First serious session: Jen Krause showed the Christ in the City short, directed by Yitz Brilliant, followed by a discussion on religious identity in the twentyfirst century.
Let's just say Yitz's utterly one-dimensional movie didn't really do it for me - if Jesus came back, not sure it would be to the upper west side of NY, despite it's comedy value, and he sure wouldn't know from looking for a shul for shabbes - and from an English perspective, felt... caricatured, at best.
J comes back to see Mel Gibson's the Passion, and the movie's kinda like laying out the anti-Passion position: christians (and muslims) could get as angry about this one.
Jen, however, is a powerful, dynamic presenter, and instisted on calling me bubeleh because I'm wearing my bubeleh t-shirt.
Friday, January 13, 2006
So I'm here at Kutsher's in the Catskills, it's day -1-ish (starts "properly" this afternoon, quite a lot of people came up last night, and sessions have already started).
First off, I should say that it was unseasonably warm in New York: yesterday I was walking around Soho in a t-shirt like it was July. But up here it's properly snowing/snowed and cold and icy.
In Manhattan, I saw Auntie F, a very old (ie of longstanding) family friend, a native New Yorker who's been back in NY for a couple of years now. (She married a Manchester guy, and whenever her and Uncle S would argue, she would say, "Sidney, I was just coming for one year").
As a kid, the nearest thing to a "Jewish resort" in the north of England was Palm Court in St Annes. We went there for Pesach a few times until I think (probably) it closed. On Pesach, it was creaking at the seams with overeating Jews desperate not to change their own pots.
When I told Auntie F I was coming to Kutschers, she said, "it's like Palm Court, but worse," and it's fair to say that there's a certain... faded grandeur to the whole set up.
Last year's Limmud NY was at the Hudson Valley Resort, and compared to Nottingham university's student acommodation and walking four miles to a shared cold shower, was extreme luxury. But some of the New Yorkers were really disappointed with the Hudson Valley; tired, faded, not quite the service level they wanted.
Kutscher's is all that and more. For a start, they have the heat up to about 90, and because many of us are not 95, that's quite warm. But you can't open any windows. But if you go outside, it's icy. It's like that Woody Allen sketch where he makes a weather system in his hotel room: I expect to see a storm in the lobby any moment.
Last night, after sessions, they showed Dirty Dancing in the bar - which was part-filmed here, in like 1987 - and it reminded me of watching the Rocky Horror show as a kid: everyone knew the dialogue, although when B and I started dancing, we were the only ones.
In other news, most Americans, on hearing my dulcet UK tones think I'm South African.
First off, I should say that it was unseasonably warm in New York: yesterday I was walking around Soho in a t-shirt like it was July. But up here it's properly snowing/snowed and cold and icy.
In Manhattan, I saw Auntie F, a very old (ie of longstanding) family friend, a native New Yorker who's been back in NY for a couple of years now. (She married a Manchester guy, and whenever her and Uncle S would argue, she would say, "Sidney, I was just coming for one year").
As a kid, the nearest thing to a "Jewish resort" in the north of England was Palm Court in St Annes. We went there for Pesach a few times until I think (probably) it closed. On Pesach, it was creaking at the seams with overeating Jews desperate not to change their own pots.
When I told Auntie F I was coming to Kutschers, she said, "it's like Palm Court, but worse," and it's fair to say that there's a certain... faded grandeur to the whole set up.
Last year's Limmud NY was at the Hudson Valley Resort, and compared to Nottingham university's student acommodation and walking four miles to a shared cold shower, was extreme luxury. But some of the New Yorkers were really disappointed with the Hudson Valley; tired, faded, not quite the service level they wanted.
Kutscher's is all that and more. For a start, they have the heat up to about 90, and because many of us are not 95, that's quite warm. But you can't open any windows. But if you go outside, it's icy. It's like that Woody Allen sketch where he makes a weather system in his hotel room: I expect to see a storm in the lobby any moment.
Last night, after sessions, they showed Dirty Dancing in the bar - which was part-filmed here, in like 1987 - and it reminded me of watching the Rocky Horror show as a kid: everyone knew the dialogue, although when B and I started dancing, we were the only ones.
In other news, most Americans, on hearing my dulcet UK tones think I'm South African.
Thursday, January 12, 2006
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Not so much a park as a tiny open space at the busy intersection between Canal and Watts. Nice signage though. Feels more parklike. parklife.
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Do you think this is the beginning of the Holland Tunnel? I guess it has to start somewhere.
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This should be my motto - when I'm not thinking deep intellectual thoughts, I'm all just so-hair. So there.
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When you look up close, this image is actually made up of thousands of black and white ipods.
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Do you think I should get one of these to replace my sony bedside clock radio, which was a batmitzvah present, and is not exactly DAB radio?
caramel machiatto
I realise coffee isn't everything - or even, possibly, anything - but in NY you get your coffee in a real cup and saucer. And they back a big deal about the "Europeaness" of everything.
This is a realtime photo - I just took it off the coffee I'm drinking and uploaded it. Fascinating, right?
This is a realtime photo - I just took it off the coffee I'm drinking and uploaded it. Fascinating, right?
I am going to Devachan and Departure Lounge (don't even ask about the departure lounge stuff) to get my haircut (by the Curly Girl people). And to the Soho Apple Store. Great combination, right: geektoys and hairstuff.
Of course, usually the only soho I see is my small office home office (not true, actually, but sounds good).
I'm half on NY time and half on London time.
Of course, usually the only soho I see is my small office home office (not true, actually, but sounds good).
I'm half on NY time and half on London time.
Last night, F, W and I went out for italian, at Giorgio's a new place in Tribeca.
I'd spent the day partially admiring stationery at Stapes: I didn't buy anything, but the joy of all the different kinds of stationery totally reminded me of being a kid, and loving Hello Kitty and all other paper-and-pen related nirvana-gifts.
Bizarrely, F and I got to discussing Cheadle-related stationery last night, and reminisced for some time about "Watling Stationers" on Wilmslow Road (as well as Marsh's on the High Street) and the really frum guy behind the counter there. Both of us realised our earliest stationery-related memories were forged checking out the red pencils after cheder on a Sunday morning.
Of course it's long gone. Cheadle, like most other faux-suburban places now has a high street replete with charity shops, building socieites and... that's it, really.
Maybe the next generation will only ever know from chain stores. Their chain stories will be generic, the same as every other kid growing up at that time, whatever place ("remember how Sainsbury's used to stack...."). The uniqueness of our memories is a marker of our age; kids of the seventies who about independently run shops, and owner managers (Alan Butler at Butler's the newsagents). Nowadays, it's all like, do you know Mr Tesco and Mr M&S?
I'd spent the day partially admiring stationery at Stapes: I didn't buy anything, but the joy of all the different kinds of stationery totally reminded me of being a kid, and loving Hello Kitty and all other paper-and-pen related nirvana-gifts.
Bizarrely, F and I got to discussing Cheadle-related stationery last night, and reminisced for some time about "Watling Stationers" on Wilmslow Road (as well as Marsh's on the High Street) and the really frum guy behind the counter there. Both of us realised our earliest stationery-related memories were forged checking out the red pencils after cheder on a Sunday morning.
Of course it's long gone. Cheadle, like most other faux-suburban places now has a high street replete with charity shops, building socieites and... that's it, really.
Maybe the next generation will only ever know from chain stores. Their chain stories will be generic, the same as every other kid growing up at that time, whatever place ("remember how Sainsbury's used to stack...."). The uniqueness of our memories is a marker of our age; kids of the seventies who about independently run shops, and owner managers (Alan Butler at Butler's the newsagents). Nowadays, it's all like, do you know Mr Tesco and Mr M&S?
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And in the land of the free, this must be a great hobby. Mabye there are pistol ranges in London, that I just don't know from. You know, the St John's Wood Rifle and Pistol Range. Of course.
Walk, don't walk
So I walked from 59th to about 24th street, zigzagging across from east to west.
Took in the Gap (crap), Banana Republic (excellent), Ann Taylor (kinda for the older/more corporate woman, but I bought a couple of plain-brown-wrapped things), Duane Reade (a whole host of toiletries you can't even get in the UK), got a small blister, drank coffee, heard a hundred Israelis talking into cellphones on street corners.
Took in the Gap (crap), Banana Republic (excellent), Ann Taylor (kinda for the older/more corporate woman, but I bought a couple of plain-brown-wrapped things), Duane Reade (a whole host of toiletries you can't even get in the UK), got a small blister, drank coffee, heard a hundred Israelis talking into cellphones on street corners.
Wednesday, January 11, 2006
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So, you know how these things happen.
When I got on the plane, I was seated next to a an English-looking guy; tall, willowy, looked like he did something back-office in a hedge fund or second tier executive search fund. Milchig, he sure was. I was thinking I could be head down in Madame Bovary for seven hours straight.
The row in front (the one with all the legroom), was a ball-of-energy of an American woman, who immediately reminded me of M, my mentor (when I had a job); older but looked fabulous, friendly, warm. She started a conversation with this guy about how she preferred his seat, and he couldn't believe his luck that he would get all the legroom (he was about six five) and she wanted to rest her legs on the ledge on the row behind. They effected a swap, and he kept saying "and I don't have to pay you?"
B turned out to be absoultely delightful: the flight went unbelievably quickly, she turned out to be Jewish and entrepreneurial and creative, and we had a lot to talk about. I mean, a lot. We might even do some work together.
I still managed to fit in seeing Flightplan (the new Jodie Foster - great twist, even though I don't really do thrillers) and Grave Danger, the Tarantino two part CSI. I was almost biting my nails, but wanted to save them for a NY manicure.
So I'm ensconsed in Tribeca, trying to stay awake till a decent hour so my bodyclock can be normal (whatever that is) and hello.
Say hi. It's all so - international. You know. How cool would it be when I got up in (my) the morning, you (UK) peops had all told me what you're up to.
When I got on the plane, I was seated next to a an English-looking guy; tall, willowy, looked like he did something back-office in a hedge fund or second tier executive search fund. Milchig, he sure was. I was thinking I could be head down in Madame Bovary for seven hours straight.
The row in front (the one with all the legroom), was a ball-of-energy of an American woman, who immediately reminded me of M, my mentor (when I had a job); older but looked fabulous, friendly, warm. She started a conversation with this guy about how she preferred his seat, and he couldn't believe his luck that he would get all the legroom (he was about six five) and she wanted to rest her legs on the ledge on the row behind. They effected a swap, and he kept saying "and I don't have to pay you?"
B turned out to be absoultely delightful: the flight went unbelievably quickly, she turned out to be Jewish and entrepreneurial and creative, and we had a lot to talk about. I mean, a lot. We might even do some work together.
I still managed to fit in seeing Flightplan (the new Jodie Foster - great twist, even though I don't really do thrillers) and Grave Danger, the Tarantino two part CSI. I was almost biting my nails, but wanted to save them for a NY manicure.
So I'm ensconsed in Tribeca, trying to stay awake till a decent hour so my bodyclock can be normal (whatever that is) and hello.
Say hi. It's all so - international. You know. How cool would it be when I got up in (my) the morning, you (UK) peops had all told me what you're up to.
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Photographic evidence - as if you needed it - of my earlier comments. Because, as we all know, most people are cheaper in the airport.
curry
But before I get to here, can I just mentioned that I had a fabulous curry on Monday night in the Khana curry house, my prefered supplier since the sad demise of the Cricklewood Tandoori. Mutter paneer, pilau rice and peshwari naan, since you ask. Yes, I am lo-carbing. Not.
roots, shmoots
Yep, I'm in New York. It's like 1.30 London time, but it's only 8.25 NY time, (where did that other five minutes go? Aside: when I was a kid, my mum managed to persuade me that time differences weren't just for countries/time zones; it was five minutes across the road and 20 minutes in North Manchester. Let's just say I was confused about relativity).
Anyway, the wonder of technology means that I can get my photos off my phone while I'm afk (abroad) due to bringing a wire with me. So this isn't really a travel pic: as I was speedily decanting shampoos into various tiny travel containers this morning, I rediscovered this bulb that I "planted" in November - it's got loads of roots, and I feel all green-fingered (or should that be white-rooted) and excited. I've left it in the sun while I'm away, and who knows what might happen.
Anyway, the wonder of technology means that I can get my photos off my phone while I'm afk (abroad) due to bringing a wire with me. So this isn't really a travel pic: as I was speedily decanting shampoos into various tiny travel containers this morning, I rediscovered this bulb that I "planted" in November - it's got loads of roots, and I feel all green-fingered (or should that be white-rooted) and excited. I've left it in the sun while I'm away, and who knows what might happen.
Tuesday, January 10, 2006
Only the other day, when I finally decided to give my gym the boot, I realised the one thing I'd really miss - because I can get exercise in all sorts of other places - was the ab roller. I like that.
And then, lo and behold, I went to go into town, and the ab roller fairy had left one by the bus stop outside my house. In the way that people in cities who don't want things leave them outside their house, some kind person left me the very thing I wished for.
Be careful what you wish for.
And then, lo and behold, I went to go into town, and the ab roller fairy had left one by the bus stop outside my house. In the way that people in cities who don't want things leave them outside their house, some kind person left me the very thing I wished for.
Be careful what you wish for.
Monday, January 09, 2006
[IT Housekeeping] Things I still need to do to make my PC perfect:
make email addresses autocomplete in Outlook mail (from the address book)
I used to have an insert-signature (I have many) tab in outlook mail; all the sigs are set up, but need to be able to choose them
get my music off my old hard disk and re-setup iTunes with all my playlists (yes, must do proper backup next time)
install audiograbber
find my lost photos (from old harddisk?)
install LookOut
when I click on a link in an IM message, it doesn't work
Sunday, January 08, 2006
This is cool: things have changed at Virgin Mobile USA since I was there last year.
Then I had to get a fake address, and get an NY buddy to top up my phone for me. Now, I had to re-register the whole (prepay) phone, so it's a new number etcetera, but I can top up with my paypal account. How cool is that?
New York is calling me. As is my NY hairdresser, manhattan buddies, the exchange rate, shops, galleries, funky Jewish stuff, and - of course - Limmud NY.
Then I had to get a fake address, and get an NY buddy to top up my phone for me. Now, I had to re-register the whole (prepay) phone, so it's a new number etcetera, but I can top up with my paypal account. How cool is that?
New York is calling me. As is my NY hairdresser, manhattan buddies, the exchange rate, shops, galleries, funky Jewish stuff, and - of course - Limmud NY.
Saturday, January 07, 2006
Excellent piece in this morning's Guardian, about a faux Galloway constituent trying to reach him while he's in the Big Brother House. Glad he's getting paid the big(ish) bucks to represent the people. Then.
Friday, January 06, 2006
Who knew? Turns out Neil Gaiman is Jewish. Although, obviously, you have to be careful what you read on Wikipedia.
Did you know you can create your own blog with lastminuteliving.com, the travel and lifestyle bloggers community?
How, er, odd.
How, er, odd.
Since the demise of Jewhoo.com (unlinked, turned into a blog rather than a who's who of the Jewish-ish world), I've wondered. About a lot of things. But now I discovered the List of Jews.
Did you know Orlando Bloom is Jew-ish?
Did you know Orlando Bloom is Jew-ish?
Thursday, January 05, 2006
The Jewish Book Week programme is up (25 February to 5 March). I'm thinking about Barmitzvah Disco, Mike Leigh, Linda Grant, Superheroes, William Frankel, Dangerous Writing and Sarah Paretsky.
Given the rich tradition of Jewish comic/graphic novel creators, the Art of the Graphic Novel looks a little pedestrian/bandwaggony.
Waddyou think?
Given the rich tradition of Jewish comic/graphic novel creators, the Art of the Graphic Novel looks a little pedestrian/bandwaggony.
Waddyou think?
This is really odd. Synchronicity, or something.
Until last night, I'd never head of the Magic Numbers, but I went over to J's house to check out his PVR and wireless house music setup (boy, am I jealous), and he played me something.
Today, now, I get email from a PR company, pitching a music company who's done a special community site for them, for an event I'm putting together.
Coincidence is my middle name.
Until last night, I'd never head of the Magic Numbers, but I went over to J's house to check out his PVR and wireless house music setup (boy, am I jealous), and he played me something.
Today, now, I get email from a PR company, pitching a music company who's done a special community site for them, for an event I'm putting together.
Coincidence is my middle name.
Someone at Telewest just sent me a document, and they have their own font. TelewestVoice.
Y'know, I'm going to get my own font.
Y'know, I'm going to get my own font.
Deborah Lipstadt made metafilter.
Only the other day I recommended Firefox to a buddy. Now, this - Browse Happy. It's like a 12-step programme for people who gave up Internet Explorer.
Wednesday, January 04, 2006
Nowadays, the news is like the back-channel to everyone's brain, the soundtrack to our lives. If you're a newsjunkie, online kinda gal, you have a constant vague sense of breaking stories.
So yesterday I knew about the miners in West Virginia, and when I heard early this morning on the Today programme that after two days, twelve of them had been found alive, I was quietly jubilant and thankful that maybe this year would be a better year for the universe (hippy that I am).
So now it turns out it was a mistake. Forgive me, but how exactly do those kind of mistakes happen? Twelve families were jumping all over town, celebrating in the church, and ringing bells, and everything. And then it turns out there's some kind of "miscommunication". "Technical error." What, exactly?
You - they, whoever - just can't play with peoples' lives.
So yesterday I knew about the miners in West Virginia, and when I heard early this morning on the Today programme that after two days, twelve of them had been found alive, I was quietly jubilant and thankful that maybe this year would be a better year for the universe (hippy that I am).
So now it turns out it was a mistake. Forgive me, but how exactly do those kind of mistakes happen? Twelve families were jumping all over town, celebrating in the church, and ringing bells, and everything. And then it turns out there's some kind of "miscommunication". "Technical error." What, exactly?
You - they, whoever - just can't play with peoples' lives.
And I re-installed iScrobbler For Windows, so I can see all my iTunes stuff on LastFM. I'm so 2006.
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I spent Monday evening (although let's face it, the whole of the last two weeks has felt like a month of Sundays, so who knows what day it was) making pegdolls with R & J - J eventually got bored, but not after he'd made a fabulous rabbi-type character.
I made this one - she's the mother of the barmitzvah boy, and she has a purple handbag (hand sewn) to match her skirt, and is wearing one of those doilies/mantilla things that women of a certain age with bullet-proof hair wear in shul instead of a hat so that their hair doesn't get "ruined".
I think this whole peg-dollery lark could really take off.
I made this one - she's the mother of the barmitzvah boy, and she has a purple handbag (hand sewn) to match her skirt, and is wearing one of those doilies/mantilla things that women of a certain age with bullet-proof hair wear in shul instead of a hat so that their hair doesn't get "ruined".
I think this whole peg-dollery lark could really take off.
Tuesday, January 03, 2006
New year, new harddisk - you know how it is.
My desktop/workhorse PC is only two and a half years old, but it works hard, and the hard disk was getting more and more errors, and actually, Evesham were cool about just replacing it, although I had to wait from December 17th till today. But hey.
So, just because I'm list-driven and derive a certain degree of geek pleasure from all this (provided I have trusty technical support, which I do), here's where I'm up to:
spent an hour or so trying to connect to the web, till I discovered that the engineer had left the RJ45 cable unplugged
turned on my Windows firewall
downloaded Windows updates
installed MS Office, OneNote, Visio, ProjectDoodar
downloaded Office updates
downloaded Firefox 1.5
reinstalled all my Firefox settings/tabs etc with MozBackup, which I can't recommend enough - easy to use, and just wow
downloaded Norton from my extended licence (easy to search on Symantec store with email address and last five digits of credit card)
reinstalled BackupDirect, which I also can't recommend highly enough. I pay #20ish a month to do a nightly incremental offsite back up, and it's easy to use, intuitive, and has the most amazing customer service (I happened to have the MD's mobile number, so called him to check where to get the reinstall, and I got a susbequent email and callback to check I was ok. Also, the reinstall prompts you for keys/passwords etc and is dead easy to use)
downloaded all my data (took an hour or so), just my email to go now
downloaded itunes
reinstalled that great del.icio.us toolbar thing for tagging on the run
So, all that's left is:
recreate my fiddly, idiosyncratic IMAP outlook settings, with two mail providers and local archives. This is the thing that stops me getting a "real" job - I have my email just the way I like it
install iTunes, find my music and make everything work again
move all the data to my newly partioned hard drive
install and configure my Palm
configure Norton antivirus
download Adobe acrobat reader, which I'm slightly scared of, because it gave me a hard time in November
check data versions... couple of recent projects have been worked on on my USB drive, as it was all getting ropey
remind BackupDirect to timetable backups
get all the icons on the desktop the way I like them
find that nice 1970s BBC2 screensaver
eat chilli
My expert technical support buddy is worried that he might not be singing for his supper.
So far (touch wood) just not as stressful as I thought it might be...)
My desktop/workhorse PC is only two and a half years old, but it works hard, and the hard disk was getting more and more errors, and actually, Evesham were cool about just replacing it, although I had to wait from December 17th till today. But hey.
So, just because I'm list-driven and derive a certain degree of geek pleasure from all this (provided I have trusty technical support, which I do), here's where I'm up to:
So, all that's left is:
My expert technical support buddy is worried that he might not be singing for his supper.
So far (touch wood) just not as stressful as I thought it might be...)
Monday, January 02, 2006
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Alison Lapper on the fourth plinth in Trafalgar Square. Taken with my camphone/phonecam (never sure which). There's a bit of a delay - when I took it, it looked like I'd got two birds just flying overhead, but then when it saved, they were gone. I hate how that happens. J helped me frame the shot (you can see it looks better than the other one).
Sunday, January 01, 2006
... and also, Happy New Year.
I feel I should call it non-Jewish/goyishe New Year, to differentiate it from the other one, and to ensure that I don't inadvertantly eat a lot of honey cake or pomegranates.
Had a great New Year - played Singstar (for the first time) and hung out with cool, mellow people: didn't even get to all the parties I planned to. Because, really, you can only be in one place at one time.
I feel I should call it non-Jewish/goyishe New Year, to differentiate it from the other one, and to ensure that I don't inadvertantly eat a lot of honey cake or pomegranates.
Had a great New Year - played Singstar (for the first time) and hung out with cool, mellow people: didn't even get to all the parties I planned to. Because, really, you can only be in one place at one time.
Fire in Kilburn - y'know, I thought there was a lot of activity (fire engines etc) when I went out today.
Friday, December 30, 2005
Don't confuse Broken Arrows with Broken Flowers.
Tiffany Shlain defines herself as a "Bad Jew": check out her new short The Tribe (hoping it gets to London/UK some time soon...)
Thursday, December 29, 2005
ghettoplotz
I finally got to see Ghettoplotz - they played a gig at Limmud on Tuesday night, and even though we'd just arrived, ended up dancing till like 2am (hence driving round Hither Green at 3am, because we were very lost trying to find our hotel).
They were very fab; and I feel very excited about all the cool Jewish stuff happening in the UK (finally).
They were very fab; and I feel very excited about all the cool Jewish stuff happening in the UK (finally).
My review of the year is up at Feeling Listless.
But here it is in all it's glory:
2005 was the year that I really discovered photography (among other things - I don't want you to think I'm one dimensional).
I often think of myself as a visual person: I dress in that textured creative way that implies I know the canon of visual imagery. I was Trinny-and-Susanna-ing my friends (without the nastiness, obviously) well before anyone knew from personal shoppers or TV shows. And I go to art galleries, and often notice small interesting details in the universe - visually - and imagine myself framing photos and referring to them later as I build up my records of how the world looks to me.
I am susceptible to my environment. I notice when people's furniture is the wrong size for the room, or their pictures are hung in a way that doesn't work for the space. A very long time ago (when I wasn't quite so good at knowing when to keep my mouth shut) I enabled the speedy and rather tragic ending of lovely relationship with a creative opera-lover-type who lived in Highgate because I rather forcefully insisted that he rehang the pictures in his living room. He subsequently turned out to be gay, and I learned the value of keeping shtum.
Last November, I did the usual phone-upgrade thing with Orange, and I got a Nokia 6710. I didn't want a camera, it just came with it, and for six months, I was annoyed that it was a phone that primarily perceived itself as a camera, and you had to press more buttons to make a call than take a pic.
Two summers ago, I angsted for ages about which digital camera to buy - balancing technical requirements with value for money - because the moment you make the purchase decision on any piece of technology and press the "confirm order" button, that very minute something bigger/better/smaller/cheaper comes on the market and you are already working with tired materials.
The camera gods, however, were having none of it: my new digital camera was nicked by a taxi driver in New York less than a month after I bought it, and before I'd even had a chance to download the photos.
Sometimes, you think someone up there has a message for you.
But in the meantime, I'd got into my phonecam. Camphone. Who knows what you call all the new stuff that keeps arriving.
What I like is the spontaneity. The throwaway-ness. I'm not taking a day of work and saying "today is the day I take pictures." My camera's always in my handbag, because my phone is, and the impermanence of the snaps that I take is what does it for me. The artlessness, and the limitations of the form - closeups are better than vistas, real closeups just get fuzzy - mean that I have to work within restrictions that, bizarrely - seem to engender my creativity, rather than hamper it.
After I'd worked out the geek-stuff of getting my photos off my phone and onto my PC, I got excited. I felt like I'd found a new way to express myself. There's something both calming and life-affirming about recording the world as you see it.
This all came to a head in November, traditionally phone-upgrade month. Usually, I'm hungry for the latest whatever, craving newness above all else, but now I feel my Nokia 6710 is my trusty friend: I couldn't give it up for anything. Also, it looks slightly art deco in a fakely retro way, which makes me feel very Algonquin, which is never a bad thing.
And I never bought another real digital camera - I've thought about it, and delicioused all the research, but there's no hurry. Sure, I'd like to explore new ways of doing clever things with photos, but there's still so much for to discover with what I've got, that there's no real hurry.
No real hurry. That's a new concept for me.
So for a few months, I've had a flickr. Now I've got more than five hundred photos, and sure, lots of them are holiday snaps, but some are really good photos that I really like. And also, sometimes I think my blog looks a bit dull, all text, so I can break it up with pictures.
After all, a picture's worth a thousand words.
Check out my flickr at: http://www.flickr.com/photos/sashinkauk/
But here it is in all it's glory:
2005 was the year that I really discovered photography (among other things - I don't want you to think I'm one dimensional).
I often think of myself as a visual person: I dress in that textured creative way that implies I know the canon of visual imagery. I was Trinny-and-Susanna-ing my friends (without the nastiness, obviously) well before anyone knew from personal shoppers or TV shows. And I go to art galleries, and often notice small interesting details in the universe - visually - and imagine myself framing photos and referring to them later as I build up my records of how the world looks to me.
I am susceptible to my environment. I notice when people's furniture is the wrong size for the room, or their pictures are hung in a way that doesn't work for the space. A very long time ago (when I wasn't quite so good at knowing when to keep my mouth shut) I enabled the speedy and rather tragic ending of lovely relationship with a creative opera-lover-type who lived in Highgate because I rather forcefully insisted that he rehang the pictures in his living room. He subsequently turned out to be gay, and I learned the value of keeping shtum.
Last November, I did the usual phone-upgrade thing with Orange, and I got a Nokia 6710. I didn't want a camera, it just came with it, and for six months, I was annoyed that it was a phone that primarily perceived itself as a camera, and you had to press more buttons to make a call than take a pic.
Two summers ago, I angsted for ages about which digital camera to buy - balancing technical requirements with value for money - because the moment you make the purchase decision on any piece of technology and press the "confirm order" button, that very minute something bigger/better/smaller/cheaper comes on the market and you are already working with tired materials.
The camera gods, however, were having none of it: my new digital camera was nicked by a taxi driver in New York less than a month after I bought it, and before I'd even had a chance to download the photos.
Sometimes, you think someone up there has a message for you.
But in the meantime, I'd got into my phonecam. Camphone. Who knows what you call all the new stuff that keeps arriving.
What I like is the spontaneity. The throwaway-ness. I'm not taking a day of work and saying "today is the day I take pictures." My camera's always in my handbag, because my phone is, and the impermanence of the snaps that I take is what does it for me. The artlessness, and the limitations of the form - closeups are better than vistas, real closeups just get fuzzy - mean that I have to work within restrictions that, bizarrely - seem to engender my creativity, rather than hamper it.
After I'd worked out the geek-stuff of getting my photos off my phone and onto my PC, I got excited. I felt like I'd found a new way to express myself. There's something both calming and life-affirming about recording the world as you see it.
This all came to a head in November, traditionally phone-upgrade month. Usually, I'm hungry for the latest whatever, craving newness above all else, but now I feel my Nokia 6710 is my trusty friend: I couldn't give it up for anything. Also, it looks slightly art deco in a fakely retro way, which makes me feel very Algonquin, which is never a bad thing.
And I never bought another real digital camera - I've thought about it, and delicioused all the research, but there's no hurry. Sure, I'd like to explore new ways of doing clever things with photos, but there's still so much for to discover with what I've got, that there's no real hurry.
No real hurry. That's a new concept for me.
So for a few months, I've had a flickr. Now I've got more than five hundred photos, and sure, lots of them are holiday snaps, but some are really good photos that I really like. And also, sometimes I think my blog looks a bit dull, all text, so I can break it up with pictures.
After all, a picture's worth a thousand words.
Check out my flickr at: http://www.flickr.com/photos/sashinkauk/
menorah
Just this minute got back from Limmud - 24 hour flying visit, to be recommended - and of course there's a Chabad menorah there. Happy fourth day (for tomorrow).
Tuesday, December 27, 2005
snow?
This morning, 10am, I'm waiting at (my) the bus stop, and it's snowing, in a rather artistic way, and then I see a woman from the next door house come out. She's in pajamas and flipflops, jacket informally slung on, with a video camera. Because, clearly, wherever she comes from (south east asia, I'm guessing) they don't have snow.
Monday, December 26, 2005
miracle?
Happy Boxing Day, Happy Chanukah (day two) - forget Festivus and Winterval, we're all anything-goes nowadays. We're just an open-source, mulitcultural mishmash, dontyaknow.
This is a beautiful menorah that my sister bought me in Israel for my thirtieth and I absolutely love using. Also, it doesn't shed pine needles.
This is a beautiful menorah that my sister bought me in Israel for my thirtieth and I absolutely love using. Also, it doesn't shed pine needles.
Did you hear Start The Week this morning? (you might have to go and listen quickly, because they change it quickly, you can only ever hear the last one) - it's in the first five minutes, btw, so you don't ahve to listen to the whole thing, if you don't want to.
Excellent panel of Professor Jonathan Bate, Professor Mary Kaldor, Chris Patten, Professor Nancy Rothwell and Will Self, and Will gives a mind-blowingly creative riff - must be all the drugs - on what we should call the "naughties/noughties" - he concludes it should be the Nitties, as as we all know, headlice are rife in UK schools. I woke up laughing.
Excellent panel of Professor Jonathan Bate, Professor Mary Kaldor, Chris Patten, Professor Nancy Rothwell and Will Self, and Will gives a mind-blowingly creative riff - must be all the drugs - on what we should call the "naughties/noughties" - he concludes it should be the Nitties, as as we all know, headlice are rife in UK schools. I woke up laughing.
Friday, December 23, 2005
It's Christmas Eve-Eve, and all around me are shopping and stressing, and I feel strangely: calm.
Most of my clients have said "poor you, you don't do christmas", sort of implying I don't have any friends at all.
But really, what I know now is that christmas is a yomtov, and if you're not jewish, it's the only yomtov, because hardly anyone keeps easter, as far as I can tell (apart from the church across the road from the gym). So while I don't totally agree with the mass consumerizm, I like the idea of people spending time with family and friends, eating too much, arguing too much and generally having a fun time.
I don't feel left out. I have a vast amount of times and things to celebrate during the year (and chanukah starts sunday night), so I'm not short of a party or a reason to be cheerful. I'm kinda looking forward to a relax weekend; hanging out, going to shul, lots of writing, seeing friends, some walking maybe. I'm off to Limmud for one day (on a mini-break with B: it's so Bridget Jones), and I'm resisting the temptation to make new year's resolutions because I already did it back in October (rosh hashanah) and I've not done so well on those yet.
So season's greetings, whatever the season. And I'm still here, for a while.
Most of my clients have said "poor you, you don't do christmas", sort of implying I don't have any friends at all.
But really, what I know now is that christmas is a yomtov, and if you're not jewish, it's the only yomtov, because hardly anyone keeps easter, as far as I can tell (apart from the church across the road from the gym). So while I don't totally agree with the mass consumerizm, I like the idea of people spending time with family and friends, eating too much, arguing too much and generally having a fun time.
I don't feel left out. I have a vast amount of times and things to celebrate during the year (and chanukah starts sunday night), so I'm not short of a party or a reason to be cheerful. I'm kinda looking forward to a relax weekend; hanging out, going to shul, lots of writing, seeing friends, some walking maybe. I'm off to Limmud for one day (on a mini-break with B: it's so Bridget Jones), and I'm resisting the temptation to make new year's resolutions because I already did it back in October (rosh hashanah) and I've not done so well on those yet.
So season's greetings, whatever the season. And I'm still here, for a while.
Turns out London won the olympic bid by mistake.
Thursday, December 22, 2005
This make-a-video-and-post-it-to-the-internet-shtick is getting silly. Check out The Chronic of Narnia Rap.
I don't usually notice news about China, but I know there's a strange chinese custom of spelling chinese cities in a radically different way (dialects, or something?), so I don't know if Shaoguan is the same as Hangzhou. Might be, and Mike's there. But he would have said, if there was like no water.
More video-goodness from you (this time from YouTube). This one's in Yiddish, and sadly my yiddish isn't good enough to get the whole thing. Apparently there's a chanuka theme. ALthough it evades me.
If you didn't know better, judging by what's posted online, all jewish people can single in tune and dance extremely well. Yeah, right.
In other news, my interpid north London reporter J tells me the Chevra (remember them?) had to eject one their members because he took of his t-shirt in a gig in somewhere like Watford and it wasn't snius (modest).
I just watched it again. My yiddish is limited to punchlines to family jokes, 76 different words for an argument and short phrases. Learn, I must (sound like ET, realise I).
If you didn't know better, judging by what's posted online, all jewish people can single in tune and dance extremely well. Yeah, right.
In other news, my interpid north London reporter J tells me the Chevra (remember them?) had to eject one their members because he took of his t-shirt in a gig in somewhere like Watford and it wasn't snius (modest).
I just watched it again. My yiddish is limited to punchlines to family jokes, 76 different words for an argument and short phrases. Learn, I must (sound like ET, realise I).
Wednesday, December 21, 2005
It's December 21st - where do you think I've been?
I've been to my first civil partnership ceremony (apparently, there were seven in Barnet today). Given that my friends had a Jewish commitment ceremony earlier in the year (and I've told them I've got their wedding on a repeat appointment in outlook every six months), it was slightly more low key, but fun, nevertheless.
They both wore their wedding dresses (improves the cost-per-wear maths), and interestingly, although the ceremony is not religious, and their registrar told them in the preparations that they couldn't have any bible readings, she did let them read from the book of Ruth. Go figure. Probably, the registrar didn't go to Sunday school.
A ceroc lesson, a great buffet where we all brought our best dish (it was better than any caterer, I tell you) and more dancing than I've done in a while. I even did the twist.
True party.
I've been to my first civil partnership ceremony (apparently, there were seven in Barnet today). Given that my friends had a Jewish commitment ceremony earlier in the year (and I've told them I've got their wedding on a repeat appointment in outlook every six months), it was slightly more low key, but fun, nevertheless.
They both wore their wedding dresses (improves the cost-per-wear maths), and interestingly, although the ceremony is not religious, and their registrar told them in the preparations that they couldn't have any bible readings, she did let them read from the book of Ruth. Go figure. Probably, the registrar didn't go to Sunday school.
A ceroc lesson, a great buffet where we all brought our best dish (it was better than any caterer, I tell you) and more dancing than I've done in a while. I even did the twist.
True party.
Of course, I don't really believe in commercialism, but this is a great sale list, courtesy of Urban Junkies.
Tuesday, December 20, 2005
Japanese smileys - apparently, they call them facemarks.
Technical update (for those who care):
I sorted out my printing-out-the-book issue: my expert technical advisor worked out that for some reason it was set to markup (which you can turn off in options in word) - problem solved
I still need to merge all my email to one provider; currently slightly divide and rule with my colo and read-deal people
Desktop in urgent need of surgery in the new year
Recent technical hitches mean my iPod will no longer synchronise
Er, interesting, isn't it.
Er, interesting, isn't it.
Monday, December 19, 2005
So my (desktop) computer may or may not be on its last (harddisk) legs, and Evesham have no technical support people "available" and have given me varying responses for call backs ranging from an hour to a day.
Meanwhile, I'm going to Manchester for the day (Cheadle Riviera, you know), and have stuff to do.
They will call me back when I'm on the tube to Euston, and then...
I have bought my nephews/neice Chanukah gelt (chocolate money) and cool paper aeroplanes.
Meanwhile, I'm going to Manchester for the day (Cheadle Riviera, you know), and have stuff to do.
They will call me back when I'm on the tube to Euston, and then...
I have bought my nephews/neice Chanukah gelt (chocolate money) and cool paper aeroplanes.
Never one to be overly effervescent, I have to tell you that I have just had the most fabulous Jewish-style evening.
The second outing for the JCC (Jewish Community Centre) for London's JCC Players, at the LJCC (London Jewish Cultural Centre) had me rolling in the aisles.
Aside: there is a whole separate machlokes (discussion) about acronyms. Tonight was the first "joint venture" between the LJCC and the JCCL, and B asked me what the difference is and I said I think the LJCC is for edgy people with pierced belly buttons, and the JCCL is for gold-slippered people with mittel-European accents wanting to discuss Yiddish cinema of the interwar years. Or maybe it's the other way around. Suffice to say that, apart for machers in the know, there was confusion all round.
Anyway, tonight was a fabulous celebration of all that's Jewish and Anglo: Dave Schneider hosting (and rounding off with a side-splitting Yiddish-esque rendition of Noo Yawk Noo Yawk), professional-standard improv from Josh Cohen, Mandy Dassa, Saul Jaffe, Jon Cohen, Mark Fleishman, Zeddy Lawrence (and Michelle, whose surname I don't know), and with musical interludes from Laoise Davidson (klezmer) and Kate Short (cello).
Sometimes I feel that Anglo-Jewish culture is derivative: we like Woody Allen and chicken soup, and think that New York is yiddish for Jewish. There's only (less than) 300,000 Jews, so sure, we don't have the vibrant set up of US-Jewry, with incubators for cool Jewish projects (JDub, Storatelling), but maybe there aren't enough of us for that. But we do have a uniquely Jewish take that's European and slightly middle-of-the-road walking; we're in and we're out, we have a bothness that's other than the brashness of (some) American Jewry (I am currently struggling with capitalisation).
But tonight I felt like we were truly Anglo: some of us were young and funky, some of us had bullet-proof hair. We weren't in a cool downtown bar, we were in a slightly draughty school hall on the Golders Green side of Hampstead. But the performances were generous and talented; the humour was understated yet hysterical; the vibe was warm and the audience were loving it.
I've heard tell that there may be dates for next year: be there. This'll be one of those things you'll want to tell your buddies you saw first before it got really huge.
The second outing for the JCC (Jewish Community Centre) for London's JCC Players, at the LJCC (London Jewish Cultural Centre) had me rolling in the aisles.
Aside: there is a whole separate machlokes (discussion) about acronyms. Tonight was the first "joint venture" between the LJCC and the JCCL, and B asked me what the difference is and I said I think the LJCC is for edgy people with pierced belly buttons, and the JCCL is for gold-slippered people with mittel-European accents wanting to discuss Yiddish cinema of the interwar years. Or maybe it's the other way around. Suffice to say that, apart for machers in the know, there was confusion all round.
Anyway, tonight was a fabulous celebration of all that's Jewish and Anglo: Dave Schneider hosting (and rounding off with a side-splitting Yiddish-esque rendition of Noo Yawk Noo Yawk), professional-standard improv from Josh Cohen, Mandy Dassa, Saul Jaffe, Jon Cohen, Mark Fleishman, Zeddy Lawrence (and Michelle, whose surname I don't know), and with musical interludes from Laoise Davidson (klezmer) and Kate Short (cello).
Sometimes I feel that Anglo-Jewish culture is derivative: we like Woody Allen and chicken soup, and think that New York is yiddish for Jewish. There's only (less than) 300,000 Jews, so sure, we don't have the vibrant set up of US-Jewry, with incubators for cool Jewish projects (JDub, Storatelling), but maybe there aren't enough of us for that. But we do have a uniquely Jewish take that's European and slightly middle-of-the-road walking; we're in and we're out, we have a bothness that's other than the brashness of (some) American Jewry (I am currently struggling with capitalisation).
But tonight I felt like we were truly Anglo: some of us were young and funky, some of us had bullet-proof hair. We weren't in a cool downtown bar, we were in a slightly draughty school hall on the Golders Green side of Hampstead. But the performances were generous and talented; the humour was understated yet hysterical; the vibe was warm and the audience were loving it.
I've heard tell that there may be dates for next year: be there. This'll be one of those things you'll want to tell your buddies you saw first before it got really huge.
Saturday, December 17, 2005
I have lots of people coming for (shabbos) lunch. This is the menu:
humous with pine nuts and za'atar (some would say Jerusalem humous)
pickles
vegetarian cholent (a stew cooked since 2pm yesterday, as you can't cook on shabbat. Nicer than it sounds, really)
sweet roasted red peppers with sultanas (kinda Romanian, but modern)
cucumber and tomato salad with argan oil (in the Moroccan style)
quinoa salad with mandarins, cashew nuts, dill and dried sour cherries
rocket salad with avodado and pomegranate (to continue middle eastern theme)
Momo's dried fruit salad
My friend R's Romanian grandma's baked cheesecake with sultanas (which I had last weekend and is truly delicious, as well as being Romanian, which I am, about 25%)
Fancy lunch?
Fancy lunch?
high moon
On Thursday night (on the way to HIGNFY), the moon was, apparently, higher than it ever is. I've googled "high moon" but can't find anything about it.
But here's pictorial evidence.
But here's pictorial evidence.
Friday, December 16, 2005
Saw Have I Got News For You being recorded last night (who knew there was a wikipedia entry?). Last of the series, slightly christmassy (they served us hot toddy while we waited in the cold, which was thoughtful).
We ended up sitting right near the stage, so we could see the autocue, and we could see the words JOAN. And we were thinking; Joan Rivers? Joan Bakewell? Joan Armatrading?
Turned out, the host was Joan Collins, and frankly, she's quite dense, can't read that accurately, and doesn't appear to have a sense of humour. Although she can call everyone daaahling and be luvvy-ish, which is what I suspect her career is based on. It took forever to record because she was really school-marmy about the whole thing, and dragged it out. Paul Merton looked like he wanted to leave, frankly.
Anyway, I'm sure it'll be good on TV, as there's bound to be 30 minutes of OK stuff. Other guests were Michael Winner (he's kinda like an embarassing Jewish relative who made a lot of money in dodgy property deals and is a little too flash) and some bloke who's got a deep voice. Was he the voice of Darth Vader? ANyway, Joan took a liking to him, and it all got quite sycophantic.
We ended up sitting right near the stage, so we could see the autocue, and we could see the words JOAN. And we were thinking; Joan Rivers? Joan Bakewell? Joan Armatrading?
Turned out, the host was Joan Collins, and frankly, she's quite dense, can't read that accurately, and doesn't appear to have a sense of humour. Although she can call everyone daaahling and be luvvy-ish, which is what I suspect her career is based on. It took forever to record because she was really school-marmy about the whole thing, and dragged it out. Paul Merton looked like he wanted to leave, frankly.
Anyway, I'm sure it'll be good on TV, as there's bound to be 30 minutes of OK stuff. Other guests were Michael Winner (he's kinda like an embarassing Jewish relative who made a lot of money in dodgy property deals and is a little too flash) and some bloke who's got a deep voice. Was he the voice of Darth Vader? ANyway, Joan took a liking to him, and it all got quite sycophantic.
North London Headline Crisis
It's kinda silly season in NW3/6. Actually, I can't even remember what this was about. Shiver me timbers an' all that.
Wednesday, December 14, 2005
I am still shocked that Iranian President Mahmoud Ahmadinejad states that the holocaust is a "myth". There's nothing new I can add to any debate on the subject, I just wanted to post it as a matter of record. You don't know the half of what's going on in the back channel to my brain.
If you haven't made plans for tomorrow night, you need to be at Ghettoplotz in Camden. I haven't made a live gig, yet, but I have been totally getting down to their music in my soho (small office home office).
I saw this purple velvet hot water bottle in Fenwicks (I think). It called to me, as the shopping gurus say, with it's texture and purpleness and matching lavender wheat bag. But then buying yourself Chanukah presents (especially when it should be gelt, rather than presents) seems a little... well, let's just say I already have a hot water bottle, and I've not used it for about four years. But then, I heard it's going to be a cold winter. But then, I have a coat.
Consumerism: gets us all, in the end.
Consumerism: gets us all, in the end.
About four years ago, I went on holiday to Morocco, and came back - as every foodie should - with some Argan oil. It was Moroccan week at Liberty's, and they were heaving with all manner of low-stooled sparkly ephemera, and had taken a special delivery of argan oil.
Now it turns out, you can buy it online.
Now it turns out, you can buy it online.
Tuesday, December 13, 2005
Jewish stuff: I have just discovered (on Sunday) GUILT AND PLEASURE. I think it's like Heeb, but with longer sentences and slightly less hip. Kinda like me, then.
I have to tell you that, Sunday morning, I woke up to what sounded/felt like an earthquake: bigger than an articualted lorry passing, and way, way louder. Bear in mind that I live at approximately junction 1 of the M1, and Buncefield is around junction 6. It's mayne twenty or thirty miles.
Anyway, I woke with a start, and had a series of random thoughts: is this the end of the world? where is my survival kit? we should have done terrorism insurance with the house insurance. Those kind of things. I looked at the clock and it was 6.05. I waited a few moments, figured it wasn't the end of the world and went back to sleep.
Anyway, I woke with a start, and had a series of random thoughts: is this the end of the world? where is my survival kit? we should have done terrorism insurance with the house insurance. Those kind of things. I looked at the clock and it was 6.05. I waited a few moments, figured it wasn't the end of the world and went back to sleep.
Cricklewood Illuminations
I remember going to see the Blackpool Illuminations as a kid, but the Cricklewood Illuminations have nothing on them. Brings a whole new meaning to housebling.
I'm thinking of running a tour - come over to my house, have coffee, wrap up warm, and then we can pound the streets of Criklewood and associated environs, checking out the latest in poor style and wastage of the earth's precious resources. Not that I have a view, you understand.
Actually, I've realised I kinda like xmas. Just not bling.
I'm thinking of running a tour - come over to my house, have coffee, wrap up warm, and then we can pound the streets of Criklewood and associated environs, checking out the latest in poor style and wastage of the earth's precious resources. Not that I have a view, you understand.
Actually, I've realised I kinda like xmas. Just not bling.
Thursday, December 08, 2005
So I want to print out my novel, but it's long, so I played with the formating, but then it went weird, with huge margins I hadn't asked for. I did the usual C+P to new document trick, but to no avail.
As it happens, I have a buddy who's a Micro$ft certified wotsit (among other things), so I emailed him, and we talked about VNC and SkyFex and then he invited me to a Microsoft Office Live Meeting (all this via email, of course).
So I went to the LiveMeeting, and showed him my stuff and then... the phone rang. He was - as they say in the support world - resorting to voice.
I have emailed him the document in the old-fashioned way, and he's taking a look. He promised not to read it - not because I had to extract a promise, but because he's not interested.
The wonder of modernity.
As it happens, I have a buddy who's a Micro$ft certified wotsit (among other things), so I emailed him, and we talked about VNC and SkyFex and then he invited me to a Microsoft Office Live Meeting (all this via email, of course).
So I went to the LiveMeeting, and showed him my stuff and then... the phone rang. He was - as they say in the support world - resorting to voice.
I have emailed him the document in the old-fashioned way, and he's taking a look. He promised not to read it - not because I had to extract a promise, but because he's not interested.
The wonder of modernity.
iPod shuffle, not as cheap as I thought (shocker). They have, rather unreasonably, marketed it without showing the +VAT prices , which they do on their regular site. So now it's £83, which is the same as it is everywhere else.
I probably don't need one, right?
I probably don't need one, right?
Wednesday, December 07, 2005
So, the US has it's own shooting an innocent person by mistake. Every western nation should have one, right?
Man, do we live in the age of fear-policing.
Man, do we live in the age of fear-policing.
Funny, how stuff happens.
I read something earlier in the week on Reboot about how people in Toronto, LA and New York are starting their own salons.
Last night, went out with R, and she was telling me about her grandparents salons. And I was thinking, what could be more cool than inviting a bunch of interesting, creative people round to your house for a glass of wine, every so often?
Then, today, I read a piece in Tikkun about Jewish salonières, and an exhibition I missed earlier in th e year.
So. This could all be a coincidence. Or it could be that my inner Lois Wiseberg is calling to me. Or it could be a message from the universe, were I to believe in that kind of thing.
What do you think?
I read something earlier in the week on Reboot about how people in Toronto, LA and New York are starting their own salons.
Last night, went out with R, and she was telling me about her grandparents salons. And I was thinking, what could be more cool than inviting a bunch of interesting, creative people round to your house for a glass of wine, every so often?
Then, today, I read a piece in Tikkun about Jewish salonières, and an exhibition I missed earlier in th e year.
So. This could all be a coincidence. Or it could be that my inner Lois Wiseberg is calling to me. Or it could be a message from the universe, were I to believe in that kind of thing.
What do you think?
Is this extravagant?
I have a wonderful iPod mini (pink, of course) which is probably the best present I've ever received, and it accompanies me on most trips.
But I've just got back into going to the gym after nearly two years - ankle injury, don't ask - and I really want an iShuffle.
Is it extravagant? The cheapest I can find for the 1GB in the US is $110, which is about £65, but my bank is - bizarrely - offering them for £75 delivered.
I really don't believe in having too many belongings, and spend quite a lot of time eBaying my extraneous stuff. Less is truly more. But I have wanted one for some time. And I had a kinda... low key birthday. But then I just turned away a huge piece of work so have less money than I would ideally like. But I want one. Waddya reckon?
I have a wonderful iPod mini (pink, of course) which is probably the best present I've ever received, and it accompanies me on most trips.
But I've just got back into going to the gym after nearly two years - ankle injury, don't ask - and I really want an iShuffle.
Is it extravagant? The cheapest I can find for the 1GB in the US is $110, which is about £65, but my bank is - bizarrely - offering them for £75 delivered.
I really don't believe in having too many belongings, and spend quite a lot of time eBaying my extraneous stuff. Less is truly more. But I have wanted one for some time. And I had a kinda... low key birthday. But then I just turned away a huge piece of work so have less money than I would ideally like. But I want one. Waddya reckon?
It's like buses: I haven't been to a supper quiz in as long as I can remember, then two in the space of a month.
S dragged me to a supper quiz in Hackney Town Hall on Sunday night, on the basis it was full of creative writer-types and I would have a fun time.
I think she mis-sold it (although she's a very good salesperson): it was filled with the same people as the last one, and generic (Jewish) supper quiz food - paper plates, poached salmon, potoato salad and pastries.
Our host was Alan Coren (he was wearing a lot of black, which made me wonder whether he had "body issues"), but the highpoint of the evening was his comment in response to an accusation of cheating (some lawyers had their Crackberries and mobiles out) - "I know you all want to check Wikpedia."
Part of me was impressed he knew about Wikis at all, although he is a media-babe of sorts, part of me was unimpressed he couldn't say it right.
Related: Wikipedia to become, well, less open source. Now, you have to register to write an article. Soon, there'll be job interviews and salaries and everything.
S dragged me to a supper quiz in Hackney Town Hall on Sunday night, on the basis it was full of creative writer-types and I would have a fun time.
I think she mis-sold it (although she's a very good salesperson): it was filled with the same people as the last one, and generic (Jewish) supper quiz food - paper plates, poached salmon, potoato salad and pastries.
Our host was Alan Coren (he was wearing a lot of black, which made me wonder whether he had "body issues"), but the highpoint of the evening was his comment in response to an accusation of cheating (some lawyers had their Crackberries and mobiles out) - "I know you all want to check Wikpedia."
Part of me was impressed he knew about Wikis at all, although he is a media-babe of sorts, part of me was unimpressed he couldn't say it right.
Related: Wikipedia to become, well, less open source. Now, you have to register to write an article. Soon, there'll be job interviews and salaries and everything.
Tuesday, December 06, 2005
I've had to be on hold at Virgin Flying Club for quite a long time over the last two weeks (although I have been able to go out, between calls), as I'm going to NY on my airmiles in January.
But their hold music does not rotate. Every time I've called I've listened to Tainted Love. Now, I like northern soul, Soft Cell and Marc Almond as much as the next person, but it's getting silly.
But their hold music does not rotate. Every time I've called I've listened to Tainted Love. Now, I like northern soul, Soft Cell and Marc Almond as much as the next person, but it's getting silly.
I observed something really... odd yesterday.
On my way to my writing class, I decided to spend an hour in one of my preferred NW3 Costbuxim. Got some stuff written (will speak later why it is easier to write at not-home).
So, there's a guy sitting in the Comfy Chairs by the window. To my untrained mind, he's a geek: slightly unshaven, unkempt hair, his Lowe Alpine bag has probably never seen a mountain, and his O'Neill t-shirt is too tight (later, when he gets up to go to the bathroom, I see that the t-shirt is way too short: I can see his belly hanging over his jeans). He's that unclear age: somewhere between 25 and 35, but he's clearly spent a lot of time behind a screen. He looks slightly uncomfortable in his own body. He's playing with some geekery I can't quite see: PSP/mobile/PDA/who knows?
A guy comes in: similarly geek, with a slightly Hispanic/south American vibe (dark hair, long, slight Cuban-gangster facial hair thang). They greet each other in an awkward way, and the the Cuban guy sits down. They don't get coffee. They sound like two work colleagues meeting for a quick drink.
Then, the Cuban-style guy gets out a little furry toy: I couldn't see clearly, but it looked like a white rabbit, smaller than the size of your hand. The pure joy washed over the face of the Big Geek guy like a speeded up sunrise.
Cuban guy hands it over, but not in a gift way, in a game way. He walks it over the bag sitting on his lap, like Big Geek is four and he's got a surprise for him. Big Geek suddenly looks like a four year old trapped in the body of an adult man. He's smiling. (I should say that the way he was reading the paper and waiting, he really didn't look like someone with mental health problems. He looked like a regular guy who liked his tech kit.). The rabbit reaches Big Geek, and he takes it, and starts directing a game of hide-and-seek behind his bag, and making "awww" faces. He looked like a very overgrown baby playing with a new toy, but dressed like a Unix coder.
So, I dunno. I've heard about furries - people who get off on dressing up as furry animals - but I always (perhaps naively) thought it was not about small furry things.
The whole interchange was brief, but, well, odd. Then I had to leave.
But then, what do I know?
On my way to my writing class, I decided to spend an hour in one of my preferred NW3 Costbuxim. Got some stuff written (will speak later why it is easier to write at not-home).
So, there's a guy sitting in the Comfy Chairs by the window. To my untrained mind, he's a geek: slightly unshaven, unkempt hair, his Lowe Alpine bag has probably never seen a mountain, and his O'Neill t-shirt is too tight (later, when he gets up to go to the bathroom, I see that the t-shirt is way too short: I can see his belly hanging over his jeans). He's that unclear age: somewhere between 25 and 35, but he's clearly spent a lot of time behind a screen. He looks slightly uncomfortable in his own body. He's playing with some geekery I can't quite see: PSP/mobile/PDA/who knows?
A guy comes in: similarly geek, with a slightly Hispanic/south American vibe (dark hair, long, slight Cuban-gangster facial hair thang). They greet each other in an awkward way, and the the Cuban guy sits down. They don't get coffee. They sound like two work colleagues meeting for a quick drink.
Then, the Cuban-style guy gets out a little furry toy: I couldn't see clearly, but it looked like a white rabbit, smaller than the size of your hand. The pure joy washed over the face of the Big Geek guy like a speeded up sunrise.
Cuban guy hands it over, but not in a gift way, in a game way. He walks it over the bag sitting on his lap, like Big Geek is four and he's got a surprise for him. Big Geek suddenly looks like a four year old trapped in the body of an adult man. He's smiling. (I should say that the way he was reading the paper and waiting, he really didn't look like someone with mental health problems. He looked like a regular guy who liked his tech kit.). The rabbit reaches Big Geek, and he takes it, and starts directing a game of hide-and-seek behind his bag, and making "awww" faces. He looked like a very overgrown baby playing with a new toy, but dressed like a Unix coder.
So, I dunno. I've heard about furries - people who get off on dressing up as furry animals - but I always (perhaps naively) thought it was not about small furry things.
The whole interchange was brief, but, well, odd. Then I had to leave.
But then, what do I know?
I made a really big mistake.
Big. Really.
I bought something from Viking Direct, because it was cheap, and included free delivery. I think it was some paper reams, and possibly thermal binding binders. I'm a sucker for a free gift, and they gave me a free CD player which I don't know what to do with. In fact, I didn't need it. Clearly lots of people feel the same, because there's loads of them on eBay.
But now, I am caught in this terrible, passive-agressive, controlling relationship with them, which is entirely one-sided. The send me more direct mail than I could paper a room with. One week, half of my recycling box was stuff from them. They send me their catalogue every week. Really. Every week. And they print my name on the front, which I think in direct mail tests means I'm supposed to by 0.35% more from them.
They email me daily, and it's personalised. Dear Ms Frooz. They want me to buy more. They have exclusive offers for me. I don't need more. How can the offer be exclusive if you send it daily? They overuse the words "selected" "unique" and "special" so much that I feel I have been through a direct mail copy generator. They underline important words.
They give me a headache.
I have just called them, and it apparently takes eight weeks to make it all go away.
Start counting...
Big. Really.
I bought something from Viking Direct, because it was cheap, and included free delivery. I think it was some paper reams, and possibly thermal binding binders. I'm a sucker for a free gift, and they gave me a free CD player which I don't know what to do with. In fact, I didn't need it. Clearly lots of people feel the same, because there's loads of them on eBay.
But now, I am caught in this terrible, passive-agressive, controlling relationship with them, which is entirely one-sided. The send me more direct mail than I could paper a room with. One week, half of my recycling box was stuff from them. They send me their catalogue every week. Really. Every week. And they print my name on the front, which I think in direct mail tests means I'm supposed to by 0.35% more from them.
They email me daily, and it's personalised. Dear Ms Frooz. They want me to buy more. They have exclusive offers for me. I don't need more. How can the offer be exclusive if you send it daily? They overuse the words "selected" "unique" and "special" so much that I feel I have been through a direct mail copy generator. They underline important words.
They give me a headache.
I have just called them, and it apparently takes eight weeks to make it all go away.
Start counting...
Monday, December 05, 2005
I can't help thinking that John Plunkett has been more than charitable in his Ricky Gervais podcast.
But then, he would say that wouldn't he? Because the Guardian's breaking new ground with the format, man, and they're revewing it. It's something of a self-fulfilling prophecy, or at the very least, pop will eat itself.
Ricky: sorry mate, but it's just not that good.
But then, he would say that wouldn't he? Because the Guardian's breaking new ground with the format, man, and they're revewing it. It's something of a self-fulfilling prophecy, or at the very least, pop will eat itself.
Ricky: sorry mate, but it's just not that good.
Wanna do something Jewish? And cultural? And kinda funky? GhettoPlotz (Klezmer-house dancefloor mashup), Wednesday at SOAS.
Get yer dancing shoes on.
Get yer dancing shoes on.
Richard Of York Graded Books In Vain
I didn't take this photo - but it totally reminds me of having to sort my Caran D'ache pencil crayons in colour order as a child. Older, even. Although I no longer have any Caran D'ache crayons.
Sometimes, there's something very satisfying about putting the world in order.
As if it was that easy.
But I do like colours.
Sometimes, there's something very satisfying about putting the world in order.
As if it was that easy.
But I do like colours.
It's day one of the Ricky Gervais show on Guardian Unlimited. It's a podcast.
So I'm listening to it now. And, OK, it's Ricky Gervais, but it's three blokes in a pub (aka studio) talking bollocks. Except it's 10am, and I'm not drunk, and they're probably not, and it's not: funny.
Not that it should be funny. It should be: interesting.
And I do like Ricky. Honest. Once I saw him in a pub.
Hey, I'm practically a celebrity.
So I'm listening to it now. And, OK, it's Ricky Gervais, but it's three blokes in a pub (aka studio) talking bollocks. Except it's 10am, and I'm not drunk, and they're probably not, and it's not: funny.
Not that it should be funny. It should be: interesting.
And I do like Ricky. Honest. Once I saw him in a pub.
Hey, I'm practically a celebrity.
Sunday, December 04, 2005
Friday, December 02, 2005
While I don't necessarily think this is a bad thing (given the current credit/debit crunch) - Big Brother really is watchin you. Credit cards companies are to restrict lending and share, like, everything about you.
In the future, everyone will be famous to fifteen retail financial services companies.
In the future, everyone will be famous to fifteen retail financial services companies.
This hasn't happened to me... forever, that I can remember.
I can't sleep. I'm up late, and then can't get to sleep, and then mess around, and then eventually get to sleep, and then I'm tired the next day. Like this morning I was yawning all through a meeting.
Once, I went on holiday with a friend who couldn't sleep and I really understood how debilitating it is on an ongoing basis.
It's like that song: you don't know what you've got till it's gone. Like, when I slipped my disc a few years ago, I didn't appreciate my independence and mobility till I was stuck at home, begging friends for stuff.
I can't sleep. I'm up late, and then can't get to sleep, and then mess around, and then eventually get to sleep, and then I'm tired the next day. Like this morning I was yawning all through a meeting.
Once, I went on holiday with a friend who couldn't sleep and I really understood how debilitating it is on an ongoing basis.
It's like that song: you don't know what you've got till it's gone. Like, when I slipped my disc a few years ago, I didn't appreciate my independence and mobility till I was stuck at home, begging friends for stuff.
Everything Is Truly Illuminated
Once, I met this South American woman (who used to go out with an acquaintance of mine), by running into her with a mutual friend at the London Open House weekend.
She invited me to a dinner party, and it was very "international" (I was the local yokel). Everyone was over-educated and spoke at least three languages, and English with an exotic accent. Let it not be forgotten that, in the right light, I have a slight northern lilt.
One of the guys there was quite intellectually arrogant, and anytime someone mentioned a book or a writer, he demanded to know what you'd read. It was most uncomfortable.
All a long preamble to saying that I never finished Jonathan Safran Foer's much-lauded Everything Is Illuminated, even though it's both Jewish and about the holocaust, so should really float my boat, but the magical realism got to me.
I have just this minute got home from what I think might be the most incredible piece of theatre I've ever seen: the book has been adapted into a 100(ish) minute play at the Etcetera Theatre in Camden, and it's clever and smart and funny and moving. Although the seats were quite uncomfortable.
I was itching to go back and finish the book, but R reliably informs me that they've taken the true spirit of the book and turned it into a (my words) truly spiritual piece of work. It's better than the book.
The audience was raving, they were back on stage three times. Names to watch - Mark Fleischmann (Alex), Joseph Wicks (Jonathan) and Dulcie Lewis (Brod/Lista).
They've put it together really quickly, and it finishes on Saturday, and it's only a small theatre. Cancel whatever you're doing before then to get a ticket. You won't regret it.
Etcetera Theatre (above the Oxford Arms in Camden).
Once, I met this South American woman (who used to go out with an acquaintance of mine), by running into her with a mutual friend at the London Open House weekend.
She invited me to a dinner party, and it was very "international" (I was the local yokel). Everyone was over-educated and spoke at least three languages, and English with an exotic accent. Let it not be forgotten that, in the right light, I have a slight northern lilt.
One of the guys there was quite intellectually arrogant, and anytime someone mentioned a book or a writer, he demanded to know what you'd read. It was most uncomfortable.
All a long preamble to saying that I never finished Jonathan Safran Foer's much-lauded Everything Is Illuminated, even though it's both Jewish and about the holocaust, so should really float my boat, but the magical realism got to me.
I have just this minute got home from what I think might be the most incredible piece of theatre I've ever seen: the book has been adapted into a 100(ish) minute play at the Etcetera Theatre in Camden, and it's clever and smart and funny and moving. Although the seats were quite uncomfortable.
I was itching to go back and finish the book, but R reliably informs me that they've taken the true spirit of the book and turned it into a (my words) truly spiritual piece of work. It's better than the book.
The audience was raving, they were back on stage three times. Names to watch - Mark Fleischmann (Alex), Joseph Wicks (Jonathan) and Dulcie Lewis (Brod/Lista).
They've put it together really quickly, and it finishes on Saturday, and it's only a small theatre. Cancel whatever you're doing before then to get a ticket. You won't regret it.
Etcetera Theatre (above the Oxford Arms in Camden).
Thursday, December 01, 2005
In a coffee shop (you can guess which).
A woman, thirties, no makeup, semi-professional looking, maybe media company, or a startup VC firm. Expensive handbag. She's got her Blackberry in a special case so she can finger-tap while it's lovingly protected, and she does, sipping her coffee, ocassionally.
Over-communication: the twentieth century plague.
Sometimes, I think it would be lovely to turn all my kit off and sit outside of the wifi zone and just think and listen and be.
Guy comes in: thirties, pale. He's male to her female, matching-professional-appropriate dress sense. They smile. Intimate: they've had sex. They smile in that way people in comfortable relationships who may have forgotten how to speak to each other smile. Slightly empty. A take-you-for-granted smile.
No words.
Smiling through each other. A smile that says one day I'll get round to telling you what I think and feel. Keep one eye on the clock, the other on your blackberry and your third eye? That's for working out the truth.
He sits down. Gets out his PDA. Starts doing email.
Ten minutes. No words.
They're both sitting there, tap-tap-tapping away with the elephant in the room. They may communicate (out) but they sure don't talk.
A woman, thirties, no makeup, semi-professional looking, maybe media company, or a startup VC firm. Expensive handbag. She's got her Blackberry in a special case so she can finger-tap while it's lovingly protected, and she does, sipping her coffee, ocassionally.
Over-communication: the twentieth century plague.
Sometimes, I think it would be lovely to turn all my kit off and sit outside of the wifi zone and just think and listen and be.
Guy comes in: thirties, pale. He's male to her female, matching-professional-appropriate dress sense. They smile. Intimate: they've had sex. They smile in that way people in comfortable relationships who may have forgotten how to speak to each other smile. Slightly empty. A take-you-for-granted smile.
No words.
Smiling through each other. A smile that says one day I'll get round to telling you what I think and feel. Keep one eye on the clock, the other on your blackberry and your third eye? That's for working out the truth.
He sits down. Gets out his PDA. Starts doing email.
Ten minutes. No words.
They're both sitting there, tap-tap-tapping away with the elephant in the room. They may communicate (out) but they sure don't talk.
Through the round window: today I'm thinking about... Outsider Art: Josh Slavin, AKA Bruce Hastings on Flickr (what an intro).
The Gulf Stream is unwell: better get your (warm) coat, then.
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