The return of Granddad blogging: Horsewhipped

Yes, it's been a while since I've posted on the oral history project. I took a little break at Christmas while I was in America, and just didn't get around to starting back. If you think that's bad, we only took the Christmas tree down a week and a half ago. (Really)

All of his experiences during World War Two have been posted - but here's the start of his tales of growing up in Wilson County. This story was always told to us as a bit of a morality lesson - be careful what you wish for, and if you get it, be careful how you use it.
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When you went to the fair, ‘course everybody had horses then, rode buggies, you needed a whip for your horse and for your buggy and for everything else. And I don’t know the cost, probably fifteen, twenty cents, maybe a quarter, I don’t know what they cost, But anyway, they were beyond my reach and I couldn’t get one. And I surely did want one.

Some of my daddy’s cousins were plowin’ corn on the side of the road as I was going to school, and for some reason I stopped and started talkin’ to them and one of them had a whip. And we got to talkin’ about the whip, and I was talkin’ about how bad I wished I had one, and this old boy that was there, one of my daddy’s cousins said, “Well, if you won’t whip that pony, I’ll give you this whip.” No, no I wouldn’t whip this pony at all if he’d give me the whip.

Well he gave me the whip and I rode the pony all the way to school and put him in the stable and didn’t whip him at all, comin’ back that afternoon, coming back to where they were plowin’ the corn on the side of the road, for some reason I decided I would whip the pony. And I don’t guess he’d ever had a whip laid on him before, and he jumped pretty hard and far and wide and I landed on the side of the road and the horse went on down the road. They just laughed and laughed and laughed.

A neighbor down the road saw my horse in the creek getting’ a drink of water and he caught him and brought him on back to me and told me to get on him and ride him home. And I told him I was not going ride that horse any more any where. He said, “Well, lead him home then. Here he is.”

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Technorati tags: oral history, Tennessee
, pony

down the drain

Tonight we watched a Channel 4 Documentary called Iraq's Missing Billions - about how over 20 billion dollars were spent, misspent, stolen or are generally unaccounted for in Iraq. This was mismanagement by the Coalition Provisional Authority on a grand scale.

Nearly 3 billion was spent in the last month of CPA rule to avoid handing it over to the new Iraqi government. Good money went after bad. This week two civilian contractors were found guilty of fraudently claiming 11 million dollars. In the Guardian Blog:

When the two men who make up Custer Battles - Scott Custer and Michael Battles, (who ran unsuccessfully as a Republican Congressional candidate in 2002) - arrived in Iraq, one former workmate said they didn't have enough money between them to pay the $15 airport tax. Within months they had contracts worth $37.5 million for security and transport work.

In the case that ended last week, Custer Battles were found guilty under the false claims act on three counts. Now they've been ordered to pay back approximately $11 million. The attorney who led their successful prosecution told Dispatches: "There is an orgy of greed among the contractors in Iraq. American law was suspended, Iraqi law was suspended and Iraq basically became a free fraud zone.....in a free fraud zone you can steal anything you like."

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Nothing upsets me more than failures of public governance through greed or incompetence or in the case of administering post-invasion Iraq - both. People in power have a duty and a trust to uphold. Honesty, probity, demonstrating value for money. Money wasted is money that belongs to the people not being spent on the people.

But at least somebody finally went after these guys, Custer and Battle (Surely these two jokers must have seen that their last names together was a bad omen.) And while that's eleven million accounted for - there's still 19,989,000,000 to go.

slow spring

Yep, another gardening post.

Still nary a daffodil in bloom in my tiny London garden.

This was last year at this time:



This is my "furthest ahead buttercup":



But at least one of my crops seems to be growing well:



Want one of these catflowers yourself? I'll trade ya - three seeds for a cow.

A dream deferred

It's a darn shame about the men's basketball team's loss to Wichita State last night. Preston at Six Meat Buffet says he still a Bruce Pearl sheep and uges Vols fans not to despair.

I must remind them that - given the team that Bruce Pearl inherited - this team has overachieved all season long. They worked hard and left it out on the court all year - they had simply run out of gas at the end of the season. It was a team without depth but with plenty of guts.

The dream is not over... really, it's just the beginning.

VolBro was at the arena last night to see the loss - I spoke to him before the game and told him to tell Bruce 'hey' from me. If I could pass along a message now, it would be thanks for a good run, thanks for a fun season.

A pity we can't all have good taste

One of the blogs of note in London is called Going Underground. It's all about the Tube and our London commuting life...and it's brilliant.

Annie Mole the pseudonymous author has a bone to pick with the sartorial sense of her fellow commuters though. She even has a whole Flickr set of fashion victims. Londoners count 7 million, at least half of whom have what might be kindly termed a sense of fashion whimsy and another quarter who just don't give a toss, but there are yet only 95 pics in the set. None of whom, I am relieved to say, are me*.

There are some choice ones... the combination of ugg boots and metallic handbags, lurid tights, dubious claims printed in inappropriate places, and this one has to be my favorite. One of my cousin's girlfriends wore an outfit not dissimilar (but without jacket) to both my grandfather's funeral and a family wedding.

Notable by its omission, Ms Mole doesn't seem to have any photos of the furry look that's been popular this year. Is this an accidental omission - or does is she partial to fur-trimmed look herself?

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*Though these have not yet made their debut in the London Underground...I did wear them on BART - the Bay Area Rapid Transit - here's a shot in the Oakland station.

Unhappy St Patrick's Day

The Vol-in-Law is from Northern Ireland originally - but he's not from the saint's day celebrating side of the divide. There's no wearin' o' the green, or drinkin' o' the green beer, or top o' the mornin' for him.

No o'anything actually, he boycotts the whole St Patrick's day hoopla.

I am going out tomorrow to a local Irish pub to celebrate St Patrick's Day with the Texan - I'll take any excuse for a knees-up (Brit-speak for drinking yourself stupid). The Vol-in-Law will be staying at home, I reckon.

Usually Vol Mom sends him a Happy St Pat's day email message - just to get his goat. None so far - but the day's still young (at least in Tennessee). Just for the Vol-in-Law, though, I'll pass along a little poem that has cultural resonance for him - and should be a stern warning to all men who think of doing their poor wives ill:

The Ballad of William Bloat

In a mean abode on the Shankill Road
Lived a man named William Bloat;
He had a wife, the curse of his life,
Who continually got his goat.
So one day at dawn, with her nightdress on
He slit her bloody throat.

With a razor gash he settled her hash
Never was crime so slick
But the drip drip drip on the pillowslip
Of her lifeblood made him sick.
And the knee-deep gore on the bedroom floor
Grew clotted and cold and thick.

And yet he was glad he had done what he had
When she lay there stiff and still
But a sudden awe of the angry law
Struck his heart with an icy chill.
So to finish the fun so well begun
He resolved himself to kill.

He took the sheet from the wife's coul' feet
And twisted it into a rope
And he hanged himself from the pantry shelf,
'Twas an easy end, let's hope.
In the face of death with his latest breath
He solemnly cursed the Pope.

But the strangest turn to the whole concern
Is only just beginning.
He went to Hell but his wife got well
And she's still alive and sinnin',
For the razor blade was German made
But the sheet was Belfast linen.

Long day

Just spent 15 hours (including travel time) in a course. A course where I learned very little and enjoyed it less.

So, gentle reader, nothing today.

But here's a picture from the RHS flower show on Wednesday...an early rhododendron.



I was scouting out orange flowers for what I shall theme my victory garden this summer.

Paranoid

A anonymous commenter on a previous post said:

"Congrats on your mention in The Guardian!"

The Guardian? Do you mean this Guardian or perhaps this Guardian, where I once sold a tv through the classified.

I hope it's the latter. Frankly, I'm happy blogging on in obscurity and anonymity - since a recent post (in the comments) mentions me going through a dumpster for porn and other such embarassing facts.

Does my butt look big in this?

With two scant weeks before the hosepipe ban comes into effect, my water butt arrived. Could I have an ordinary water butt? One that just collects the rainwater. No.

No. Because the garden is small, I felt that I needed to have a special water butt. One that said "class". So I ordered an oak barrel.

They've tried to deliver it for two days in a row but we were out. Today I stayed home and the thing came at around 9am. When I saw it being unloaded from the truck, I was afraid we wouldn't be able to get it through the front door. But that was fine - slid right through.

It was an interior door it got wedged in. But we found another way to get it outside and after forty minutes of wrestling (it's surprisingly heavy), we finally got it outside.

Here it is - straight from a bourbon distillery in the good old U.S. of A. (Sadly, sans bourbon.)



And if you ever wondered what the inside of a whiskey barrel looks like...here ya go.



I wish I could record the scent, it smelled like heaven. On hot days this summer, the garden should smell exactly like the inside of our house...our dream house.

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Anyway, the new water butt hardly makes up for the fact that we're having a hosepipe ban. Honestly, I don't get it.

Here's a picture of the reservoir capacitity across England and Wales just a month and a half ago. (Hat tip to elderrant)



Sure, Kent (Southern Water - in red) has a problem. But why do we in Thames Water area have to have a ban? Anyway, a reader said that she managed to get by on a water butt last year, except for the lawn, and I don't have a lawn. And I do recognise that rainwater is better for almost all of my plants - since the water here in London has so much limestone and I favor the plants like azaleas, rhododendron, camellias and the like...which are all acid loving.

When the cat's away...

I only came upstairs to look at the Internets - and left the Vol-in-Law with his remote in hand. When he came to check on me he said "Did you know that we seem to have a real porn channel now? And none of those ugly British whores. It's the Playboy One Channel."

Well, that's a relief.

I'm sick and tired of that second-class, pseudo porn being shown on 47 of my 512 channels. We get some unbelievable stuff, including 3 or 4 channels that feature whores and quizzes. Yep, scantily clad woman with an inane trivia call in show. Who thinks of stuff like that? Who watches stuff like that? Who phones in?

The Vol-in-Law just checked his quote and wanted to let me know that it's Sky channel 912. "It's best to memorise it, because all they other channels around it are pay-for-porn channels." The Vol-in-Law may be depraved, but at least he's cheap.

Mental note to self: must call cable company to get child-proofing, channel blocking facility switched on.

Good news, bad news

It's all about expectations.

Reactions to a number 2 seed for the Lady Vols from Pat Head Summitt -

and on the same seeding for the men’s basketball team from Bruce Pearl

But hey, either way, Go Vols

crazy in alabama

Chris at My Quiet Life is rejoicing over the fact that a mad cow has been found in Alabama, and predicts a summer of cheap steak. He says:

A few years ago, whenever the first mad cow scare was, I hadn’t been paying much attention to the news. I did, however, notice that steak, even at Kroger, was plentiful and cheap. I ate like a goddamned king all summer long.

It was ten years ago that we had the height of the BSE -mad cow disease -scare in Britain. It was my first summer here. Did I avoid British beef? Did I, heck. VolMom, VolBro, the Vol-in-Law (then just Vol-boyfriend) and I watched a House of Lords debate on the BSE crisis in the summer of '96 and then went off for steak dinner. I took advantage of the cheap beef prices which weren't as cheap as they might have been because the British public - after a few cautious weeks - were all taking advantage of the low, low prices too. Domestic beef sales went up (but of course the international market completely fell away).

It's only in the last few days that the French have decided that they'll allow the le rosbif anglais in Frogland again. (Actually it was worse than that - the EU banned Britain from exporting beef anywhere and that ban was lifted last week.)

As the BSE crisis continued and there were culls and bans, it annoyed me a little bit that the US beef industry seemed to be declaring that there was no way that BSE could be found in American cattle. Remember Oprah getting sued by cattlemen for expressing her concerns about the beef supply on air? And here's an article from a couple of years ago on how American cows were still being fed cows - one of the main ways BSE circulates in the cattle population.

The article also points out that the way cattle are slaughtered contributes to the risk. My understanding is that the nasty little BSE prions seem to concentrate in connective tissue and brain and spinal cord. Some types of bolt killing (firing a bolt into the brain of the animal) can spread the brain tissue around the body as the cow is dying.

And that might not be so bad if American slaughter houses operated in a safe way. Remember that book Fast Food Nation? If you haven't read it, I highly recommend it. Publicised as an attack on McDonald's and other fast food chains, what really struck me were the chapters on slaughtering and packing practices. It was The Jungle all over again. I learned that McDonald's keeps a close eye on its supply chain, so while its burgers may not be especially tasty, they're probably safer than the ones you cook at home from ground beef you buy in US grocery stores.

Fast Food Nation catalogued a range of grisly practices (and that was just dealing with the human workers) and food supply contamination with chemicals and fecal matter. And of course, the Bush administration is a greater friend to organised industry (e.g. Cattlemen) than he is to the consumer. The USDA has been effectively hobbled through a range of cuts and reduction of its statutory powers.

BSE cost the British cattle industry and the taxpayer a fortune. But it was taken seriously, and slaughterhouse (or abattoir in Brit-speak) and cattle feed regulations seem to have tightened up so hard that beef is a reasonably safe choice and the industry has largely recovered.

Tags: BSE, Beef, United States, USDA, Disease, mad cow, Cattle.

My path to outlawry

...lies through the garden.

Thames Water - my water company - is issuing a hose pipe ban from the 3rd of April. That means no watering of gardens with a hose or sprinkler.

I've blogged about this before. As a keen gardener, I'm not about to let Thames Water's mismanagement of the water infrastructure (1/3 of the water supply leaks from their own pipes) keep me from having a beautiful garden.

I've taken steps to keep legal. I bought a water butt recently (which hasn't yet arrived) and I've been adding organic material to the soil which greatly helps with water retention. I'm a careful waterer anyway, but not being able to use a sprinkler will be a serious inconvenience for me. It's not like I'm watering a lawn - I don't have one.

Thames water in their FAQ - encourages neighbours to nark (or in Brit-talk grass) on each other

My neighbour has his hosepipe running all night. What is Thames Water going to do to stop this waste of water?

All violations of water use restrictions will be taken seriously. If you wish to make a formal complaint, we would be grateful if you could let us have a written statement.

Will you prosecute me if I still use my hosepipe or sprinkler?

All violations of water use restrictions will be taken seriously and this could include a £1000 fine.

- so if I defy the ban, I'm going to have to be sneaky.

Meanwhile, golf courses are still allowed to water their courses and the pipes are still leaking.

Best in show

I've just managed to catch the last few minutes of Crufts - the big British international dog show.

Two things strike me. First of all the dog show had days of live (though not unbroken) coverage on a national network. Almost as much as the recent comprehensive winter Olympics coverage. The British love to televise their festivalls. There's even daily coverage of the Chelsea flower show. As a keen gardener who despises the seething crowds of Chelsea, I appreciate watching a few minutes on tv.

The second thing that struck me was the ending of the six month pet quarantine in favor of the pet passport scheme has its downside. Once a British domain, Crufts is now open to all comers. An American dog just won Crufts for the second year in a row.

Go USA! Let's all give a paw to a California based Australian shepherd called Chance. Beautiful dog.
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Tasteful sendoff

I visit a local cemetary reasonably often. It's a quiet place to take a walk and an open, green break from the constant, sometimes oppressive, presence of buildings in the sprawl of London.

But walking in cemetaries does bring thoughts of death and dying to mind. Most recently, I was reminded of my grandfather's funeral. He was 83 when he died - not bad, you might say. He was taken by prostate cancer - a very treatable illness - but it wasn't discovered until it was very late stage, and he comes from a family where men have tended to live until their late 90s even, so our family was left with a sense that if his death wasn't exactly tragic in the grand scheme of things, we were robbed of maybe a good decade of having him around.

My mother and aunt and his two eldest grandchildren (my cousin and I), went off to the funeral home together to make the final arrangements. I'm afraid we got a bit silly. We laughed and cracked jokes - much to the chagrin of the funeral home manager. He seemed to think that it was his job to stay professional and I suppose he worried that if he did laugh we might take offense. He didn't laugh and he didn't laugh. Our cracks just got funnier - and finally he relented. "I knew B___ pretty well, and I knew he had a good sense of humor, dry it was. So I don't suppose he would mind if I laughed," he told us. No, I don't suppose he would have, though my grandfather would have disapproved of us putting a fellow trying to do his job in a difficult position. But the funeral home guy had his own stock of jokes that he'd clearly felt unable to tell grieving families til we came along. We laughed even harder.

The funeral home guy told us what kind of things people were buried with. One guy asked for a pack of Marlboros to be tucked into his sock and a bottle of Jack wedged between his ankles. I said I wanted that, too. But the funeral home guy pointed out that the way coffins were built, the booze and smokes would be impossible to reach and mimicked trying to reach them over a coffin lid screwed down at chest height. He also said "You know that saying - you can't take it with you? Well, now you can," and slammed shut a locking, concealed drawer in the lid of a coffin.

Of course when it came to our own tastes we had to sort of laugh up our sleeves. People whose tastes you think you know pretty well may have surprising taste in coffins. It's just not something that's often discussed until you're at that difficult moment. And it's too late at that point to say "I can't believe you'd send him off in that!"

The funeral home guy was very interested though in my tale of floral tributes in the UK. They were like nothing he'd ever heard of. Sometimes they spell out names or relationships - MUM, BROTHER, WIFE in chrysanthemums and carnations. They come in all shapes and sizes, and usually commemorate something the deceased enjoyed in life, like liquor or bingo. I like to think that the people who commissioned them have a bit of a sense of whimsy, which I can appreciate. Sometimes, even in the saddest moments it can be good to look at the lighter side.

I've taken a few photos of interesting ones I've seen:


One for the road


What's a four letter word beginning with D?


It's all fun and games til somebody dies


Good hand, shame you folded early.

And then there are the occupational ones... including this one - I presume belonged to a painter:



And in my Flickr account there's even more...

Mad Churchill?

A statue of Winston Churchill in a straitjacket has gone on display in Norwich, UK. How insulting. The lifesized fibreglass sculpture depicts Churchill standing and strapped up.

The piece was commissioned by a mental health charity called Rethink. Rethink says the point is to destigmatise mental illness. An admirable goal, but they've gone about it the wrong way. To me it says, people who suffer from depression need to be constrained, they're dangerous, to themselves and others.

Winston Churchill rather famously suffered from depression, which he called his 'black dog'. Clearly, as one of the greatest political figures of the 20th century, Churchill managed to struggle through his mental illness, however painful that was. That's admirable and inspirational and worthy of being commemorated in art and public memory. But not like this.

The Sun reports that his family are not best pleased. As someone who both admires Churchill and has struggled with depression, I'm not either.

Not only that, but it doesn't even look like him. It does however look like a mad bloke who does need locking up.







Churchill picture from a favorable news article of Norfolk based website.

Tags: churchill, mental illness, depression

Dang

Oh, well.

I'm pleased they've done as well as they have though.

...and in the week of blogging against sexism here's some other Vols news.

Regardless, as ever - Go Vols.

light

Today I'm torn between taking a vacation day (I must take 5 in the next three weeks or they're gone) and working. I must be insane. I think I'm going to work - more drafting. I hope these damn publications bring me fame and fortune.

In the mean time... I leave you with a picture that I'm particularly pleased with.

Choice or consequences

There's an interesting post by HM2 Viking at Left in the Heartland about the very recent case of a British woman, Natalie Evans who was not allowed to implant embryos because the father, Howard Johnston, refused permission.

Mr Viking seems to think that it should be part of her right to choose. I disagree. The essence of the choice argument to me is that it's my body, my choice. Those embryos exist outside of her body now and are only half hers - and it seems reasonable that both parties should agree that any implantation go forward. And certainly under the current laws and regulation - which requires consent from both parties at every stage - there is no other ruling that could have been reached.

I feel very sorry for Natalie Evans, she had to have her ovaries removed to prevent cancer and at the time (and perhaps still now) technology for freezing eggs on their own wasn't good. Now these frozen embryos represent her only chance to have her own biological children.

At the time, she was in a relationship and it seemed only natural that she would want the biological children of her partner. Unfortunately the relationship broke down and now Howard Johnston, the ex-boyfriend doesn't want to have a new life created with Ms Evans. It's not ok to say that he should be allowed to terminate his parental rights and she should be able to go ahead. Perhaps he's a sensitive chap and couldn't go on knowing that he had a child and not be involved with the child - not at least wonder how the kid was doing.

The answer, in retrospect, was to fertilise some of her eggs with donated sperm. The answer was also to have better counselling during the fertility treatment - forcing the couple to think ahead about what might happen if the relationship did not persist. This is a sad, sad case and not the only one (there was a similar case in Maryville, TN many years ago with the same results). I can certainly understand her frustration and anguish, but I'm not sure I could support any other outcome.

Blogging against sexism

Apparently it's International Women's Day - and as an international woman, I thank you all from the bottom of my heart. I expect that the cards and gifts were simply delayed in the post.

We're also supposed to be blogging against sexism today. Well, I'm agin' it, you bet I am. Mel of Mel's Diner has an interesting post on check-paying and gender stereotyping. We all have our pet peeves, I've been annoyed by the same thing, too, though probably not enough to think of blogging about it. Also, I'm cheap, cheap, cheap - so glad to let whoever I'm eating or drinking with pick up the tab. (It's terrible, I know!)

I'll tell you what really bugs me - the kind of sexism that both men and women display about the opposite gender and each other. It's the thoughtless sentences that begin "All men..." or "All women..." even when they're positive statements. Men are in control of their emotions. Women are in touch with their feelings. Men are excellent parallel parkers. Women are good with people. I'm not a bad parallel parker, and I'm afraid I'm neither in touch with nor in control of my feelings. I'm not that great with people, either. Maybe things would go better if I picked up the check.

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Now, blogging under a non-gender specific pseudonym, has given me a very interesting perspective. Most people tend to assume that I'm male - it's happened time and time again when I get linked. The Vol Abroad, he this and that. (Check out the comments section in this TV on the Fritz post) I don't mind in some ways and I don't find it that surprising.

On those brain sex tests I come out thinking "more male" or certainly not stereotypically female. I always knew I thought slightly differently from the other little girls and was sometimes more comfortable in male company. At any rate, I usually don't match up with the "All women..." statements, but sometimes I do. I vacillated between thinking that all the other girls had been oppressed by society and if they were free of these contstrictions that they'd think like me or on the other hand, that I'm a freak. Now I don't worry so much, I am what I am and what I am needs no excuses. (Well except for the part about being cheap)

-0-

There's lots more serious, global issue type stuff I could have said about sexism, but I'm sure others say it so much better. Check out Tennessee Guerilla Women, Anglofille, Thoughts of an Average Woman to name a few of the ones I read regularly.

old acquaintances

I note that Clint Brewer has been named editor of The Nashville City Paper, commented on by Bob Krumm and by Bruce Barry at Pith in the Wind.

Seeing his name is a bit of a blast from the past. I met him at Governor's School in 1987, where I once played a mean (and stupid) trick on him. We were then at college together, too, but didn't hang out. The last time I saw him, I gave him an earful over a story I disapproved of when he was editor of the UT student newspaper, The Daily Beacon. It was in a bar in Knoxville's Old City, and I'm afraid I was very, very drunk.

The City Paper is growing and changing,” TCP Interim Publisher Jim Ezzell said. “We will continue to make our paper better every day, and Clint is just the person to lead us into the future.”

I hate to say it, but when I think of him, I still think of 17-year-old Clint, apoplectic over my prank. It's hard enough to think that I'm supposed to be a responsible adult without imagining old acquaintances having matured, too, and even leading people into the future. Or maybe I should just grow up.

Anyway, congratulations Clint!

The fascinating case of the feline four

This morning I found a corpse, battered and bloody, in my back garden. He had been so abused that I had difficulty recognising him as Blaze, our goldfish with the white streak down his nose. I recognised him only by his absence from the pond. Larry, Darrell, Darell, and Darell and Smokey were all still hale and hearty.

Who could have committed such perfidy? There are four suspects.

Suspect 1
Other Cat likes the pond and has been seen lurking on the rim. But she's too slow and stupid and her greatest crime is chewing on the leaves of the pond marginals. I feel safe in dismissing her as a suspect.


Other Cat lurking and nibbling mere days before the crime.

Suspect 2
Lion Cat, a neighbour kitty, has been seen murderously hunching over the pool and has been implicated in the death of our ghost koi Caspar or Weinberger (they were indistinguishable). Call it intuition, but I don't think it was him this time. This suspect has evaded having his image captured, but my eyewitness description is of a large orange stripey tom. As you can see from the photo fit, he's a bad sort, and has been engaged in a harassment campaign against our two cats, Fancy and Other Cat.


Suspect photofit of Lion Cat

Suspect 3
Another possibility is Lion Cat's "brother" and feline co-conspirator in the harassment campaign - Home Invader Kitty. I saw him returning to the scene of the crime this morning. Home Invader Kitty is a thug of the worst sort. He is so aliased because he not infrequently breaks into our home, eats our rather expensive hypo-allergenic cat food and then sprays in the corner of our living room.


Blurry CCTV-like image of Home Invader Kitty

Suspect 4
Finally, there is Fancy. She wants those fish, she wants 'em bad. She's not afraid to enter the pond in pursuit and has frequently been seen with four dripping wet legs and leaving her filthy paw prints on our hardwood floor. However, she has lacked finesse, thrashing impatiently in the pond giving the fish ample opportunity to escape. To date, she's managed no more than oxygenating pond weed, which she's scattered across the garden. So have her skills improved to the point where her killer instinct is satisfied by her ability?


Surely this precious creature could not have committed such a crime?

Tips from the public gratefully received through our garden crime email hotline.

UPDATE: Now linked at this weeks Carnival of the Cats so tips should come flooding in.

Outflanked

...or it's bad when the neighbor kid wishes your mom the usual anniversary sentiments on her blog before you do, even though I've got the advantage of 6 time zones.

Genderist at Haiku of the Id, posted a special birthday message to VolMom including an amusing anecdote about VolBro.

Today is my mom's birthday. In fact March the 7th is a big birthday day for us. It's VolMom's birthday, two cousins also share this birthday, and it's the birthday of Other Cat. - VolMom predicted the kittens would be born on her birthday and they were. Other Cat is 6 today, my mom is somewhat older.

Happy Birthday, VolMom!


Happy Birthday, Other Cat

The blackleg lecturer

All the university lecturers are on strike today all over the UK over pay. No teaching or paper marking or seeing students.

The Vol-in-Law has decided to cross the picket line (though only virtually, he's working from home). His university assumed that all the teaching staff would be on strike today, and if he wanted to be paid he had to submit a special form saying he wasn't striking. A special scab form. Nice.

So, after the traditional song Blackleg Miner* and in honor of the Vol-in-Law's courage and indefatigability in bringing learning to the fresh, young minds yearning for knowledge:

It's in the evening after dark
When the blackleg lecturer creeps to work
With his crumpled suit and dirty shirt
There goes the blackleg lecturer

He takes his chalk and down he goes
To shape the minds that lie below
But there's not a student in this town row
Would look at a blackleg lecturer

Oh, University is a terrible place
They rub wet clay in the blackleg's face
Around the classrooms they run a foot race
To catch the blackleg lecturer

Dinna gan near the office mine
Across the way they stretch a line
To catch the throat and break the spine
Of the dirty backleg lecturer

So take your notes and pen as well
And hoy them down the pit of hell
Down ye go and fare ye well
You dirty blackleg lecturer

Join the union while ye may
Don't wait until your dying day
For that may not be far away
You dirty blackleg lecturer

_______

*I've a very nice version of this song by Steeleye Span.

Lame blogging excuses

I've been writing, writing, writing for work - which means I have little extra joy in the written word these days. I feel like I'm constantly juggling drafts. One goes out to design and the next comes back with comments. So if the blog seems a little thin these days, without its usual verve, that's why. Plus I think I might be getting carpal tunnel syndrome from all that typing. The top joint of my right index finger is distinctly achy.

I've also discovered today that I miscalculated my annual leave, my vacation days. I have 5 days I need to take between now and the end of March - which is impossible because I have drafts to juggle. And they have to published and paid for by the end of March, too.

Shredder saga

I hired the shredder yesterday and spent a large chunk of the day shredding (as you might have guessed).

The shredder I got has a finicky appetite. It likes sticks, long straight sticks, not too dry (they break off and sort of "float" in the hopper), and not too wet (it gums up). It doesn't like leaves or any soft, fleshy stems.

Other than bags of leaves and soft, fleshy stems, most of what I had to shred were dry vines from where my neighbour killed the Virginia Creeper and Ivy growing on the shared fence. It was a heck of a job feeding in those curvy, slightly chewy vine segments.

To convince the shredder to eat the vines, sometimes I had to give it a treat of a long straight stick. Though I was a bit of tease. "Here you go shredder, here's a stick - eat it with those vines." And the shredder would start eating the vines "grumm, grumm, grumm, grumm" it would say and bite at the end of the stick. Ha! Fooled ya, I'd yank the stick back out of the hopper. Sometimes though the shredder would get a good bite on the stick - and that would be it, down went the stick. I lost a few bamboo support canes this way.

Insomniac fun

When I can't sleep, I play with numbers. Sometimes I pick a random number - say 351 and then count backwards by sevens. Other times, I hunt for primes. Lately, I've been trying to figure out how to apply a divison rule to multiples of seven. For example, you can always tell if a number is divisible by 9 if you add all the digits together and they equal 9. Take 45, 4+5 = 9, so 45 is divisible by 9.

I couldn't discern any pattern by adding digits together, but it usually got me to sleep eventually.

I should have just Googled it. I was never going to find the division rule of 7 the way I was going. I happened to stumble across it when I was looking for something else.

Here it is:

To find out if a number is divisible by seven, take the last digit, double it,
and subtract it from the rest of the number. Example: If you had 203, you would
double the last digit to get six, and subtract that from 20 to get 14. If you
get an answer divisible by 7 (including zero), then the original number is
divisible by seven. If you don't know the new number's divisibility, you can
apply the rule again.

You can find that rule and a whole lot more at the math forum.

Happy Independence Day

Well, Happy Independence Day to all you Texans. I'll be raising a bottle of Lone Star Lite myself in honor of all those the volunteering Tennesseans who helped out.


Davy Crockett memorial, Lawrenceburg, TN Public Square

Fair description in advertising

Yesterday, I advertised my brother in a "personals" post. Today, I must make some qualifications, for apparently I did not make an accurate description of the goods on offer.

1. "Reasonably good looking"

All witnesses agree that this is an understatement, and one of them is impartial and knows him well. As a sister it's a tough one to assess your brother's looks. I just wanted any applicants to be pleasantly surprised.

2. "All his teeth are his own."

Ooops. VolBro got in touch yesterday to say "most of my teeth are my own. I had to get one replaced after defending Smokey's* honor in Athens, GA."

So gals, you can see that he has most of his teeth, and that any dental deficiency is not due to poor hygiene but from a deeply held sense of Volunteer pride. Make what you will of that.

______
* For those who don't know what this means, Smokey is a fine hound and the mascot of the University of Tennessee. One of our keenest rivals in college football is the University of Georgia - who also have dog as a mascot - but he's ugly.

Tags: 26-35, 18-25, Love, Relationships, 46, Marriage, Dating,Knoxville,Tennessee, vols, Tennessee Volunteers

Woman seeking woman for brother

When I was home over Christmas, VolMom oft lamented VolBro's single status. She said "I think what he needs is to find a good woman and settle down."

Today is VolBro's birthday, and though he is still a young 28, by Lawrence County standards that's long in the tooth. We hitch young, and many of his Law-Co-Hi classmates will be on their second or third marriage by now.

VolMom's birthday is in less than a week so in a birthday present to them both I have decided to advertise my brother on this blog in search of a "good woman". This is thoughtful on more than one account (well done me!), as the women in our family can be fierce and VolBro has always been a little concerned that we might have friction with a prospective bride. If I select and vet, we should avoid this problem.

Prospective candidates:

• You should ideally be located in the Knoxville area, it's best if you're local to keep an eye on him.
• We're looking for a smart gal, ideally IQ 130 or above - with an emphasis on wit.
• He favors petite brunettes, but that's not a deal breaker.
• You should be skilled and employed.
• You don't have to like SEC football, but if you do, things will go better if you like the Vols. Don't expect to be able to hang your autographed Bear Bryant portrait in the marital home.
• You should be a good Southern cook, but not better than me.
• You should have eclectic musical tastes, including country, bluegrass and Southern rock.
• VolBro will see it as a bonus if you own or have access to a bass boat.

What's on offer:

• VolBro is kind of a diamond in the rough - a good woman could really shape that potential.
• He's reasonably good looking and all his teeth are his own. (Important qualifier here)
  
• He is funny. He has that classic Tennessee boy dry wit.
• He is smart, intellectually curious and likes to travel.
• He has an even temper and hardly ever raises his voice.
• He's reasonably neat and is a good, but not flash, dresser.
• He has an encyclopaedic knowledge of bourbons.
• He is an excellent card player.
• He makes the best damn BBQ ribs.
• He is frugal with money (OK, he's cheap)
• He's a fun guy to be around.
• Although he's not terribly handy around the house, he has lots of friends who are.
• You'd get me as a sister-in-law.

You can find my email address in the blogger profile, photos of VolBro can be supplied to serious applicants.

Update: There's a testimonial to his looks in the comments. He has dark brown hair and eyes, and isn't untall.

----

Happy Birthday VolBro!

Tags: 26-35, 18-25, Love, Relationships, 46, Marriage, Dating,
Knoxville,
Tennessee,

Treat me like a queen

In a post not authorised by me, the Vol-in-Law expresses some question over the Lawrence Summers - head of Harvard - resignation after his dubious remarks about women in the sciences.

Then he gets into it in the comments section with one of the regular readers. One point that caught my eye was the use of the terminology queen and king - and whether one is of lower value than another.

Now this reminded me of the time that I worked in an office in God's own stadium with two female (engineers both) co-workers. They were bemoaning the fact that the Promise Keepers were coming to town and having a rally in that very stadium.

I hadn't really paid that much attention to the Promise Keepers, so I wasn't entirely sure what their objection was. One of their principal objections was the attitude toward women in general and their wives in particular.

"They tell them to treat women like queens!" my co-workers said.
"What's wrong with that?" I said.
They stared at me aghast. I press.
"You know, putting women on a pedestal, the little woman, treat her like a queen."
"Oh..." I said, finally getting it. "That kind of queen, I was thinking like Elizabeth I, put-him-in-the-Tower, Spanish-Armada-defeating kind of queen."

_____

Interestingly on the Promise Keeper website, it's all men, men, men...til you get to the volunteering section, the hard slog of promise keeping, and there are only pictures of women.

Have to dash...must start cooking dinner for the Vol-in-Law.

Dashed hopes, shredded dreams

Bad news from the garden front - after a week of anticipation, and I'm afraid to admit that I was really, really excited, about the new garden shredder, I finally had time to assemble it on Saturday. It wasn't raining, so I was really looking forward to a full day of shredding and chipping.

I put it together - carefully following the instructions - only to discover the dang thing just won't turn on - switch is busted or something. We had to take it back to the store. The Vol-in-Law accompanied me because he knew I was too fragile from the crushing disappointment to go alone. All the other models were too expensive or too big or both. The equipment hire store was out, but I've booked a rent-a-shredder for this Saturday.

But it's not all gloom - I have some blooms

Purple crocus - I love the orange.


An orange primrose - cultivar "Marietta".

ViL: This post not approved by Vol Abroad

Anglofille writes:

"Lawrence Summers has resigned as the president of Harvard, my former workplace. (Hi Harvard friends!) Summers, a boorish, sexist jerk, resigned under intense pressure from the faculty. Gee, it must be open season on arrogant men in positions of power. ’Bout time."

Maybe I'm missing something, but what did Summers do that merited his resignation? I read that he raised the issue of why there were less women than men at the top of certain academic professions, opined that discrimination against women might not be the main reason, and gave some alternative explanations. Is that really it?

-ViL, who gets paid less than the Vol...

Drought measures

England, this green and pleasant land, this damp and soggy isle, faces a water shortage.

It's still February and already we're warned that we may all be collecting our water from standpipes in the street this summer. And the first casualties will be our gardens.

Whenever there's a threat of water shortage the Environment Agency and the water companies issue hose pipe bans. That means you cannot use a hose to water your garden.

Now I love my garden and I have a tendency to overplant, making use of every available inch in my tiny postage stamp sized London garden. This means that most weeks during the summer I have to do some supplementary watering. But I am careful about the way I water - early morning or late evening and I use soaker hoses and I don't even have a lawn. Not only that, but I am generally thrifty in my water usage (not running the tap when brushing my teeth, washing dishes, etc) so I feel my overall low water usage means that I have extra gallons in my moral water account. Not only that, but part of the reason we're facing a water shortage is that the water companies themselves lose most of the water through leaks in the system. Why should I suffer lack of floral abundance due to their carelessness and failure to maintain and invest?

However, I'm taking precautions and I'm investing in a water butt to collect the rainwater from my roof. I've been adding my homemade compost to the soil which will increase the water retention and I also plan to mulch heavily.

But push come to shove, I plan to engage in a little civil disobedience this summer. No one comes between me and my garden.
--------------------------
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Mayor of London suspended

I had a little stop gap post on Ken Livingstone's suspension from his job as Mayor of London - which was basically a gloating poke at an adjudication panel's ruling that Ken Livingstone should be suspended from his job for a month. So I'm now republishing with a bit more detail.

What did Ken do to deserve this suspension? Basically he called someone a name. He compared a Jewish reporter to a Nazi concentration camp guard - and then did it again after the reporter said that he was Jewish and found it offensive.

What was the reporter doing? His job. Maybe the reporter Oliver Finegold was being a little pesky (who knows?), but that's what reporters do. He asked a public servant and a public figure a question on a public matter in a public place. You can hear the recording for yourself at the Evening Standard.

First Ken denied making those statements, but Mr Finegold being a reporter had a tape running. Then Ken claimed Mr Finegold was being rude, but from the tape, that doesn't appear to be the case.

What would a grown-up mayor have done? He would have apologised. He would have apologised to the reporter and to the people of London, and it would have been over. Instead he called the Daily Mail group (for which the Evening Standard reporter works) a bunch of Nazi sympathisers - who Ken grants have now turned from hating Jews to hating Muslims and asylum seekers.

Then Ken's co-workers (the Greater London Assembly - our big council) said "Ken, be a big boy and say you're sorry." But Ken refused to apologise. He didn't even apologise for any offense he might have caused (that old get-out) but did say it wasn't his intention to offend the Jewish community of London.

Now could his remarks have been construed as unacceptably anti-semitic? Maybe. (I sure wouldn't like to be compared to a Nazi concentration camp guard and as a Londoner I was offended by his remarks and I'm not Jewish.) Though when you compare what he said to Ken's cosy relationship with nasty, anti-semitic, homophobe, mysogynist Egyptian cleric al Qaradawi, his remarks hardly even seem noteworthy in the anti-semite stakes.

Ken you brought this on yourself, you stupid mf.

On the other hand, who the heck are these people on this Panel of Adjudication who can remove the properly elected Mayor after a meeting of a few hours? Ken says it undermines democratic principles and is an insult to the people of London. On that, Ken, you and I are in agreement.

Ken you've wasted taxpayer money again because of your stupid arrogance. I can't help but gloat at your misfortune, you stupid, reactionary, anti-American ass. But I'm sickened that London is shamed first by having a loud mouth mayor and then by having him removed.

But as this post from Harry's Place says:

That said, the only way to counter left-racism and the "Galloway-lite" religious communalist politics which Ken Livingstone, and his Socialist Action chums have been pioneering, is for us to organise, politically, against it.

An administrative or quasi judicial 'solution' is not only a mirage: it is also an affront to democracy.

holocaust denial

David Irving, the British "historian" and holocaust denier is an idiot. He is his own worst enemy. His most severe legal troubles stem from his own stupidity.

To wit:

1. His biggest legal problems in the UK were when he took American academic Deborah Lipstadt to court for libel, when she called him a holocaust denier. In court, it was proven that he was a holocaust denier, and he lost.

2. Austria banned him from the country. He knew that there was essentially a national restraining order in place, and knew there was a warrant for his arrest stemming from a previous holocaust denial incident within Austria. He went anyway and got thrown in the poky.

In each case, he's been the author of his own downfall (as well as the author of some very dubious stuff he calls "real history").

Still, I don't think he should be in jail for holocaust denial. He was sentenced to three years in prison, and Austrian prosecutors are appealing against the sentence saying he should be chucked in for the maximum ten. This despite the fact that he plead guilty, recanted on the denial, and apologised for hurt and affront. (Though to be fair, I don't put much weight on his mea culpa)

Now, I think people who publicly deny the facts of the holocaust should be lampooned and discredited or perhaps just denied the oxygen of publicity.. I don't think they should be thrown in jail - made a martyr to their stupid cause. I don't think that people should be thrown in jail for what they write and say...(mostly, there is the issue of child porn and direct incitement to violence).

Most commentators in the UK are sort of defending his "right to be wrong", but I don't think many on the Left or Right are shedding too many tears. I have to admit I'm not either, I find him abhorrent.

But in the wake of the Danish Mohammed cartoons, I find his incarceration for three years disturbing. Very disturbing. There's been an escalation of penalties for offending others - and as one person is punished for offending an orthodoxy or breaking a taboo, so all the other orthodoxies clamor for their own protection under the law. It's a dangerous climate for free-thinkers as well as vile campaigners.

_____

The other night, the Vol-in-Law took me to a lecture on multi-culturalism and the law (he sure knows how to show a gal a good time) by Professor Ralph Grillo an anthropologist. He took us through the Bezhti affair (a play found offensive by some Sikhs who smashed in the Birmingham rep) and covered the Danish cartoons as well.

He seemed to be coming from the premise that we really oughtn't to be offending anyone...and that free speech was a good thing generally, but it was better not to offend. He was speaking in a law lecture series, but no one could quite pin him down to what he thought the law ought to be. At one point he was pressed...who has the right not to be offended, religious adherents? (yes), members of ethnic minorities? (yes), various nationalities? (yes). He never answered the question of why religion (a system of belief, i.e. thought) deserved any gentler treatment than any other system of thought or belief (utilitarianism, liberalism, conservatism, Darwinism) that all have to take their knocks.

I'd rather think that we all have the positive right to be offended. Yes, you can say what you like, but I have the right to object, to argue back and to feel aggrieved. As I said above, when we start going down the road of protecting the precious sensitivities, everyone wants their sensitivity protected, too, until finally we're paralysed by it and can't speak out when things are really wrong.

Tags: Free Speech, Austria, Holocaust, irving, holocaust denial

Classy

You know you're classy when you decorate with SunDrop memorabilia...



Other cat looks like she's full to the eyes of the golden drop herself.

Dumb laws

In a report by the Center for Reproductive Rights called What if Roe Fell?, Tennessee is highlighted as a "green" state - that is one of the states likely to protect abortion rights if there were a reversal of the Roe v Wade Decision.

Is Tennessee still the greenest state in the land of the free?

Well, it won't be if Tennessee House Bill 3199 (link to a PDF) goes through. This is a law which requires a woman notify the impregnating male of her intention to get an abortion.

There's a get-out clause for rape, but only if it's been reported to the police.

This isn't just telling a man you're married to (not that I approve of spousal notification, if you're not telling your husband of your intention to have an abortion, I suspect there's a pretty good reason - after all, wife battering often picks up during pregnancy). This isn't just telling someone you're in a relationship with, this is trying to find and tell any possible roll-in-the-hay-lay you might have had.

Can't find him? Don't know who he is? That's ok, sugar, you just march yourself down to the local department of children's services and file a notice with them with the name of the putative father (Rachel of Women's Health News has more on the possible delaying implications of this provision).

I have to wonder what that's going to be like - are county children's services geared up for this kind of thing. No doubt lawmakers imagine a waiting room full of rosy-cheeked cherubs lovingly held in the arms of their hard-pressed, but feisty moms swaying the resolve of the abortion-seeker (my guess is these guys probably haven't had to wait in such a lobby ever). Or maybe they just want to pile on the humiliation.

_____

When I first read about this here, here and here, yesterday, I have to say I was really in a state of disbelief - surely Mr. TV on the Fritz, who first spotted it, had fallen for some kind of hoax. No sensible lawmaker would propose such a bill. But I found it on the state legislature site (where you can track progress of this bill) and then I remembered that we were talking about the state house...not a place 100% populated by sensible lawmakers.

Aunt B of Tiny Cat Pants says:

Yes, apparently Tennessee sperm is so powerful that it can penetrate doctor-patient privilege and render privacy rights non-existent. So powerful that its mere presence at one time in a woman's reproductive system obliges that woman to report in to that man about her medical activities.

Rachel of Women's Health News says:

You can find names and email addresses of TN Senate members here and House members here.

And since this Bill is next on its way to the Judiciary Committee, then you might want to have a word with them, too.


Technorati Tags: abortion; legislation; reproductive rights; Tennessee

Ain't nobody here...

...but us chickens.



Well, they found some bird 'flu in France, in fact they're now on "bird flu war footing" (hmm...France, war footing? - are we about to see new lows in surrendering?) That's just a short flight across the channel. It's bound to show up here.

I know I should be worried about this, but I can't seem to summon up the fear. I shared a taxi with a guy not long ago who thought me foolish for my lack of concern. He knew a disturbing amount about the avian influenza, the Spanish 'flu of nearly a century ago, and previous 'flu epidemics. He talked about our chances here in London, the stock of vaccines and anti-viral treatments. The UK government doesn't have enough, the NHS won't be able to handle it...he said. I have no doubt that this is true. As he reeled off death tolls and infection rates (he knew the numbers), I did my best not to snicker.

If some nasty virulent 'flu - like the H5N1 virus - decides to jump from human to human I know it will be bad, I just kind of accept that. In London, I know I'm a sitting duck. London already makes me sick. It makes everyone sick. You're sharing enclosed spaces with all kinds of sniffling, coughing, wheezing fellow commuters. You touch a handrail as you begin your commute and there's no way to wash your hands for nearly an hour. By the time I've accepted that I've got to look like a paranoid plonker on my daily commute, with gloves and a mask it will be too late.

For those who either want to scare themselves senseless or prepare and take appropriate measures - check out this site: avianinfluenza.org

What's in bloom?

I love spring bulbs and flowers...I love the anticipation and the unfolding...

What's in bloom this week? Not a heck of a lot. My garden seems very slow to take off this year, nary a daffodil.

On the upside, this means that bulbs will have a more intense, showier season.

But here's what's in bloom from this week:


Hellebore - I think this is an ericsmithii, that I bought for cheap one time. Wouldn't it be cool to have a flower named after you?


Maybe this one should be called crocus volabroadii

Orange and white crocus

I also have a smattering of snowdrops in bloom.


My mother-in-law and I dug these up last year just after Easter from the abandoned homestead across the road from her house in Aberdeenshire. We packed them in moss and I carried them in a backpack down to London and put them out despite a raging cold. At her house they don't bloom until late March, but they are lush and thick. This year in my garden, they're a little straggly, but I'm pleased they've done as well as they have.

Deal me in

Me and Vegas didn't gel. I didn't really care for that town, and the closest I came to really enjoying it was when we went downtown.

I do like a flutter (Britspeak for small stakes wagering), but I came to the realisation that I'm more of a Mississippi gambler. So, I was quite excited when I heard that there's to be casino gambling in Cherokee, North Carolina, just over the mountains from Knoxville.

But in this post from Knoxdot -News for Hicks (a new one to me - HT Michael Silence), the casino sounds like it's just slots - and maybe video black jack (which I like):

With a casino just over the hill, wouldn't it be nice to have some live card games? Harrah's Casino and Hotel in Cherokee, NC, is a slot players paradise. However, state law in NC prohibits cards from being dealt (As far as I know).

So, if NC changed the law to allow the casino to have a poker room and blackjack tables, do you think you would be more inclined to go over the mountain to gamble?

But what really interested me was a suggestion in the comments that full casino gambling be brought to Gatlinburg. At first, I thought, yeah - that would be awesome. But on reflection, I can see problems - damaging the character of the Smokies. Next thing you know, Pigeon Forge would be all casinos, pushing out the more traditional diversions like miniature golf with giant dinosaurs and alligators.

Power tools

The Vol-in-Law is now in a position of leadership on our street - he's involved with the neighborhood watch (distributing leaflets, point of contact with the cops and so on).

And because we now feel we must be more upstanding members of the local community, it's time for us to trim our hedge. It is, frankly, a bit of an eye sore and a little crime magnet in and of itself. Not once, but twice, stolen items have been dumped behind our all-concealing front-hedge. The most recent incident involved a schoolboy's, the previous a preacher's briefcase.

We have a pair of old-fashioned shears, but the frequency of my pruning has been so poor that I now can't manage the hedge with the old loppers. I've been after the Vol-in-Law to let me buy a hedge trimmer (much like a chainsaw, only far less useful for home defense) for some time, but we have a rule that both of us have to agree on the purchase of expensive or bulky items. Anyway, with the new pressures of command and the eyes of the neighbours beady upon us, the Vol-in-Law finally consented to the electric hedge-trimmer.

I go off on my own to the hardware store and I select my hedge trimmer (mid-range, nothing too flash, nothing too cheap) and I spot something I've always, always wanted - a chipper-shredder, on sale no less. With that, I can chip and shred, and make much better compost. Well, the Vol-in-Law and I have this agreement thing - and the shredder is both expensive and bulky, so I phone him up and ask "Can I buy this shredder? It's on sale..." and believe it or not, he says yes, that he knows how I like my power tools.

I make my other selections; bedding plants, an axe and some lightbulbs and I proceed to checkout. Well, the guy at the checkout, - I can see that he's probably not your swooftest and I sort of let him not charge me for the lightbulbs and the ax (though how he missed the ax or the lightbulbs that I laid on the counter, I just don't know).

Well, you know that karma thing...

Checkout guy overcharges me for the shredder, fails to take off the clearance reduction and that's more money than the free ax and lightbulbs, so I complain, and it takes them twenty bloody minutes (I kid you not!) to refund me my money. But finally I get the money, I get the ax and I...

go home, and it starts to rain so I can't use either of my new toys.

street art

I've always been a big fan of "street art", random creative weirdness that you can just stumble across.

On my way back to work from a meeting yesterday, I took the path along the South Bank. Since I had brought my digital camera along, I walked out onto a jetty in an attempt to get a better shot of St Paul's and the River Thames. Instead what I saw was this...



Of course, I had to walk along to the next jetty...and I saw this:



As far as "street art" goes, I've seen better...but I have to admire the artist's use of duct tape.

The South Bank

The weather's been odd (though that's not unusual for London) When Vol K was visiting it was absolutely freezing and the sky was leaden. Not a glimpse of sun. I was coming down with SAD. It's warmed up again, but it's scattered showers and only a rare hint of blue skies - but at least we have the rare hints.

Yesterday, I happened to catch the rare moment of sunshine as I walked along the South Bank. I could have taken a taxi back to work, but decided to walk (turns out it was a bit further than a thought).

I thought I'd share some photos from the South Bank, both from the dreary weather days when Vol K was here and from yesterday.


On the London Eye


view of Parliament from the London Eye


across the Thames and view of St Paul's


The bridge to nowhere near Blackfriars Bridge and St Pauls


Blackfriars tube sign

Dispensing more advice

Well, I've finished a finalish draft of the book/pamphlet which will only increase my fame in my arcane, frankly a bit dull, professional field. This should mean I have a bit more time for my personal interests. I suppose this also means that I will be further professionally type cast, but I guess we all have our burdens to bear. Funny thing about being an expert - doesn't mean I can actually do what I tell other people to do so convincingly.

But I do so love to dispense advice. I was recently asked for my interpretation of Islamic law by a devout Muslim. Now, I'm hardly an Islamic scholar, but I did read Teach Yourself Islam once, I guess that's close enough. What was the quandry? Did taking a cough syrup containing alcohol constitute a breach of sharia?

Well, I could have said: "Sweetie, gosh, that's a big one. Now that you've taken that, you better hang up the head scarf. I don't think you're even a Muslim anymore. To help you transition into the life of the kafir, we'll hit the bars tonight and just as soon as the weather gets warm enough, I'll fire up the grill and introduce you to VolBro's tastiest-tenderest-ribs-in-the-world recipe*."

But instead, I paused and pretended to ponder (a great device for convincing people you know what you're talking about). "Well, it's medicinal. I think that's ok, as long as you're taking it for medicinal purposes. It's about intent."

Any more questions?

_______
* I use his recipe, but I can't reproduce his ribs exactly. I try to get him across the pond once a year just to make him cook those ribs.

No more Ms Nice Gal

I've been having lots of posting problems... so here's hoping this actually shows up.

So the UK Parliament voted overwhelmingly to ban smoking in public places last night. I have several contradictory reactions:

1. Good. I'm too old to still be smoking. And banning it in pubs will mean that the source of my greatest weakness will be removed. (Smoking while drinking).
2. Bad. My libertarian streak and my tobacco addicted core bristle.
3. Ha! For all you Brits who laughed at the NYC smoking ban and said it wouldn't, it couldn't happen here because the British weren't the cringing, nannying sort, what do you say now?
4. Stupid. Ok Labour Government you're just about to criminalise a whole class of people who are generally pretty law abiding. Once you take the first step into lawlessness, the rest becomes easy.

No doubt this law will alter my behavior, and even before it comes into affect.

I've always been uneasy with the British free-for-all, one big smoking zone, approach. I'd rather be segregated, sitting with my filthy friends, my nicotine brethren, than to be cheek by jowl with sneering, scowling non-smokers in restaurants. I would remove myself to have my post-prandial smoke elsewhere in crowded, mixed zone restaurants out of respect for others. Now, non-smokers, you've had your way, and I'll have mine. I shall light up without regard while I still can.

Mobile blogging

I had a great little post on Valentine's Day that I composed on my blackberry on the way home yesterday. It was a combination of pithy and sweet.

But...there seems to have been a delay in posting. I don't know if it's the fault of the mobile server or blogger - but anyway, the moment has passed.

No doubt sometime next week, the post will mysteriously show up just as it has mysteriously disappeared and make me look foolish and behind the times. I will backdate it and the balance of blogging history will be restored.

Be mine

The Vol-in-Law and I were channel surfing the other night and landed on one of those count down/ list format shows, you know 100 Trashiest Videos, Top 40 One Hit Wonders. This one was 100 Best Break Up songs.

We watched half of one video and then decided it had been so long since either of us had broken up/ experienced unrequited love that it just didn't appeal. Like a long ago toothache, you can remember being in pain, but you just can't feel it anymore.

Happy Valentine's Day, ViL, thanks to you I'm off the lonely, heartbreak songs.

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On my way home tonight, I've seen several couples all dolled up for Valentine's night, embracing in the street. Awwww. We couldn't get a dinner reservation now if we wanted one. I expect I'll come home, make a crack about not getting a Valentine's Day gift, then we'll eat some soup and watch Battlestar Galactica.

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Happy Valentine's Day everyone - to all my friends and family, readers near and far.

And a Happy Valentine's Birthday to two Nashvillians - Cousin D who's recovering from a c-section but has a lovely new baby and to Vol-K's old flame L.

(And apologies to everyone else this year whose birthdays I will forget or have already forgotten. If you wanted me to remember your birthday you should have had the good sense to be born on a memorable holiday).

UPDATE: The ViL came good by bringing some pink and white carnations.

written out

I haven't fallen off the face of the earth.

I've been doing a lot of writing for work... I have very little else to say.


Here's a weird picture from the current Turbine Hall exhibit at the Tate Modern that I took visiting Vol-K to see last weekend.



I'd like to say that it was more than piled up plastic boxes, that it spoke to something within me. But it was really just piled up plastic boxes in a big space.

The VA's travel advisory service

The Vol Abroad loves dispensing advice. Lack of relevant topical knowledge is no barrier.

...

A colleague is headed to Nashville for the Fan Fair (or whatever they're calling it these days) this summer and asked me for my advice on where to stay. My time in Nashville is usually rigorously controlled and I rarely get out unsupervised by relatives who don't really do the tourist thing. For example: Parthenon? Never been. Not even when I lived in Nashville. Printer's Alley watering holes? A distant dream for me. A sneaky beer in a plastic SOLO cup on my cousin's deck is as close as I've been.

I'm dreading the "where should I eat?" question, since I always dine at the Kinfolk Kitchen. I highly recommend it. You can always get a table, there are convenient locations all over the greater Nashville area, food's good (amazing at some branches), company's great, but sometimes you have to load the dishwasher.

(Hey Nashville readers, who would like to give me tips on where to eat and what to see so I can look smart?)

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Out and about last night, I met a couple of recent graduates doing the European backpacking thing.

One of them was on his way to Amsterdam, so I dispensed my usual piece of advice to prospective travellers to the Netherlands:

Don't eat the fish soup.

(When I previously dispensed this advice to a friend of VolBro’s, he replied “So your only warning about visiting Amsterdam, a town of whores and drugs, is not to eat the fish soup?” OK, here’s more advice, don’t eat them either.)

Really - don't eat the fish soup. I know this first hand, well second hand, since it was the Vol-in-Law who ate it. And it resulted in a catastrophic case of food poisoning. The ViL and I had a quiet lunch in Amsterdam. I had a bunch of fried stuff and felt guilty when he ordered the healthy fish soup. He wasn’t feeling too good later on that afternoon when we went to the Van Gogh museum. But we were in a group, and I wanted to see the pretty pictures, and anyway the Vol-in-Law being a Brit is normally pallorous. Who knew it was serious?

On our flight out that night back to London he started feeling really bad. He got up to use the facilities and returned to our seat about a half hour later sweating and shaking. Turns out he passed out in the bathroom. (He asked me why I hadn’t been worried over his long absence, and I had to admit that I was so engrossed in my book on internal controls and corporate governance that I didn’t notice.) Not only did he pass out in the bathroom, but he passed out mid-upchuck with his trousers around his ankles. When he came to, he discovered there was vomit all over the inside of his pants. Nothing for it, but to hitch up the britches – you can’t exactly wander pants-less on an aircraft. We got home with no further incidents, but I did have to take him to the emergency room a few days later when he came out in a horrible rash and started blathering incoherently due to an amazingly high temperature. At that point, I was seriously worried.

So when I say, don’t eat the fish soup in Amsterdam...

more Danish cartoon controversy

Fellow American blogger in London, Anglofille has some interesting views and news on the Danish Mohammed cartoon controversy. The Liberal, a London magazine, apparently published at least one cartoon on their website. Warned by the Metropolitan Police that they couldn't protect their safety, the magazine chickened out and put a square block with word censored over it - or should it be "self-censored"? This morning I couldn't click through to the Liberal site (www.theliberal.co.uk) at all. Go check out all of what she has to say on that.

Also read her interesting commentary on who's talking about this issue. She says:

From where I sit, it appears that the right-wing has hijacked this story in the American media. Perhaps I am wrong, and I hope I am. But I would not be surprised if liberal writers and thinkers in the States avoid taking on this story because they’re afraid to be lumped in with the right-wing. I think that many liberals are terrified to do anything that may be deemed politically incorrect.

Ouch. We don't have to go on about it (like I've done), but either we value the principles of a liberal democracy or we don't. These things are free press, free speech, freedom from unwarranted intrusion from Government.

I've noticed that some right-wing bloggers in Tennessee have been disappointed with the reaction from the US State Department and if they cared, the UK Foreign Office, (if you don't care, it was the same mealy mouthed "sensitivity" crap, "wise not to publish" crap).

It's time to point out that the Bush Administration doesn't give a toss about civil liberties, so their po-faced sensitivity crap is just more of the same. Look at what else they do: Cindy Sheehan (who by the way, I'm not an apologist for), invited to the State of the Union address by an elected Representative is dragged out of the Capitol and arrested for wearing a t-shirt. American citizens are spied on illegally- not because we have an over-rigorous legal framework on the matter, but because the administration is too lazy and too arrogant to get easy-peasy retrospective warrants, and they're too full of their own zeal to realize what they're doing to the Constitution.

Republicans who value the principles of our civil society need to stand up against this - it's already clear the Bush Administration doesn't listen to us "liberals" (the other half of the voting population, by the way).