Book learning #15.

Watership Down by Richard Adams.

I loved this book!
Loved it! Loved it! Loved it!

Well written, gentle (although in places horrifically violent) escapism. Perfect for the rural Englishman trapped in a New York summer.

I never thought that i would enjoy a novel about rabbits. I had recently seen the movie again (after a twenty five year lapse) and enjoyed it. I showed the movie to my class in June, they liked it, (except child of teacher chum who was freaked out and had to leave the room).
I was in a bookstore a few weeks ago looking for something for Frau Random Doubt when I picked this up, thought "Why not? It's summer, not alot else going on? A novel about rabbits? The worst that can happen is that it can suck, right?"

Well it did not suck, it delighted me at every turn.
The characters, their adventures, the journey through the English countryside. Everything about this book had me in love with it. It also made me homesick, but in a nice way, I'm not often homesick like that.

As I write I am sad, sad in the way that finishing a wonderful tale can make you sad. Sad also for the two great looking books I have lined up next.

They have a hell of a lot of living up to do.

Borstal.

Creative Athletics is horrid!
I am surrounded by 8 year old Alpha Jocks who mock my every attempt to educate them.
They upset other teachers and I have to reprimand them.
This is not Summer, this is awful.
At least my assistants are pretty damn fantastic.

But wait, there is a future, bright and rosy.
In less than three weeks I shall visit the Gerald Ford Museum in Grand Rapids, Michigan.
It's going to be the highlight of a week of chilling on the lovely dunes of Lake Michigan.

For my English readers it's probably the equivalent of visiting the Sir Alec Douglas-Home, or perhaps James Callaghan museum (Ah, if only there were such things!!)

I love the MTA (part two).

This morning we took the train to the beach!

Yes, that's right, the train.

Frau Random Doubt came up with this idea as a convenient way of getting to the beach without using the car (it's really too far to walk, what with a beach umbrella and towels and stuff). I was a bit concerned at first, the train? To the beach? But how?
Well it's easy! Flatbush Ave to Jamaica to Long Beach, a five block stroll and a beach pass later we were sunning ourselves on a foggy beach. That's right, FOG.
Still, we had a great time, the sun broke through and then we went home on the train.
Marvellous!

I love the MTA (part one).

That's the Metropolitan Transit Authority folks.

Here's how the story goes.
Yesterday I needed to run a couple of errands prior to meeting some coworkers down the pub for some sunny Friday beer. I had an armful of crap that I needed to drop off at home (I cannot be relied upon to remember things after a few Brooklyn Lagers, let alone carry items such as damp towel, goggles and other assorted swimming paraphanalia). I also needed to drop into Target to buy a beach umbrella for the planned early morning trip to the beach on Saturday. There was no way I was going to hang out drinking with a 4 foot umbrella (oh, guess I already made that point didn't I?)
So, I needed to find my way from school to Target, to home, to pub. In an hour. By public transport. Oh, it was also close to 90 degrees but not that humid you'll be pleased to hear.
Here's the great part, I strolled to 7th Avenue and hopped onto a B67. This airconditioned beast of the street was right there where and when I needed it. Thank you very much Mr Bloomberg.
I disembark right outside Target, go in, find nothing I need so I leave, cross the street and find a B63 waiting for me, yes a bus waiting for a passenger at the corner of 4th Avenue and Atlantic Avenue. Thanks again Mr Mayor.
I then ride a few blocks to Court and Atlantic where, yep, you guessed it! The B75 is there to help me on my way! I'm going to send the Mayor a card!
I then get off at Court and Degraw where I hop into the Winn Discount store for the beach umbrella I condn't find at Target.
I then walk home three blocks, dump my crap and stroll across the street to where the ever reliable B71 is waiting! Fan-f*cking-tastic!!!
This lady of the bus lanes deposits me right outside the pub a few minutes after said pub had opened! Beer Ahoy! Hey, Mr Bloomberg, When's your birthday? I want to send you a cake!!
For the record, I travelled about 4 miles in less than an hour (with stops etc) and only spent about 10 minutes outside in the heat.
Rock on MTA!!!

Book learning, never made the cut. Half time report.

You may well have realised that I liked the books that I read in 2006.
In order to get reviewed here I had to have finished the book, thus, I had to be able to stick it through to the end. Accordingly, the chances of my liking it would inevitably be higher than the stuff I tossed aside after 3 pages.

Here are the ones that never made the cut.

January
American Sphinx, the character of Thomas Jefferson by Joseph Ellis.

I fell in love with Thomas Jefferson some years ago, from afar. It was August 2001, I was trawling through DC sniffing the very sidewalks that LBJ had once stode. My guide, the very lovely cousin Emily took me over to the Jefferson Monument where we spied the most amazing National Parks guide fer-reaking out about how Jefferson started this great experiment, this dream, this vision, this United States. He had me at hello.
Fast forward five years, I'd just read Christopher Hitchen's bio of Jefferson which pleased me greatly. This was for a number of reasons, it was thin and quick and gave me a cursory knowledge of one of history's most fascinating men. In lust for more information I turned to this expecting more depth and thus improving myself as a human being. I have to say that I'm sure I'll read this within the next five years but coming so soon on the tails of a much better jefferson book I didn't have the guts to stick it through. It still sits upon my shelf waiting it's time.

I got about 2 chapters in, then my show came on.

Guns, Germs and Steel by Jared Diamond.

This was heavily recommended by a friend who had spent the previous six months telling me all about it. Whilst I had enjoyed our drunken conversations about civilisation and how some stuff happens to some people and not to others I had no idea that I would be loaned this book and expected to read it.
I tried. I really, almost tried. There were just too many big scientific words.
Then I discovered that there's a PBS show of the same name!
Netflix just saved my life.

I struggled through the first chapter, that "Yali's question" one.

What's the matter with Kansas? by Thomas Frank.

I should care more. I really should. I should be much more interested in why the Democrats have lost chunks of the American Heartland. But when whinging liberals wring out their whinging tears in self loathing such as this I'm inclined to vote Republican.
Of course I didn't mean that, and I'm sure that this book contains much that we can all learn from and that by working together we can eventually overthrow the evil Rumsfeld/Cheney Politburo. It's just that I hated his tone, his style and his withering "Oh look at me, I've discovered why nobody likes Democrats". Listen Buddy, If you had all the answers we would have all read your book and taken down the man.

I read about 6 pages.

February must have been a pretty cool month for reading as I have no failures to report. Onto March.

March.

The History of the Church by Eusebius.

What with all the hoolah about 'The Da Vinci Code' I figured that I should get to the root of the matter. Whilst redecorating the apartment I discovered a copy, belonging to Frau Random Doubt, of an ancient text that would surely explain everything I needed to know. The trouble with ancient texts is that they tend to be written in an ancient style, with an archaic use of language, having been translated by some old communist from Oxford University in the 1930s. I would have been better off watching the History Channel with it's endless 'Cracking the code' specials.
This also reminded me of the books I had to read during Classics A' Level at Wymondham College. I enjoyed those.

I got about three pages in on the subway but boy did I look esteemed and scholarly with my battered penguin and big coat.

Testament of Youth by Vera Brittan.

Will somebody please make a superb movie (or even better a BBC Miniseries?) about this book?
I should have loved it. Anyone who knows me will know that I am openly fascinated by the 'lost generation', those who did not return from what I still like to refer to as 'The Great War'.
Frau Random Doubt read this book last summer having stolen it from my mother's shelves. She spent the next month weeping, asking questions and just being completely engrossed in this account of love and life and death in the upper middle classes of English society during the first quarter of the 20th century. It was a real delight to see such a voracious reader so completely hooked. I tried, and funnily enough I enjoyed it, well, what I read. But there you go, sometimes you just fall at the third chapter, which I did.
On a side note, I purchased the sequel 'Testament of Experience' for 20p in a Norfolk charity shop. Which Frau Random Doubt also enjoyed.

I got about halfway through the second chapter, I await the miniseries.

I suppose I have done fairly well in my choices since then. I have nothing more to add. I shall update this list towards the end of the year.

Your choice, first caller gets a prize.

I am in summer limbo, Working under vaguely Talibanesque conditions which keep me away from a reliable computer and force me to actually work with children.

I have three upcoming blog projects, one is a certainty, the Mondale CD with liner notes. If you wait long enough I will publish said notes in this space to prevent Unwellness from becoming bored and to keep up my end of the pact I have unkowingly made with the boy Norris.

The other two are yours for the choosing.

I) A summer quiz.

II) Books I failed to read this year and why they suck.
This is the inverse of my critcally acclaimed 'Book Learning' series (Just wait and see what's coming next, you'll never believe it).

So? What's it to be?

Let summer begin...

Whether it's the Wymondham open air jazz picnic, or the slow journey home from the Glastonbury Festival, summer has to begin somewhere. I'm not a Memorial Day believer, prefering to keep my thoughts for a November Sunday.
I believe that the beginning of summer shifts, each year it depends upon circumstance, that something as beautiful and transient as summer cannot be pinned down to a date in a diary, that it depends upon friends, food and sunshine.
Today feels like the beginning of summer. The World Cup is over, Italy won. I drunk a bunch of beers watching the Final and would have rather seen the French win.
That's it, the business part of the year is done, we just have to wait out the hot months until September rolls around.

Book learning 14.

31 Days by Barry Werth.

Right, this is a bit of a tricky one. How to describe this book and all that it is without giving away the essential plot theme. I would hate to ruin the entire book for you so I will just say this. It could best be summed up as a sort of "How do you solve a problem like Dick Nixon?" (to the tune of "How do you solve a problem like Maria?" from "The Sound of Music").
There, The first 31 days of the Ford administration. Sound geeky? Damn right it is, that's exactly why Mondale purchased, read and enjoyed the thing! Geeky aside it's nicely written and the fact that each chapter is a day lends it a certain ease of passage.
Amongst the other cool things the author manages to accomplish are a nice dose of contemporia and a slightly sinister portrayal of a few of the men behind the scenes of mid 1970's Republican politics, A certain Mr G.H.W.Bush, a Mr D.Rumsfeld and a Mr R.Cheney.
It's fascinating to see these guys cutting their teeth over 30 years ago in the West Wing or in George Bush's case weasling to try and get the job of Vice President and having to settle for a role in China.
It was also fun reading about Alexander Haig, was he really just an overpromoted flunkey attempting to hang onto his own influence by his fingernails or was he the outright Nixon/Watergate apologist we all thought he was? Read this book and decide for yourself!
I also enjoyed the contemporary touches, President Ford's taste in wide lapelled plaid sportcoats deemed innapropriate for a chief executive (at least during the week), His wife's personal habits- you end up feeling a real sympathy and admiration for Betty Ford- and her stubborn yet resentful support of her husband and his dilemmas.
A good choice for a political junkie, and don't forget the unmentioned plot, the one I cannot mention. It's a cracker.

European Championships 2006

At least Brazil went out.
All I want now is for Germany and France to meet in the final and the French to win.
The French have made my day a little better, just a little.
Merci beacoup.

England v Portugal.

Bollocks.
I'm supporting France.
Fuck.
I'm off down the pub.

World Cup.

I'm nervous.
The longer it goes on, the more nervous I become.
If we meet success tomorrow my nerves will go crazy.
If it is a broken sunrise my nerves will turn to sorrow.
Either way I shall face them down with a long weekend of beer, meat and my own brand of affectionate American patriotism.

The worst field trip ever.

Somethings are so bad that they are actually funny.
Today was like that. I should point out that no children were injured and they actually seemed to enjoy it (in a completely bizarre fashion).



We took a bus to the location in the picture below, The little Red Lighthouse under The George Washington Bridge. I can tell you this, the photographer certainly managed to make the scene look a damn sight more attractive than the reality.
It's frickin miles away and the bus driver HAD NO CLUE ABOUT DIRECTION, ABOUT HOW TO DRIVE, ABOUT STREETS IN MANHATTAN BEING NUMBERED!!!!! I'm not sure but at one point I think I saw him crying.
We get to the place where we get off the bus. Fine. We have to walk through mugger's paradise (shady, leafy paths with a multitude of escape routes and places where your body could lie for weeks before being disturbed by a fevered crack head) and across a highway to get to the LRL.
When we get there our guide is nowhere to be seen, the LRL is locked and I notice the signs on the fence of the construction site warning us about POISON. Great.
The trip leader makes a bunch of calls, we eat our lunch on benches on the swampy, mosquito infested lawn. One of our group, an Albanian said that the place reminds her of Kosovo during the war "but without all the bullets and killing".
The kids were great, eating their lunch and geting muddy. I think most of them just figured that it was a trip to 'see' the LRL rather than go in it.
Then we decide to leave. We call our bus driver to meet us. He is completely fucking clueless! He has absolutely no idea about where we are, where he is and how to connect the two. The man has zero initiative, and if there's one thing Mondale cannot stand it's lack of initiative!
Plus, I hate yellow buses, ask anyone who knows me.



We had to cross three very dangerous roads (and I'm talking exit ramps from the West Side Highway, yeah!) in order to get to the bus because the driver was an utter fuckwit who wouldnt, couldnt, shouldnt come to us!
aaaarggghhhhhhhhhhhh!!!!!!!!!!!!.
Thank you for listening.

Drunk Blogging

Did I write that?
OK, I stand by every word of it but it's just funny when you wake up after a night of Becks (the beer, not the God) and you see that you have made a brilliantly coherent point.

I dont want to say "I told you so"

But I've always liked Al Gore.
I liked him when he was Vice President ( I felt that he was unlucky to be the #2 to a political genius like William Jefferson Clinton and thus be deprived a decent run at the White House).
I liked him when he ran against GWBush in 2000. I really. genuinely felt that after 8 years of Vice Presidential constraints he was actually campaigning in a way that suited him and I saw a man who was enjoying himself.
I also told friends in December 2000 that he was going to be the 'Nixon' of the 21st Century.
I Just hope I'm right.
Gore 2008!!!

some musings....

Do you remember when I said that I would educate poor Americans with a quick history of Britain? Never really got around to it did I?
Ah well, welcome to my world.

Hungover breakfast of three doughnuts and a coffee this morning.

The Mondale CD IS on it's way, MacTechwitch has been jibing me about it. It's in place, set to roll off the presses. I just need to write some thoughtful liner notes. Should all be done by the start of August.

Teaching four year olds how to dance with a hangover is a very strange thing. This year I have changed the music (last year it was all 'Yellow Submarine' and 'Hello Goodbye'-I haven't willingly listened to the Beatles since) and am hitting the wee beggars with a mix of indie pop and left field country. I feel desperately sorry for my teenage sidekick who has to listen to Belle and Sebastian and Steve Earle. Actually I don't. It's my class, I'm the boss and I'm the one dancing with a toy turtle on my head. My tunes.

The older kid who groaned about playing 'bombardment' will soon learn. It's going to be a very long, hot summer in these parts if you don't like bombardment. You will be playing lots of bombardment. 'Coach' Mondale loves playing bombardment.

We are playing Portugal in the World Cup quarter final on Saturday! How excited am I?

Italy v Australia.

I was getting nosebleeds from having to support Australia. Nosebleeds and headaches, sleepless nights and strange sweats. Whilst I can't stand the Italian team (Just ask my Dad) I'm pleased that now I can concentrate all my energies on the Ecuador-busters.

Holland v Portugal

Did you see that? Did you f*cking well see that game?
Marvellous!!

Mondale's mix CD.

It's coming!
I just need to buy the CDs, write the cover notes and produce the damn thing. Should be ready by the end of the week!

Book learning #13 and a half.

I saw the Da Vinci Code yesterday. It beat the crap out of reading it.
It was great, The movie theater was cool and dark and the seats were comfy. Just the place to nap on a humid New York afternoon.
I ate a hot dog and a gallon of Soda. Frau Random Doubt ate nachos and Sprite. Are we off diet or what? We'll go to hell for that!
Except we wont, you see the movie told us that everything we've ever believed was wrong and that God was in fact French.
French indeed?

Australia v Brazil.

It's half time.
I have never, ever supported Australia in any kind of sporting competition ever (OK, except the 1983 America's Cup).
Until now.

What's not to love?

Friends, I will now quote the author Nick Hornby from his book 'Fever Pitch'.

"Seven Goals and a punch up"

"For a match to be really, truly memorable, the kind of game that sends you home buzzing inside with the fulfilment of it all, you require as many of the following as possible: 1, Goals. 2,Outrageously bad refereeing decisions. 3, A noisy crowd. 4,Rain, a greasy surface, etc. 5, Opposition misses a penalty. 6, Member of opposition receives a red card. 7,Some kind of disgraceful incident (aka silliness, aka nonsense, aka unpleasantness)".

The USA Italy game met most of these criteria. Best of all the USA got a great result thus depriving Italy of the result they wanted. Yeah! Italy got the shaft!
I'm that close to buying a USA jersey.

Book learning #13.

Fun Home by Alison Bechdel.

One wouldn't nessecarily put the following into the same space as entertainment.

Closetted gay dad who picks up teens.
Emerging Lesbian.
Funeral home.
Rural Pennsylvania.
Empty marriage.
Fatal road accident.

But entertaining it was, amusing yet thoughtful. This graphic novel has what you want, if what you want is other people's sexual complexities and death.
The storyline is a bio of the author's father. It's intertwined with her own childhood (he died when she was in college) and sexuality. The interesting bit is the generational thing, her father could have come out in the 50's but didn't. He remained closetted, married, had a family etc. He admits that his actions have, well, had repercussions. His admission (but not his outing, he never actually comes out, it's fascinating) runs parallel with his daughter's coming out twenty five years later.

It's a great read.

Soca Warriors

First, let's get the emotions out of the way. A 2-0 scoreline does little to impress the outrageous nervousness of the situation. When the first of those goals is scored in the 83rd minute and, if it were not for Mr Terry of Chelsea, would have drawn the game.
Holy mother of God.
Shitting crikey.
Crazy Heck.

Now for the good bit. I watched the game in Sugarcane, a Trinidadian restaurant on Flatbush Avenue. Being 6'5 and coming straight from school's closing ceremonies I was the English guy in the jacket and tie. Nice.
Luckily a few of Listmaker's friends had grabbed a table near the big TV at the back. Drinks and the best damn chicken ever.
200 Trinidadians and their friends singing and banging every kind of drum and whistling whistles, a dance party at half time (nice touch) and me.
Me, occaisonally shouting out "COME ON ENGLAND!" We really need some funkier songs.
I managed to succeed on several fronts.
I managed to come away with a victory.
The old lady whispering friendly death threats turned out to be an empty vessel.
Best of all, I managed to do 'The Crouch'.
I did 'The Crouch' in front of 200 Trinidadians and some of their friends.

Do I look nervous?

We should beat them, The are a tiny island in the sun drenched Carribean. We should beat them, right?

If it's going to be so easy why am I so nervous?

Must stick to normal routine. I'll swim in the morning, I did that on Saturday, we won on Saturday.

I really tried to shake it off but the old World Cup nerves are back. I'll need friends and beer to help me through tomorrow.

The next phase has already begun.

Tomorrow we play Trinidad and Tobago. I've forgone the England HQ (I've not actually watched a game there yet, preferring to watch at home or at friend's homes). I'll be visiting a local Trindadian restaurant with the ever loyal Mr Glen. Assorted co-workers hope to join me at half time.
I can't stress enough, this is an absolute must win.

"Now it's a World Cup"

That bloke on ESPN2, what's his name? Eric Wynalda? He just dropped a classic. He was describing the spawny bastard Germans and their spawny, spawny win over the Poles. I quote "YadaYadaYada, Alot of passion, a lot of color, and a lot of history as well". When he said the last bit about history there was a definite sinister glint in his eye, he wasn't talking about Beckenbauer against Boniek, He was talking about Stukas against cavalry, about panzer divisions rumbling through the early September dawn.

Which leads me nicely into why I hate the Germans, why I always want them to lose and why they just spoilt my night.
Fuckin Germans.

Book Learning #12

'Sir Alf' A major reappraisal of England's greatest football manager. Leo McKinistry.

Sir Alf Ramsey won the World Cup with England in 1966.
He was clearly a bit of a genius but also a rather odd fellow. He hated the media and his employers and they, in turn disliked him.

If I learned anything from this it will probably be this.
People who are gregarious, a little bit outgoing and able to deal with people are much more likely to succeed than those intense genius types who keep close counsel and/or are terribly shy and introverted.
If you can make people smile with a witty remark they are likely to let you get away with things, even if your actual track record is sub par. Inspire confidence beyond your ability and people will give you some grace.

Having said all that this bio is full of amusing anecdotes from a time before my own. Sir Alf was essentially a modest and highly reserved conservative Englishman, the book reads like that, it's no page turner but if you are willing to put in the effort you will reap the rewards. That's Sir Alf's philosophy in a nutshell.

A nice little pre World Cup bit of nostalgia

Lovely World Cup Moments #1

The girl in the grocery store, turns out that she is from Ecuador. She was so happy and was telling anyone who would listen about the 2-0 victory over Poland. I did more than listen, I told her it was a great result and that the Polish team must be fuming for all the missed chances late in the second half (I caught the second half after work) but I congratulated her anyway (never having really liked Poland ever).

Hooray! World Cup brings people together on Day one!

Frau Random Doubt is enjoying watching me watch footy. It should be noted that she has found a number of amusing household chores for me to do when I'm not watching the games.

Ummmm. World Cup forces me to make my top secret delicious Brownies from scratch.

Another sad yet inevitable aspect of the World Cup is the nightly 'Town Square Cam'.
This is a staple feature of any British news team, especially when England play in a European based tournament.
The reporters sit with their camera crews watching English fans getting drunker and drunker and waiting for something to happen. Something generally does and it gets blown all over the news, between an Iraqi car bomb and Baby Pittgolina.
It's sad.

Why England matters.

For the vast majority of the world tomorrow brings the beginning of the 2006 World Cup. From this point on I really couldn't care if you are a Democrat, Republican, straight, gay, black or white or from Delaware. From this point on all I really care about are the chances of 22 young Englishmen and their slightly dotty Swedish coach. Of course I'll be nice to Frau Random Doubt and I will feed the cat but beyond that it's all about events in Germany.

Why does England matter? I don't live there anymore; it's a long way away and it tends to rain. So why is it so important to me, achingly, heartstoppingly important that the England win the World Cup in 2006?

Its a little bit history, a little bit culture and a ridiculous bit pride. I've tried to follow that line from 'Pulp Fiction' "That's pride fucking with you" and walk away, except I haven’t and I never could, even if I wanted to.

Let’s look at the history of all this, albeit briefly.
Football began in England and very quickly spread across the globe. The arrogance of my imperialist forefathers prevented the England team from entering the first three world cup tournaments, in the 1930s as it was obvious to anyone listening that England would wipe the floor with the unwashed, uncivilized foreign opposition. They went instead to play a constant round of friendlies including one where the team had to give the Nazi salute before playing Germany, wouldn’t want to upset that nice Herr Hitler now, would we?
It wasn’t until after WW2 that we actually entered a world cup. It was in Brazil and we were beaten 0-1 by the USA. Arguably one of the greatest sporting upsets of all time. Right, yeah, thanks.

In 1966 we won the bloody thing.
There have been acres of books written about each and every single aspect of that undoubted triumph, I’m even reading one of them right now. On a warm July afternoon we beat the Germans 4-2 and Bobby Moore lifted the Jules Rimet trophy to proclaim England’s glory to the world. I could go on; I could go on and on and on. Most English people do. That’s always been the trouble with being one of the post 1966 generation. We have had to hear so much about this from the generations that witnessed it (although fortunately my own father tends to go on about Norwich City’s 1959 cup run considerably more than he does the winning of the World Cup, for those interested he watched the final in a German bar whilst serving in the RAF).

The 70’s were bleak. In Mexico in 1970 we went out in heartbreaking style to the Germans 3-2 after being 0-2 ahead. We failed to qualify for 1974 and 1978. Truly a dour decade for our World Cup dreams.

I was really too young to appreciate the 1982 tournament except for Bryan Robson’s goal against France and reports of England fans causing trouble and getting stabbed., that scared me, I was 9.

1986 was the year that Maradona cheated by hand balling the ball past Peter Shilton’s head into the England goal. We were starting to see a pattern with our rivalries, Germany, Argentina; if shots had been fired between our two nations then the likelihood was that we would meet (and lose) upon the football pitch.1986 was also the year that many of the games were played at odd hours of the day, the tournament being in Mexico. I remember my father leaving notes beside my bedside as I was too young to be staying up every night for a month just to watch Canada play Hungary.

I remember the Italian tournament of 1990 very fondly indeed. I remember it for a number of fantastic reasons.
It was my first grown up World Cup. I was 17 and was allowed to have a beer or two whilst watching the games. The games were in the same time zone as we were, we had a large TV in the conservatory and our friends would all pile over and watch as David Platt and Paul Gascoigne became our new World Cup heroes. It was also a beautiful summer, hot and dry (uncommon for England) and we reached the semi finals playing fantastic football.
Ah yes, we reached the semi finals, the semi finals.
And who did we meet in the semi finals?
Germany. The new Germany, the oh so cool now the wall has come down Germany.
And yes, we lost on penalties and ‘Gazza’ Gascoigne cried and became an icon and lived off that moment for the rest of his drunken, confused life, and fuck! We lost to Germany. It seemed that one afternoon 7 years before I was born was destined to milk all the World Cup karma for ever and ever. I was 17 and I hated my father’s generation for what they had done 24 years earlier. I hated the fact that I would never ever get to live through what they had lived through. I hated the Germans too.
That year we were good enough. Plenty good enough. The final should have been Italy and England and it would have been a thing of beauty. We had emerged from the dark ages of aggro and being crap but it was not to be. Instead they ended up with Argentina and Germany and the Germans won by a miserable penalty in one of the most boring games ever seen.

We failed to qualify in 1994, something to do with a turnip. The tournament was hosted by the USA so we were better off at home anyway. Al Gore presented the trophy to the winning Brazilians in LA.

But we were back in 1998, two years after reaching the European championship semi finals in England and losing to Germany on penalties (I kid you not, In 1996 Football 'came home' to England. It came home but as Frank Skinner pointed out, "Found that it had forgotten it's doorkey"). We had fantastic players like some of the ones you may have heard of like David Beckham and Michael Owen and we met Argentina in the quarter finals and lost. Sometimes you can only hurt so much. Sometimes you just have to wonder what might have been if Beckham hadn’t been sent off for a pointless yet understandable retaliation.
The thing is this; I doubt we would have beaten France that year. We would have given them a good game and we were certainly good enough but sometimes the stars don’t shine for you. Sometimes you leave your umbrella at home and it rains. The French had home advantage and were good enough-even though Brazil should have won.
It was shortly after this that a friend at the time, Vinny, a French dude who worried about how much we English all drank came up with one of the best and most disconcerting lines I’ve ever heard. “ I have seen something that only your father has seen”. I was about the punch the frog, assuming he’d been peering into my mother’s bedroom window when he explained. “I have seen my country lift the World Cup* in triumph”. Bastard.

*Technically no, Vinny, technically you are wrong. Wrong and French. Ouch!
The trophy Bobby Moore lifted in 1966 was the Jules Rimet Trophy which was used until 1970 when Brazil won the tournament for the third time thus earning the right to keep the trophy forever. The trophy Didier Deschamps lifted in Paris in 1998 was the much less glamorous sounding FIFA World Cup Trophy which was introduced for the 1974 tournament held, and won by West Germany. So there is a difference. Vinny, you will read this and thank me.

And onto 2002 Japan and Korea. We beat Argentina which was quite simply divine old boy. Then we messed it up against Brazil. Fair enough, they were worthy winners but dammit!

That’s sort of why I think this has to be our year. We have rebuilt ourselves as a footballing nation. When I was a kid going to football was often pretty scary. There were hooligans (they haven’t quite gone away but they used to be everywhere) there were deathtrap stadiums that either burned you to death or crushed the life out of you and following the England team was best done at home under a blanket. Neo fascists corrupted the support with their racist chants and paramilitary banners.
We have taken all that back. England’s support is blacker and more Asian, there are actually women involved these days and we have reclaimed the cross of St George as our rightful national symbol. I hope to God that we are not blighted by hooligans in this tournament although I am sure there will be some violence, although not on any kind of scale as we saw in the past and hopefully not involving English supporters.
Of course we mock the Germans, its impossible not to, ask Red Sox fans to be nice to Yankees? See what I mean?
None of this happened with government initiative (although plenty of politicians have tried to cash in) it happened because the fans made it happen, because when we lose we hurt and winning is at best a distant memory and for most of us a dream unfulfilled.
I know it’s been a ramble but please, if you have a choice, why not tune in Saturday morning at 9am, ESPN and give the boys with three lions your support.

I'm ready.

I've spent the last few months in training.
I've been watching my diet, running and swimming.
I've lost some weight and am now in a better physical and mental shape than I've been in years.
All I have to do now is grab the remote and sit back.
I am ready to win the World Cup!

It's a broad church.

Is this blogging thing.
I have to admit that when it comes to music I haven't got the faintest idea what he's taking about almost all of the time.
But he's Cumpstey, Rev Milo, The dude who once wore a snood, one of the originals.

He's got a blog.

You can read it (Radio Speedwagon) and see if it makes any sense.
Even so it's a thing of beauty just like the man himself.

And then there was lobstah!

As the party wound down the four happy wanderers from the emerald City of the Empire State found the nearest mountain and drove up it.

Cadillac Mountain, a wonderful spot to end an afternoon of wedding style partying.



Youthlarge and Listmaker hold onto each other in the face of a summit breeze.



Frau Random Doubt and myself take in the fresh air (They have a gift shop and bathrooms at the summit, very user friendly).



After driving back down the mountain discussing all of our family's idiosyncracies we had time to do the one thing remaining on our three day Maine tourist checklist... LOBSTER!!!



Frau Random Doubt about to make short work of this one.

Jeepers Creepers! yet more action from the State of Maine!!

After the ceremonies the festivities kicked in!

Mr and Mrs Weasel with Weasel's mum and Mark. Under a whicker arch! Yeah!


We told Listmaker that this was traditional Maine headgear.


Salty Pete, Weasel and Mondale.


Let the good times roll!!


Like, I was pretty wasted by this point and I started to take like, cosmic pictures of groovy garden ornaments.

Mazeltof! Some actual pictures of the actual wedding!

And now, some real wedding pics....

The path to married bliss is lined by family, friends and New Yorkers discussing real estate.


Weasel is wearing a kilt. That's right. Hoots! He's wearing a kilt!


"Stop pacing, you'll sink this thing".


"She'll be here, it'll be fine".


The happy couple!! (that's the top of Country Mouse's mom in the foreground.

Oi Vey! Some pictures from Maine.

At last! After a week of not even bothering and then a few days of technical issues I present to you some pictures of our fantastic weekend in Bar Harbor. We were there to celebrate the Weasel/Country Mouse union, wedding photos to follow.

Three New Yorkers wander the country lanes of Maine gently discussing real estate prices.

It's all so beautiful, so fresh, so fragrant. We also keep reminding ourselves that it's all so completely frozen for 6 months of the year.

Weasel and General Weasel with an assortment of mini Weaselettes

Frau Random Doubt, Listmaker and Youthlarge wander the gorgeous coastal paths of Bar Harbor discussing real estate prices.

Weasel's cuzzen Jim and bruvver Baz discuss breakfast products, Jim the veggie vs Baz the pork afficianado.

Weasel and Country Mouse's big day/wedding/roadtrip extravaganza type thing.

Look at it this way.

It's the busiest travel weekend of the year so Frau Random Doubt, Listmaker, Youthlarge and myself are all piling into the volvo and pointing the thing northeast. Hopefully in about 12 hours from the time we leave we will be in sunny Bar Harbor. I've been practising talking funny "I paaaarked the caaaar" and have compiled a collection of CDs to amuse and beguile. Listo and I will share the bulk of the driving, not only do we get to be buddies and co workers , now we get to be pilot and co-pilot!!
I get to eat junk food. We all get to sit in lots and lots of traffic.

Why are we doing this?

WEASEL AND COUNTRY MOUSE ARE GETTIN HITCHED!!!

Pictures to follow after the weekend!

Book learning #11

The Island of the Aunts by Eva Ibbotson.

I have spent the last few weeks reading this book to the children in my class. Therefore I have also read and enjoyed it. That's why I'm going to tell you all about it.

I've been teaching older elementary kids for close to 10 years now and I pride myself of selecting interesting books for class read alouds. I do not read Harry Potter and I very rarely read Roald Dahl. This is not because I disaprove of such books, no, It's because the kids will have read all these books themselves at home, over and over again. I like to try to broaden their horizons a little each time I read to them. It's a core part of my job.

Having said that I do have a staple list of great kid's books that I love to read. 'Nicobobinus' by Terry Jones, 'Emil and the Detectives' by Erich Kastner, 'Danny, Champion of the World' by Roald Dahl, I could go on.

The thing is this, It can become a bit like going to see your favourite band and hoping that they will play all your bestest tunes from that album they did in 1996. Next time you go and see your favourite band performing all their mid nineties hits take a good long look at the lead singer's face. Is he really enjoying it as much as you are?

See what i mean?

You have to mix it up a bit.

That's why I went to Unwellness in the school library earlier this year and asked her "I want something like David Sedaris for third graders"

She came up with this, I'm ashamed to admit that I had never heard of the author but I took a quick glance and figured, why not? We'll let the kids be the judges and if it stinks they will soon tell me and we can read someting else.

They didn't think it stank, in fact they soon became quietly absorbed in it's story and it's morality play. Grown up are often stupid, greedy, ugly and ill natured. Most children are reliable, in posession of a sense of fun and ingenuity and end up becoming the plucky heroes of the tale. It's fairly formulaic in that sense, the story touches upon several modern day issues, global capitalism against organic individualism, The modern media complex against a bunch of lunatic eccentrics stuck on an island off the coast of England.
The kids didn't pick up on all the nuances but they enjoyed the gist of it- rotten grown ups defeated by ingenious kids, eccentric aunts and a host of fantastic sea creatures.

Best of all?

I got to do my Geordie accent for most of the characters

Dyson.

We just bought a Dyson.

Breakfast of Champion's League

The thing I like about English clubs in Europe is this.

(As you know, I'm a Norwich fan so this is not directly relevant to my everyday experience, it's a bit like seeing people you know on the TV, never really happens and when it does you phone all your friends and yell at them "Fucking hell!! Hester's on Blue Peter talking about art!!!! That was 12 years ago).

I'm happy for them when they win- for a day or two.
When they lose I'm upset- for about thirty seconds.

I was even a Manchester United fan for 90 minutes in 1999, that was mostly due to the fact that their opponents that day were Bayern Munich and the game was an absolute cracker!

And I've always had a deep soft spot for Barcelona. Arsenal are wankers, despite being a truly great side.

I was delighted for Liverpool last year when they won the Champion's League, Scousers deserved it.

I love this time of year, May is a great month, Cup Finals, European finals, World Cup around the corner, everyone's happy.

Lovely.

Children's party.

Yeah! I'm going to be involved in hosting a children's party at my school tonight!!
Yeah!!!
I can't wait.

Football at Carrow Road

Yeah! I got an invite, Sadly I will have to turn it down.

Football at Carrow Road with Foolproof


Determined to restore footballing standards at Carrow Road back to the highest quality*, Foolproof has hired the stadium for a match on Wednesday 17th May.

This invitational match will pit two scratch teams against each other for a 90 minute, 11-a-side game on the hallowed turf. And you – you lucky thing – have been invited to play.

Here are the details:

• 4.15 - 4.30pm: Arrive. Come into the ground via the Directors Entrance, (on Carrow Road). You can park in the Club car park if you need to.

• 4.30 - 4.45pm: Study the team list. Get changed in the dressing rooms. Hear the stunning tactical plan that has been devised by your Manager

• 4.45 - 5.00pm: Warm up on the pitch

• 5.00pm sharp: Kick off. The match will be refereed by Neil Adams. Everyone on each team will get at least 25 minutes play.

• 7pm: Penalty competition. Yes, you will have the opportunity to score a competitive goal at Carrow Road. And run around waving your arms. At an empty stand. With your shirt over your head.

• 7.45pm: Awards ceremony in the Boardroom

• 8.00 to 11pm: Pies and Beer in the Boardroom watching the Champions League Final and commenting how you track back much better than that Ronaldhino fellow.


Please let us know if you would like to be on the team sheet for the match by end of play Monday 8th May. Naturally there are a lot of people we know who will be interested in playing, so if we don’t hear from you we’ll offer your place to someone else.

But please do join us. The match will be played a competitive but friendly and strictly non-violent spirit and we’d love to have your company. If you have hung your boots up, but would still like to join us for post-match beer and Champions League action let us know (although you’ll kick yourself when you see the sad array of crocks and porkers who turned out for the match).

Position: When you reply, please let us know which position you prefer to play in. We’ll try and accommodate your preference for at least part of the match.

Kit: you will need football boots with studs to play. We’ll provide shirts but you will also need to bring socks, shin pads and shorts.


Come and fulfil your childhood dream with us on Wednesday 17th May.

RSVP by Monday 8th May to Kirsty Jarvis
(Kirsty.jarvis@foolproof.co.uk or on 01603 766800)




* The management of Foolproof would like to point out that footballing skill and experience is in no way a prerequisite for taking part. In fact, the worse you are at football the better we will like it.

An English History for my American cousins.

After an alarming conversation about Henry II and Thomas A'Beckett the other day I have decided to provide an outline of English History.
I am using the chapter titles from the rather marvellous 1964 edition of a Concise History of England by F.E.Halliday 'From Stonehenge to the Atomic age'. The title's are Halliday's the rest is my own. I promise no research, merely a mumbling recital of schoolboy facts.

I. Early Invaders
II. Three centuries of peace 43-410
III. The rise and fall of Wessex 410-1066
IV. From despotism to anarchy 1066-1154
V. The making of the nation 1154-1307
VI. Foriegn war and civil war 1307-1485
VII. Renaissance, Reformation and a new world 1485-1603
VIII. King, Parliament and Civil War 1603-1649
IX. Cromwell and a united Commonwealth 1649-1660
X. From Restoration to revolution 1660-1688
XI. Toleration and the struggle with France 1688-1714
XII. Cabinet Government and the first British Empire 1714-1760
XIII. Loss of the American Colonies
XIV. The industrial revolution and Napoleonic War 1783-1830
XV. Reform, free trade and prosperity 1832-1865
XVI. Gladstone and Disraeli 1865-1886
XVII. The Conservatives and Imperialism 1886-1905
XVIII. Liberal reform and the first world war 1906-1918
IXX. Between two wars 1918-1939
XX. The second world war and after 1939-1964

At this point my trusty 1964 edition ends. I shall add another chapter to bring the 21st century reader up to date. Look forward to a final chapter including Margaret Thatcher, Lady Diana and Wayne Rooney.
I will not batter you with everything at once, I shall begin with the first 'chapterette'

I. Early Invaders
In the beginning the Islands of Britain were inhabited by tribes of early farmers and their communities. They had a system of law and order and apart from tribal rivalries and petty violence the land was in order. Then the Romans came under the rule of Caesar Claudius. The Romans suppressed what native resistance occurred and began to naturalise their new lands. By the time they eventually left about 400 years later it would have been difficult to distinguish many of the Romans as foreign . The Romans left much behind, much of which can still be seen today in places such as Bath, Northumberland and East Anglia. The Romans founded cities such as Colchester (don't bother visiting) , Chester (OK but full of wealthy Scousers), and Bath (Gorgeous Darling!) and greatly enhanced the city of London, making it Britain's primary city.

Next week.... part II, Three centuries of peace.

Political Junkie notes.

Click on the title for the link.
The knives are being sharpened, the undertaker is measuring up a coffin, another Prime Minister is being readied for the end.

I love the slow, twisting demise of British Prime Ministers, That's another reason why I don't approve of term limits. Watching a Prime Minister attempt to force off the inevitable is one of the joys of being British. This is the first one that I will have actually voted for, Thatcher and Major both being Tories. This one may take untill October. Watch this space.

I want pictures.

I was chatting to my brother today (he's the one without the beer) when he told me the most brilliant news.
No, his wife isn't pregnant, no, none of his children had done anything out of the ordinary.

His childhood friend and fellow Norfolkman Tom Wood (that's a picture of his office, I couldn't locate one of the man himself) has hired Carrow Road for a kickabout!



It's some type of corporate show off gig but what a laugh?

Tom has arranged for a number of clients and friends to 'bring their boots', use the dressing rooms and play a full 90 minutes on the hallowed turf! According to my brother everyone is guarenteed at least 25 minutes of playing time, they'll start with a line up and the National Anthem -I wonder if they can get a special guest to pretend to be the Duchess of Kent? (Americans note, we save the National Anthem for very special occaisons such as the Cup final, not everyday occurences such as the 7th inning stretch) and the referee will be none other than City's own 'voice of the county' Neil Adams.
I suggested that Tom, as he has paid for all of this should sit in the Director's box with a huge cigar, or speak Russian for the night.
Jealous doesn't even begin to cover it!
Anyway, like whatever, but i bloody well must have pictures so that you, my blog faithful can follow the proceedings.

A disturbing lack of knowledge.

Watch this space. At the request of some co-workers i shall shortly be putting together my essential points of British History. This is for Americans who want to know more but don't have the pedigree to back it up.

Book learning #10

Medieval Lives by Terry Jones.

Right out of the traps I suffered a not unfamiliar problem with this one. The subject was fascinating, well researched, well written even but I just couldn't help thinking that I would surely enjoy watching Mr Jones on TV more than I enjoyed reading his words. I'm not a lazy bastard, i love to read. Working out all those words. Hey, I can even do it in my head, It's just that sometimes I'd like to see a movie about Knights and Ladies and Kings and paupers.
Filled with anecdotes and trivia about this Lord, or that King, about how ordinary folk did in fact have a pretty healthy lifestyle untill they died of disease at 42 years old, Jones successfully challenged almost every perception about the period.
The best bits of the book were definately the chapter about the Church, how it completely corrupted virtually every aspect of medieval life and how armies and knights turned warfare into a business, perpetuating the murder and mayhem in order to make a few quid.
It also reminded me a bit of the children's book " The Measly Middle Ages" by Terry Deary, plagarism? I hope not!
Certainly worth a read, but what about a History Channel miniseries?

awe

I can't begin to understand the universe, and the deeds of men often cause despair.
But i can still get such simple delight from seeing the wind blow through the trees, and the waves at the beach give me such profound joy.
Today is one of those days.

I don't do memes but.....

....a dear friend tagged me so why not?

1. Never in my life: have I killed a man in cold blood.

3. High School was: an excercise in power sharing against a backdrop of agricultural machinery.

4. When I'm nervous: I get flaky skin.

5. My hair: is terribly blonde.

6. When I was 5: Zbigniew Brzezinski was advising President Carter.

7. Last Christmas: Me and the missus cooked everybody a gert lush dinner.

8. When I turn my head left, I see: Sunlight streaming through an open window.

9. I should be: working.

10. When I look down I see: President Carter (no, it's at a wierd angle)

12. If I were a character on Friends I'd be: The one who guns down the entire cast.

13. I have a hard time understanding: Serbo Croat.

14. Take my advice: be punctual and don't ask questions.

15. My ideal breakfast is: Bacon and eggs

16. If you visit the place I grew up: The chances are that you wouldn't understand a bloody word anybody said ever.

17. If you spend the night at my house: You will hear kids arguing in the street below.

18. I'd stop my wedding if: We ran out of booze.

19. The world could do without: fascism.

20. Most recent thing you've bought yourself: a wristwatch.

21. Most recent thing someone else bought for you: guitar lessons (thanks love)

Kind of dribbled off at the end. Sorry about that.

Book learning #9

Soldiers and Slaves by Roger Cohen.

Believe it or not, I haven't read many World War Two histories. About a year ago I read Max Hastings book 'Armageddon' which I thoroughly enjoyed. About two weeks ago I picked this up.

It tells the story of a few of the hundreds of GIs taken prisoner during the Battle of the Bulge in the winter of 1944-45. GIs who were denied the norms of POW treatment because they were Jewish, looked Jewish or had Jewish sounding surnames. There were also a few 'troublemakers' rounded up for good measure.
Such prisoners were sent to work in brutal conditions in mines inside Germany.
Cohen intertwines their story with the story of Hungarian Jews rounded up in the spring of 1944.

Cohen uses the different backgrounds of the prisoners (American and Hungarian) to highlight some bigger ideas, the idea of an old Europe clashing with a young, vibrant America, The soldiers of that America coming face to face with the unbelievable, the industrial destruction of European Jewry. At one point he relates the vision of America held by Hungarian Mordecai Hauer as a land of freedom and plenty, yet he is sharing a prison with the wasted, emaciated Americans sent to liberate Europe from it's own terror. At the end of the book Cohen brings up the irony of the emerging 'Weltpolitik' of the the Cold War, the fact that many former Nazis escaped justice because of their skills which would become useful in the dawn of the atomic age and that Soviets and Americans, in order to get on with the new conflict would rather paper over the awkward unpleasantness of the last.

Not an easy or pleasant read by any means but certainly a valid one. It's still deeply shocking to think that all this happened in my father's lifetime, in a Europe that I dare to think of as home.

"Gert Lush"

The English language is, believe it or not, a thing of beauty.
Ever evolving, twisting and changing, it varies from town to town, family to family, region to region, etc etc, yadayadayadaa.
There are words that float in and out of one's everyday usage, expressions ebb, like a friendly tide of parlance through the roundabout of fashion.

Ladies and Gentlemen, I would like to (re)introduce to you the quite marvellous expression "Gert Lush".

Gert Lush originates from the west of England, The WestCountry. That cluster of counties 100 miles due west of London's western boundaries, nestled below Wales.
Gert Lush, roughly translated, means 'great big' . It can also mean 'blooming marvellous' , 'bloody wonderful', or just about anything 'fantastic' and 'great' and 'right now thankyou very much!'
I think it's time that 'Gert Lush' made it's way across the Atlantic and became common parlance in Brooklyn and beyond.
Thankyou for listening.

Time to tidy my desk.

I just found out why my desk draw won't close. It's been jammed with cds. I know that my 'filing' system will give the likes of Listmaker and Unwellness nervous breakdowns but it's the way i like it. Nonetheless it's time to ship them back home. They've done their job.
On the home front we have had the apartment redecorated and should be getting cable/internet/phone service back this Saturday. Should be back to blogging more than once a month.

Book learning #8.

Assassination Vacation: Sarah Vowell.

Two books by the same author in succession?

In this case it's because I was at a wee bit of a loss following the end of "The Partly Cloudy Patriot".
I tried to read a couple of other things but failed miserably (you can read about the failures when I publish my 'books that failed me and I hate them for it' list at the end of the year.)

There I was in the large corporate bookstore in Union Square (Oh how I wish 'BookCourt' or the 'Community Bookstore' would satisfy all my literary needs!) when I glanced upon it, picked it up and was hooked.

Or was I?

This was a slow burner but in it's way quite the perfect read. It took me a while to get through it although much of that was due to circumstances (visitors from out of town, redecorating the apartment, losing the book under the bed for three days, less subway travel of late etc etc.)

If I may compare it to her previous work I will, This is meatier. She deals with three assasinations and she deals with them in varying degrees of depth. Lincoln gets the bulk of the deal and the others, Garfield and McKinley also get fairly substantial treatment. The nice thing about Vowell is that she comes at the subject from just, sort of, over there, kinda. She brings in contemporia such as the recent Broadway show 'Assassins' (Is that still running? Anyone wanna go?) and the War in Iraq as well as filling your head with a cool overview of post Civil War domestic politics. Even as a History buff I had little idea about the different factions in the Republican Party of the late nineteenth century. One of the key aspects of the book and the succession of the three assassinations (which occurred within 40 years of each other) is how the Republican Party of Lincoln changed into what was to become the Republican Party of Nixon, Reagan and the Bushes.

And all this happens in a neat little book that you can pick up for under $20 and read, circumsatnces permitting, in less than a week.

Visitors from the east.

My Sister and her family are in town, here are some of the latest pictures...

Jetlagged, tired and blasted by the early spring sunshine, Niece Ella and Brother in law Matt traverse the East River via the Roebling's masterpiece of engineering.

Lunch at 'Mars 2112'. Ella was delighted by the alien themed restaurant, Her brother Alex was less impressed, he recruited his mum and non alien waiting staff to instruct the aliens to stay the heck away from him!

Atop the Rockefeller Center.

Young Alex has a thing about aircraft. Here he is delivering a lecture to another kid on board the USS Intrepid.

Mother nature's masterpiece.

Friendship is a marvellous thing. I love nothing more than having people over and strolling about the city with them, catching up, chatting idly, having a beer or two and checking out the odd sight.

That's why it was a true joy to catch up with 'Gus' on Monday. We did all of the above (while his girlfriend shopped) but best of all we went to the new viewing deck on top of The Rockefeller Center. I'll let the pictures tell the story but I should add the following.



The price was great, only $14. No lines. Loads of space. The glass barriers erase that 'caged in' sensation you get at the Empire State Building. Oh, you get an amazing view of the Empire State Building!



Despite the fact it's a touch shorter than NYC's premier viewing spot you're still 70 stories up for chrissakes?
Also, the view of The Chrysler Building is crap, but this one is still definately worth your money.

Book learning #7

The Partly Cloudy Patriot by Sarah Vowell.

I quote Weasel from Book Learning #6

"Sarah Vowell however is much better silently absorbed in print. Have you read Partly Cloudy Patriot? She's even more obsessed with presidents than you are."

He's right really isn't he?

That's why I loved this book. I could go on about selecting spectacles in order to look as much like LBJ as possible but that would be all about me. This is supposed to be all about how much I enjoyed reading this highly amusing selection of essays.
I'll admit that as far as I'm concerned she was completely preaching to the choir. When she writes about patriotism I agree with almost every word. When she writes about Al Gore, Gotta tell you, I was only just thinking the very same thing.
When she writes about sibling bizarro world, you guessed it, yep, me too.

All the same, despite a strong sensation of "dammit! Why didnt I get off my arse and write this book myself?!?" I couldont put the bloody thing down. Guess I was lucky I had a week off in order to read it very slowly and chuckle alot, that way I got full mileage. I say this to all of you of a geeky, political junky bent "Buy this book now!"

March 23rd.

Another trip around the Sun.
Beer and Bocce, The good times did 'roll'.
(God that was an awful pun but really, what the hell did you expect?)

Then, on Friday I went with Listmaker, Mr Glen and last minute anonymous minor to witness the glory of fully retro Billy Bragg. More on him later.

V for Vendetta.

I normally leave movie reviews for the likes of Listmaker et al. Those reviews normally come out in an 'end of the year' type of format.

V for Vendetta? Noooooooooooooo!!!!

'nuff said.

I may have invented a new sport.

And I can call it a sport because it involves physical excercise and running shoes. If I thought hard enough I could even invent some more rules and a scoring system. But for now allow me to give you the basic premise.

You have to run through a crowd of people without touching any of them.

This morning I did the bridges and as I was running through the courthouse bit between Chinatown and City Hall I encountered a gazillion lawyers (count them!) all on their way to work at their high falutin legal cases. I initally tried to avoid them by running in the road but that involved an increased risk of car related injury or possibly death.
I ran through the crowds, shimmying this way and that, like some mad hopscotch game. It was fantastic! I tried to avoid them whilst not losing my pace, they skirted around me whilst making cell calls and trying to drink coffee!
My, didn't we all have fun?

A couple of pointers for anyone trying this.
The smell of coffee on an empty stomach at 9am is a cruel, sweet thing.
Don't try to hustle the cops, they get edgy and they have guns.

Amendment XVIII (Beer)

Right, New Year resolutions come and go but this one (The beer resolution 1/1/2006)is in critical condition.
For those of you unfamiliar with the legislative process in the Mondale mind, it goes a little something like this. I decide upon a course of action, act upon it until it gets difficult, then pretty much drop it altogether.
The beer resolution 1/1/2006 has stumbled, it has fallen down.
The inital resolution was 'no beer until Memorial Day'. This was in order to lose 20 pounds.
Then I introduced some ammendments.
I. Beer is allowed if a family member is visting from out of town.
II.Beer is allowed if the imbiber has returned from work after 9pm.
III. Beer is allowed if watching sport.
IV. Beer is allowed if Kevin buys you one.
V. Beer is allowed if playing Bocce.
VI. Beer is allowed if watching '6 feet under'.
VII. Beer is allowed if a family member who lives within the five boroughs offers to buy me a beer.
VIII. Beer is allowed if buying a family member from out of town OR resident within the five boroughs a beer in return for the beer bought for me. (Be rude not to wouldont it?)
IX. Beer must be consumed when eating any of the following: burgers, wings, hotdogs.
X. Beer must be consumed when attempting to avoid getting too loaded too quickly.
XI. Beer must be consumed when fishing.

I think that's about it.

Needless to say I need to reel in the beer. Accordingly I shall limit the beer amendments to the following.

XII. All prior beer amendments are anulled.
XIII. Beer can be consumed inside the home when friends and/or family visit.
XIV. Beer can be consumed in a bar.

That's it, that's the future from this Friday morning.

Nu Shooz.

I just purchased a spanking new pair of New Balance 766 running shoes. My brother had recommended them a while ago. I went to Paragon Sports and had my traditional argument with the old guy who sells shoes. It normally goes something like this...

OLD GUY WHO SELLS SHOES " Listen son, i know what I'm talking about and you know fuck all, you jumped up little shit."ME " Has anyone ever told you that you are a complete and utter miserable bastard who inspires nothing but fear and loathing. When I tell you that my current pair of shoes are a size 13 you have to believe me. I am not lying, although if I were to lie to anyone I would certainly lie to you, all the time, just to piss you off."

Anyway, I got the shoes I wanted and this morning I set out over the bridges, The ususal jaunt except this morning it was a pure joy! I ran further, more comfortably and in a better pace and frame of mind than I had in ages.
There we go, and remember, if you are tall, overpronating and running between 3 and 6 miles twice a week I would recommend them.

Book learning #6

Dress Your Family in Corduroy and Denim by David Sedaris.

After a meaty read through the pestilential days of the Black Death I decided to go for some one stop, guarenteed humour.
I got it. I tore through this in about 3 days just like I knew I would. I got the jokes and the wit, I laughed out loud a few times, including once on an LIRR train. Everyone knew what I was laughing about and no one minded.

I have always enjoyed his work, I just think he's funnier when he's telling his stuff. I just prefer to listen to him.
Of course I would recommend this, Of course I would pass this along, The way he describes North Carolina as a third rate instituion still pisses me up. But I just wanted something more.

Kitten

I'm hingover after the school auction. Jelani saved my life several times. Here's Kitten, enjoy. (I know it should be 'hungover' but i misstyped it and it looked great.

John Profumo. 1915-2006

John Profumo, The man who introduced the British to sex has died, aged 91.
Check the title link for pictures.

Book learning #5

The Great Mortality by John Kelly.
I loved this book!
I enjoyed the tone, the style and in a disturbingly creepy way I was fascinated by the content.
Between 1347 and 1350 the Black death swept through Europe. Kelly joins with us on a tour of pestilence. He spares little imagination when describing the puss, the buboes and the agony of filty, mediaeval death. He also fills us in on the rounds of superstition and rumour that followed in it's path. A gruesome and despicable read. I couldon't put it down!

An open letter to the Wedding Present.

Dear Weddoes,
I'm sorry I missed you last night. I truly am. Something deeply nostalgic collided with something deeply now. The now won.

The nostalgia really wanted to watch you play lots of disturbingly loud, fast, jangly guitar indie rock. The now wanted to get a good night's rest before a very important day of work.

The nostalgia wanted to pretend that I was 16 again and dance the night away to the aforementioned brand of guitar based, fast, loud, jangly, indie rock. The now really had to tidy up the apartment before the cleaning lady came.

The nostalgia knew that if I only had three beers I could probably cope with a smaller than usual ammount of sleep and be only slightly deaf in the morning for all the very important meetings with all the very important people.

The now knew that would not be the case at all.

The now knew that I would be sluggish and deaf, less incisive and perhaps even slightly smelly. The now knew that I would cheekily drink five beers and that I would hurt in the morning.

The now knew that weekends are for rock and that school nights are for watching 'Six Feeet under' or 'The West Wing'.

The nostalgia didn't care when the lady at the Bowery Ballroom told me that you would not be playing until 10pm. The now knew that it would likely be 10.30 or maybe even later. The nostalgia was all up for sitting in a bar and hanging for 2 hours. The now knew that that would be a recipe for disaster! The now took me home.

The now realises that a little something died last night. But that's OK. The now keeps telling me that age may well have wearied you as it has me, That you may well have come across as four, forty year old men rather than the twentysomethings you used to be. The now wonders just how much frenzied jumping about there would have been. The now is trying to make sense of all this. The now really wishes that you had scheduled this gig for a weekend or even just a night when I didn't have a massive day at work the next day, and not the massive kind of paperwork day but the massive kind of meeting with people who need me to be serious yet knowledgable kind of day.

The now could go on and on about this.

The now and the nostalgia meet, they acknowledge each other and smile. They are still good friends, very good friends. The nostalgia is willing to let this one go, there will be other battles.

Update.

It's exhausting all this, being alive nonsense.
This week I am out everynight doing something or other and I have had to spend early mornings avoiding middle aged lady bus stop stalker.
She is one of those super chatty/hyper annoying types one bumps into by accident at bus stops. I guess I have an approachable demeanor but not at 7.30am. I guess at some point in the past month I caught her eye as a target.
I have had to change my bus catching habits in order to avoid her conversations. This morning she caught me at the next bus stop (she was on the bus when I got on a block away. She gave me an excellent death stare). I imagine she will try and talk to me about why I moved stops. I wait for that day!
It's just that I have absolutely no wish to talk to anyone at that time of day. My job involves being pretty nice to people, I am, in general a fairly pleasant person, I just will not tolerate people who abuse that. I know, she's probably lonely, her own kids probably live out of town or don't visit enough (or both). Perhaps there's a reason for that? Perhaps it has something to do with forced jolliness in the pre dawn hours.
I mean, I don't even talk to Dave the Bus that often. There are mornings when we chat up a storm , there are the other mornings when we say NOTHING to each other (and we know each other, work together, drink beer together and our wives are friends, still doesn't mean we have to be jolly at 0730 hours).
There, got that off my chest.

Tonight I make pilgrimage to the Bowery Ballroom to check out 'The Wedding Present'. It's been a good 15 years since I last caught site of Leed's premier Indie rockers. I used to go and see them every time they were in the east of England. I must have seen them about 6 times. I realise how middle class I've become when I caught their ad in 'The New Yorker' last night and said "Gosh, the Weddoes are in town, I'll go after work and groove with the youngsters". Of course it'll be full of old indie kids like myself. Am I still an Indie kid? What should I call myself if I'm not? I'm not even bothered if they are shit (I am fairly sure that they will hold up OK) as it's only cost $16.

Where there is a deadline there is non work related internet fun to be had. I found this little gem today. It's very basic and has it's flaws, the major one being it's Australian based, but it's also got me ridiculously hooked. I can't do links but you should try to google it anyway. It's a cricket game. If you don't like cricket or are an American just don't stress, move on.
http://www.freeworldgroup.com/games/cricket2/index.html

School auction on Saturday night. Just checked with a few of the usual suspects. I shall be attending in order to reach a sustainable yet comprehensive state of drunkeness. I shall schmooze with parents I like and avoid those I don't like and the rest of the time gossip with coworkers. Well, that's the plan anyway.

Reply all.

When friends of friends of friends of friends hit "reply all" aren't you just tempted to reply "WHO ARE YOU?"