A Christmas Carol

We heard the letterbox snap Sunday morning and found an invitation to attend a carol service this evening on our front mat.

Personally, I'm a fan of attending the big, big carol services - like the one at St Paul's Cathedral. Not only is it a pretty good show, but normal admission to the cathedral is around £6 (that's almost $12 these days) - and the fee is waived if you're attending a service. But the Vol-in-Law is not keen as he feels he's being treated "like a piece of meat", which I grant is not a positive feature in a religious ceremony. Apparently, the big shows - like the one at St Paul's or Westminster Abbey are getting packed out these days - some hundreds of people were turned away from St Paul's Christmas Eve service last year (when we were in Lawrenceburg where we did not attend any church - although we did go to the Grand Ol' Opry on the 23d).

Since we didn't have any Christmas carol service planned we decided we'd go to the one where we'd been invited. Apparently it's our Church of England parish church - St Luke's - though I didn't have a clear idea where it was. Apparently the C of E has been guilty of gerrymandering their parishes in the past - and ours is oddly shaped and our house is tucked away in a distant cranny of the parish. Either that or they leafleted the wrong street.

The service was pretty good, the congregation was very friendly, and I knew most of the carols. The Vol-in-Law was impressed by the service, he was still talking about it the next day. But I guess there are some cross-cultural variations that make it hard for me to settle in at a carol service even after 10 years of living in England (not that I attended services every year). Here were some things that struck me:

• Why can't they just let us sing out of the hymnal? That way I could have written music. I'm not the best singer but I do read music and so if I don't know a song very well I can at least drag myself along by sight rather than blundering and guess work. In fact, does the Church of England have hymnals or did you put them away before inviting the unwashed public in to your carol service?
• Some British Christmas carols have extraneous notes - sort of like the "u" in colour. They aren't necessary and they'll always trip up the unsuspecting. For example, I know "Oh little town of Bethlehem" as a somber and simple song - it was presented to me as a song full of ladders and trills.
• Too much bloody organ for me. The organ filled up one of the "wings" of the church (sorry, I don't know the official name, but I didn't grow up in a church with wings) and the sound boomed throughout. What with the saxophone and the bass guitar and the flute and the really, really high-falutin' soprano in the choir - I could barely hear myself sing, never mind try to anticipate the next note in a carol arranged in a way I didn't expect. Maybe I had too much Church of Christ growing up - but didn't Paul say raise up your voices in praise - not raise up your monstrous organ and cacophonous band. (Gee, that's some imagery I didn't anticipate in a post about Christmas church services)
  
• English churches are cold, especially at Christmas time. Expect to sing in your coat. But parish churches are less cold than cathedrals. At my local parish church - I only needed my sweater.
  

where's my tax cut Mr Bush??

Reader "John Galt" passed along a link to New York Times article about Americans giving up their citizenship. Some of them do so for "convenience" and some to avoid paying the uniquely punitive US tax on expats.

Concern about taxes among Americans living abroad has surged since President Bush signed into law a bill that sharply raises tax rates for those with incomes ofmore than $82,400 a year. The legislation also increases taxes on employer-provided benefits like housing allowances.

All other developed countries tax on residency not citizenship. And this does piss me off...

But, I'm afraid I must reveal my low-rent, loser status. Up until recently, this hasn't really been a problem for me and though the plummeting dollar does put me in some jeopardy - It isn't really worth it to renounce my citizenship, not that I would anyway.

But it is worth it for me to take out British citizenship, 'cause if I move back to the US - I won't be taxed on my US income.

in the 'hood

I was just checking my stats when I discovered a lot of people were visiting my site from the search string "Tooting Broadway Murders" or "Tooting Broadway Stabbing". Hmm, I thought to myself, has there been a new murder in Tooting (my neighbourhood)?

Sorry to disappoint readers who wanted to read about this brand-spanking, new murder. My post is about these murders.

How tacky is that?

Ticky-tack, tacky. How tacky is that? Taaa-ky. I now even "Brit" it up, by saying, in that understated way- It's a bit tacky. Clearly I mean that it's very tacky indeed.

Tacky is one of my favorite words. Tim from Mother Tongue Annoyances gives the low down on the origins of tacky.

It's dark

I've been in the UK for 10 years, and I'm still not used to the short days around this time of year. It's not light til nearly eight am and dark just before 4.

Doing good by being lazy

The Vol-in-Law wrote out a Christmas check to the Salvation Army, but it has sat - in its envelope- on our sideboard for some weeks now. He finally noticed it last night and after some self-excoriation, I told him not to worry about it - as I would make an online donation because I wanted to add a little bit extra.

I explained I wanted to add some more money because, as is the current fashion at my work, I can give to charity and then email my colleagues saying "I have donated the money I would have spent on Christmas cards to ___________. Please accept this email as an alternative."

The Vol-in-Law was apalled. "Do you mean," he said, "that you and your colleagues are too lazy to sign and address a few Christmas cards and so make a tiny donation and then send emails out instead. And then you expect to be lauded for your Christmas charity that you should have been giving anyway?"

"Yeah, that's about right."

And although he didn't give the exact quote:

But when you give to the needy, do not let your left hand know what your right hand is doing, (Matthew 6:3)

...the Vol-in-Law did say something about right and left hands. I, too, remembered the lesson of Ananais and Sapphira which was played up big time at my grandfather's Church of Christ, and which I always thought was a bit harsh. And I thought of the other lesson of the man who let the coins fall into the collection from a great height and received his reward in that rather than in the Kingdom of Heaven.

And then I thought about how I wouldn't actually spend any money on Christmas cards since I have a box full of old ones that I've picked up in years past in the post-Christmas sales. Technically, I could give nothing and still send out that email. And then I thought about how I'm always rubbish at remembering to give cards to colleagues anyway, so this email thing might be the best possible solution all round.

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Actually, I've just made the online contribution to the Salvation Army - and perhaps I'll be able to say in my email "I've made a donation over and above our normal Christmas gift."

Expert me

I don't normally blog about work matters, but a recent experience I felt was rather blogworthy.

I sat in on an expert group. This isn't the first time I've done this, Ive served on or convened several steering groups. But usually I know a little something about the topic at hand. Recently though, I was in a group of eminent parenting experts. Academics, leaders in the voluntary sector, think tank gurus, high-up muckety-muck civil servants and me. And we were all gathered round the table to talk about the design of effective parenting interventions.

HA! I don't know nothin' about raisin' no babies.

Fair enough, I was there as a last minute substitute and it was important that someone from my organisation was there to oversee proceedings.

I deal in BS - it's part of my trade. Plus - I love expounding, so while for the most part I just listened to the "real" parenting experts* - when it came my turn to recommend policy prescriptions for better parenting initiatives I had a few things to say about interventions for oiks (Britspeak for the lower orders):

Are there no workhouses? Idle hands are the devil's workshop. Down the mines and up the chimneys for the ugly kids - cute ones can become child actors or match sellers - that should reduce the level of crime on the streets.

And as for the parents, I blame them. Control those children - it's not as if you're doing anything like work. Take a momentary break from daytime tv to get those kids signed up with a work gang master. We'll all be better off without your urchin roaming the streets unsupervised and playing by the light of a roaring car fire - and you'll have more money for Silk Cuts and chips.

(Actually, I think I said something about communication styles and community based skills enhancement.)

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*Apparently, the real parenting exerts have moved away from child-centred approaches and self-actualisation (I.e. Let the little tykes run amok) and are now favouring something called Webster Stratton - one of the academics saw my confusion - and said aka Super Nanny. Hey, I love to watch Super Nanny - so let me get behind that public policy.
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You can always tell a UT girl

...by her calves.

I have a sturdy build. And when the end-times come, my peasant physique will stand me in good stead. But it's hell on fashion.

Knee hi boots are in - that is they're still in, and I still can't wear them. I can't wedge my thickset ankles and sturdy calves into those boots.

Vol-K was complaing about all those bird-legged British women on the streets of London with their skinny jeans and skinny legs and skinny boots.

Forget about it Vol-K, you have a degree in engineering from the University of Tennessee. That's too many treks up and down the Hill - plus the uphill both ways trips to Dougherty - not to leave a mark on those calves. Anyway, those skinny legged girls might exerience calf-snappage at any moment. Count your blessings.

Even when I was younger and thinner, my calves have always had a solidness about them. I was once working out at the Bubble - using the climbing machine (probably not helping matters) - when a guide brought a group of prospective UT students in. She pointed me out. She pointed out my calves. "See girls, after a year at UT- you can have calves like that, too."

I don't think those high school girls were too impressed.
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oh tannenbaum

We finally got the Christmas tree up. Vol-K was visiting London on business and she came down to the house yesterday. I made her decorate the tree and then make me dinner. You should come more often, Vol-K.

I wasn't the worstest hostess, though. I bought Ferrero Rocher and made spiced apple cider and tossed a salad to go with Vol-K's stuffed cabbage leaves. I put on Christmas music as she requested - so that she could decorate the tree.


In this view, you can't see the clutter



Here's Fancy, taking her place under the tree - the stones are to stabilise the tree. It's part of our defensive measures against Fancy's war on Christmas.

Here's what she did last year

I have a little dreidel

For the past few days, I've had the little dreidel song running through my head.

I have a little dreidel, I made it out of clay,
And when it’s dry and ready, then dreidel I shall play
O dreidel, dreidel, dreidel, I made it out of clay,
And when it’s dry and ready, then dreidel I shall play.

My dreidel’s always playful
It loves to dance and spin
A happy game of dreidel, come play now let’s begin.

At first it was just a happy reminder to look up the Hanukah dates, since I'm not Jewish and I don't celebrate Hanukah. But as a kid I had a fondness for any holiday that lasts eight whole days, celebrates food and involves multiple days of receiving gifts. Hanukah starts December the 16th. Now I know, but the dreidel song wouldn't stop - and of course I couldn't actually remember all of the real words. It became annoying. Really annoying.

Dreidel, dreidel, dreidel - running through my head,
One more verse of dreidel and I'll wish I was dead.

Apparently, I'm not the only person afflicted with dreidel-ness, because there's a whole website of alternative dreidel lyrics - some ridiculously silly, but bound to put kids into paroxysms of laughter. I have to admit this one tickled me.

I have a little dreidel. It came from the UK.
It wrote a little poem and then it shied away.

Blogger beta

OK, so I've been trying to mess around with the new blogger beta. I even developed a new blog just to try things out.

But the more I mess with the crazy templates - the more I think - why am I still messing around with blogger anyway?

hi-scale corruption

After my post about the scales (hopefully) falling from the eyes* of those people who still think we're winning in Iraq, I saw this:

I'm not going to read the ISG report because I think it a publicity stunt. I know more about Iraq than Sandra Day O'Connor.

What I did do was search the ISG report for "corruption" which is cited 15 times in the 84-page report and only in reference to Iraqi corruption. Three of the citations refer to ISG recommendations to combat Iraqi corruption.

Here at mrs panstreppon's blog at the TPM Cafe (read it - it's quite good)

Yes, I failed to mention the corruption at the first go - that is our corruption. I had generally wrapped up the corruption under the incompetence - as to me it's all about bad governance. At worst, one might hope that American officials would tut-tut at the underhanded dealings of Iraqi officials - but it looks like a lot of the pigs at the trough were red, white and blue. Here's a post I did some time ago on Iraq's lost billions.

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*The Vol-in-Law who spends more time in the right wing blogosphere than I tells me that although the scales might have temporarily fallen from the eyes of the neo-cons; those who were momentarily blinded by the light have been scrambling around looking for those scales on the ground beneath them just so they could believe again.

Safe and sound!

Thanks for the concern Brittney!

Tornado Hits The Square Mile

The Vol Abroad? Are you okay?

That was pretty wild to see - 'cause sure, I'm used to concern about my safety in terms of bombs and stuff (even back in the "good old" IRA days). But bad weather? I'm far more used to worrying about y'all in Tennessee. The greenest state in the land of the free even makes British news every now then for the severe weather - and I have to dutifully check the news and say "Nah, that's hit those West Tennesseans again - nothing to worry about."* Or earlier this year when real, big scary tornados hit Nashville - while my cousin was undergoing an emergency C-section because of dangerous pre-eclampsia. (Cousin A and baby were OK).

Anyway, thanks. I didn't see the post til this morning - as I was slaving away at work til very late. But here's the comment, I left at Nashville is Talking.

Did it really hit the square mile** - holy crap. I was right next to one then!!! I work right near the City.

Yeah - I'm ok. The wind was whistling through the windows of my office building, but then it was all ok. I guarantee you I am the only one (and the other two Americans who work on my floor) who knows the correct procedure for tornado drills or real tornado hits. I could have BRAVELY led my comrades to a windowless corridor and told them to assume the position. I'm almost sorry it didn't happen!

There was big damage up in North West London (where we used to live). Being devoted South Londoners now (and generally not very nice people) we snickered at the news report and congratulated ourselves for one more good reason we no longer live in the Borough of Brent.

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*Sorry Newscoma - I'm afraid I'm a rampant Grand Divisionist - but I'm working hard to overcome my prejudice.
**No - it did not really hit the Square Mile - but it was quite windy that way. I imagine someone's umbrella was turned inside out and perhaps an investment banker lost a hat. We actually heard thunder - a rare occurrence in Britain - especially in December.

raped twice

The Guardian reports that female asylum seekers to the UK aren't likely to believed if they report they have been raped (as part of their political/racial repression).

This isn't surprising in a country with such a low rape conviction rate.

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The Vol-in-Law, being the enlightened sort, says "I believe that they were raped, but we shouldn't allow everyone who comes from a country that's worse than here to have refugee status."

Do y'all feel fooled yet?

Do y'all feel fooled yet? I mean, when you hear the newly confirmed Secretary of Defense Robert Gates saying "we're not winning in Iraq" do y'all feel that maybe you've been a little misled.

And when I say y'all, I mean all of you Bush loyalists. If you're managing to cling to "job done" and "we're winning" even now - I got to hand it to you. But I'm guessing that maybe you might feel just a little bit silly after your vehement denials of civil war, quagmire, incompetence, or the lack of strategy, vision, plan and execution.

I'm not gloating. I don't think very many people in America really wanted to see us fail to achieve altruistic or even patriotic objectives in Iraq and the region. I think this has damaged America. I don't think any American really wants that - even though we might disagree about what's in America's best interest from time to time. And I do believe that there's a threat of Islamism rising in the Middle East - and I hoped our actions in Iraq would help - but I think it's probably obvious now that we've only made things worse with Bush's Iraqscapade.

I'm not gloating. I believed Bush, too. I believed Tony Blair. Even for stuff I wasn't too sure about (ability to deliver WMD to UK in 30 minutes - I didn't believe that), I gave them the benefit of the doubt on. I just haven't believed them in a while. (And just so you know, it wasn't after the WMD didn't turn up - 'cause I admit - I believed that Saddam Hussein had them and I still wonder if maybe Saddam believed he had them).

It was easier for me, I admit, to shake off my belief in what Bush and Blair were saying and doing. After all, I vote Democrat in the US and support the Conservatives in the UK - so I didn't have any party loyalty to blind me in this case. But when I realised it was a passle of lies, incompetence and self-delusion, I felt fooled. I felt pretty angry with myself. Even worse, I felt angry with Bush and Blair for making me look stupid for believing them in the eyes of the Marxists and Islamists and woolly-headed leftists.

So, all you Bush loyalists, you neo-cons and true believers, I'm just wondering. Do y'all feel fooled?

meat allergy

I drafted a big long post about how some girl told me she had a meat allergy and wouldn't eat my cornbread dressing* - which just had chicken stock and cream of chicken soup, but not much in the way of real chicken. I thought she was a big fat liar. I thought she was just making it up and was just one of those faffy, pretentious people who doesn't eat ________ because they're allergic not because they just don't like it. I've never heard of anyone with a meat allergy.

But I thought before I posted it, I might at least google "meat allergy". Apparently, meat allergies can and do exist.

I still think there's a pretty good possibility she might just be making up her whole meat allergy thing.

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*No biggie to me - just meant I had more leftovers.

pink

Hydrangeas are one of my favorite shrubs. My grandparents had one of those vivid blue ones off their patio. It was right behind the porch swing - sometimes we would swing a little too high on the swing and run into the hydrangea.

I was sad when my granddad cut down the hydrangea. The blossom above belongs to a different kind of hydrangea - the Vol-in-Law doesn't like those big bright blue, snowball-y looking kind. He probably doesn't like this kind either, so I should have just got what I really wanted.

Kitty diet

Prompted by this post - and the not yet dangerous or unsightly, but growing paunch of our slim cat - the Vol-in-Law has decided that he is putting our cats on a diet.

The first step was buying "senior, low-activity", i.e. lazy fat-cat cat food. We have switched from an apparently deee-licious imported American brand of cat food to a probably far less tasty brand of low-cal "la ligne" preserving French cat food. I think it might be mostly made of hay.

The second step will be PORTION CONTROL. This may be where we have been going wrong in the past. According to the diagram on the French bag of cat food (which shows one sleekit cat and how much it should eat and one fat cat and how much it should eat) - we may have been feeding our cats too much. Let's refer to the picture again:



It's quite likely that we've been feeding our cats too much.

Unfortunately all the European recipes and portion sizes are in grams - a weight measurement - which means scales. This includes the cat food portion sizes. After 10 years in the UK - I still use American cookbooks because I use cups - a volume measurement. Using scales seems faffy and pointless - but I do have a scale somewhere. The Vol-in-Law must be serious about slimming these cats down because he:

1. asked me where the scale was
2. ventured into the chaotic pots and pans cabinet to find the scales (I heard the clanging from the other room and held my breath against breakages)
3. did not find the scales, but is determined to look in the cabinet above the oven (which is where I thought it was all along). That is the hard-to-reach storage space for disposable cups and plates, never-used and rarely-used nice tablecloths and cloth napkins and our collection of national flags for display on national holidays and the occasional international sporting events. (please don't ask why scales are in there)

Anyway, since we've not yet found the scales the cats have about a day or two left of the tasty American cat food (at least in terms of their current portion sizes) before they're put on the French hay.



Soon to be hungry

Fat cat

Two brothers are facing a private prosecution in the UK brought on by the Royal Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals (RSPCA). What's the charge? They let their dog get fat. Real fat.

Alex Wylie, a vet from Bury St Edmunds who treated Rusty, said that the dog suffered from painful joints and breathing problems. “He did literally look like a walrus. There were times when he couldn’t get up."

This being a nation of animal-lovers, the story is getting quite a bit of coverage.

I was looking at this picture of my cat on my Flickr account when a colleague glanced over my shoulder and said quite causually - "How many years do you think those brothers are going to get?"


She's not fat - she's just extra fluffy.

fading beauty

hydrangea blossom

This morning it's raining and blustery. Maybe winter is on its way.