Mega allergies once again. No brain power for a thoughtful post, a Phriday feature, etc. But Tara reminded me of the super cool Wordle application, which I used on my Flickr tags a few days ago. Here’s how Wordle sees my website content as run through the search engine spider simulator at webconfs.com.
I finished reading a marvelous novel, a fable incorporating adaptations of several fairy tales - “The Book of Lost Things” by John Connolly. Set in World War II London, the book follows the adventures of its main character, a twelve-year old boy named David, as he seeks to make sense of loss, jealousy, and hatred. A touching and sometimes creepy tale of a child being propelled into adulthood and responsibility.
The fairy tales themselves provide the most fascination. Such a shame that Disney had to dilute them to such pale versions of their earlier selves in order to bring them to the screen. Not that there really are true, authentic versions of these tales. Many fairy tales exist in alternate forms across many cultures. It’s utterly delightful to imagine, for example, Little Red Riding Hood being the seductress and using her budding sexuality to tempt the wolf.
And a piece of cake with a bottle of wine to nurse Granny back to health? I think I need some of that medicine!
Lots of love from the *ist world this week. Houstonist featured this Art Car Parade After Party photo on Friday the 13th (Perhaps they found it frightful?).
Now to ready myself for a loooong night tomorrow. No, wait. A short night. The Shortest Night, in fact. But a short night in which Randy doesn’t go to bed. The London Photographers on Meetup.com are welcoming summer on the longest day and shortest night of the year with an all-night photo meet up along the Thames. Sunset at 9:22 and sunrise at 4:43. Just over 7 hours of night. Quite a change from when I wrote this depressing bit of drivel.
Hopefully I’ll be all rested when I join you again on Monday.
In an earlier post, I claimed all North Americans have a European doppelganger. Today on my way back home, I stood across the aisle from a working-class Brit version of Malcolm, of “in the Middle” fame.
Malcolm in the Middle of Croydon.
I think this might also become a regular feature. Maybe if I’m brave I’ll also include photos.
Environmentalists struggle to deliver their messages of irreversible climate change, hoping that Joe Q. will take notice, have a change of heart and lifestyle, sell the car, and convert the driveway and garage into native prairie grassland. But Bush and his disastrous policies being the catalyst for positive environmental change? Delicious and delightful irony.
My friend Laurie wrote a serious post about weight issues earlier in the week, and I had a rather inappropriate chuckle at a statement she made about creating a walking schedule. I made a note of my amusement in her comments, and she responded quite correctly that walking was now a big part of my culture as a UK resident. Indeed, we must walk everywhere over here if we’re going to consume ale in proper quantities and not gain 10 stone. I’ve only been here five months but go crazy sitting on my duff for too long. In the first month, however, it took massive amounts of resolve and determination just to go out for some groceries. “I have to walk how far? And I can only carry how many bags at one time?” That plus the six hours of daylight just about did me in.
In May I traveled back to Houston for a brief visit to sing the bass solos in Handel’s Judas Maccabeus with Cantare Houston. After discovering at the Budget Car Rental counter that my UK bank card could not be used to retrieve a reservation, I decided to forgo the automobile and enjoy the city using my two feet, the generosity of friends, and Houston’s Metro system if absolutely necessary. I’m not sure I would make the same decision if I had to do it again. The streets of Houston are a lonely, conspicuous place for a person on foot, even in the middle of rush-hour. Especially in the middle of rush-hour.
So I was delighted to get back to London and wander the streets again. I’m in the process of getting a UK driver’s license, but I have absolutely no desire to own a car again. A bike would be nice. Another means of getting me off my duff.
Hopefully more U.S. cities will heed the growing demands for mass transit. And history just might concede that Bush’s eight years weren’t a total waste of time, money, and human life.
Yesterday I spent a large part of my evening with around 2,000 other Londoners and curious onlookers protesting the sheltered visit of President Bush, as he makes his farewell tour around Europe. He did not come out to meet the people. Instead, the police shut down Whitehall at the administration’s request and stationed over 1,000 police, many in riot gear, at the Parliament end of Whitehall, where the demonstration took place.
Highlights included an hour or so of speeches in Parliament Square by a Who’s Who list of Brit peace activists, including Bianca Jagger, Brian Eno, Brian Haw, and George Galloway. Then the call was made to challenge the barricades blocking Whitehall, and the fun began.
A couple of YouTube clips for your enjoyment, with cameos by yours truly in both. In the first, Parliament Square activist Brian Haw gives powerful testimony to the crowd. I’m the bald guy hogging the foreground. In the second, you can spot my bald head moving into the frame at around 1:30, camera held aloft for super accuracy, and again at about 1:55 as the action moves down the street.
In true British fashion, the day was peppered with humor, even during the tense moments at the barricade. The men and women in riot gear did their best to behave professionally, but several of them couldn’t resist cracking smiles at some of the humorous moments. One of them even stuck his gloved hand up over his helmeted face to hide his embarrassed grin after he was called out by someone in the crowd. This brilliant young organizer commandeered a megaphone after things started to get a little out of hand and managed to calm everyone down with jokes, poking a bit of fun at the crowd, the police, the snipers (?) on a distant rooftop, and the general silliness of the situation.
I must say I was quietly amused at the irony of a protest against imperialism in a country which owes its wealth to its imperialist past. And the squeaky clean suburban college boys shouting about “the workers” with their middle-class London accents.
I left the square just after 9pm (the event began at 5) as things had cooled down significantly. Walked over to the river and along the embankment, then cut back up to an open section of Whitehall on the other side of Downing Street. The sidewalk was open, but the police were standing guard in the street in preparation for the motorcade. Not much of a crowd assembled to see him off, but I stuck around to give him the finger. There were children nearby, though, so I behaved myself.
I love Santa Fe. Spent many wonderful summers there singing with the Desert Chorale. This is a great educational video from the 40s, despite confusing an Albuquerque cathedral for Santa Fe’s Saint Francis Cathedral, and the narrator’s pronunciation of “San Miguel” sounding more like “San McGill.” Courtesy of photographer and blogger David Bram.