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."