Wednesday, February 28, 2007
Saturday, February 24, 2007
Hey, it's Power Down tonight in Islington. A carbon-neutral club night, how cool is that.
Wednesday, February 21, 2007
Trust, 2.0
I don't really know why this story came into my mind today.
Maybe because I was researching (work) stuff online and it reminded me how easy it is to find out pretty much anything, these days. We are, after all, the google generation.
So, long long ago, before the internet and the tyranny of the inbox, I worked for an events company and it was fun, but hard work and I had close relationships with my colleagues. I had a lot of fun. But I was younger: I could drink more and faster back then.
A couple of years later, I was going for a job that related to a sector that Frederick, one of my colleagues, had done a lot of work in. Nowadays, if you want to find something out, you just google, but back in 1994, or whenever it was, research and filing were much-prized skills. So I called him - we were both in different jobs, and said, "hey, Fred, remember that project you worked on? Could you send me the brochure?"
And a week or so later, in the post, it arrived. And he'd scrawled his signature across every single page of it, in six inch high letters.
Because, he clearly didn't trust me.
Now, I just wanted to remind myself about the subject, because I hadn't done that much work in that sector, and wanted to have some keywords to mention in the interview. Until his pre-scrawled brochure arrived, the thought of passing his work off as mine had not even crossed my mind.
See, he's a bloke who I was at university with. Except I was mostly in the union and he was mostly in the bar, so Fred and I didn't hang out that much.
Coming to London, he moved in with his girlfriend in Golders Green (he wasn't Jewish, he just had a thing about Vovlos) and they made magical music together. Then he had an affair with someone at work, dumped girlfriend A for new woman B, and moved into the house she'd got in her divorce. Through guilt, he carried on paying the rent on girlfriend A's flat in Golders Green. And the car payments.
I went to Fred and woman B's wedding in Surrey: it was lovely and English. I got lost because (at that stage) South London and its environs were a long way to me. A month or so later, they came to dinner, and things felt strained. A month after that he left her for... someone he'd met at work.
Sense a pattern emerging?
Anyway, we lost touch, partly because I couldn't totally handle his behaviour, and I hadn't seem him for years. A few months ago, I was in Madrid airport, and there'd been a huge tradeshow, and it was heaving. And there he was: flanked by a bevvy of adminstrators, clearly the show director, or something, by now. His boyish youthfulness had sallowed to a thirty-something sleaziness. I so didn't want to fall into conversation with him, that I turned away and found myself deeply interested in the bookshop.
Trust.
It's a thing.
I don't really know why this story came into my mind today.
Maybe because I was researching (work) stuff online and it reminded me how easy it is to find out pretty much anything, these days. We are, after all, the google generation.
So, long long ago, before the internet and the tyranny of the inbox, I worked for an events company and it was fun, but hard work and I had close relationships with my colleagues. I had a lot of fun. But I was younger: I could drink more and faster back then.
A couple of years later, I was going for a job that related to a sector that Frederick, one of my colleagues, had done a lot of work in. Nowadays, if you want to find something out, you just google, but back in 1994, or whenever it was, research and filing were much-prized skills. So I called him - we were both in different jobs, and said, "hey, Fred, remember that project you worked on? Could you send me the brochure?"
And a week or so later, in the post, it arrived. And he'd scrawled his signature across every single page of it, in six inch high letters.
Because, he clearly didn't trust me.
Now, I just wanted to remind myself about the subject, because I hadn't done that much work in that sector, and wanted to have some keywords to mention in the interview. Until his pre-scrawled brochure arrived, the thought of passing his work off as mine had not even crossed my mind.
See, he's a bloke who I was at university with. Except I was mostly in the union and he was mostly in the bar, so Fred and I didn't hang out that much.
Coming to London, he moved in with his girlfriend in Golders Green (he wasn't Jewish, he just had a thing about Vovlos) and they made magical music together. Then he had an affair with someone at work, dumped girlfriend A for new woman B, and moved into the house she'd got in her divorce. Through guilt, he carried on paying the rent on girlfriend A's flat in Golders Green. And the car payments.
I went to Fred and woman B's wedding in Surrey: it was lovely and English. I got lost because (at that stage) South London and its environs were a long way to me. A month or so later, they came to dinner, and things felt strained. A month after that he left her for... someone he'd met at work.
Sense a pattern emerging?
Anyway, we lost touch, partly because I couldn't totally handle his behaviour, and I hadn't seem him for years. A few months ago, I was in Madrid airport, and there'd been a huge tradeshow, and it was heaving. And there he was: flanked by a bevvy of adminstrators, clearly the show director, or something, by now. His boyish youthfulness had sallowed to a thirty-something sleaziness. I so didn't want to fall into conversation with him, that I turned away and found myself deeply interested in the bookshop.
Trust.
It's a thing.
Check out shulshopper - there are no London shuls (yet) but it was clearly a social-software-meets-chicken-soup project waiting to happen.
Personally, I think shuls should have credit ratings. And kiddush ratings.
Personally, I think shuls should have credit ratings. And kiddush ratings.
Tuesday, February 20, 2007
I have one phrase to say to Starbucks and its corporate marketing geeks: geography is not a flavour. Or even - given that it's bound to be a global campaign - a flavor.
Geography is, well, geography. Flavours are wonderful tastes that enhance your food, create texture, culinary experiences. I'm actually so incensed by this abuse of the English language that I am - for once, temporarily - lost for words.
Gah.
Geography is, well, geography. Flavours are wonderful tastes that enhance your food, create texture, culinary experiences. I'm actually so incensed by this abuse of the English language that I am - for once, temporarily - lost for words.
Gah.
I realise I may be the only person who cares about such matters (yeah, right), but look, you can get the nutritional information on starbucks drinks and cakes.
It's not great reading. Basically, you should have tea/herbal tea, or if you really need coffee, a regular brewed coffee or an Americano. On the cake front, the news isn't good. The lowest calorie thing you can have is a mini treacle tart, but I've got to tell you, I've never seen them. Failing the minis, it's the marshmellow twizzle (145 calories, 4.9g fat), or from the skinny range, carrot cake slice (192 calories, 2.5g fat). I'd give the skinny muffins a miss - they don't taste that great, they're 350ish calories, although low on fat.
You asked. Or you didn't.
It's not great reading. Basically, you should have tea/herbal tea, or if you really need coffee, a regular brewed coffee or an Americano. On the cake front, the news isn't good. The lowest calorie thing you can have is a mini treacle tart, but I've got to tell you, I've never seen them. Failing the minis, it's the marshmellow twizzle (145 calories, 4.9g fat), or from the skinny range, carrot cake slice (192 calories, 2.5g fat). I'd give the skinny muffins a miss - they don't taste that great, they're 350ish calories, although low on fat.
You asked. Or you didn't.
13022007074
Bloke was murdered, broad daylight, in Cricklewood. I'm not sure I have quite the same risk factors, and I don't live that near, but still.
Monday, February 19, 2007
Obvioulsy I recommend making your own humous (I have chickpeas soaking as we speak/I type), but if you buy M&S humous, apparently they've recalled some for salmonella-related reasons.
Looks like every blogger in the world has a book deal.
Interesting Guardian piece about how we eat too much sugar - kids are eating as much as nineteenth century factory workers working fourteen hours a day.
It's the low fat trade off: we've all (some) started eating low-fat, but the trade off for processed food is that they have more sugar. If that fat goes, it has to be replaced by something.
What I didn't know is that fruti is being bred to be blander and sweeter, although I guess I should have guessed, especially since the arrival of the Pink Lady apple, which is even sweeter than Golden Delicious, and that's pretty sweet.
It's the low fat trade off: we've all (some) started eating low-fat, but the trade off for processed food is that they have more sugar. If that fat goes, it has to be replaced by something.
What I didn't know is that fruti is being bred to be blander and sweeter, although I guess I should have guessed, especially since the arrival of the Pink Lady apple, which is even sweeter than Golden Delicious, and that's pretty sweet.
Did you hear this news story about the pardoning and susbsequent adding to the memorial of two World War One soldiers? I was really moved to tears, watching Harry Farr's daughter , who is 94, saying that justice has finally been done.
It seems remarkably unfair that it's taken nearly ninety years to fix this; apparently lots of soldiers were shot for what we would now call PTSD. Facile, I know, but war and all its associated actions just don't do it for me.
I particularly like the last line of the local paper piece: "the soldiers' names will be carved on to the war memorial this summer." Because right now, in the photos, anyway, it just looks like they've sellotaped a piece of paper to the memorial.
It seems remarkably unfair that it's taken nearly ninety years to fix this; apparently lots of soldiers were shot for what we would now call PTSD. Facile, I know, but war and all its associated actions just don't do it for me.
I particularly like the last line of the local paper piece: "the soldiers' names will be carved on to the war memorial this summer." Because right now, in the photos, anyway, it just looks like they've sellotaped a piece of paper to the memorial.
Friday, February 16, 2007
So the power outage seems to have fried my ethernet card, as well as one of my USB slots. Such is life. I have other kit - I'm working on my laptop, but it's frustrating, because I can't be as seamless as I usually am, emailing and IMing and checking stuff online. Oh well.
Tuesday it should all be fixed. Gah. I do seem to rely on technology.
Tuesday it should all be fixed. Gah. I do seem to rely on technology.
Financial Advice
Notwithstanding the fact that I'm - obviously - not regulated by the FSA because I'm not an IFA, I give a lot of people informal financial advice. Dunno why. Because I have become more efficient over the years with my money.
Anyway, it's coming up to new Cash ISA (and stocks and shares ISA) season, and I came across the Scarborough Building Society's MySavings ISA which I heartily recommend to you all. It pays a massive 6.3%, which beats the National Savings 5.8% and then some. You can't transfer into it, so it's just for new savers (start it from April, if you already have one for this year), and like all cash ISAs, it has a maximum of £3k. It's a regular saving plan, but that's cool, just set it up from your bank. It pays less if you make more than one withdrawl or don't save regularly, but that's fine, because you don't really want to withdraw money from your ISA, as you can't get the tax break to put it back.
For some reason, this doesn't show on the best buy tables at MoneySupermarket or on the MoneySavingExpert's article.
Notwithstanding the fact that I'm - obviously - not regulated by the FSA because I'm not an IFA, I give a lot of people informal financial advice. Dunno why. Because I have become more efficient over the years with my money.
Anyway, it's coming up to new Cash ISA (and stocks and shares ISA) season, and I came across the Scarborough Building Society's MySavings ISA which I heartily recommend to you all. It pays a massive 6.3%, which beats the National Savings 5.8% and then some. You can't transfer into it, so it's just for new savers (start it from April, if you already have one for this year), and like all cash ISAs, it has a maximum of £3k. It's a regular saving plan, but that's cool, just set it up from your bank. It pays less if you make more than one withdrawl or don't save regularly, but that's fine, because you don't really want to withdraw money from your ISA, as you can't get the tax break to put it back.
For some reason, this doesn't show on the best buy tables at MoneySupermarket or on the MoneySavingExpert's article.
A couple of weeks ago, I ran into an old friend/acquaintance, and she said to me, "how are you? I haven't read your blog for ages." And I did the usual no-requirement etc. And she replied, "let me guess; you've had computer problems, you've been to the cinema..." I tuned out, actually. Does that mean I'm so... predictable? Dull? Boring?
I say this because I have diagnosed my tech problem (with both E3 and Israel help); my ethernet card is fried, for some reason. I have talked to Evesham, and the bloke on tech support, lulled into a false sense of security by my apparently knowledgable facade) tried to persuade me that I could take out the 56k model in my PCI slot and replace it with an ethernet doodar. I took the machine apart, but you need really small hands and tiny screwdrivers. I am going to pay Evesham fifty earth pounds to come with the right part and do it for me.
Only problem is, all their systems are down, so they can't book me in. And what's the guessing that they can't come till like Tuesday?
In other news, as I mentioned, I went to the cinema last night. So it's true: I'm a failed cinema buff with tech hassles. What's new?
I say this because I have diagnosed my tech problem (with both E3 and Israel help); my ethernet card is fried, for some reason. I have talked to Evesham, and the bloke on tech support, lulled into a false sense of security by my apparently knowledgable facade) tried to persuade me that I could take out the 56k model in my PCI slot and replace it with an ethernet doodar. I took the machine apart, but you need really small hands and tiny screwdrivers. I am going to pay Evesham fifty earth pounds to come with the right part and do it for me.
Only problem is, all their systems are down, so they can't book me in. And what's the guessing that they can't come till like Tuesday?
In other news, as I mentioned, I went to the cinema last night. So it's true: I'm a failed cinema buff with tech hassles. What's new?
I was at the ICA tonight, catching up with an old friend (S) over a bite to eat and a terribly depressing movie about Iraq.
On the way home, the tube driver announced that train wasn't stopping at West Hampstead or Willesden, as there was a power problem. When I got out at Kilburn, it was pich black; not street lights, no houselights, no (blaring) music. Deathly hush. Deathly dark. It was kinda like I imagine the war was: people talking to each other, cameraderie.
Strangely, I met my flatmate on the corner of Mill Lane and we walked home, and lit candles and didn't look at the internet because nothing worked. It was kinda fun. Lying in bed, in the candlelight it was so stealthily-quiet. Super-hush. I loved it.
In all, the lights were off for maybe an hour. It did cross my mind that it was really good for the planet. If I had an electrisave meter... it wouldn't have worked, being powered by electricity.
What's really anoying now is, a slight technical hitch. My desktop PC is connected to the cable modem via an ethernet cable. There is another ethernet cable to my wifi. So the wifi works, which proves that the cable modem works (I'm writing this on my laptop), but for some reason, the desktop can't get internet access. It thinks that an ethernet cable is unplugged, but then it always thinks that if there's a problem. It's its generic thinking.
I called the Virgin (previously Telewest) 0845 helpline, but they told me to (a) reboot (which I had already) and (b) they don't support bluetooth (it also thinks bluetooth is unplugged, even though I don't have that either).
See, this is what's annoying about geekery. Everything was fine till the powercut, no cables have been moved, but now it doesn't work, and I don't know enough to know how to get it to work.
Oh well. Perhaps I'll just go to sleep, and maybe it'll work in the morning (fat chance, I hear you thinking).
All/any advice gratefully received.
On the way home, the tube driver announced that train wasn't stopping at West Hampstead or Willesden, as there was a power problem. When I got out at Kilburn, it was pich black; not street lights, no houselights, no (blaring) music. Deathly hush. Deathly dark. It was kinda like I imagine the war was: people talking to each other, cameraderie.
Strangely, I met my flatmate on the corner of Mill Lane and we walked home, and lit candles and didn't look at the internet because nothing worked. It was kinda fun. Lying in bed, in the candlelight it was so stealthily-quiet. Super-hush. I loved it.
In all, the lights were off for maybe an hour. It did cross my mind that it was really good for the planet. If I had an electrisave meter... it wouldn't have worked, being powered by electricity.
What's really anoying now is, a slight technical hitch. My desktop PC is connected to the cable modem via an ethernet cable. There is another ethernet cable to my wifi. So the wifi works, which proves that the cable modem works (I'm writing this on my laptop), but for some reason, the desktop can't get internet access. It thinks that an ethernet cable is unplugged, but then it always thinks that if there's a problem. It's its generic thinking.
I called the Virgin (previously Telewest) 0845 helpline, but they told me to (a) reboot (which I had already) and (b) they don't support bluetooth (it also thinks bluetooth is unplugged, even though I don't have that either).
See, this is what's annoying about geekery. Everything was fine till the powercut, no cables have been moved, but now it doesn't work, and I don't know enough to know how to get it to work.
Oh well. Perhaps I'll just go to sleep, and maybe it'll work in the morning (fat chance, I hear you thinking).
All/any advice gratefully received.
Thursday, February 15, 2007
Do you know about WeFeelFine?
It's fabulous... it collates all the feelings (ie sentences beginning "I feel..." ) from blogs, and makes them intro pretty images, montages... it's like the collective consciousness, but done over all Damian Hirst. I like.
It's fabulous... it collates all the feelings (ie sentences beginning "I feel..." ) from blogs, and makes them intro pretty images, montages... it's like the collective consciousness, but done over all Damian Hirst. I like.
Tuesday, February 13, 2007
I just discovered Jane Lui today.
Now here's a thing.
My little story about the frummer on the train got linked by DovBear (presumably of Mezeritch, but I don't actually know him, even if I do have a degree specialising in the history of Hasidism, so I know Dov Baer was a disciple of the Baal Shem Tov. But hey, it's the internet age, you probably know this too).
So this is what's been exercising my mind. Check out the comments. I've obviously got semi-embroiled in a debate about what "frum" people do and if they do or don't sit next to each other in a mixed-gender way in a variety of planes/trains/automobiles/simchas. I don't have strong views about that - the web's about linking and referencing (or, as I should now call it referenciness), but I got to thinking about this comment from LkwdGuy:
Very nice.
I would also note the very different attitude displayed by that (non frum) blogger vs. (frum) Mrs. Shear.
Frum Mrs. Shear:
On several occasions, both men and women have stopped by my seat and asked me to move to the back of the bus. I have politely - and firmly - refused this "invitation". This is not a Mehadrin bus and there are no signs indicating that it is.
Non frum blogger:
I didn't sit with him because he was sitting in a two seat, and I wanted to sit with a table, and also, sometimes those guys don't like sitting next to women for modestly reasons, and I wouldn't want to embarrass them.
See, I'm the non frum blogger.
And I'm wondering how he's surmised that. I don't think I have a problem with it, per se, and I know that by charedei/Golders Green/Boro Park standards I'm not frum-frum, but I'm still wondering. Because, for all he knows, I could be wearing a snius (modest, only translated because google won't really help you here) housecoat and a snood. While having an indepth knowledge of the London club scene and eighties rap music. Unusual, I grant you.
Partly, because I had this conversation with a friend recently where I described myself as 110% Jewish: pretty much everything I do in my life is governed by Jewish values, customs or laws. I like it like that. It's a bit much for people who don't think that way, I grant you, and I don't like to label myself, having recently come over all post-denominational (I said that to some cousins at the barmitzvah at the weekend, and they just looked at me like wtf?).
But how does one decide these things? I keep strictly kosher (at home), apart from mostly eating fresh fruit and vegetables, which makes it pretty easy, I go by the London Beth Din kashrus list, and only cook with kosher wine. I have a slight question over gevinas akum given that (a) I am a vegetarian, and (b) the custom in the UK is to use non animal rennet anyway. I celebrate and observe all the festivals, even the silly ones, I am sabbath-observant to a degree. OK, when you're frum-frum, there are no degrees. I give tzedaka. I have (relatively) good middos, although I (a) fear that this is not something one should say about oneself, like being pretty, and (b) suspect that it counts against any humility I might have. Hence moderately. Hey, doesn't Moderately Good Middos sound like an eighties band, but with sheitls? I am committed to Jewish life and community in a way that to the chareidim world probably just look like social action, and that's a bit hippy/liberal/left-of-centre Jewish.
Aside: I had a very interesting conversation with a reform Rov over the summer, who said wouldn't it be great if Reform Judaism was known for the ben-adam-le-chavero commandments (the second six about relationships between man and man), because it seems like orthodoxy's very much about the man and G!d stuff. But this is a very big conversation I won't start now.
So, bottom line. Probably, by a strict ruling, I'm not frum. And let's face it: orthodoxy is about strictures and strictiness (mishpocha with referenciness). I just don't want other people to say it. I think it's OK if I say it, and ... feels weird if someone else does.
I think that, deep down, I think everyone (Jewish) should follow all the rules properly, even if it's not what I do now. Like when people ask, are you frum? And you reply, "not yet."
Life's a journey. It's better when you have a bus-stop outside your house.
My little story about the frummer on the train got linked by DovBear (presumably of Mezeritch, but I don't actually know him, even if I do have a degree specialising in the history of Hasidism, so I know Dov Baer was a disciple of the Baal Shem Tov. But hey, it's the internet age, you probably know this too).
So this is what's been exercising my mind. Check out the comments. I've obviously got semi-embroiled in a debate about what "frum" people do and if they do or don't sit next to each other in a mixed-gender way in a variety of planes/trains/automobiles/simchas. I don't have strong views about that - the web's about linking and referencing (or, as I should now call it referenciness), but I got to thinking about this comment from LkwdGuy:
Very nice.
I would also note the very different attitude displayed by that (non frum) blogger vs. (frum) Mrs. Shear.
Frum Mrs. Shear:
On several occasions, both men and women have stopped by my seat and asked me to move to the back of the bus. I have politely - and firmly - refused this "invitation". This is not a Mehadrin bus and there are no signs indicating that it is.
Non frum blogger:
I didn't sit with him because he was sitting in a two seat, and I wanted to sit with a table, and also, sometimes those guys don't like sitting next to women for modestly reasons, and I wouldn't want to embarrass them.
See, I'm the non frum blogger.
And I'm wondering how he's surmised that. I don't think I have a problem with it, per se, and I know that by charedei/Golders Green/Boro Park standards I'm not frum-frum, but I'm still wondering. Because, for all he knows, I could be wearing a snius (modest, only translated because google won't really help you here) housecoat and a snood. While having an indepth knowledge of the London club scene and eighties rap music. Unusual, I grant you.
Partly, because I had this conversation with a friend recently where I described myself as 110% Jewish: pretty much everything I do in my life is governed by Jewish values, customs or laws. I like it like that. It's a bit much for people who don't think that way, I grant you, and I don't like to label myself, having recently come over all post-denominational (I said that to some cousins at the barmitzvah at the weekend, and they just looked at me like wtf?).
But how does one decide these things? I keep strictly kosher (at home), apart from mostly eating fresh fruit and vegetables, which makes it pretty easy, I go by the London Beth Din kashrus list, and only cook with kosher wine. I have a slight question over gevinas akum given that (a) I am a vegetarian, and (b) the custom in the UK is to use non animal rennet anyway. I celebrate and observe all the festivals, even the silly ones, I am sabbath-observant to a degree. OK, when you're frum-frum, there are no degrees. I give tzedaka. I have (relatively) good middos, although I (a) fear that this is not something one should say about oneself, like being pretty, and (b) suspect that it counts against any humility I might have. Hence moderately. Hey, doesn't Moderately Good Middos sound like an eighties band, but with sheitls? I am committed to Jewish life and community in a way that to the chareidim world probably just look like social action, and that's a bit hippy/liberal/left-of-centre Jewish.
Aside: I had a very interesting conversation with a reform Rov over the summer, who said wouldn't it be great if Reform Judaism was known for the ben-adam-le-chavero commandments (the second six about relationships between man and man), because it seems like orthodoxy's very much about the man and G!d stuff. But this is a very big conversation I won't start now.
So, bottom line. Probably, by a strict ruling, I'm not frum. And let's face it: orthodoxy is about strictures and strictiness (mishpocha with referenciness). I just don't want other people to say it. I think it's OK if I say it, and ... feels weird if someone else does.
I think that, deep down, I think everyone (Jewish) should follow all the rules properly, even if it's not what I do now. Like when people ask, are you frum? And you reply, "not yet."
Life's a journey. It's better when you have a bus-stop outside your house.
Well, my email inbox is heavy with news and views on Ben Goldacre. Like, listen to him here, on the guardian podcast, talking about Gillian. Let's all agree here: he's not just smart and witty, he's got a really nice voice, too. Voices do it for me, I have to say.
Also, he has invented the word "referenciness", which I heartily approve of.
Here's what most (many) people are asking me: is he Jewish? Short answer - I don't know. Running him through the Jewometer at Sashinka Towers, I'd say the following:
- Ben, sounds like a Jewish boy, right? 7 points
- Goldacre - sounds like it used to be Goldstein/Goldfine etc. 9 points
- career choice - doctor only trumped by Hedge Fund Manager for those in their thirties. 9 points
- Lives in Kentish Town - north London, some points, but not exactly West Hampstead or Belsize Park. 5 points
- Type A personality/Oxbridge education/high achiever type: 7 points, although you'd get those points from any other once-were-immigrants minority, so lose a point. Final points: 6.
- Social action: Cares about rightness and doing the right thing, often a Jewish thing, especially for those on the Liberal/Reform/Masorti perspective. Also, lots of other people who aren't Jewish, so points: 5
- Hair: check it out, something of a Jewfro. Points: 8
So that's 42 points out a possible 60, which makes him 70% Jewish. It also probably makes him 70% Asian, so I'd add the caveat that this is clearly on a guessometer rather than real-science basis.
Also, he has invented the word "referenciness", which I heartily approve of.
Here's what most (many) people are asking me: is he Jewish? Short answer - I don't know. Running him through the Jewometer at Sashinka Towers, I'd say the following:
- Ben, sounds like a Jewish boy, right? 7 points
- Goldacre - sounds like it used to be Goldstein/Goldfine etc. 9 points
- career choice - doctor only trumped by Hedge Fund Manager for those in their thirties. 9 points
- Lives in Kentish Town - north London, some points, but not exactly West Hampstead or Belsize Park. 5 points
- Type A personality/Oxbridge education/high achiever type: 7 points, although you'd get those points from any other once-were-immigrants minority, so lose a point. Final points: 6.
- Social action: Cares about rightness and doing the right thing, often a Jewish thing, especially for those on the Liberal/Reform/Masorti perspective. Also, lots of other people who aren't Jewish, so points: 5
- Hair: check it out, something of a Jewfro. Points: 8
So that's 42 points out a possible 60, which makes him 70% Jewish. It also probably makes him 70% Asian, so I'd add the caveat that this is clearly on a guessometer rather than real-science basis.
Monday, February 12, 2007
If you want a really good laugh, you should definitely listen to Hadley Freeman's commentary on London fashion week. It's not exactly a podcast, it's kinda a voiceover with pictures (stills). Waddya call that? Vidcast? I know: television.
Anyway, whatever manner of new/old media animal this is, it's hysterical. Not least because I'd always imagined (when I took a day off work to think about these things) that Hadley would sound terribly Hampstead-daahling, and she just sounds normal.
It's kinda the inside-track: the sort of insider-insight that people who work on fashion magazines get all the time, and lesser mortals like you and me have to wait for monthly magazines to read. Except, it doesn't matter how well connected/directional you or your wardrobe are, I'm just not recommending the snood/horns look. It's silly. Repeat after me: just s-i-l-l-y.
Anyway, whatever manner of new/old media animal this is, it's hysterical. Not least because I'd always imagined (when I took a day off work to think about these things) that Hadley would sound terribly Hampstead-daahling, and she just sounds normal.
It's kinda the inside-track: the sort of insider-insight that people who work on fashion magazines get all the time, and lesser mortals like you and me have to wait for monthly magazines to read. Except, it doesn't matter how well connected/directional you or your wardrobe are, I'm just not recommending the snood/horns look. It's silly. Repeat after me: just s-i-l-l-y.
I think I may be slightly in love with Ben Goldacre after reading today's scathing hatchet job on Gillan McKeith. When I say hatchet-job, of course, I mean reasoned, scientifically valid, referenced piece.
I really do.
Bloke's a genius. He's totally taken her to task for all her "here come's the science" jiggery fakery, and because he's a Proper Doctor, it all makes sense. And he can write. And he lives in North London. Kentish town, to be precise.
Interesting sidenote: I read the piece on the old-fashioned way - read the dead tree version the train, and it's different. I hardly ever buy a paper nowadays because I'm online 25/8, so what's the point. But there's something exciting about seeing the masthead, knowing there's a story that'll grab you; opening the paper and seeing the (brilliant) G2 cover - which you don't get online. And... the whole... positioning. It's different. When you read online you hardly ever know what the "big" story - the longtail of online journalism means all stories are pretty equal. So there's less of an editorial edge. So you read more of what interests you, sure, but a lot less of what you "should read."
Anyway, just saying. And look: he's a self-confessed geek. The best sort.
I really do.
Bloke's a genius. He's totally taken her to task for all her "here come's the science" jiggery fakery, and because he's a Proper Doctor, it all makes sense. And he can write. And he lives in North London. Kentish town, to be precise.
Interesting sidenote: I read the piece on the old-fashioned way - read the dead tree version the train, and it's different. I hardly ever buy a paper nowadays because I'm online 25/8, so what's the point. But there's something exciting about seeing the masthead, knowing there's a story that'll grab you; opening the paper and seeing the (brilliant) G2 cover - which you don't get online. And... the whole... positioning. It's different. When you read online you hardly ever know what the "big" story - the longtail of online journalism means all stories are pretty equal. So there's less of an editorial edge. So you read more of what interests you, sure, but a lot less of what you "should read."
Anyway, just saying. And look: he's a self-confessed geek. The best sort.
So I'm in Manchester (Cheadle, obviously), spent the weekend at my cousin's (well, technically, first cousin once removed, call me a genealogist if you will) barmitzvah. And yes, I shouldn't start sentences with so, but hey, I'm a blogger. No editor, that's the thing. Well, part of the thing.
I'll say more later, when I have a chance, because I've had a wonderful, warm, family-oriented, emotionally charged weekend.
But while I remember, I just want to write this.
I think I've said before, that I have a thing about frummers and trains. Like, when I see frummers (people in black hats/peyot/dressed like eighteenth century Polish noblemen) I want to sit with them and talk Yiddish. Mostly, they don't think I look Jewish (frum) because (a) I don't dress badly/modestly enough and (b) I have fair(ish) hair. But anyway. Like, I like to surprise them... just get chatting, and then it turns out I speak idiomatic Northern Yiddish, or enough to scare them that I know where they're coming from. Broughton Park, mostly.
So there was this bloke in my carriage, older, frum, black hat, beard, the full kit and caboodle. I didn't sit with him because he was sitting in a two seat, and I wanted to sit with a table, and also, sometimes those guys don't like sitting next to women for modestly reasons, and I wouldn't want to embarrass them.
A terribly well preserved woman-of-a-certain age sat next to him; I'm guessing they were both late fifties/early sixties. And when she sat down, I thought, huh, you're not in for much conversation. But when she said hello, he said hello back, and I earwigged their conversation all the way to London: he was going to his daughter in Hendon for shabbes, and by the time the two hours and ten minutes was up, he'd taught her some Yiddish, and they'd swapped grandchildren photos and stories, and he'd quite openly explained lots of Jewish stuff to her in a slightly kiruv way, but hey.
It was cool. It made me feel good that there are open-minded frummers. And everytime he called his daughter Rivkey (which was a lot of times because as we all know, you can never be too careful) he was sure to tell her that (a) there had been no disasters and (b) he had lovely company.
Just interesting, is what I'm saying.
In other news, I sat with someone tonight, at the barmitzvah, who reads my blog, but he didn't want to say too much in case I wrote about him. So I'm just saying, hi, D. I'm not saying anything, just hi.
I'll say more later, when I have a chance, because I've had a wonderful, warm, family-oriented, emotionally charged weekend.
But while I remember, I just want to write this.
I think I've said before, that I have a thing about frummers and trains. Like, when I see frummers (people in black hats/peyot/dressed like eighteenth century Polish noblemen) I want to sit with them and talk Yiddish. Mostly, they don't think I look Jewish (frum) because (a) I don't dress badly/modestly enough and (b) I have fair(ish) hair. But anyway. Like, I like to surprise them... just get chatting, and then it turns out I speak idiomatic Northern Yiddish, or enough to scare them that I know where they're coming from. Broughton Park, mostly.
So there was this bloke in my carriage, older, frum, black hat, beard, the full kit and caboodle. I didn't sit with him because he was sitting in a two seat, and I wanted to sit with a table, and also, sometimes those guys don't like sitting next to women for modestly reasons, and I wouldn't want to embarrass them.
A terribly well preserved woman-of-a-certain age sat next to him; I'm guessing they were both late fifties/early sixties. And when she sat down, I thought, huh, you're not in for much conversation. But when she said hello, he said hello back, and I earwigged their conversation all the way to London: he was going to his daughter in Hendon for shabbes, and by the time the two hours and ten minutes was up, he'd taught her some Yiddish, and they'd swapped grandchildren photos and stories, and he'd quite openly explained lots of Jewish stuff to her in a slightly kiruv way, but hey.
It was cool. It made me feel good that there are open-minded frummers. And everytime he called his daughter Rivkey (which was a lot of times because as we all know, you can never be too careful) he was sure to tell her that (a) there had been no disasters and (b) he had lovely company.
Just interesting, is what I'm saying.
In other news, I sat with someone tonight, at the barmitzvah, who reads my blog, but he didn't want to say too much in case I wrote about him. So I'm just saying, hi, D. I'm not saying anything, just hi.
Friday, February 09, 2007
As you can see from my recent photo set, I hung out a little with Deborah Lipstadt on her UK visit last week; I am, after all, her blogmother.
Last Sunday, a few of us went out for dinner, to Novellini in Golders Green (this is what happens when you try to accomodate kosher/vegetarian eating requirements; you have to eat out in a kosher milchig restaurant). The patisserie is particularly fine, so I'm not complaining, even if I technically don't really eat carbs, and even if I do, there's really no point in patisserie, from a nutritional perpsective.
So the waitress comes over, and tells us that "the specials are written here", she points to the menu. She runs through them, and there was something that Deborah was interested in, and she light-heartedly teased the waitress (who, in my memory, has a Polish accent) - "but where's the carp? You said it was was written here?"
The waitress was sharp as anything. "Oh," she said to Deborah, "You shouldn't believe everything you see written down."
But not as quick as Deborah, who responded, "don't I know it."
Last Sunday, a few of us went out for dinner, to Novellini in Golders Green (this is what happens when you try to accomodate kosher/vegetarian eating requirements; you have to eat out in a kosher milchig restaurant). The patisserie is particularly fine, so I'm not complaining, even if I technically don't really eat carbs, and even if I do, there's really no point in patisserie, from a nutritional perpsective.
So the waitress comes over, and tells us that "the specials are written here", she points to the menu. She runs through them, and there was something that Deborah was interested in, and she light-heartedly teased the waitress (who, in my memory, has a Polish accent) - "but where's the carp? You said it was was written here?"
The waitress was sharp as anything. "Oh," she said to Deborah, "You shouldn't believe everything you see written down."
But not as quick as Deborah, who responded, "don't I know it."
Things that currently annoy me
I have had the noro (noro, noro, see you tomorrow my son) virus for three days and feel crap. Although improved: Tuesday, I couldn't stand up.
I still can't search my blogger archive and frankly it's like not having a brain. I like to check things. I can't. I mean, they're owned by google: fancy not being able to search. It's a core competency, right? Unimpressed by general upgradiness. It's more of a downgrade.
I have a client who hasn't paid me for something since October, and it's upsetting me. I like to do the work, deliver, get paid. I have taken advice, even though I hate doing that kind of thing, but sometimes needs must.
I have just finished the first round of a new thing, and it's fun and interesting and I'm kinda pleased with what I did (noro-permitting). Whoops, this is supposed to be a list of things that annoy me. Wrong list.
I am going to Manchester tomorrow, and just tried to book a ticket online and it didn't work and told me there was something wrong with my delivery method, which iI couldn't work out. I called the stupid 0870 number but they said "call back at 8am". Sheesh. Where's an Indian 24-hour call centre when you need one?
I wanted to buy this handbag in Coast and I forgot. It's an evening handbag, and I'm going to my cousin's barmitzvah. But then, I can differentiate between what I need and what I want. I can live without another handbag. I think.
I have had the noro (noro, noro, see you tomorrow my son) virus for three days and feel crap. Although improved: Tuesday, I couldn't stand up.
I still can't search my blogger archive and frankly it's like not having a brain. I like to check things. I can't. I mean, they're owned by google: fancy not being able to search. It's a core competency, right? Unimpressed by general upgradiness. It's more of a downgrade.
I have a client who hasn't paid me for something since October, and it's upsetting me. I like to do the work, deliver, get paid. I have taken advice, even though I hate doing that kind of thing, but sometimes needs must.
I have just finished the first round of a new thing, and it's fun and interesting and I'm kinda pleased with what I did (noro-permitting). Whoops, this is supposed to be a list of things that annoy me. Wrong list.
I am going to Manchester tomorrow, and just tried to book a ticket online and it didn't work and told me there was something wrong with my delivery method, which iI couldn't work out. I called the stupid 0870 number but they said "call back at 8am". Sheesh. Where's an Indian 24-hour call centre when you need one?
I wanted to buy this handbag in Coast and I forgot. It's an evening handbag, and I'm going to my cousin's barmitzvah. But then, I can differentiate between what I need and what I want. I can live without another handbag. I think.
Humous update
So in answer to Janice's question: the chickpeas are soaked and cooked by hand. I am converted.
The humous recipe is online, although it doesn't take account of (relatively) recent conversion to hand-soaking.
My za'atar is personally shipped by J from Israel and it's fabulous. You can buy za'atar here in your local (if you live in Kilburn) pan-Arab/Lebanese style shop, or if you live near a Tesco that "does ethnic" there's some brand that does it in plastic pyramid shaped things, which is not bad.
So in answer to Janice's question: the chickpeas are soaked and cooked by hand. I am converted.
The humous recipe is online, although it doesn't take account of (relatively) recent conversion to hand-soaking.
My za'atar is personally shipped by J from Israel and it's fabulous. You can buy za'atar here in your local (if you live in Kilburn) pan-Arab/Lebanese style shop, or if you live near a Tesco that "does ethnic" there's some brand that does it in plastic pyramid shaped things, which is not bad.
Wednesday, February 07, 2007
For those who are interested in these things, I have just bounced back after 24 hours with the (self-diagnosed) norovirus.
For some reason, I can't get the lyrics of Dire Straits Skateway out of my mind: I keep hearing, "noro, noro, waxy, I'll see you tomorrow my son." Seems like it can do things to your head.
For some reason, I can't get the lyrics of Dire Straits Skateway out of my mind: I keep hearing, "noro, noro, waxy, I'll see you tomorrow my son." Seems like it can do things to your head.
Monday, February 05, 2007
homemade humous
I'm always talking about my humous so I thought I'd show you how it looks - I made a quick batch for lunch, with carrots to dip in it.
It's the regular recipe, garnished with chick peas, a little bit of olive oil, and sprinkled with za'atar.
I had a whole lesson yesterday on how to use my camera, so now I can do these close-up-y I'm a foodie shots. Yay.
It's the regular recipe, garnished with chick peas, a little bit of olive oil, and sprinkled with za'atar.
I had a whole lesson yesterday on how to use my camera, so now I can do these close-up-y I'm a foodie shots. Yay.
Did anyone "watch" OnlineCaroline (now deceased, apparently) a couple of years ago? It sounds like a cross between Bridget Jones, 24, and some camgirl, but I'm curious to know what it's really like.
An alleged letter bomb at Capita headquarters - conveniently almost adjacent to Scotland Yard.
Do you think it's someone annoyed about the congestion charge?
Do you think it's someone annoyed about the congestion charge?
Sunday, February 04, 2007
Deborah Lipstadt being interviewed by Al Jazeera this morning.
Friday, February 02, 2007
Ottolenghi, Islington
So Wednesday last, F was in town, and we dined at Ottolenghi in Islington, which is totally my kind of place. It's all tapas-y with a mediterranean hint, and I had the most orgasmic raspberry meringue for desert.
Also, you sort of feel like you're at a private dinner party; it's a long table with exactly the chairs my parents had in the 1970s (which both F and I observed).
Also, you sort of feel like you're at a private dinner party; it's a long table with exactly the chairs my parents had in the 1970s (which both F and I observed).
Thursday, February 01, 2007
I just spoke to someone (a web person, no less) who in response to my question "what do you think of user generated content?", said, "what do you mean?" And after a few versions of asking the question, it because clear that she had no idea at all about the concept.
Coupla weeks back, a strategy person at a huge media company said to me, "what are these online games of which people speak?"
Coupla weeks back, a strategy person at a huge media company said to me, "what are these online games of which people speak?"
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