Stuart doesn't believe in it and it is actually a huge relief. I prefer his surprises that he often gives me. A couple of weeks ago at work he walked in with a box of green tea, handed it to me and said as he walked away, "Thought you needed some tea." On top of the tea was a jewelry box. Inside that was a silver chain with a single pink pearl and baguette diamonds charm. Today my e-mail contained a message that he had bought me a year subscription for the New York TimesSelect. Yeah. I think I'll keep him.

Smoothies

2006-02-12T12:02:00.000Z

In my effort to be healthier, I've started making smoothies for my breakfast. It's a really easy way to consume three, four pieces fruit and you're done. Plus they're tasty. I despair at ever being able to cut up a mango without slaughtering it. I am remarkably untalented at figuring out where the pit is and I end up eating most of the mango before I put it in the blender. Today was a pineapple, mango, banana and plum smoothie. I tried to make Stuart drink a little of it. As you can imagine, that went well. "Drink a little." "Aggh. No! There's bits in it." "Not at the top. Drink a little." He screwed up his face so that he had more wrinkles than a Shar-pei, dipped the front of his lip into the glass and groaned, "It smells like an old hoof. And there are bits." "That's just plum skin." "Aggghhhhhhhhh."