i am a runner.

i’ve been running since i was 14, and my friend nathaly and i just decided we’d start jogging down furnace brook parkway on saturday mornings during our summer vacation. I have no idea why we started that, and I certainly had no idea that i was embarking on something that would, over the next 20 years, consume me, frustrate me, addict me, enrage me, pain me and sustain me.

I have spent probably whole years of my life running. I’ve trained for 4 and a half marathons, rehabbed my knee twice from scratch, worn through countless of pairs of shoes, and sworn it off at least a dozen times. i’ve run in the dark, i’ve run at 4:00 in the morning, i’ve run in snow, i’ve run in 100 degrees fahrenheit, i’ve run when i was sick, and i’ve run til i’ve been ill.

there aren’t many things i would say i’m good at, but running is one of them. it’s one of the few constants in my life, the only thing i keep coming back to in spite of pain, sorrow, and mind-numbing boredom. because when it’s good, it feels really fucking good. like you’re gliding and you could just keep going forever. like everything is just completely fluid motion and your muscles and lungs and heart are all working together in synchronicity and it’s effortless cycling of energy that you draw from the air and the ground and it just flows through you like blood in your veins, and you could go faster and faster and never stop. like you are a conduit for turning oxygen into motion, and it’s the most natural thing in the world.

of course, it takes a helluva a lot of huffing and puffing to get to that point. there are days when it’s cold and your legs feel like lead and you immediately get a stitch in your side and it takes feats of supreme effort to keep putting one foot in front of the other. and you get sweaty and bored and chafed. and you have to go when it’s cold or dark or you have cramps or a hangover. there are plenty of days when i still have to fool myself into going running. when i promise myself that if i just put my running shoes on, i don’t *have to* go. of course, once they’re on, i feel too guilty not to go. mental trickery. really, that’s what most of it boils down to. stubbornness and mind games.

but when you can run 10, 15, 20 miles… you feel invincible. you feel strong and healthy and *pure*. like you’ve sweated out every toxin, and all your pores are open, and each individual cell in your body is alive. it’s an amazing feeling, and it’s worth every blister or runny nose or stomach ache. it’s easy to forget – i haven’t run in about six months (swore it off again) but going for a short run this morning, with the tunes pumping through my ipod and my rhythm in my stride, it all came flooding back to me, just why i do this.

in spite of all the ups and downs, or perhaps because of them – i’m a runner.

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“working” from home today, and i have fallen into a deep well of travel blogs and rtw sites. the more i read the further away i seem to get from knowing where i want to go. i think that in order to figure out exactly what i want to get from this trip, i need to revisit the beginnings.

the roots go back to early 2002 – i was dating this guy (who, for anonymity purposes, we shall call here “p.”) who was headed on a trip to mount kilimanjaro (via london) for a month. i was incredibly jealous (and also, for reasons i can only chalk up to temporary insanity, rather attached at that point). i was missing him, and trying to pretend i wasn’t, so in a stroke of inspiration i started keeping a fictional round the world blog that i emailed to him daily. i spent hours at my work desk every day researching and writing, and scouring photographs, trying to make it as realistic as possible. i did white water rafting in the grand canyon. i went canoeing down the amazon to see the pink porpoises and trek through the rainforest. i hiked the inca trail to machu picchu. i climbed active volcanoes in hawaii. i dove in the waters of the galapagos islands and saw the worlds most ancient tortoise. i went to an elephant sanctuary in the himalayas. i went ballooning over the namib desert at sunrise. i saw the fjiords of norway, and the aurora borealis. not much *paid* work got done, but i was far too busy constructing my adventures to wallow in self-pity.

of course, i should’ve known the relationship would end in disaster when, after receiving my lovingly and painstakingly crafted project, his first comment was on how it seemed to be written from a very post-colonial point of view. and that, my friends, was the point at which he became known as “waste of space”.

however – i put so much time and effort into this little creative project that the idea of a round the world trip took deep root. but it wasn’t the kind of thing i thought could ever happen without the miracle of winning the lottery. not to mention the whole mindset is different – people in the u.s. don’t just drop out of society to go travelling. hell, people rarely take more than their allotted 2 weeks vacation to do anything. but coming over here, being surrounded by people whose raison d’etre is adventure, whose only purpose for living in london is to finance their travels… well, it’s an eye opener. these people work and save… and take off. and then work and save some more, to travel even further. suddenly, a round the world trip didn’t seem like such an impossibly difficult thing to accomplish. and meeting j… that’s when it all started to come together.

so i guess part of the purpose for this trip is to see some places before they change too irrevocably. places like cambodia and china and bolivia are quickly becoming hotspots. places like thailand and peru have already been “ruined” to some extent with the influx of western tourism. i’m not saying they’re not worth seeing – just that i believe it’s becoming impossible to view these places without the filter of the permanent influence of travellers. observing something fundamentally changes the nature of it, but add a dependence on foreign investment, and suddenly it is no longer “what it is”, but has become “what you want it to be”. you are no longer viewing that country’s native culture, but rather that country’s native culture in saleable form. globalisation is not, in and of itself, a purely evil or wonderful thing – there are both benefits and problems. but it does change things.

and the other part of this trip is to get in touch with that piece of myself that always identified with being a traveller. my first real travelling experience was as an exchange student to paraguay at 16. i knew almost nothing about the country before i arrived, and after the summer was over, i came back thinking very clearly “oh, okay, well that’s it then – i’m going to spend my life travelling.” i was certain that i would go into international development, and become a lifelong wanderer. my parents knew people who were career travellers – people who devoted their lives to the peace corps or missionary work. i thought for sure that i would finish university, do a stint in development, and then become a part of an ngo organisation that would send me to all kinds of places. it was so clear in my head that that’s how my life would be.

but alas, at first i took a liking to psychology, and then a new york boy, and “the plan” just kind of derailed from there. and in the meantime, real life has a way of intervening, and tying you down to things you never thought you’d need, but now would have a hard time doing without. but this is my chance to see the lifestyle and places i always thought i would be intimately familiar with – the adventures, the spontaneity, the languages. very few people can/choose to live that way, and this is my chance to catch a glimpse of it.

so i suppose that’s important to keep in mind as i plow through all this information, as fascinating as it is. while my trip will certainly not be complete without seeing the angkor wat, or the three toed sloths of south america, as ursula le guin once said, “it’s good to have an end to journey towards. but it’s the journey that matters, in the end.”

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Ugh, it’s that time of year again – “big brother”. the british obsession with this noxious programme just boggles my mind. this show is on about 6 months out of the year, and spawns no fewer than 5 different offspring programmes, which are repeated ad nauseum throughout the day on various channels. my irritation with “big brother” comes not only from the show(s), but from the fact that it is nigh on impossible to escape. You can’t *not* see it, hear it, read about it. it’s so omnipresent that in spite of never actually watching it, i know almost as much about it as if i was a “BB” devotee. it’s insidious.

so they cycle “big brother” through. then, alternatively they have the “celebrity big brother” variant, where they take “celebrities” and stick them in the house for a month. i should, i suppose, explain straight off the bat that the term “celebrity” is played with very loose and fast around these parts. A british celebrity is, in fact, rarely ever known outside europe. It’s a small nation, but a powerful one, and quite honestly i am completely flummoxed as to why there are so few british celebrities of international stature. in comparison, u.s. celebrities are, as a rule, world renowned, and i suppose that says quite a lot about the predominance of american culture in general. still, the disparity between even b-list american celebs and u.k. media darlings is huge. i can probably list on one hand the number of british superstars who’s fame translates across the pond, and the vast majority of the rest of them, most americans would never have heard of.

i give you exhibit a – this year’s “celebrity big brother” line up:

Michael Barrymore
Traci Bingham
Rula Lenska
Samuel Preston
Pete Burns
Maggot
Jodie Marsh
Faria Alam
Dennis Rodman
George Galloway
Chantelle

if you only recognised 2 (or even 3) of those names, you’re not alone. see the pathetic bios here. i’m sure dennis is firing his agent even as we speak.

think this is an off year? check out the previous rosters here.

it’s going to be a very long month.

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Once again the year is drawing to a close and I’m wholly uncertain as to where it went, except by the beautiful blur left on my brain. I’m regretfully forced to concede that the old chestnut about growing older that seems to hold absolutely true is that the less time you have the faster it goes, and though I don’t really feel very much older (with the exception of the increasing number of grey hairs, my one real vanity), I have a newfound appreciation for einstein – time is all relative, baby. it slows to a crawl when you’re waiting to marry the person you can’t wait to spend your life with. it flies by when you’re exploring a lush new country and husband on your honeymoon, or spending time getting acquainted with the miracle of your new niece. it flashes before your eyes when you’re tumbling head over heels down a mountain. it creeps when you’re counting down to the escapist adventure of a lifetime.

so time is relative – yet still we measure the events of our life in months and years. we weigh up each well-used year on the 31st december, and grant ourselves a fresh shiny one each 1st january. the symbollism resonates somewhere within us, and we like being able to tot up the sums. was it a good year? was it a bad year? in truth, no year is good or bad, but only the memories of the days that passed during that elapsed span that we use to define the distance of our planet’s trip around the sun. and by that measurement, there were far more good memories in 2005 than not.

but when you take relativity into consideration, time also measures distance. a year is the distance of the earth’s eliptical orbit within the solar system. that distance stretches differently around each event, each change, each memory. 9 months is the distance from anticipation to motherhood. a long weekend is the distance from fear of falling to utter exhilaration. 365 days is the distance from a first date to an “i do”. one day is the distance from the safety of ignorance to the vulnerable knowledge of fear. 5 months 2 weeks and 6 days is the distance from smoker to non-smoker.

time is elusive. the moments you want to capture slip through your fingers, while others imprint themselves for all the wrong reasons. you wish you could spend forever driving along the garden route as a happy newlywed, while you pray you never experience another day like the tube bombings again. you want to hold tight to the baby you won’t see for another year, and forget the dragging days of nicotine withdrawal that seemed postively endless. the precious time spent with long-distance friends passes far too quickly, but the weeks before a round the world trip take ages to crawl off the calendar.

this past year, time was all this and more. it was my marriage, my family, my travels, my celebrations, my friends, my fears and my daydreams. it was alternately far too slow and way too fast. it was major life changes and biding time.

and all in all, it was a pretty good year.

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i’ve spent soooo much time on the computer this year (an embarrassing amount, really), some fruitful, some not-so-much. … here’s my own personal “techie roundup of 2005″. some of these are now so popular as to be ubiquitous, but if they were new to me in the past year, they qualify. that’s the beauty of owning your own site – accountability goes out the window, and everything is at my sole discretion, like it or lump it.

things i found and loved this year:

wordpress - since I made the leap, it’s made me a smarter, better blogger, by far. they’re now starting their own hosting… which annoys me a little, since there was a certain amount of cachet to d.i.y. blogging (as opposed to simple plug-n-play sites), and even earlier this year when this site was completely self-created, without the use of templates or plugins, as awkward as it sometimes was, i was still inordinately proud of it. in any case, i feel like i’ve learned a lot more than i ever anticipated.

firefox and greasemonkey have combined to change my internet life. i suffer advertising, spyware and crashes no longer. three cheers for live bookmarks. hurrah for tabbed browsing.

lifehacker and ask.metafilter – for my money, easily the most useful sites on the web. most people already know about them, but they are the first sites i go to daily.

webjay and pandora - cool places for browsing new music by referencing stuff you already like.

ipod - in the few days i’ve had mine, i’ve put music, podcasts, tube maps, ebooks, photos, and videos on it. i can put whole movies on there. what a revelation.

trends I thought were overrated:

del.icio.us – i have my bookmarks here, and it’s better than google for boredom, but i find that it’s too much information, not enough filtering. when you can have thousands of bookmarks at your fingertips, you tend to become indiscriminate. and really, not everything is worth bookmarking. my *real* bookmarks are a select set of about 100, and many of them are resources i consider too precious to share with just anyone.

also, tags (technorati or otherwise). since everyone applies their own tagging rules, i fail to see how it’s very much different from searching by keyword. they *are* good for drawing site traffic though.

flickr - i am just very wary of entrusting my photos to a service which may or may not be there tomorrow, or decide to start charging/stop hosting/begin tracking. if you want to make sure you keep photos you care about, host them yourself and make sure you back up. and the vast majority of the stuff on there is shit anyway. i’m rarely interested in photos taken by people i know, let alone the horrible snapshots of strangers. not to mention the stupid “tagging” thing again. try looking for photos of the 7th july bombing and you’ll see why it’s just so non-sensical. it’s everyone doing their own thing – just putting the word “tagging” on it doesn’t make it any more user friendly.

itunes – i’m still not crazy about it, and i have a feeling i never will be. but i do enjoy finding new podcasts, so that’s fun.

those are the highs and lows as I see them. i’m sure there’s lots of stuff i’m overlooking – feel free to make recommendations!

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technology, websites, applications, best of 2005, year in review

Tuning out the news today, because it’s finally here! As you will notice from the ticker below, in just 24 short hours, I will be slavering in front of my dream lover, the wierd and wonderful dave grohl, and let’s be honest – how can I possibly concentrate on world politics when I’m so busy trying not to wet myself with excitement? A strange object of obsession, I admit – he’s not characteristically handsome. In fact, he’s a bit scrawny, buck-toothed, and bug-eyed. Even during the grunge era, when unkempt hygiene and deliberate fashion faux pas were de rigeur, he wasn’t your typical rock icon. but there is something so endearingly charming, so wacky and witty, so little-boy-mischevious about him, that i just go all melty inside every time. what’s a girl to do? he makes me want to dress up in restrictive-yet-alluring outfits and impractical shoes, and offer to do dirty things to him. I am helpless to resist his powerful charisma, or the impulse to throw lacy naughties at his feet.

not to mention, the foos just rock the house. combine wild sexual fantasies with a kick-ass soundtrack, and I think you’ll begin to understand why I might need to be physically restrained from rushing the stage. I only hope i am sufficiently recovered from my swooning to report back before the end of the weekend.

in the meantime here’s a link to my very very very fave Foos songs:

MP3 playlist (M3U)

here’s the podcast link

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Wow, it’s less than 2 weeks to Christmas, and for some reason, I just really haven’t caught the spirit yet.  Part of it is because J and I aren’t really doing gifts this year (spending £3400 on our plane tickets seems extravagant enough) so I haven’t had reason to be out amongst the throngs of shoppers and revellers.  We put "Lucy the Tree" up this past weekend, and while she is lovely to behold, it’s still not giving me the feeling – you know, holiday cheer.  I’ve not received any cards, or done any skating. 

I’m just not getting that sense of wonder and joy that usually makes my heart feel like it’s full of pure cool oxygen.  The feeling you get from festive shop lights and mulled wine and making paper snowflakes.  I know I idealise it, but it’s true.  Christmas is, and always has been a big deal for me – not only because it’s my birthday, but also because we always had so many traditions surrounding it when I was growing up.

For my mum, Christmas itself wasn’t enough – so we had the holidays and events leading up to it, and after it as well.  Christmas was a full season unto itself, and my mum drew heavily from traditions around the world.  Before Christmas, there was Saint Nicholas Day, when we’d put out our shoes and get candies and little toys in them.  After that, there was Saint Lucia’s day, where we made saffron buns and paraded them around whilst holding candles (since a blazing wreath on the head was a bit of a safety hazard for a small child with poor hand/eye co-ordination).  There was the making of Christmas pudding, and baking cookies for all the neighbours.  There was a big tree-trimming evening, when we’d fight over who got to hang which ornaments, whilst listening to old-fashioned carols.  There was Christmas Eve, with a big smorgasboad dinner with a dish representing each of our ethnic countries (all 8 of them!), and the traditional reading of "the night before christmas", and the leaving of cookies and milk.  Sometime in the wee hours, we’d hear Santa say "ho, ho, ho!", then at the crack of dawn creep downstairs to collect our stockings (which bought my parents another hour of precious sleep).  We’d have hot cross buns and cocoa for breakfast, open a few presents, then attend church.  In the evening, we’d have birthday cake and presents for me.   Following Christmas Day was the New Year, of course, but even after that, there was Epiphany (Three Kings Day), when we’d have cake with small trinkets hidden in it. So you can see how anything less than a full two months of holidays and celebration would pale by comparison. 

And it’s also my birthday – and though i do protest, the fact that there are always festivities and parties and ribbons on my birthday, does make me feel just a little bit special.  I can’t help it.

 Still, even as i get older, it is the small things that I hold fast to – my tree ornaments from when I was little, my love of Christmas pudding (an acquired taste for most Americans), my carols at midnight mass.  these are deeply ingrained in me, and I need to connect with them – to tap into that star-struck feeling that still overwhelms me when i hear "silent night". it’s essential to my being.

 christmas is part of who i am, at the most fundamental level.  i was born with bells ringing.

 So I need a little Christmas.  Right this very minute. I need a little Christmas now.

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Call me schmaltzy, but I miss John.

I was only 8, so I don’t think I really registered that he was gone until I became a huge Beatles fan at 12. Only then did I realise what a massive hole had been left behind when he died. Something I don’t think anyone since has been able to fill.

As a pacifist, his ideals have always resonated deeply with me.

The world is that much poorer without the presence of such a creative and visionary man.

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a few things i’ll never really understand:

the notion that british television is somehow superior to american. i’m here to tell you that it just ain’t so. unless, or course, your idea of “good television” is:

a) hour upon hour dedicated to pre-roman british history/birding/ww2 analysis/cookery

b) show after show doing a “top 100″ list. as in, “top one hundred sexiest television moments” and “top one hundred most shocking television moments” and “top one hundred most dramatic television moments”. do ya think there’s much overlap?!?

c) drama after drama with piss-poor production values. now I know that u.s. television is *overly* slick, overly glossy, etc…. but really, who wants to watch a show that looks like it was shot in super-8 with the next door neighbours as lead actors? and here’s a hint: if you’re on television regularly, you’re probably making reasonably decent money, so for god’s sake, go see a dentist!!! i appreciate that they look like real people as opposed to plastic mannequins, but if i wanted that much oral-hygiene reality, i wouldn’t be sitting in front of a television.

d) bad american sitcoms which only *just reached* the threshold number of episodes required to go into syndication. do you remember a show called “daddio”? neither do i. lucky thing i can catch up all 10 episodes over here!

e) “friends”, “friends”, and more “friends”. now, granted there are 10 years worth of episodes to go through, but when it’s on 4 times a day (i kid you not), you find yourself saying, “didn’t i just see this one last week??” even though I stopped watching “friends” in the u.s. after season 7 or so, over here, i was really excited to see it at first – it was soothingly familiar, funny, and eminently watchable. so it was on while i was getting ready for work in the morning, or making dinner in the evening. but now, it’s almost all that’s ever on. really. 24-7 friends. it’s sickening. and the sight of ross or rachel just makes me want to throw up.

f) randomness. on the off chance that something good *is* on, i can never remember when or where. trying to follow the television scheduling over here takes mensa-level feats of memory. because there is no frikken consistency. shows don’t come on at the hour or half hour. they come on at 10:15, or 7:55, or 3:22. and if you want to watch one thing which doesn’t end until 9:25, whilst the other thing you want to watch starts at 9:10, well then… you’re just shit out of luck.

so, no. british television is not all it’s cracked up to be.

i will also never get used to the british paranoia over electricity. i get cranky about it every year around this time, because of christmas lights. see, despite having twice as much voltage as the u.s., (240 compared to our measly 120), the british are terrified of it. this bizarre fear manifests itself in several ways, such as:

a) no outlets in the bathroom. you cannot plug in a hairdryer anywhere within 10 feet of a tub. there are separate “shaving outlets” in some homes and hotels, but you can tell they’re put there only grudgingly. so instead, the carpet in my bedroom is about three feet thick with shed hair, and lacquered with many layers of hairspray mist. this is infinitely harder to clean than just wiping down a bathroom sink. (unless, of course, you are unlucky enough to have a hideous *carpeted bathroom*, a unfathomable notion which sends chills up my spine, and sends anyone with a germ phobia right over the edge.) but allowing water and electricity in the same room is highly dangerous. as is, apparently, allowing cold and hot water to mingle from the same tap… but that’s another post.

b) every outlet has a separate switch, and many have fuses. that’s right – you have to turn the electrical socket on. there’s only so many times you can turn on the electric kettle (an invention, by the way, which is astounding, in that it completely flouts the aforemention water/electricity ban described above), come back 15 minutes later to find it stone cold because you’ve forgotten to turn on the outlet, before you just want to tear your hair out in frustration at the lengths of unneccesary caution these crazy people go to.

c) every plug has a fuse. the plugs here are gigantic, because they have to accomodate the grounding pin (the third prong which you see on some plugs in the u.s., but which is standard over here), as well as a fuse. Yes, if you open up the plug, there is a miniature glass fuse inside. just in case the socket goes haywire. lest you think i am joking about all of this, please read the “plug and socket safety regulation 1994″

d) which brings us to christmas lights. because light strings in the u.k. do not plug into each other, male to female, the way they do in the states so that you can unobtrusively light your tree in such a manner that the cords are almost invisible. nooooo, not here. here, the strings are closed circuits. so each strand is really a loop which doubles back on itself, ending in the clunky giant plugs I explained prior. so you either have to get 2 0r 3 reallllllly long double-thick strands of lights to cover the whole tree, affix an extension strip to the trunk of the tree to conceal all the plugs, or just let your tree go nekkid.

clearly, adults are not to be trusted with things that *turn on*. my entire life i’ve used electricity, and not electrocuted myself, or burned anything down. obviously, this is due to pure dumb luck.

and lastly, i will never understand the phenomenon that is robbie williams. but maybe i’ll save that one for another day.

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holy moly. where the hell are my thirties going? In 22 short days, I’ll be 33 years old. that’s only 6 short years from official middle age. how the fuck can that be? this past year has been unbelievably lightspeed fast. i feel like i must’ve missed half of it. i swear, i still don’t even feel mature enough to own anything of substance. the biggest purchase of my adult life so far was a couch, that I bought new for like $1000.

here’s a secret: most days, i don’t even know what i’m doing. i go to work and hope i don’t get called on for an answer. i wouldn’t even begin to know how to buy a car, since the only vehicles i’ve ever owned have been purchased from family. the notion of buying of a house sends a bolt of panic through my heart. our round-the-world trip plans are equal parts exciting and petrifying, and i wonder what the hell i’ve gotten myself into. i don’t want kids because i’m terrified of never getting my life (or body) back. then i worry that i’ll decide i want children only once it’s too late.

every day i envy people that seem to know what they want and where they’re going, and every evening i keep hoping to wake up with some magical sense of self assurance that i’m doing the right thing. i feel like everyone else has it and i don’t. and every birthday i wish for *this year* to be the year i finally figure it all out.

maybe 33 is the year.

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i wish the u.s. had the option of a “no confidence vote”. I love it. you fuck up badly enough, you’re out.

ooops, my ignorance is showing. i wish i’d paid more attention in my high school civics class (sorry, mr. micelli, i know you tried!), because despite living in canada for two years, and here in the u.k. for almost three, i know very little about commonwealth-style politics, aside from the most rudimentary grasp of parliament. luckily, the canadian government has put helpfully put together a little document called “How Canadians govern themselves”, just for donderheads like me. long story short: there’s the house of commons, which is elected by the public, the senate (or in the u.k., the house of lords) which is appointed (and to be perfectly honest, i still don’t fully understand their role [though j assures me it's the same legislative role as the u.s. senate], particularly where in the u.k. the house of lords are members of nobility, i.e. inherited), and the prime minister and cabinet are the people chosen by the (usually) majority party to lead. there’s are three federal parties and there are no term limits, therefore when people want a change, they don’t have to wait another 3 years or pray for an assassination.

(at this point, i am going to deftly sidestep the whole “monarchy” part of the constitutional monarchy, except to say that it seems people really love tradition [this also goes a long way towards explaining the queen's christmas speech, btw.] if you want to know more about where those strange and fascinating royals fit into today’s government, you can read about it here.)

but the thing that i particularly love about the parliamentary system, is that it’s so responsive and accountable to the people. politicians don’t get to rest on their laurels, just because they may happen to be part of the majority party – they’re constantly being called to account from all sides. there are no guarantees, because they can be tossed out on their ear at any moment. it’s hard to draw a line in the sand, or try to make your party look better by emphasising contrasts, because there’s always a spoiler on the sidelines. that third party is so important in keeping the balance, because it means neither side can go to extremes or stray too far from the center without risking political viability. some would say it’s more wishy-washy, but there’s less chance of polarisation, and a far greater need to listen carefully to public opinion.

what a stark contrast to the u.s. – where the parties try to create their definition through opposition, where spiteful entrenchment is the name of the game, and where, as a result, there are precious few opportunities to implement real change. every politician worries so much about losing ground to the “other party”, they never stop to examine what the public actually like about the other side. the prevailing attitude is a “my way or the highway” stubbornness which creates division so deep that either a) two sides of country are fighting at each other through the polls antagonistically rather than making a collective decision, or, more and more worryingly b) becoming so disillusioned and disgusted that they can’t stomach taking part in the electoral process, leaving the government to run amok without a true sense of direction.

i truly believe that what the u.s. needs is a viable third party to snap people back to reality. can you tell i voted for nader? because i wonder what the outcome of a “no confidence vote” in bush would be if we took a poll today?

actually, i don’t really wonder at all.

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politics, canada, u.s., government, parliament, "no confidence"

so while i was home last time, i was going through a bunch of old stuff – letters, memorabilia, etc. and wow, i have a lot of old (mostly bad) poetry. i used to write a lot – but then again, i was also very depressed from like,17 – 27. somehow it’s easier to get the creative juices flowing when you’re all full of angst. i miss it (not the depression, mind, but the bug). i’ve tried writing recently, but it’s just not the same. I wrote a poem for my wedding vows, and a few other momentous occasions which stirred me to wax profound. but for the most part, it’s difficult to tap into that vein on demand.

in the meantime, i have these poems. reading them from the vantage point of emotional stability is a strange sensation – as though they were written by someone else. which, in a sense, I suppose they were, but it’s a very detached feeling, like an out-of-body experience. i suppose this is what they call objectivity. i don’t want to get rid of them, so i guess I want to create a repository somewhere. most of them are heavily autobiographical so it needs to be somewhere relatively private. I am considering making a separate, password protected page for them. Not sure.

anyway, here’s a non-bio one that’s not entirely cringeworthy (it’s untitled):

Pictures spill like rain
flooding the gutters of memory
pages stick to fingertips
and the acrid odor of dead leaves wafts up
stinging my eyes blurring
I hear the rustle echo
as the taste of old copper
settles on my tongue
the taste of blood.
My eyes will not listen further
into that summer of Brooklyn and Bobby
I see clearly.
It wasn’t what I wanted
Skanky, sweaty, swollen
his lips made me lie
black as a rotted tooth
slick knife of falsity that cuts to the truth
like an overripe fruit.
Bobby brought down the rain
while she prayed
one day she would understand what she was praying for
desperate absolution paid in hot tears
la vie, la mort, la resurrection
the trees cried out
their pain written on the wind

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Driving J to the airport this evening, a car pulled into a lane I was about to change into, eliciting a few minor epithets. J laughed at me and said, “you’re cute.” Which really irritated me.

See, J has never seen me drive. I mean he’s never seen me *drive*. He’s seen me sedately tootle along in other people’s cars. But he’s never seen me drive the way I drive for enjoyment.

to some people, swimming is second nature. for me, it’s driving. i love driving. i love feeling like the car is an extension of myself, and that ability to control something innately. i love that hyperawareness that comes with driving on the narrow edge between excitement and danger. I love deftly navigating the parked-up narrow streets of south boston and fighting my way into a too-small parking space. i love whipsawing the winding hilly back roads of the cape. i love opening up on an empty highway in vermont. i love taking corners too sharp and driving much faster than a good girl should.

i love a good song thumping through my solar plexus as my foot presses pedal to metal, windows open, road unfurling in front of me and the smooth vibration of a well-tuned engine under my ass.

it’s freedom and skill and thrill and escapism all rolled into one. i love to drive – and i’m good at it. whatever j might think. he doesn’t know how i *drive*.

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is exactly where my country is going. bush’s newest supreme court nominee is a fucking nutter, we’re cranking up the volume on iran, and people just keep dying 24/7 in a war we should never have fought.

the us looks more and more like a country of freakish blind zealots, and I am more and more distraught every day by the realisation that much of this damage just cannot be undone. i fear so much for the future of women in the states and i fear for our safety as we go upsetting another applecart in the middle-east. i fear the repercussions of the things we do now, which we will reap for generations to come. i’m pretty sure i’m no longer making sense, but this spiraling fear becomes like a poison that i can’t seem to get out of my system.

i’ve spent so much emotion and energy on trying to express the profound depths of sorrow and fear that i sometimes feel at the state of my nation, and yet i still can’t touch it. there is no bottom, and that’s the scariest bit. a little part of me panics every day, and i know that probably seems highly overwrought, but i’m at the point where i actively avoid the news, because sometimes i don’t know whether to scream or cry, wanting to do both simultaneously, though neither makes an iota of difference anyway. how do you turn this off? i can’t seem to find the switch.

i am watching my country self-destruct, and i am powerless to stop it. and if i dwell on that for more than a few minutes a day… well, i wouldn’t like to speculate on my mental status. i am incapable of detached objectivity. and being here, in the middle of it all, feels like being being inside some giant tank or machine, which just carries everyone noisily, menacingly along with just a peephole through which to watch the outside world go past.

i’m an ordinary optimist, but a political pessimist and sometimes the tension between the two just gets to be a bit much.

and yet, here i am, “home” for all intents and purposes. and much as i hate it, and as angry as i am, there’s something inexplicably comforting about being here. slipping seamlessly back into being part of the American collective unconscious. it’s a place where i don’t have to think about how i do what i do, or say what i say. being an expat means always having this omnipresent awareness that you are an outsider. and if i live in the uk every day for the rest of my life, i will never be british. there will always be cultural references i don’t get. i will always sound different. i will always have to adapt. you *do* get used to it – after nearly 3 years, it’s honestly not something i even think about anymore. but the awareness is always there, at the back of your skull, like a hum, or background noise which you’ve tuned out. when i was with my ex-husband and we’d spend time with his whole extended family over the holidays, i’d always forget i was the only white person in an all black room, until after we left. that’s the kind of feeling i mean. you can get comfortable with always being the “different” one – but you’re still always different.

yet, it’s still such a strange mix of the familiar and the unfamiliar, a balance which seems to shift further towards the strange every time i visit. i am becoming a stranger here. i no longer have any illusions about coming back to live in the u.s. – i am disconcertingly stateless. i’ve threatened many times to renounce my citizenship, yet it seems to be happening almost through atrophy. a progressive deteriotation, excommunication through inattention. i can call it “my” country by default… but it really isn’t anymore.

the erosion of ties through time. if only that meant i stopped caring.

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i’m undeniably blue. part of it is directly attributable to the changing of the clocks, i’m sure. every year i find myself dreading the end of daylight savings, because being the delicate little flower that i am, i wilt without lots of sunlight. i need at least 10 hours of vitamin d through the retinas to regulate my hyperphotosensitive serotonin levels. autumn always makes me overly nostalgic, but combine that with nightfall at 4pm and i get downright maudlin. i find myself all verklempt at adverts featuring puppies and toilet roll, drinking endless cups of oversweet tea huddled under the covers, and spending more time than is good for me on memory lane. if there’s a hint of woodsmoke or burning leaves in the air, forget it, i’m a basketcase.

autumn is the one time of year when i really get homesick. when i really reminisce, ruminate, contemplate how my life would’ve/could’ve/should’ve been different, if only. and i’m not even homesick for anything real or tangible, (although some pretty leaves and halloween candy would not go amiss) but instead homesick for a feeling of security and certainty and comfort. homesick for a place i can be at ease with myself, with all the choices i’ve made and things i’ve done. homesick for the kind self-assuredness you can only feel when you have nothing to lose. i wish i had my *things* around me now because i’d love to just go through all my collected memories and have a good cry. but my bad poetry, childhood photos, and birthday cards are all 3000 miles away. not that i need them to get all misty eyed.

there are definite pitfalls to being as headstrong as i am. i’m not a good decisionmaker, but rather a stubborn one – so when i make a decision, i never turn back, but instead spend forever after second-guessing myself. and i am also, therefore, loathe to admit mistakes. if i accidentally walked out of the house in the morning with only one shoe on, i’d have to walk around all day calling it a deliberate fashion statement. it’s easy to be decisive, but not so easy to live with the aftermath. so what if?

what if i had gone to costa rice before university?
what if i had gone to the small all-women’s college instead of mcgill?
what if i hadn’t gotten engaged after 6 weeks at age 19?
vwhat if i hadn’t dropped out of uni to move to nyc?
what if i hadn’t married at 24?
what if i’d had kids with my first husband?
what if i hadn’t decided to divorce him?
what if i hadn’t left new york?
what if i hadn’t decided to move to london alone?
what if i’d gone home after that first year here?
what if i’d decided not to go to the xmas party where i met j?

these questions mean nothing to anyone but me, but i am homesick for some reassurance. because in a way, i wanted *all* those options, and i feel the phantom limb ache of lives i’ve never lead. it’s not that i am dissatisfied with my life, because overall i’m very happy. i just like to brood now and then, i suppose. i need to try the paths not taken, if only in my head, and then grieve for the possibilities lost. i don’t regret any of it. but i tend to leap before i look… and once a year i am forced to actually stand still and be quiet for a bit, to pay attention to where i’ve been and where i’m going. and in doing so, find a new appreciation for where i am now.

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if you really sat down to write about your life, how much would people not know about you? the parts you glossed over, or omitted from memory, or swept under that sick feeling in the pit of your stomach? the parts where you weren’t particularly pretty or sane, but without which, the you of now would never exist. they’re part of your skin, tattooed in your veins – imperceptibly indelible.

there are people who read my blog, who think i am very brave for writing about my personal life. trust me when I tell you it’s the telly-sanitised version. the real stuff of my living never gets put into words. the public me on offer is only the plastic shell that i want people to see.

why such introspection on a saturday morning? because sometimes closure drops into your lap when you least expect it. there have been people in my life whom i’ve lost touch with, whose role only makes sense in the rearview mirror. people who were there at a time and place where i was fucked up, or they were, or the world was just tilting at a strange angle and we both happened to be walking sideways together. and i’ve long since made peace with it, because even if it was never said aloud, i kind of always knew what happened and why, even if i didn’t handle it very well at the time. but you think about them when you hear a certain song, or the light has a particular bittersweet quality in autumn. and you wonder where they are now, what they’re doing, who they turned out to be. some people affect you in ways that you can only fully appreciate retrospectively. it’s true – some people change you. i know i’m being horribly mawkish, but i’m only on my third cup of coffee, so cut me some slack.

and then, the internet delivers news of them to your front door. through the miracle of google and bloggyology, and the little piece of software in wordpress that monitors in-linking and reports on who has seen fit to mention my little web corner. i opened up my computer to blog about vegetarianism, and instead found the answer i’d been looking for since i was 19. the pieces all fit into place now, and i can smile about it. i always knew… but now I know.

and if you happen to be reading: i’ve thought of you too, and i’m so glad you’re well. i hope that someday you’ll consider getting in touch, even if only just to say hello. because there are so few people in our short lives that actually ever matter. and you did.

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You know, I find the whole difference in race relations between the U.s. and the u.k. very interesting.

Rosa Parks died today. As one of the most iconic figures of the civil rights movement, her arrest for refusing to give up her seat on the bus launched a struggle for equality between the races that most would say is still going on today. The landmark events in Selma, montgomery and birmingham were the foundation for enforced desegregation around the country. And the prevailing message from that time became “separate but equal is not equal”. america continues to grapple with the fallout from hundreds of years of institutionalised racism, and it’s easy to forget that the civil rights movement was fewer than 50 years ago, only 2 or 3 generations removed. however, whatever other fights still need to be fought to eradicate persistent discrepancies on the social, economic and political fronts, that message carries through as the cornerstone of our belief in the need for an integrated society in america.

here in the u.k., it is a very different kind of world. because the u.k. was never saddled with the legacy of slavery in the same way the u.s. was, it seems that much of the historic atmosphere here *has* been “separate but equal”. while there has never been a need for a “civil rights movement”, there has also never been a head on confrontation of just how divisive racism can be. while london is a large multiracial city, there seems to me to be a lot of self-segregation in comparison to other large cities (not just in the poorer, inner-icty areas). It’s not uncommon to hear black people described as “coloured”, or biracial people called “half-caste”. These are terms still make my ears cringe, although they don’t carry the same sort of weight as they would in the u.s. And while there are laws on the books against “inciting racial hatred”, scratch just below the surface in many areas and you’ll find racial tensions still run deep.

there is no such thing as “freedom of speech” here. you can, in fact, be jailed for saying the types of things aryan nation and the kkk routinely spout (or certain bonkers black activists, for that matter). at the same time, they often deride the u.s. for being too “politically correct”. but trying to legislate civility doesn’t keep hate crimes from occuring, or race riots from breaking out . in fact, i think it’s a false sense of security – the illusion that things are better than they are. in my opinion, birmingham, england is not, in fact, that different to birmingham, alabama. the only difference being that at least in the u.s., we are forced to continually acknowledge and address our faults and issues. and i truly believe it is better to expose things to light and air so they can heal, rather than let them fester just below the skin. and somehow i think mrs. parks would have agreed.

as rosa said: “I am leaving this legacy to all of you … to bring peace, justice, equality, love and a fulfillment of what our lives should be. Without vision, the people will perish, and without courage and inspiration, dreams will die – the dream of freedom and peace.”

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and not very pleased! I am sooo sick and tired of being sick and tired in this country!! This has never happened to me in any other city i’ve ever lived in.

the upshot being… i’m cranky. guy fawkes day/bonfire night is coming up here, and people have been going nuts with the stoopid firecrackers for like two weeks now… enough!

lest this turn into (yet another) generalised malingering rant, here’s some interesting judicial linkage for ya:

how a staged sex crime fooled the supreme court

on a theme: the kansas supreme court has ruled that disease prevention does not justify longer jail sentences for gay than straight statutory rape.

in the face of an embarrassing nominee withdrawal, bush digs in his heels. because let’s face it – bush doesn’t do withdrawals, troop or nominee.

hokey dokey, that’s all for today folks. hopefully i’ll be a healthier, better blogger tomorrow.

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“A while back, Dick, Barry and I agreed that what really matters is *WHAT* you like, not what you *ARE* like. Books, records, films – these things matter! Call me shallow, it’s the fucking truth.”

High Fidelity

so what do your reading/watching/listening habits say about you? For example, I was recently challenged to name my top five all-time favourite movies. Do you know how difficult that is? try it and see. no “reserve” list, no alternates, no more than five. for the record, here’s what I came up with (in no particular order):

E.T.
High Fidelity
American Beauty
Lost in Translation
The Royal Tenenbaums

are my tastes mainstream because these all happened to be very commercial movies? am i wacky because i like offbeat humour? am i immature because i still cling to e.t.? probably a little of all of the above, but none overwhelmingly so (though I’m sure others will disagree). these are the few movies that have stirred me and changed me in strange and indefinable ways. these are the movies that matter in my emotional landscape. but does this visual collage make up a snapshot of who i am?

in another example, time recently came out with a list of the 100 best english language novels since 1923. it’s an interesting list, and it turns out I’ve read 22 of these books, which is a decent chunk, for someone who has no hard and fast criteria. I mean, I generally read contemporary fiction, but the “classics” are classic for a reason. yet, if I had to pick my top five all time favourite books, they’d be:

mary poppins – p.l. travers
cat’s eye – margaret atwood
nine stories – j.d. salinger
a tree grows in brooklyn – betty smith
the accidental tourist – anne tyler

two contemporary books, and three childhood favourites, nothing completely unpredictable. of all the books i’ve read, these are the only ones i know i’ve read over and over again. in a way, i worry that my recent favourites will not stand the test of time. and some of the best-written books i’ve read, have also been the hardest to read. for example, i just finished “the god of small things” which was perhaps the most memorably written book i’ve ever read, the striking use of language and plot-building. But will I read it again? i’m not sure – it didn’t affect me in the way that these books did. also, there is only one male author on the list when in reality, most of what i read is written by men – very sexist men, in fact. men like bukowski and hemingway and easton ellis. in fact, i’m not quite sure this list is truly representative of anything except habit – a safe list of books that i find pleasingly soothing to re-read. and i guess what someone could take away from that is that i like comforting novels (although notably, both anne tyler and margaret atwood write with predominant themes of alienation and disaffection, which are hardly cozy). something unidenitfiable about these books speaks to me, and I’d be hard pressed to figure out what or why. yet they are my literary equivalent of hot cocoa.

in any case, you can draw what conclusions you like, or none at all. i’ve found it hard to try not to alter my lists towards what i think would make me look more eclectic, or intellectual, or well-rounded. to be truthful in the face of critique and judgement. but if you were to set out your own list, what would I think of you?

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jonno has long been a fan of the animated series “family guy”. personally, while i thought it was mildly amusing, i was never all that fussed over it. but consider me a staunch support as of today, since the parent’s television council has decried it as one of the most “family unfriendly shows” on american tvs.

“Family Guy” ” contained scenes in which characters are shown having sex and topics such as masturbation, incest, bestiality, and necrophilia are routinely discussed,”

the p.t.c. says “Hollywood does not care about families.”

Ummm, hello, welcome to earth. Seriously, since when was television a public service? television exists for one reason, and one reason only: to make money. It makes money by selling you stuff. Television may be entertaining, but it owes its entire existence to the almighty advertising dollar. The medium may be different to the golden olden days of radio when they were selling ivory soap, but the message is the same. the only reason there was less sex on tv in the early days, was simply that we were a less sophisticated viewing/marketing audience.

if there’s one thing living in the uk has made abundantly clear, is that the u.s. stridently *pretend* to uphold our prudish puritanical roots, whilst simultaneously being the most sexually hypocritical society on earth. so we are laughingstocks on both counts. a) we’re not fooling anyone, and b) the fact that we seem blissfully ignorant that we’re not fooling anyone, makes it twice as amusing.

We are consistently inconsistent. We tell people, “Be sexy, but not *TOO* sexy, and don’t *HAVE* sex, even though we’ll use sex to *SELL* stuff to you, and selling sex is *BAD*, and sex is between *ADULTS*, except when young *GIRLS* look like *WOMEN*, and then it’s *OKAY* to be sexy, but not *TOO* sexy.”

we’re so blatantly hypocritical, in fact, that we manage to fuck up whole generations of children by sending all sorts of mixed messages, rather than just doing what the rest of the world does, and leaving the tits and ass til after the kiddies have gone to bed – and then indulge unashamedly in the hilarity and pleasure of the human body.

and shockingly enough, even with talk about sex and real, live nakedness on television, the kids here grow up no more depraved than in the u.s. (and some would say less so). so really, now… who’s fooling who? I’ll take “family guy” over “leave it to beaver” any day.

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every once in a while, you remember the stuff that really matters. you run across something that reminds you about how you want to live your life, about how you could live more in the moment, be more aware and present in daily life, about how you wish you could throw off the restrictions and trappings of everyday existence and be truly happy and free.

a few years ago, i made a list called “101 things to do before i die”. some people have other types of lists: 43 things and 101 things in 1001 days. me, i have 101 things to do before i die.

the point of my list is not to accomplish them all. it’s not to cross things off, so that i can say i’ve lead an interesting life or to do lots of daredevil things. some of them are things which are not within my control to achieve. they’re not the most profound things. they’re not even that interesting to most. that’s not the point.

the point is simply this: to remind myself never to get complacent. to never take stuff for granted, and to never allow myself the luxury of regret. it is my reminder that life is too short. i will likely never cross them all off, and i could die tomorrow. it may sound morbid to think that way, but i find it enormously freeing. because it strips you of all ego. the things i do in this life are only of consequence in so much as they affect other’s lives. this is what will remain if i get hit by a bus tomorrow: how well did i treat people yesterday? was i kind? did i tell them i loved them?

steve jobs gave a commencement speech to stanford university, where he said:

Remembering that I’ll be dead soon is the most important tool I’ve ever encountered to help me make the big choices in life. Because almost everything — all external expectations, all pride, all fear of embarrassment or failure – these things just fall away in the face of death, leaving only what is truly important. Remembering that you are going to die is the best way I know to avoid the trap of thinking you have something to lose. You are already naked. There is no reason not to follow your heart.

it’s easy to remember here and now. not so easy to remember when i get irritated and bored and lazy in life. not always so easy to reconcile when my choices are self-serving.

but i try.

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