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.