Thursday, August 07, 2008
Summer Balance & Writer's Block
Tuesday, February 26, 2008
For the Love of Dysfunction

Thursday, February 21, 2008
Total Eclipse of the......

So, yes, tonight, at the tip-off from my colleague Christina (who got the tip-off from her husband over dinner via mobile phone text), I watched a bit of the last total lunar eclipse until 2010 -- from my friend Adeena's front step on Central Park West (I'm in NYC again). I missed the full monty (I was in a cab in Times Square, not good viewing conditions) but caught a bit of the umbral shadow action afterwards (very dark, smoky hazy currents moving over the moon like a big shadow). Are you impressed with my vocab? (Space.com baby!) I wanted to watch more, but had just come from dinner and really had to go to the bathroom and darn! it's cold outside, so I am now inside, warm, cosy and snacking on some Haagen-Dazs from Adeena's freezer (she is a recipe developer, food writer and chef so her refrigerator is always a good time for me).
I am here all week for work and rather crazed, but got to have dinner with Molly Saturday night and had a spa day on Sunday with Rosanne (who I will also be partying with tomorrow night). Had a two hour Thai Massage Ritual -- BLISS! I have gotten to see some other assorted friends and colleagues which is always good. But man o man is it windy and cold here. Can't beleive I'm saying this, but I do beleive I am now partial to London weather.
Ugh, SICSA (Sudden Ice Cream Stomach Ache)...
....ok, back from putting the Haagen-Dazs back in the freezer, where it belongs.
As per usual, I can't decide if I miss NYC or not. A reoccuring and subtle perplexion. Always love being back here and it's all so familiar and normal again like I never left, but it's just not mine anymore somehow. Which is ok, I get back often enough that visiting is just fine. But it's still odd, I go to the same old places I always did - but they just don't feel the same.
Guess New York's been eclipsed by London. And I think the "umbral shadow" will somehow last more than 4 hours. But that's ok, eclipses happen....something is always going to overshadow something else. That's life....that's what makes it interesting. Who knows where I'll be watching the next one from in 2010!
Wednesday, February 13, 2008
Air God: Logging Miles to Judgement Day

-It's a downloadable digital application (for Internet, mobile phone and Blackberry use)
-Each time you do a deed, you log it into the system, and it assigns and accrues "frequent flyer" points toward either your ticket to heaven or hell based on the good or evil merit of your deed and the circumstances surrounding it
-At any given point in life, you can see how your fate is stacking up and if you're headed to heaven or hell
-There will be a "sin-offset" system (like carbon-offsetting which the airlines now offer) whereby you can neutralise your bad deeds by doing something good (or, you can just make an online donation to the church of your choice and all your sins will be instantly wiped clean, but there is a pricey minimum donation level for that)
-The system would be programmed by a high level of priests, ministers, ethical thoughtleaders and other credible prophet-like people
-An alert system will be put in place so that if you're leaning toward the ticket to hell, a scary alarm goes off on your phone/blackberry to warn you and suggest immediate deeds for sin-offset
-And as a rewarding reminder for good work and a leaning towards heaven - the alarm will sound that famous chorus from Handel's Messiah that everyone likes (The "Hallelujah!" one)
-The application will be linked to a social network like Facebook, where you can see the real-time fates of all your friends and review their top 10 best and worst deeds ever (actually, it could warrant its own social network called "Fatebook")
....And this would be launched via a high-profile PR campaign with Oprah and LaRue (my Grandma) as the spokespeople, since they have personal friendships with God and can probably speak on his/her behalf.
I think this could possibly get more PR attention than that "Red" campaign that Bono and that Kennedy guy created.
And NOW you see why I [should] make the big bucks!!!
Wednesday, January 16, 2008
Easing (ok, Crashing) into the New Year with Uggs, DIY Haircuts, Work, Detox, Bruises, Cherries, Germany and Those Darned Resolutions!
I am happy in Hamburg, sitting in my favorite hotel, enjoying a crisp winter night with the door open to the terrace (hey - there's an invitation for all the stalkers!). My colleague Pia informed me before I left London that "it is warm here" - which means you still need the winter coat, but won't freeze while outside, cursing life. And she was right - I didn't need my coat from baggage claim to the taxi, so as the people (somewhere) say, "woo hoo!"
Lots of exciting things happening in life right now. Let me see, where to start....
I am back at work. "Exciting" is definitely a word for that. But luckily I am feeling re-energised and ready to rock after 2 glorious weeks in the States for the holiday.




So, in Hamburg, I am enjoying all things kirche (cherry) - got some delicious cherry mint chewing gum by Orbit, and some very nice cherry yogurt. Delicioso. I would say that in German, but I left my German dictionary at home (they just laugh at me anyway when I try to speak the language here).

Ok, I fear I may be further damaging my reputation with this enlightening post, so I am going to go now. But stay tuned for my next post on my Croatian holiday....the one I took 5 months ago. Hey, better late than never...and now's a good time to be reminissing about hot weather!
Tuesday, September 11, 2007
6 Years
Sunday, September 09, 2007
Buddhist Thought of the Day
Saturday, September 08, 2007
Two Year Anniversary

Today I had lunch with my friend Cabe Franklin who recently moved here from New York with his girlfriend Julia. Cabe and I go ways back, and it's really cool and heartening to see him here and to have these concentric circles of people who keep coming back around to share my world. It's great. I am thankful for the wonderful friends in my life. No matter where I am, they make it home.
On a slightly less sentimental note, I also counted the approximate number of flights I have taken since moving here two years ago. My tally came to 87 airplane rides, 16 countries and 35 cities. That's crazy. But awesome.
Unfortunately though, the travel takes it's toll. For instance, I haven't really unpacked from my last two trips and my bed is piled a mile high with clothes, bags and suitcases. There is no space to sleep. As a matter of fact, I am writing this blog post simply as a stall tactic for not having to go deal with it. Oh well, like many things, it can all be pushed aside and tackled in the morning. :)
Friday, September 07, 2007
Miscellaneous Mobile Phone Cleanout
This is an alligator made of shoes on display at a Puma art exhibition in NYC.
This is me and a monkey, also made out of shoes at that same exhibition.
Me in a NY taxi.
A cocktail. I'm not exactly sure where. I think in Paris.
A "beach club" in Hamburg, Germany. I went there with my friend and colleague Pia after work one day.
This is Muji -- one of my favourite shoppes in London. I took this for my friend in NY, Nana, who loves the place. But I don't think I ever sent it to her.
This is me and an ex-boyfriend in Paris earlier this year. I thought about not including it, but what the hell, it's miscellaneous mobile phone cleanout, everything must go!
This is my friend Olly on his Vespa that I beleive he calls "Mildred."
Wednesday, August 29, 2007
iChattin'

My sister and I both have Macs with iChat, so despite the fact I'm across the ocean from my family, I can see and talk to them every day at no extra cost beyong my broadband bill. All three of my nieces are completely computer-literate (inlcuding the 2-year old) so it is truly fun for the whole family. One night, my neice Elise read ME a bedtime story...my how the world has changed.
Following are some snapshots from a recent web chat. Catherine (8), much like her namesake, does most the talking in the family. You can see in the picture above she is honing her stand-up comic skills with some help from her "Jokelopedia." She also likes to IM (instant message) simultaneously WHILE she is video chatting with me -- talk about multi-tasking!
Eva (almost 2) is the little one. She waves, jabbers, and we play peek-a-boo. In the pictures below, she was really revved up, doing a dance I can only liken to that old Bangles song "Walk Like an Egyptian."
There aren't as many appearances by Elise (6)...she's far too coy to be overly impressed by iChat....she'd rather just sequester herself somewhere with her Game Boy or a Disney Princess video. Although she ran on screen last night from the shower with nothing on but a towel. I got flashed a few times...she's quite the exhibitionist...her mom and dad are gonna have to watch that one.





Friday, July 20, 2007
Top 10 Signs You're Travelling Too Much
9. You travel on planes more than cars and trains combined. If there's any truth to that carbon footprint thing, you are single-handedly destroying the earth.
8. Most all your shopping is done in duty-free. As a matter of fact, you realise airports have all you need to survive.
7. You have the desire to speak Spanish in non-Spanish-speaking countries. And you think German would be an "easy" and "fun" language to learn -- even though you are totally failing your French class.
6. In your prayers at night, you thank God for health, family, friends, and universal travel adaptors. Then you pray that someone will invent a singular power cord and charger that will work with all your gadgets.
5. Your handbag contains 2 mobile phones, a blackberry, an iPod, and a digital camera...but the batteries in all of them are dead.
4. Every city in Europe begins to look exactly the same to you.
3. You sheeplishly start questions with, "Excuse me, do you speak English?" But you're in London. Then you say "Merci" after they've answered your question (in English).
2. You consider your daily interactions with friends on Facebook to be your "social life."
1. People ask where you live...and you have trouble answering the question.
Saturday, June 16, 2007
Duty-Free Diva

I recently had to call my mother from the airport in Palma, Spain after a two-day client meeting becuase I had lost control at the Chanel counter and needed an intervention. And I’m not talking about buying makeup that I absolutely don’t need (although I did that) — it’s the sampling. I get so excited by makeup counters and the possibilities of what they will do for me that I almost black out. And this time, when I came to, I had one hand with 3 different shades of black nail polish on three different fingers, one silver finger, and a pink finger. I also had two different colour palettes on each eye and some blue mascara. There were traces of sugary pink lipgloss. Oh, and some bronzer as well, making me a nice shade of shimmery orange (well what do you expect, I might have been in Spain, but I certainly didn’t get any sun sitting in a dark conference room for two days!) There was a nice sales lady standing next to me who seemed slightly befuddled by my frenzy. Fearing what she may have witnessed in that unaccounted-for time (like when aliens kidnap and experiment on you), I grabbed what she had taken from the drawer and got myself to check-out. That’s when I called my mom.
Though I am usually armed for these attacks with makeup remover wipes in my handbag (I highly recommend “Simple” brand cleansing facial wipes sold at most drugstores in the UK), they were making the last call for my flight and there was no time to undo this potential disaster before boarding. Then, to my horror, as I was waiting in line to get on the plane, one of my (very senior) clients who I didn’t know very well tapped me on the shoulder…he was on the same flight. I ditched my mobile phone (and my mother on the other end of the line, sorry mom) and stuffed my hands into my pockets. Oh crap, I didn’t have pockets, so I folded them awkwardly behind my back. I made the conversation as quick as I could without looking him directly in the eye (never good for a PR person) and then, keeping my head down, slunk onto the plane and into my seat. I took out my compact mirror to assess the damage - I looked like a cast member from Cirque du Soleil.
But the duty-free debacle doesn’t stop with makeup. There’s perfume, pink champagne, fine whisky from Scotland, local souvenirs, watches, crazy clothes and fashion, exotic foodstuffs, sunglasses, Swarvoski and Baccarat crystal, handbags, books, cheese, Haribo gummies, technology and gadgets…all the things in the world that I love and hold dear. Or, did I love them until I started travelling so much? I’m not sure. All I know is that the sales staff at Ted Baker at Heathrow Terminal 4 know me by name.
This all leads me to ponder — What is it about aiports and travel that make people feel so indulgent? For me, it’s usually an excuse like: I work so hard, I’m stressed, I had a rough day, I DESERVE it, I NEED it….or in the case of the cute alligator beany baby I picked up at JFK….I’m lonely and will need a cuddle on the long flight back (I don’t know what’s wrong with people, they act like they’ve never seen a grown woman dressed in business attire clutching a beany baby to her chest in one hand and a Louis Vuitton shopper in the other!)
As a marketing person, I see airports as communities and duty-free as a lifestyle. And the pairing of the two is genius when it comes to traveller purchasing decisions. Because for avid duty-free shoppers like myself, it’s usually NOT about saving money — it’s about comfort, validation, convenience, feeling glam, and the suspension of reason you’d normally have when shopping anywhere else. Because when you’re in an airport, you’re likely feeling a heightened emotion of some sort — happiness, nervousness, boredom, stress, exhaustion, accomplishment, excitement, sadness, anxiety, hopfefulness, depression — and there is always something to buy to complement or offset any of those feelings….that’s the magic of being captive in a place where instant gratification can be found in so many forms — for a price, of course.
Tuesday, March 27, 2007
Self-Discovery: Does Anyone Really Have 40 Days to Sacrifice for It?

About three and a half years ago, I came across this book called "40 Days and 40 Nights" while perusing my local Borders in New York City (um, I was not in the self-help section, it was on the "featured books of the month" table).
It was the weekend and I was delusional (as weekends sometimes make me) thinking that perhaps I might do something meaningful and personally fulfilling on my own time (ha. ha ha. ha ha ha...ha). Anyway, I was really excited because, well just look at the cover -- it was going to change my life and send me down the path of totally awesome self-discovery, somewhere I previously never had any interest in going. But there I was, feeling a sudden sense of urgency to find out who this person is that I call me...bring it on!
So I brought the book home and quickly forgot about it. I mean, get a life already, I have other things to do.
A couple months later, while vacuuming my apartment, I found the book wedged between my stereo stand and the wall, covered in dust. So I opened it (because I'll do anything to get out of cleaning), read the intro, but really didn't have time for the first assignment of listing my goals and dreams and fears and obstacles. So I let it wait awhile longer until I had the proper time necessary to make it thoughtful and quality.
Then, one night (ok, after a few drinks), I finally filled out that first section. It was definitely thoughtful and my list of goals, dreams and fears was loooong.
It's a 40-day program where you have to write and do a different exercise every day. And you can't skip a day or else the "40 day" part wont be true and you will fail, so I stalled getting started out of fear it wasnt the right time. I wanted to feel really clear headed and READY to make those 40 days and nights count so that I could commit and WIN!
But every night, I'd open the book, pick up my pen, realize I was too tired and uninspired, and toss the book aside once again in favor of something more appealing for the moment...like People magazine.
When I was packing up my apartment to move to London, I found the book in the cabinet of my nightstand. And I thought to myself, "Self, there is no greater time to begin down the 40-day path to discovering your true self than when moving to a new country."
But I didn't want to find myself until I got to London --because I might ultimately find the wrong person if I started it in New York -- so I decided to begin once I arrived on the other side of the Atlantic.
Since arriving in England a year and a half ago, I have looked at this book almost every day on my bookshelf while watching TV and discovering someone else's true self (like Robbie Williams or that other guy from "Take That"). But I'm careful to hide it under my bed when people come over so that they don't think I read self-help books.
I tried to start the book again last week, but got thrown off base after reading those hopes, dreams, fears and obstacles I had written down 3 years ago, because none of them really apply anymore. And sweet Jesus, I must have had a ton to drink before I filled that sucker out, because I can't even read my own handwriting! And to make matters worse, I wrote it all in pen so if I want to start it again, I'll need to re-write it all (reflecting my current self) on a new, clean sheet of paper and stuff it back in the book, and I really hate the thought of doing that (hmm, facing my perfectionist OCD may be one of those goals).
So lately, I open the book, only to look at the first exercise and close it again thinking ... "tomorrow."
I have calculated that over the past 3.5 years, I could have discovered my true self about 30 times had I started and completed this freakin' book. I can't even imagine all the sides of myself that I have missed out on and will never know -- a tragic fact, but I try not to dwell on it.
Because every night, just seeing the book on my nightstand brings new hope -- the hope that self-discovery is always and only just 40 days away. And somehow, that seems much nicer than starting down the path, only to know that in 40 days or less it will come to an end.
Monday, September 11, 2006
Five Years Ago

Home. September 11th. Five years ago.
Without even being conscious of it, my eyes welled with tears and I started to cry -- a guttural reaction that started in the stomach, rushed upwards swelling my heart, and found release in my eyes -- all in a split second.
Those two towers, every time I see pictures of them, have the effect of seeing an old, beloved friend after a great deal of time. The way I’d feel if I saw my Grandfather again.
It’s a bit of an emotional jumble. If I don’t think about NYC or see a photo, it’s somewhat out of site and out of mind (ok, most the time). Yet any visual cue whatsoever makes me ache with missing it. One glance is all it takes to remind me why I think it’s the best damn place in the entire universe. I can’t explain or rationalize it, it’s just a feeling...a reflex.
But the Towers make me remember more than just New York. They remind me of what is lost and gone forever -- in the city, in America, in the world, in my life. They also make me ponder "home"...the word, the place, what it means.
I entered a new phase when I moved to NYC from Washington, DC...just 6 short months before the Towers fell. I remember the pre-9/11 New York City -- a bit wilder and hedonistic, a bit more carefree...or maybe that was just the high I was on in a new place I had always dreamt of living, and I was finally living that dream. I had a boyfriend I was smitten with, a challenging new job, good friends, a new apartment, an optimistic and hopeful feeling about everything. Life was good and I was extremely grateful -- I guess you could say my rose-tinted glasses were deeply shaded.
Chris (my boyfriend at the time) and I spent many nights those first 6 months on the balcony of his 43rd floor midtown apartment -- relaxing on green plastic Adirondack chairs with a bottle of wine while gazing at the Towers and talking half the night. He had the quintessential panoramic view of the city -- an up close view of the Empire State and Chrysler Buildings, vistas down the narrow streets across to the West Side, the glow of Times Square, a full cityscape that started at the bottom of Central Park and continued all the way down to the Brooklyn Bridge, and (from his kitchen) a sweeping view of the East River, complete with all the illuminated bridges that cross it. It was magical.
But my favorite part of that balcony view was the Twin Towers, as plain as day, 50-some blocks south, towering over the city and dwarfing everything else. Their sheer, unapologetic enormity anchored the skyline. At night, scattered interior lights remained on after hours, floor upon floor in random patterns, creating the illusion of suspended white rectangles floating free and high in the black night sky. I jokingly called it the “Death Star” because it looked like the Star Wars mother ship...a floating city in outer space. How I regret that analogy.
Five years after it all changed, on the Eurostar to London, I remembered what my life was like back then, and on that day in particular. I remember how blue the sky was when I walked out of my apartment on East 78th Street that morning. It was so brilliantly crisp and sunny, flecked with white puffy clouds, I remember Chris and I commenting on it as we walked down the street holding hands. I remember getting off the subway at 23rd Street and seeing the black plume of smoke in the sky (I was underground when everything hit). I remember the chaos inside as my colleagues were trying to make sense of what was happening. The phones were down and there was no information. We were watching it all unfold on TV with no accompanying words to explain what we were seeing. A few people walked over to Broadway to get a view of the Towers to make sure what we were seeing on TV was real. Then the confirmation came that it was indeed a terrorist plot, and not limited to New York -- the Pentagon had been hit as well in Washington, DC. We were all stunned as the reality set in that we were being attacked.
I remember the frantic calls from Chris on his mobile phone, who worked across the street from the Towers and was watching everything unfold from the street below in a combination of panic and disbelief. I remember the worry in my sister’s voice when she finally got through to me. I remember the heart-stopping fear when a coworker told me the Towers had “fallen” -- I was confused, not grasping how that was possible. I remember wanting to run but realizing there was nowhere to go where I would feel safe. I remember walking home many hours later with Chris. He was in a state of shock having fled the area when the towers fell. I felt numb. We walked 20-some blocks home in an eerily silent Manhattan, with the exception of the sirens. We stopped at Grammercy Park, which is normally closed to the public because it is a private park for residents who live around the square, but all the gates were propped wide open (I guess it takes something like 9/11 to make people realize that there is no good reason to shut others out of something beautiful). We walked through the Park, stopping to sit on a bench for awhile. I watched a squirrel, going about it’s day with no knowledge of what was happening. I remember sitting there, blinking my eyes really hard, again and again -- a trick I taught myself as a kid to wake myself up from nightmares once I realized I was in them. It usually worked, but not this time.
Back at Chris’ apartment hours later, we stood on his balcony, fixed on the angry black cloud of smoke that mushroomed over downtown from the fires that continued to burn. We watched Building 7 of the World Trade Center collapse. It seemed the whole downtown area might just successively topple like a row of dominos. I had a sick feeling in my stomach that lasted about two months. I remember the sleepless nights and the reoccurring nightmares. And I didn’t even lose anyone close to me.
I had to travel for work a week and a half after 9/11. I remember flying back in, over the city at night. Ground Zero was illuminated 24 hours a day, as search and rescue efforts were still underway. The whole downtown area, from the plane, was smothered with ash and debris. Everything was gray, as if someone had laid a wool blanket over it. Where the Towers had stood there was now an angry, ugly, gaping hole of rubble....it looked like two teeth had been pulled. It was shocking to see from the sky and a hellish mess on the ground. The city air smelled like an electrical fire for the next two or three months. It permeated everything, as far up as Central Park. You couldn’t get away from it.
Mostly, I remember the thousands of flyers that wallpapered the city months after with faces of the lost peering out. On every free wall of concrete they were plastered -- people were searching for friends and family who had vanished and disintegrated as completely and quickly as the Towers. There was desperation for any information at all -- a last sighting, a last word...anything that would bring closure ... closure that would never be found. I volunteered one night in the armory where people were waiting in lines to provide information and DNA samples for identification purposes for those who were lost. I felt spared for not being one of them.
I still loved New York after 9/11. I loved it more, actually. The city changed, the people in my world changed, but it was still home and I was fiercely loyal. New York made a miraculously fast recovery, all things considered...everyone banded together in the most amazing and inspiring ways. Mayor Giuliani became a bona-fide hero. The city is, in itself, a force of nature, and being part of that force was something I was proud of.
Context. After traveling around Europe this past year and learning more about WWII, I guess 9/11 is a taste of what it must have felt like for millions of Europeans every day of their lives -- only the magnitude of their loss, tragedy and suffering was much greater (e.g. 1940s Russia: It doesn’t get much worse than 30 million people needlessly dying of starvation, cold and genocide at the hands of soulless tyrants while the rest of the world stood by and watched). I think about all the innocent lives that have been lost since and as a result of 9/11 in Afghanistan and Iraq...the consequences of our reactions (for better or for worse) still continue to affect people in all-consuming ways. I think of the Lebanese and Israelis...trying to rebuild after so many homes, families and communities have been recklessly destroyed (the Israelis have lived in a state of war and terrorist attacks since their state was created...so our shock on 9/11 might be considered a day in the life in many other places). I think about the people who have been forgotten, still suffering and homeless after Hurricane Katrina and the Tsunami. It can go on and on and on. It’s all relative I suppose -- disaster and loss have always been part of life and will continue to exist in the world for the rest of time. But as history proves, human resilience has no limits -- though despite that resilience -- I can’t help but feel there is a very fine line between whether or not the human spirit is ultimately lifted or crushed by the pressure, and whether that’s a choice we make for ourselves or that’s made for us.
Maybe we Americans had been naive before 9/11 in our isolated world as the critics say, but that’s not the point. Disasters of any kind, regardless of size or cause, are made up of individual people made of flesh and blood whose lives have been shattered, and that’s equally devastating, despite the circumstances. As members of the human race, we have a responsibility to be compassionate for that individual humanity, no matter who we are or where we live. It’s so simple yet so elusive. If we respect nothing else, can we not at least respect our shared humanity? Can’t it be that simple and clear-cut? As history would prove, I suppose not. Maybe as humans, we just don't have it in us, but it would be nice to beleive it's a higher state we could one day evolve to.
9/11 has come to mean many different things to many different people. Everyone has their own stories, their own set of feelings, and everyone learned something different about the world and themselves from it. We all have our own ways of remembering and reflecting on that day and what it meant. I certainly have new opinions from a political and cultural standpoint, but I need not go into that here.
Today, more than anything, 9/11 brings me home. To New York City and my home in Maryland where my family is. And to Washington, DC where I also lived for several years. A great thing about living abroad is how it enhances your patriotism and love of/respect for home (even though I was born an outspoken and unapologetic American and that won't ever change). When a place is your home, you love it and are proud of it, and no one can convince you otherwise, no matter where you go or what you do in your life. It will bring a tear to your eye when you see a photo of it from thousands of miles away and carve out a longing in your heart. It’s the place you want to return to, again and again. A place you want others to respect and love as much as you do. There has never been an instance where I have returned home to my family, or back to New York City and I wasn’t happy about it -- where I didn’t say a little prayer of thanks as the green fields of Mechanicsville or the Empire State Building welcomed me back. I wish for everyone that same feeling about their home.
As far as NYC goes, New Yorkers love to bitch about the place, but don’t be fooled, it’s a convoluted form of bragging. They wear their grievances with the city like a badge of honor (Traffic! Dirty! Times Square! Pressure! Work! Noise! Crowds! Expensive! Shoebox Apartment! Subways!) -- the truth of the matter is there’s nowhere else they’d rather be. Except maybe on a little break in London. But not for too long.
Friday, August 25, 2006
Flex Time

Sunday, July 16, 2006
What's Wrong with this Picture?

Elle Britain's July issue is the latest offender. Titled "The Body Issue," they are supposed to be making (real) women feel BETTER about their bodies regardless of shape. Yet they can't even hire an airbrusher/photo editor who is competent enought to realise that they air brushed this model's belly button right off the page. And we're supposed to beleive these people are real? Perhaps the "tummy toning" discussed in this article is SO effective that it toned her naval to the point of invisibility. Or better yet, maybe Elle has its own lab and is now manufacturing genetically perfect supermodels in test tubes and incubators (GMO Supermodels? The next big thing?), thereby eliminating the need for a belly button all together. If that's the case, they could be really efficient and leave out the brain too so they don't have to pay them. (This will also make them more desireable to most of the male population....I saw "The Stepford Wives"...I know what men want.)
Regardless, this type of visual dishonesty is crap. Or maybe it's just what the therapist ordered -- a nice little reminder that the images we hold up as "perfect" beauty are quite simply ... fabricated.
Wednesday, July 12, 2006
The New Love of My Life

Wednesday, July 05, 2006
Crying at the Movies, Alone. Again.

So, I had big plans tonight to celebrate America's birthday by going to a concert at St. Martins in the Fields Church near my flat for a patriotic chorale concert of uplifting American music. But by the time I was about to leave work, I wasn't feeling it anymore, so I went to the movies instead.
I saw "The Lake House" starring Keanu Reeves and Sandra Bullock. The movie is getting seriously ripped to shreds by the critics but I LOVED IT. If you just simply accept that much of the plot is illogical and makes no sense and stop trying to figure it out, it is a lovely, romantic, emotionally touching and beautiful piece of filmography. I was by myself, sharing the theatre with just three old ladies. At the finish, hand clutching heart and awash in tears, I turned to them and blurted "That was SO beautiful!" To which they just looked at me like I was nuts and one coldly replied, "It was filmmed very well dear but I couldn't make heads or tales of it." What a buzzkill! It was all good by me though, it was really a sweet movie. I can't imagine why it's getting such bad remarks -- people have no imagination for fantasy anymore...hmph!
It's a magical story about two people who fall in love and correspond, however, they are living two years apart...he in 2004 and she in 2006. But they inhabited the same glass lake house (hence the title) and the mailbox is the magical portal through which they exchange letters. And they have the same dog. And are trying to meet up. What's not to like about that??? I loved it loved it loved it. And I don't care what anyone says. You should see it too!
But I need to get a grip on the emotional crying outbursts. Before the movie, there was a trailer for a movie called "Paper Clips" about teaching kids in some backwater town about the Holocaust. It took me 10 minutes to stop bawling from that. Might have to put some recovery space in between before going to see that one.
Thursday, May 25, 2006
Who Eats the Hazelnut Holds the Cup, but gets no Nooooky-Nooooky

No, I have not been drinking and this is not some obscure ancient philosophy (that I know of).
While on the plane returning from Turkey, I came across a peculiar advertisement by the Hazelnut Promotion Group in Skylife, the magazine of Turkish Airlines. It serves as a good reminder for why it is worth hiring a professional translator to make sure your messages come across clearly in other languages.
To view the full text of the ad, click here: www.flickr.com/photo_zoom.gne?id=156743953&size=l
The last line of the ad is my favourite part: "In sports there is no nooooky-nooooky." Could this be the same "nookie" we spoke of in college?! No, it must be some Turkish translation gone awry. So I asked the nice Turkish man sitting next to me (who kept giving me candy to eat, which, looking back on it, I really should not have been taking and eating candy from a stranger). But he couldn't understand my question and I couldn't understand his answer, so I gave up after a few minutes of trying (but he kept giving me candy anyway and I continued to eat it -- maybe he was trying to shut me up -- Man, I love candy).
When I got home, I did a little research and found an article about the campaign (www.turkishtime.org/eylul/76_3_en.htm) that claims hazelnuts are an aphrodesiac and a benefit the hazelnut people like to tout (who knew?!) -- so the comment in the ad seems to indeed allude to a little naughty nookie. But what I don't understand is what nookie has to do with sports or soccer. And why IS there no nooooky-nooooky in sports? Do they mean between players? Or not at all with anyone, because serious athletes must never be distracted by nookie (or nooooky in Turkish)? I guess the winner who eats the hazelnut must get very frustrated becuase he holds the Cup but cannot have any nookie (which is a total bummer for him). Or, maybe he can have nookie after he holds the cup. Anyway, I guess it just goes to prove that sometimes in life, you really can't have it all.
I would like some answers to these questions, so perhaps I'll call the Hazelnut Board myself to get them from the source. But you can bet I'll be enjoying hazelnuts more frequently since they are, after all, "a blessing," and will clearly transform my life in incredible ways. And this is all really fantastic news, becuase I really love nuts (especially Tesco brand salted mixed nuts, which I've been chowing down on at night as I watch "Big Brother"). And luckily, I do not play sports at the moment, which means I can handle a little nooooky if need be. Life is good.
Tuesday, April 18, 2006
Auschwitz & Birkenau: Why Faith Matters

When you look at a map, you see why Auschwitz was chosen as the heart of the “final solution” – it was a central location in Europe where Hitler could conveniently and systematically deport victims from all corners of Europe – specifically, from the Nazi-created Jewish ghettos that stretched across the continent. Hitler crafted a complex transport network for the exclusive purpose of sending innocent people to be murdered. Some had to purchase their own tickets.
Auschwitz grew to encompass three large camps and 40 sub-camps -- all put in place mainly for the purpose of exterminating as many Jews as possible. The overall number of victims of Auschwitz in the years 1940-1945 is estimated at between 1,100,000 and 1,500,000 people. The majority of them were Jews who began arriving in 1942. Most of them were murdered immediately upon arrival in the gas chambers. Those who were spared were handed over for slave labour….and many still died of starvation, illness, disease or execution.
Though they were the vast majority, Jews weren’t the only victims – prior to 1942, Auschwitz I was primarily a prison camp for Poles (about 140,000), Gypsies (about 20,000, mostly from Russia), and POWs from across Europe (20,000).
For more background and information about Auschwitz and its history, you can visit the website of the Auschwitz memorial and museum at www.auschwitz-muzeum.oswiecim.pl. It’s a very poignant website and worth a look.
Our visit lasted most the day and was an extremely heavy experience, to say the least.
We started by watching a short film featuring footage taken at the time of the camp’s liberation in 1945.
Next, we toured the main camp, Auschwitz I, which took about 3 hours. Here we saw several prisoners’ quarters which now house powerful displays with remnants from the camp and photos. Many of these rooms were so emotionally overwhelming that it was hard to stay inside for too long -- there is still a palpable, human energy that is ever-present indoors and out. Like any place with a history of such dense humanity (and inhumanity), the residue of what transpired can not be erased...maybe the people are gone, but their souls leave something behind, making me think a little harder and make a connection with the reality of the human toll.
It can be difficult to grasp the quantity of people who were imprisoned and killed at Auschwitz, but when I saw the vast glass display cases filled with piles of items that had been confiscated from prisoners, it was an instant visual quantification of just how many lives were hanging in the balance. It was perhaps the most overwhelming part for me. There were thousands of suitcases belonging to people who thought there was a reason to pack. There were unsettling piles of human hair, some with braids still intact (the hair from murdered female prisoners was cut and sent to German textile factories to make fabric used for military uniforms, etc.). There were large tangles of wire-rimmed eye glasses. There were thousands upon thousands upon thousands of shoes (you can see the variety of prisoner origins by all the shoes…there were a pair of wooden shoes that really stood out, not to mention the case of children’s shoes.) There was a large case of prosthetics and aids for the disabled that had been taken…artificial limbs, crutches, canes, wheelchairs. There was also a tractor trailer’s worth of pots and pans -- prisoners were told they were simply being moved to set up homes in another place, so they brought their most needed possessions, such as cookware. There were also cases of Jewish prayer shawls that had been taken, samples of prisoner uniforms (which were certainly not substantial against Poland’s frigid weather), and a selection of many other personal mementos stripped from victims.
A particularly staggering statistic is that 200,000 children came through the gates of Auschwitz, but only 600 came out. And the majority of them were spared only to be the subjects of cruel and inhumane medical experiments. These children were stripped of their names and given numbers. Adult prisoners were also subjected to these medical experiments as well.
We walked through the dark and dreadful basement passageways of Block 11, which is where the worst forms of torture took place, as well as many prisoner executions. There is a firing wall that was rebuilt outside in the courtyard between Blocks 10 and 11 as a memorial. By the end of this part of the tour, the group was completely silent, no one could utter a word.
The last stop at Auschwitz I was inside a gas chamber and crematorium.
Next, we took a shuttle bus to the camp of Birkenau (Auschwitz II), about a mile away and much bigger than Auschwitz I. This was literally “the end of the line” for most that arrived. Empty train tracks still run through the main brick gate, leading down a stretch of long, (now) green field and ending at the ruins of two massive gas chambers and crematoriums. On one side of the tracks still stand the chimneys of what used to be soldiers quarters (the Nazis tried to blow up the camp upon leaving to hide their crimes, but the chimneys still stand, as well as the ruins of the gas chambers), and on the other side are the buildings where prisoners lived. We went inside one of them and it was truly gut-wrenching. Up to 700 people were crammed into a space not fit for animals – a space permeated by cold, filth, mud, wetness and disease. And these structures are just meters away from the gas chambers and crematoriums where crowds of people walked to their deaths every day. A massive memorial has been constructed at the end of the train tracks, in the space between the two gas chamber ruins.
I know this has been more than enough detail for most, but it’s what I saw and it’s important for me to recount it and share it. It’s the reality of a situation no one should forget.
I was really impressed with the tour guides – ours was very direct and matter-of-fact, not putting any spin or bias on the facts she was giving or the stories she was telling. And it should be told for the horrendous and gruesome thing it was, it does no one any service by lessening the magnitude and evil of all that occurred there. There were a lot of stories and facts that our guide repeated over and over and over again. At one point I wondered if that was on purpose or completely necessary…but I sure didn’t forget anything she said.
So, back to why faith matters. Perhaps it’s a no-brainer. But put in the most simple and human of contexts, I couldn’t help but imagine being sent to Auschwitz myself, at any age or time, with my family (or perhaps being separated from them). I imagined my mom, dad, sister, baby nieces, grandmother -- everyone I love being rounded up and sent there. I thought about all our earthly possessions being taken from us and no attention being paid to any sickness, injuries or problems any of us may have had. I thought about not being able to help or save or do anything – to have the power taken away from me to take care of and protect those I love. I thought about watching people die around me every day -- or surviving, but in the very worst of conditions and circumstances. It’s obviously a grim and horrible thought, I know (maybe there is something wrong with me) -- but I couldn’t help it, I couldn’t stop thinking about it and making it personal. I was thinking about it constantly during the tour, trying not to burst out crying as I conjured up horrible images of the things I was hearing happening to members of my family. But I think people need to think of it in these personal terms sometimes, maybe so that we can remember that everyone is human and so that we will NEVER be part of supporting anything like it or turning a blind eye to it.
Of course, I say this knowing all too well that there are still very similar and horrific genocides still happening in our world. Between April and June 1994, an estimated 800,000 Rwandans were killed in the space of 100 days. There was Bosnia. And the Sudan. And Sierra Leone. I now spend a lot of time thinking about these things too, as they represent the same unfathomable loss, sadness and evil as the Holocaust. I try and figure out what I might be able to do to help. But just the simple awareness is so important, because many people in the world are just not even aware, or choose not to be.
But back to the point (I think) I’m trying to make here. When everything is taken from you and you have nothing, not even the most basic things and abilities we take for granted every day and you are at the mercy of others with dark hearts -- what do you do? There is only one thing you have left, and that's your faith. In God (however you define/name God). I hear people say in bad situations (or in reference to atrocities like the Holocaust) that they have given up on God and stopped believing, because how could there be a God who would let these things happen? But I don’t believe it is God who does these things or allows them to happen. It is human doing. I believe God operates in various ways in the human realm, but humans have been given the ability to govern ourselves, which means deciding if we help or hurt the people around us. The way I saw it as I walked the fields of Auschwitz, thank God the prisoners/victims had their faith (or at least I hope they had it, despite the fact it's what put them there), because it was the one thing that could not be taken away from them, no matter what. It was the only thing that could likely provide any peace or assurance or bit of solace they could take comfort in, even if it had to be kept to themselves in their heads and hearts. Faith is the one thing that lasts forever, long after everything else is gone. Without their faith, they would truly have had nothing to hold onto. Any one of us can have everything taken from us at any time, under any number of circumstances out of our control. And while we certainly do not need to dwell on this or fret it every day, it is more important to me than ever now to make sure that I always have my faith (kind of like an American Express card..."don't leave home without it.") And my visit to Auschwitz has made me want to strengthen it and figure it out and make it a truly meaningful part of my life. Faith, in whatever form, is everything. Auschwitz made that crystal clear to me. The parameters, definition and rules of it no one person or religion or church can define. But having it is absolutely essential. It was the Nazis who lost, full stop -- certainly not the Jews, because their faith still lives on. And thank God for that a million times over. That in itself makes me hopeful and even more faithful. I may sounds like a fanatic, or just plain naive and cliche. But this is what I take away from my visit, and I'll never forget it.
***
The promotions for the movie “The Motorcycle Diaries” featured a tagline that said “Let the world change you and you can change the world” (it is a great movie – I recommend renting it if you haven’t seen it already). It is a line that has stuck in my head, especially over the past 8 months seeing so many new things. I truly feel so blessed and grateful for the opportunities I have been afforded (throughout my life) to see different parts of the world and meet so many different types of people. And the more I see, the hungrier I am for more. So, I quite willingly let the world change me -- and on the journey, with a little (or maybe a lot) of faith, I hope that I can give it something back in return. Not quite sure what that it yet, but I’m sure I will figure it out.
Now I will rush to get my next post up so that we can get back to happier subjects... :)



