Funny Things Chicago Style

1) Lincoln Park. Walking to an early morning appointment, a college girl runs by me in an ultra short, skin tight American Apparel looking mini skirt and a sheer white tank. Massive heals in hand, bare feet on the sidewalk. Maybe she figured if she ran past everyone, people would notice her less? Dodged into her apartment. Oh, college morning afters Chicago style. It must have been a cold walk of shame.

2) The next few stories are funny... but that sad, I'm uncomfortable, kind of humor.

Woman walks towards her car parked by the bus stop and tells her friend "God, I had so much whisky tonight." She progresses to enter the vehicle and turn on her car. Her friend sits in passenger seat and they drive off... good luck to them. Hope they got home safe.

3) Late night ride home on the bus. (Something unfamiliar after a few months of living in the woods). Bus isn't packed, but is relatively full. A bunch of young guys are sitting near the front. They've obviously been drinking but don't look like too much trouble. One announces that he's had fifteen shots. A third of a fifth, or something like that. The bus drives on for a while and makes the usual stops in Uptown where odd things tend to happen, not because the people getting on are bad or anything but there's a high concentration of mentally ill and homeless people around those blocks and the bus ride reflects this.

The young guys make space for a middle aged woman wearing three coats (it's not that cold).

"Would you like to sit down mam? Let me make some space for you"

"Thank you. Bless you"

"No bless you. Praise Jesus Christ..."

This led to ten minutes of banter where the youngens teased the woman. She didn't seem upset because she really thought they were praying with her. The feeling on the bus was tense. Everyone knew the guys were messing with the woman but no one seemed to be getting hurt so... she got off the bus without much more of an uproar than more phony Jesus talk. The guys were putting on an act and everyone else on the bus was a reluctant audience.

That's when the attention shifted from the woman to a man with the worst skin condition on his legs I've ever seen. Not that I'm an expert, but it was scary looking. He had a trash bag with him full of old beat up magazines and books. He took one out, some kind of fashion magazine and offered it to the drunk guys for a dollar. This led to another twenty minutes of entertainment for the young "gentlemen." They passed around the magazines. They negotiated prices and told the old man that he was in the wrong business. Instead of pulling out just any magazine from trash cans and dumpsters, he needed to look specifically for booty magazines. Porn would leave him flush with cash. They went into detail about this. I moved to the back of the bus. The man took his sales job seriously and it was sad to watch. He obviously had some kind of dementia or mental problem. Did he have family or anyone taking care of him?

4) Lovely experience at a sports bar. Sarcasm implied. Obviously.

Interaction with friend of a friend of a friend, while person I knew was in the bathroom.

"Hey if X strikes out with you, you should give me a call. I've got a king size bed and I've been staring down your shirt all night. You took your vitamins. Good job."

WHAT!? As a friend later said... "Why do the rudest apes always approach women in bars? Because the cute ones are more subtle and don't need to... "

At any rate, I almost wanted to hear more of his gibberish since it's such great material and hard to make up...

Well... that's all for now folks. Until next time.

Nomadic Life

Being a nomad is not the same as being a drifter. A nomad has a connection to a way of life that includes a sense of community and tradition even if people are not always together or on a particular piece of land. A drifter is an individual who's defined by being unattached and floating in the wind and currents.

The online Oxford Dictionary defines nomad as, "a member of a people having no permanent abode, and who travel from place to place to find fresh pasture for their livestock... a person who does not stay long in the same place; a wanderer." Its origin comes from the "late 16th century: from French nomade, via Latin from Greek nomas, nomad-'roaming in search of pasture', from the base of nemein 'to pasture'" (http://oxforddictionaries.com/definition/nomad?region=us). Its definition of a drifter is "1 a person who is continually moving from place to place, without any fixed home or job. 2 a fishing boat equipped with a drift net." (http://oxforddictionaries.com/definition/drifter?region=us)

A nomad travels in search of fresh pasture. A drifter floats along like a boat with a cast net. Both travel to maintain a livelihood and nourishment, but only one, by definition is "a member of a people having no permanent abode." A nomad is linked to tradition and community, even when wandering alone. What is the modern equivalent of leading sheep to fresh pastures?

Rural Escapades

Running in the woods feels amazing. Not in a park. Not on a path next to a river or a lake bordering a highway, but in the actual woods. No smog, no bus sounds, no creepy strangers, just creepy neighbors. Okay that's not fair, my neighbors aren't creepy (anymore).

So much better than running on the road. No cars and the dirt actually gives a little bit, unlike pavement. It's that non-choreographed relationship with nature that feels great. Parks don't do it justice.

The tics, mosquitoes, mud, rain and broken branches? Obstacles and necessary evils. Maybe. Are tics really necessary?

Old friends. Old friends are amazing. You know who you are. You can tell them everything, thinking it's everything, and they fill in the blanks.

Running with an old friend, thinking of a montage of the runs that came before and laughing as I struggle to keep up. Sometimes it's me. Sometimes it's her. This time it's me. Why doesn't running shape last forever? I guess that would defeat the purpose of actually having to keep up a practice and run.

Homemade pies, home cooking, neighborhood woods and staying home with a book. It's good to be back in New England.

LAUGHING AT ONESELF WHILE JOB SEARCHING

1) Wait, where's my spam folder? Maybe I got a response and gmail thought it was spam...

Oh, oops, no spam. How is that even possible?

2) I miss the days at my college library where I dared to leave my laptop unattended.

Now I'm ferociously protective of my netbook, the less expensive, prized cousin of the college laptop.

3) Believe me baristas, I've been a barista. I know what it's like to see that person who spends all her time and money in your coffee shop. But believe me, job searching is work too! Shh.. you weren't supposed to see I was on facebook and/or blogging!

4) Shoot. There's a typo there. If only I hadn't read and reread that email thirteen times, I would have noticed it!

5) Hm.. maybe my name's too long. Yes, that is definitely it. Name is too long. Lets shorten it. Wait what?

6) Yes, I will lug around a 1,000-page-novel to distract myself from job searching when I need a break from researching on the internet but don't dare to step away from my strategically chosen table near the electric socket. And if I close my computer I might lose all those windows I opened!

7) Okay, now I HAVE to walk around. What can I leave behind on my table that wouldn't be likely to be stolen? And even if it were stolen, wouldn't matter much? And it needs to suggests there is a person inhabiting said table, making it not welcome to be taken over by you or anyone else!

8) Time to move on. Until next time, decision makers somehow connected to me through the world wide web.

Cold Feet

London is in a constant state of rain. It's either raining, it might rain, it did rain, or magically it's not raining.

Like a good cold weather native, I prefer snow. My favorite solution to rain is to curl up on a cozy couch with a good book and a hot beverage. Sadly in a country where it rains four times a day, this is not a solution at all. The rain chills me. I want dry socks, and comfy shoes that don't embarrass me in public and keep me the right level of warm. In the winter this is possible. Good winter boots are more than a fashion accessory; they're trusted old friends and loyal companions. I love my all-terrain, four-wheel drive snow boots, but they fail me in the rain. Too warm.

And rain boots are such a drama to buy! The good looking ones cost a fortune. And the cheap ones never make me want to wear them so why invest the money? They break; they're uncomfortable; water gets in them anyway; they're hard to fit under or over pants. So... what do I do? Wear sneakers? Usually that works okay, unless they get soaked. Wet feet leads to suffering. Sometimes carrying extra socks is a good solution. Why is it pleasant to walk along the ocean barefoot in wet sand but wet shoes are miserable? Is this misery surrounding wet shoes the origin of the expression to get cold feet, such as cold feet before a wedding? I guess once upon a time people fell seriously ill from wet feet and a lack of scientific and medical knowledge could make the situation deadly, meaning that travelers may have interrupted errands or returned home to nurse cold feet... I'll have to research this phrase. I'm intrigued.

Nightlife

"Nightlife in London is for the rich to kill time. In New York it's an exhausting chase for the next new sensation. In Paris it's a natural extension of daily life for the rich and poor alike. People like to dance, listen to music, attend shows and look at pretty women. Parisians are surprised when the English tell them that this is immoral. What is immoral? The activities? The hour? Or that they are enjoyed?"

Paraphrased from a book illustrated by Brassaï on Parisian nightlife found at the Royal Academy in London. Not so wrong!

Soccer on AA: Arsenal vs. Udinese

Gone are the days of changing train cars three times to avoid thirty drunk, beefy men singing football songs and looking for a fight. If not gone, less frequent. Has London's hooligan situation been relocated from stadiums to history books? In the context of recent riots, maybe the need for violence has just transformed.

Watching live soccer, football, whatever you want to call it, is a completely different experience from watching sports in the USA. Coming from Red Sox and Cubs territory, I'm used to stadiums being glorified bars. Okay, I'm a baseball fan, and both Fenway and Wrigley Field have a value beyond alcohol consumption but no one who's been to either place can claim that a majority of people don't also go there to get their drink on.

So imagine my surprise when I reach the front of the line to order a cider (it was advertised on the giant menu above the cashier and it being England, cider is served everywhere) and I am informed that no alcohol is sold anywhere in the stadium during Champions League games. I had been told that you couldn't take anything back to the stadium seats, but that alcohol could be consumed in the lobby/ concession area. No biggie, I got a coffee, but talk about a different environment than Boston. Imagine if the Banknorth Garden suddenly stopped selling beer. Imagine the drunk next to you not spilling his beer on you in the bleachers at Fenway. What a different world.

Besides this being a sober event, my friend and I were seated in the Family Section. Not sure what that means... the crowd was relatively subdued but the profanity still flew freely from the kid/man behind me. His date scolded him regularly though and asked him to watch his language because of the children nearby. Maybe the scolding made it a family section. Don't know.

It was also a different experience to be a foreign fan ignorant of cheers, songs, players... and feeling impartial about the teams.

The guy behind me was about to have a heart attack at every kick. His date fed him sugar. Said it might calm his nerves. Funny logic.

Arsenal vs. Udinese

My first live soccer/football game, but probably not the last. Next one in Argentina?

Cameras are Creepy

I don't understand the English policing system. Spend tons of money on cameras so the police can solve crimes after the fact.

Politicians proudly explain how every teenager found on film is going to be hunted down and punished. Is this a good thing? How will it help people's homes un-burn, and their cars not explode, and help heal broken jaws and communities? Policing needs to happen in real time, not with a passive punishment based methodology. What's the lesson going out to future rioters? Make sure to cover your face or you will be caught and jailed.

Should police be allowed to carry guns? Maybe. The rioters should not have had a monopoly on force, that's the role of government. However, this whole situation started with an officer fatally shooting a suspect.

I'm annoyed with Prime Minister Cameron's supposedly tough talk. How will jailing twelve-year-old's, making their families lose their benefits and housing and ostracizing them further help prevent future crimes? They're twelve. He suggests he wants their involvement with riots to be something that haunts them for the rest of their lives. Fine, but what about the rest of their lives? They need to be integrated into society.

I'm not speaking against punishment. I'm speaking against only using punishments and not paying enough attention to real time policing and the rehabilitation of teens who still have decades to live as British citizens.

Also I feel for the parents who have twelve years olds who made stupid decisions and joined their friends in the streets. They may not have done anything other than shoplift a pack of gum, but they were there and because of that they are guilty. Imagine if every kid who ever robbed a stick of gum were jailed? Early adolescence is a confusing time when kids are soon to turn into little adults capable of making their own decisions, but are not quite there yet.

Yesterday on the BBC, I heard an interview of a mother who's friend gave her a stolen pair of shorts. She was not directly involved with the riots. She has two young children. She was sentenced to five months in jail because of the shorts. This sounds absurd.

Many people are confusing vengeance for justice. The courts are right to hand out some of the jail sentences. Some of the crimes committed in the riots were serious. Murder, arson, assault... but how do these jail sentences suggest a safer future in London's streets? And Prime Minister Cameron still wants to cut police funds? Cameras and jail sentences do not guarantee or even suggest long term justice and security.

Cute and Obnoxious

CUTE

Yesterday I found myself at Golders Hill Park listening to a Polish band wearing traditional costumes play string instruments. Stumbling onto the concert was an accident, and my 91-year-old granny, my aunt and I walked up close to the bandstand so that my granny could hear. We stood there awkwardly under a tree wondering whether to stay. Sitting on the ground is difficult for her. A man ran up to us and gave her his chair. He sat on the grass. How thoughtful!

A few minutes later kids started dancing in front of us in their cute, gawky, uninhibited way. A little nerdy blond girl with glasses, a little black boy with dreads, and two young Jewish orthodox children (a brother and sister).

The park was full of people of different backgrounds and religious practices. Loads of women wearing head scarves, many Jewish orthodox and Hasidic families... etc.

It was a cute moment.

OBNOXIOUS

Accompanying elderly family to hospitals and pharmacies doesn't make for the most thrilling cosmopolitan adventures, but sometimes it has to be done. What proved even more thrilling than the hospital lobby? The bus ride there and back!

Riding the bus with my grandmother is stressful. I want to sit with her so we can get off together and to offer moral support but I can't. Doing so requires scanning every person who boards the bus for gray hair, pregnant bellies and disabilities. How do you know who to get up for? Some people get offended if you offer them your seat, and some are offended if you don't. When can one relax? Not worth it. I go sit in the back of the bus and keep an eye on my grandmother so I know where to get off the bus.

WHO? Obnoxious man with a straw hat and cane. (White, English, big yellow teeth, middle aged/ elderly. It's hard to tell his age. He's either got a lot of energy for an older man or he hasn't aged gracefully and is on the younger side).

WHAT? He interviews everyone on the bus. People indulge them. He chats up all the women around him. Older and younger alike. I think a few women are flattered. He offers his seat to everyone. Most people say no. He intervenes in a situation where a mother is telling her son to sit down. The son refuses to sit or hold onto anything and claims he is a big boy. The old man keeps swinging his cane around. When he first sat down, he hit the ceiling with his cane.

The man smiles with his huge, yellow teeth and talks about how he chats up women whenever he gets the chance, but that the boy is welcome to sit next to him although he'd rather it be the mother. He swings the cane again and tells the boy to grab onto it and come sit next to him. If I were a mother, this would terrify me and I'd tell my son to sit somewhere else. Maybe this is the American in me, who distrusts strangers. Maybe it's the once upon a time New Yorker who doesn't want to talk to anyone and expects everyone on public transportation to be a wacko. Maybe it's the Porteña in me, or maybe it's just plain common sense.

The boy says he wants to sit next to the man.

The creepy yellow toothed man chats up the woman next to me. Where are you going? Where are you getting off? She answers with full details, explaining the stop and the cinema. Why? Why does she indulge him?

He exclaims, oh you're from the north of England! From New Castle.

Yes, yes I am.

See how good I am? And you're a grandmother!

Yes, yes I am.

A grandmother at 18! How did you manage?

I did very well for myself.

Yes, yes you did. Blah, blah, blah. And you have a lovely girl next to you. She thinks I didn't notice, but I did. I always notice beautiful women. And she's Persian. She's Persian, I tell you. You are definitely Middle Eastern, but are you Persian?

[I'm not Middle Eastern or Persian. I should not have answered. I should have just smiled shyly and pretended not to speak English. Situation averted.]

But instead I said, Sure. Why not?

[Shouldn't have said that. I gave myself away as American.]

Oh you grew up in the states but you're definitely Persian.

Sure.

What part of the states?

It doesn't matter.

What part of the states? I went to school in Tallahassee, Florida. What part of the states are you from?

[I don't answer]

I know there are 53 states in the US. People think there are 52, but really there are 53. I know because of Hawaii. Most people don't know that, but I know. You're from Persia but what part of the states did you grow up in?

[I don't answer. I'm also not sitting directly next to him. He's speaking over several people]

It doesn't matter where I'm from. None of your business. Leave me alone.

[Really, I could have done better than that]

Oh. She must be American. She's very unfriendly.

[What I wanted to answer, oh you must be from London, because you're such a nutter, but I didn't want all the old ladies around me to form a mob]

What should I have done? I should have flipped the question and asked him his origin, the origin of his hat, where he learned to chat up women... but no, didn't care enough to do all that.

I've got nothing against being Persian, but I'm not. And I feel no obligation to explain my ethnicity, origin, childhood and adult life to an obnoxious stranger on the bus. Loudly. Why should I be forced into being part of his performance?

Only four more buses to take today.

Afraid of Offense

So many stories that are fun to hear and tell poke fun at somebody. Often I'm the butt of my own jokes, but sometimes it's strangers or close loved ones or friends. It's healthy for us all to laugh, and making someone break into smile is one of my favorite things to do, but where do our senses of humor cross? Usually there's some common ground and some jokes mean completely different things to people. You toss a joke like a ball and there's not always someone to catch it. What's a football to one person is a hot potato to another, or a cactus, or a fire, or maybe some people always fumble and can't take a joke at all.

That's where the stage is easier than typing in blogs or pen and paper. As an actor, there are a few veils of separation... the character, the director, the rest of the actors and even the audience add an extra lenses of interpretation. Actors can literally see the audience in front of them, or if they can't and are blinded by the lights, they know they are there. They can hear their reactions. I guess nowadays with iPhones and easy access recording equipment even a quick informal live performances can exist past curtain call, but there's a formality and form to theater that suggests parody or puts a performance's content into a context of other people's laughter, tears and silence.

Writing. There are so many potential stories, but some of them burn. Ourselves and others. Maybe immediately, maybe ten years later, maybe never.

It's the risk performers, writers, and humans in general take when we chose to share jokes and stories with the people outside of ourselves, but it's also what makes life worthwhile. Jokes don't always land well and conversations can come back to haunt us, but what would life be like without stories to share?

Like Samuel Beckett said, "Fail again. Fail better."

Riot Reflections

This article is ridiculous:

http://news.yahoo.com/blogs/cutline/writer-bbc-interviewer-show-respect-old-west-indian-203939047.html

I’ve personally heard several interviews of rioters and discussion of the original shooting that started all the violence. The police officer who shot Mark Duggan may very well have been wrong and should be prosecuted accordingly, but how does that event justify the destruction of so many lives?

People were not rioting and looting in protest to the police; they were all out stealing. It was not about poverty. It was about disrespect. Nobody needs many of the things that were stolen; no one gains from burning down a supermarket and people’s homes.

I hope the police do not go too far and persecute young people for no reason, but all-out criminality and the intimidation of London and many other major cities is unacceptable. People watched desperately as their life-savings, their livelihoods and their homes burned to the ground. People locked themselves in kitchens, jumped out of windows and were beaten in the streets.

At least in London, the riots were neither class warfare nor race riots. The aggressors and victims were both wealthy and poor and from many different racial and cultural backgrounds.

I watched two young, black, English adults (male and female), a middle aged white woman with an English accent, and an elderly woman with an accent from somewhere I couldn’t place, playfully bantering with each other and making sure everyone had enough space on the bus. And then of course there was me. A young female with an American accent. We were all talking and laughing and I thought to myself, this is also London. The people who chose to attack one another caused a lot of damage but they are a minority in this city. Not a minority made of any race or background but of opportunism and a lack of respect for others.

Maybe the government is partially at fault here. Why was there no major public statement condemning the violence when the first police cars were burned down in Tottenham? Why was London understaffed? Why were the prime minister, the mayor and several other leaders all on holiday at the same time? They should stagger their vacations. And why were there such deficient tools available for the police to use to protect people?

Parents weren’t faultless either. Why are kids in the streets late at night? But worse than the kids, how could there be teachers and adults looting? Some people are professional criminals but how could the average person care so much about a new television? I haven’t owned my own TV in years and I’m not about to break into my local store to get one.

The riots reminded me of Black Friday in the United States when shoppers broke down a glass door at a Walmart and killed an employee during their stampede. They trampled him and would not move away to let emergency workers reach the victim. What is wrong with people? How can a deal on a new refrigerator be that important?

Economic disparity is real, and people are rightfully angry as we face a world that becomes increasingly difficult for young people to break into and build futures. But if people want to protest, this is not the way to do it. It’s time to get creative and work together, not for a frustrated few to bring everyone else down with them.

Mass Riots

Last night I dreamed that the entire globe was about to be consumed by water and everyone was likely to drown. People were planning what would potentially be their last days on Earth. I woke up to hear that London was burning. There's mass rioting and looting in London and throughout the rest of the United Kingdom. People have lost their homes, businesses, cars and sense of security. How did this start? When will this end?

Old Men

It seems like anything mildly funny that happened this week involved old men.

Ironic tee-shirts:

1) Middle aged man. Greasy, long, curly hair. Fat. Tight tee shirt. What does it say? Sexsi. A Pepsi parody shirt.

Looked like this: http://www.greenturtle.com/Funny/Parody/Sexsi-T-Shirt-1307/

We crossed the street at the same time. I muffled a laugh. He looked like he wouldn't hesitate to punch a woman. Didn't fancy a fight.

2) Old man in a baseball cap, jeans and a D&B shirt, riding his bike. My first reaction? Why did he purchase a Dolce and Gabbana tee. He rode slow enough for me to read the Dolce and Banana slogan.

He wasn't wearing a helmet. And he was riding on the sidewalk. Why do so many adults get away with doing this in London?

3) Didn't involve an ironic tee shirt, and wasn't really funny but I'll include it anyway:

I took five minutes to duck into a pub I've been curious about and use the internet. Had to finish something. The pub is named after a literary classic and looks... well... nice. (Unlike most of the pubs in the neighborhood). I went in with an agenda. I needed five minutes of wifi and I wanted a drink. A scarce commodity as my funds are limited and I live with two non-drinkers.

I bought an excessively priced cocktail because it seemed like it would be delicious, and again, I never have them. It turns out you need a local phone to register for internet. No go. Don't have that. Annoying. The bar tender told me it would work. I say, well I guess I'll still enjoy my mojito. He felt bad. He gave me his username and password. Cool of him. I guess I seemed harmless enough. I should have moved to a corner table but the bar seemed more amusing.

Annoying older man sits near me. He's either drunk or naturally annoying. He calls over the bartender. Asks his name. Makes sure everyone in the bar knows he's the big man in the house. He orders what he presents as critically fancy drinks. I'm pretty sure they were whiskey cokes. Big deal. His sons arrive. They're my age. They drink the whiskey cokes then mysteriously disappear. He banters with me for a bit. Seems harmless enough.

Then he asks me, "No offense intended, but what's wrong with you? Why's a nice young lady like yourself at a pub without a man? It's dangerous. I mean I'm with my two young sons, what's wrong with you? Do you work 24-7? I bet you work 24-7 and don't have time for a man? Why?"

Normally I have thick skin. And whatever. Like I care what some (at least pretending to be) excessively wealthy, obnoxious old man thinks. However, I was annoyed. After two days of procrastinating I had hit my stride and was finally getting my work done, and then this man has to ruin the moment by... I don't know... talking to me?

I thought whatever, I'll ignore him or move to a table. But then I heard him call the bartender over and say "Respectfully and professionally, why do you think..." and started on what he saw as my "situation." Boom. Working mood over. Left the pub and went home for dinner. First experience at an English bar alone? Delicious drink. Good service. Shitty company.

4) This involves neither an old man nor an ironic tee shirt, but why not carry on with the anarchy and include a story about a pigeon?

I was running to a bus stop and a bird flew directly in front of me and almost hit me in the face. Both me and the woman beside me screamed. London has such lovely opportunities to bond with strangers.

Until next time.

The End.

An Almost Embarrassing Incident

Yesterday I had the circus song stuck in my head. Which circus song, you may ask? Not sure. A medley of things overheard from merry-go-rounds, ice cream trucks and player pianos. I was singing it when I walked down the street. Singing it when I entered my flat. And singing it in my head as I worked. Now was I overheard by someone and mortified? Not exactly. I have no shame singing in the street. More people should do it. It's fun.

I walked past a motorcycle store I'd never noticed before. How is it that in a new neighborhood it takes dozens and dozens of walks to notice all the stores? Over stimulation. Too hard to register everything at once.

Anyway... I was walking and singing nonchalantly when I noticed an odd looking motor cycle parked to my left. I looked to my right and there was a little person in wheelchair riding towards the motor cycle. It was so cool. The thing was like a large mechanical wheelbarrow. He could slide his chair onto a ramp, onto the motorcycle and drive it. Cool.

But how mortifying was it that I was singing the circus song? Don't get me wrong stranger on the sidewalk, your new bike is awesome. And I promise you, I was singing the circus song all day. Not just when I saw you. Anyway, you may not even have heard me stranger in the street. But all singing aside... your bike is awesome.

Here's an example of what these motorcycles look like:

http://www.mobilityworks.com/wheelchair-motorcycle.php

Babies, strollers and overheard conversations.

A mother stands next to her car rubbing her baby's face. The baby is in his stroller.

The baby is crying.

"I know, I know, but it's better than having snot all over your face."

The baby stops crying. Magic. Who can argue with that logic?

Sigh Interrupted

The other day I was having one of those moments where you're walking down the street, turning the corner at a familiar intersection and everything looks particularly pretty.

I was happy, walking towards a quaint independent movie theater with a great little cafe/bar, super fast wifi, and patio seating. There was a farmers market across the street and I could smell the Jasmine despite the traffic. And being my little yogi self, I started to take in a deep breath to take in the moment.

Just then, a man who until then had blended into the background, starting hacking like he either had the plague or was an active chain smoker. Our sleeves almost touched as he past me. I immediately stopped breathing.

Irony.

Factory Gyms

I was a guest today at my grandmother's gym. The workout was great. It was refreshing to be able to run again now that I have some new sneakers that help me instead of injure me...

BUT.... what about the flashing screens in front of the treadmills? It reminded me of the last time I went to a doctor, when a promotional video was playing on loop telling me all the medicines that could make my life better. Posters promoting medicines were on every wall. It felt like I was in "Clockwork Orange," and narrowly escaping brain washing.

The gym? The screens showing TV shows didn't bother me. Neither did the music videos, even if they looked like soft-core porn. I could ignore them, although it was mildly amusing that that's what the chain gym chooses to play for its diverse demographic. Old and young, overweight, fit... everyone gets shown soft core music videos.

It's the commercials that bothered me. Every few videos the gym would interrupt the music programming to promote injection-less skin tightening, topping off your summer tan, whitening your teeth, dropping a dress size in a week with some medical procedure that doesn't involve surgery. Wow, just what everyone wants to see while running on a treadmill. Are your teeth perfect? Want to drop a dress size? Are those wrinkles on your face? Mixed with skinny singers dancing.... Hm... Way to go, positive encouragement! At least they have a motivational quote next to the TV screen, "You can do it! Run another .5km!"Hm...

Maybe this is what it feels like to run through a video version of a fashion magazine...

Anyway... this advertising system must work? Do people really get off the treadmill and sign up for a tummy tuck? Why else would the videos be shown?

No wonder people walk around all day with their i-pods on. How else to shut out all the infomercials? That is... if the songs passing through their ear buds aren't infomercials too.

Running in the Park

The park in my new hood is a bustling place full of families, people reading the newspaper, walkers and runners (without being too crowded). Today, as I was running laps there, a little boy pointed at me and said, "that one, that one's my mum." The kindergarten teacher or day care attendant watching him laughed nervously and said, "Is she?"

It provided some welcome comic relief from my run but... why did he think I was his mum? The shorts, shirt and sunglasses?

A Few More Thoughts on What Makes a Londoner:

1) I am looking the correct way when crossing the street. Does that make me a Londoner? And I don't mean in the touristy areas where large signs are printed on the pavement saying "look right," "look left." Then again, I gave my yank roots away. Pavement means sidewalk in the UK.

2) Not exclusive to London, but it's great to be complimented on one's shoes. Especially when said shoes are six years old. Long live good shoe purchases.

Cute interaction for the day: A mother walking down the street quietly says, "I like those boots."

The little girl riding her bike beside her mother says, "My mum likes your boots."

Thank you mother and child, you're very sweet. It's the small things. Sometimes.

Also, are London cafes required to have public loos? This one doesn't.

Not to self: re-research the origin of the word loo. I know it has to do with Waterloo but I don't remember anything else.

Cheers.

Rain. Or lack thereof. (fingers, knees, ankles, arms, eyes crossed)

I'm living on the wild side. I'm out in London without an umbrella. Watch out!

Dogs

It's been too long since I've had a pet. I'm becoming a crazy lady who wants to take home strangers' dogs at parks while they're not looking. If I'm not careful, I'll become like that crazy online dating lady who cried about cats.

COWS

I found out today that the first time my grandmother rode a bike, she crashed into a cow. Also, apparently three old ladies she knows were walking on a public pathway through an English farm when they were attacked by a cow. One of them had to be hospitalized. Who knew such things could happen?

Funny things I’ve noticed in England

1. Girl passed me on the street wearing a tee shirt that said “I’m the bitch who keeps hanging up on you.” OK.
2. There are full size playgrounds in pubs here. I kid you not. Spotted near Richmond, Surrey. Apparently there s a move to make pubs more family friendly. A good idea?
3. A woman walked past the other day who was not wearing pants. The front of her head was shaved; the rest of her hair was long and blond. She was wearing a mid-length jacket. As she walked past everyone could see her butt cheeks. Some kid tried to yell something at her but his friend smacked him. Why was she wearing this?
4. Despite the constant rain, yesterday it was sunny and warm. Many people, including myself, did not dress appropriately. The woman sitting across from me in the station took her tights off. Watching men whip their heads around or to try to subtly look without looking was funny. Good entertainment while waiting for the train.

I’m sure more has happened but this is all I remember for now…

Expect more updates.

Protests

After watching a communist demonstration in Buenos Aires, I have come to the conclusion that the tea party and the communist party would deserve each other. Two sides to the same coin. Bullying mobs.

What do seacoast New Hampshire and Japan have in common?

Has anyone else from seacoast New Hampshire thought about how the area is on a fault line and has a nuclear power plant? Food for thought:

"Fault friendly? Quakes in NH" (University of New Hampshire article)

Information from the Northeast States Emergency Consortium

Japan:

http://www.nytimes.com/2011/03/26/world/asia/26japan.html?_r=1&hp

Seabrook power plant: http://www.fpl.com/environment/nuclear/about_seabrook_station.shtml

Driftwood

My generation- whatever that means.

Some of us grew up with drifters as heroes.

Driving the old hand me down shagon-wagons, mini-vans, driving away from family, driving to college, driving back.

Instead of jumping box cars I’m jumping planes. Fly away and don’t come back.

Driftwood can be beautiful.

A piece of a broken boat, house, or sign floats on the ocean. Tossed around by waves. Aged by wind, water, salt. The sun dries it when it floats ashore. Someone collects it and transforms it into vintage furniture sold in some chic store. Eventually the wood decorates a home.

Or it can float on in the ocean. New adventures. But does it only stay exciting if it keeps moving?

Maybe it never makes it to being a mantelpiece, part of a coral reef, aged wood in the waves.

Maybe it gets stuck in a bog. And rots.

A New Post for a New Year

Today I'd like to bring your attention to a recent New York Times article and one particularly absurd quote:

“And we’re not being mean,” Mr. Hunter told a Tea Party rally in Southern California. “We’re just saying it takes more than walking across the border to become an American citizen. It’s what’s in our souls.”

Where did Mr. Hunter come from? Did his ancestors telepathically inherit American souls? How can anyone have a serious immigration discussion with someone who claims citizenship is based on the content of one's soul?

It is healthy for all parts of society to participate in dialogue regarding current events, needs, grievances, and accomplishments. However, I challenge individuals against immigration to look at the history of the United States and the accomplishments and contributions of immigrants (Einstein being one of our most famous foreign, immigrant geniuses.)

I also challenge critics to look at their own history. Where did their families come from? Most of us came from somewhere other than the US. The oldest inhabitants of the territory now known as the Unites States of America are the Native Americans, and historians explain that even the they are likely to have thousands of years ago come from somewhere else.

So critics of immigration, where do you come from?