7 Years

"Our dreams must be stronger than our memories.
We must be pulled by our dreams, rather than pushed by our memories."

--Jesse Jackson

RNC DNC OTT

I have been watching the U.S. political party convention coverage from abroad with all the intensity of someone watching a train wreck. Having lived outside America for three years now, some things now seem a heck of a lot stranger to me on the rare occassion I get a day with cable TV and CNN.

It just struck me as I sit here (in a hotel room in Mumbai) watching the speeches that Political Party National Conventions remind me of the Pantos in Britain (that is short for the pantomime shows they do around Christmas). All the cheering and jeering and audience participation and OTT (over the top) melodrama is JUST like the pantos (the primary audience for pantos, by the way, is 6 year olds). I kind of want to yell, "He's right behind you!!!!" And boo the villains and cheer the heros. As a matter of fact, that is exactly what I am doing right now as I watch the RNC coverage.

The DNC was more rock concert-meets religious revival-meets movie set-meets pep rally than anything resembling politics. Totally OTT from an event-production and glitz/glam standpoint.

As far as the RNC, it is just boring. And is it just me or does Sarah Palin look and sound exactly like Tina Fey (from Saturday Night Live)? Do you think this is just a big prank and she is doing this for some laughs? I find the fact that no one knew about this woman VEEEERRRRYYYY suspicious. I might need to "break" this story.....I sense "pulitzer prize winning investigative journalist" being added to my credentials pretty soon.

And the media comentary reminds me of American football coverage and commentary. All they need is the "CBS Chalkboard" for replays. Or wait, maybe they already have that....

And who is this CNN anchor who looks like Iman????

I think I now have deep respect for the non-showy ways other countries conduct election campaigns.

My suggestion is that we save all the crazy insane money spent on these OTT conventions (which seem only to be for entertainment value for the general public where the politicians mainly exploit their children for cheers) and perhaps donate it all to support some very deserving U.S. charities. The ICP (Independent Cat Party) would give it all to its esteemed leader's favourite charity, America's Second Harvest, which funds food banks across the country. Or, perhaps the ICP would rebuild whatever towns have just been destroyed by the latest natural disaster (we would try and get Brad Pitt involved in that, however). And instead of the big convention venues and crowds, the ICP would opt to meet over blueberry pancakes and coffee at the IHOP in Southern Maryland to strategise about how we will stay righteous and save the world after we have given all our money to worthy causes (I know, the ICP will NEVER be elected, not glamourous...but we will have a good meal and a few laughs).

Oh, and one last idea that occurred to me during all the DNC speeches: I think there should be a new drinking game where every time you hear the word "God" in a political speech you have to drink. Everyone would be wasted within 10 minutes! I am a pretty religious person, but I don't buy the way God is thrown into every single line of American political campaigning....no wonder the rest of the world thinks we are a bunch of religious nuts, as much as I am into God, the politicians pimp him out every chance they get.

This may be the most politically charged blog post you will ever see me write by the way, so no worries that I am getting serious. On the whole, I find most of it dreadfully dull and tedious.

But nonetheless, I will be doing my American civic duty and placing my vote from abroad!

The India Chronicles: Arrival Day

Arrived in Mumbai (a.k.a. Bombay) today after an easy and restful overnight flight from London. Transferred terminals via a hot and rickety bus, then waited three hours to catch an Indian Airlines flight to Aurangabad, a city east of Mumbai (yes Mom, I’m sure that’s in India, not Africa).

While checking in at the domestic terminal, I met Thierry, a member of the camera crew who I will be here with (I am here for work to shoot footage for a video for one of my clients). Thierry is French, from Nice, and speaks barely any English, so we didn’t make lots of conversation – a situation which calls for lots of hand gestures. Of course, then, people think I am a deaf person - especially since I am still sometimes guilty of that obnoxious American disease that causes me to talk louder when speaking to people who speak another language. And add into that equation that I am disoriented in a very foreign country – so increase that volume by an additional 5 decibels.

So Thierry and I catch an Indian Airlines flight and touch down barely an hour later in Aurangabad. We get off the plane and step out onto the tarmac, greeted by an ominous black sky. Five minutes after departing in our SUV for the hotel, we are reminded it is the monsoon season by the torrential downpour that begins…and lasts throughout the entire evening. This is hard-core, thundering, “the-Gods-must-be-crazy” rain.

We made it to the hotel (The Taj Residences), checked in, then our driver asked if we’d like to go for a tour to see some local sights. Despite the fact that it was violently raining sideways and close to dark at this point, Thierry and I figured “What the hell, when are we going to be in India, much less Aurangabad again!” and got back in the SUV (after I changed into my hiking boots, jeans and Gortex rain jacket). Of course, I can only GUESS that is what Thierry “figured,” given we don’t speak a common language and have no way to communicate…I just tried to read his expression as I bullied him back into the SUV to go touring, but he seemed totally ok with it.

Our first stop was the Bibi-ka-Maqbara, a beautiful but rather dilapidated mini version of the Taj Mahal. It is still impressive, with white marble full of sculpted trees of life….or something of the sort, once-grand gardens (which are grand no longer), and a tomb inside. Framed by the green hills, it was quite a sight in the pouring rain. I was just trying not to slip and crack my head on all the marble - which was a challenge, even in hiking shoes. Which really baffled me, given all the Indian tourists were moving along quickly in flimsy flip flops and sandals. And no rain jackets (I sorta felt like a wimp).

After the Bibi-ka-Maqbara, we drove up the hill to see the Aurangabad caves, but they were closed since it was getting pretty dark. But we did get some good views of the green hills, some waterfalls, and the valley down below.

Then it seems I fell asleep in the SUV for about 45 minutes or so, hypnotised by the driving rain and rocked to sleep by a very uneven and rough road. I was soon woken up by the driver, who had stopped us at a weaver’s shop where I perked up and went straight into Consumer-Terminator Mode (CTM). We went in, got a little speech from a sales guy (likely our driver’s brother) about the 2000 year old weaving mills used there to make fabrics original to the area. There was also a 2000 year old man there (just kidding) working on the 2000 year old weaving mill, and we were told (basically) that once he dies, the whole art of that type of weaving (that takes 3 weeks per piece to make, by the way) will turn to modern machinated crap (which might explain why he was working so late – they are trying to get every little last bit out of him to boost stock before he dies and it all ends). But it was late, so I cut his speech short so I could just go inside and buy buy buy - which I think the sales guy really appreciated. Thierry whipped out his massive professional camera and started snapping pictures of all the pretty fabric as I whipped out my American Express card. The sales guy insisted I sit down on a couch as he threw pashmina after wrap after scarf after pillow case after big piece of fabric at me. I went into sensory overload after about 2 minutes, grabbed a bunch of stuff, and 15 minutes later stumbled out of there with some goods (I can't say what they are though, otherwise I ruin a few Christmas present surprises). The Gods were either really angry or really pleased with my impromptu purchases because it rained like the end of the world as I was signing the credit card receipt.

It seemed to take another hour and a half to get back to the hotel, I think because of the rain and my increasingly tired brain. But my stomach usually overrides my brain, and that is never too tired for dinner, especially an authentic Indian one at a semi-fancy hotel. So Thierry and I went to the restaurant where we were faced with an impossibly extensive buffet of Indian food. I had no time or desire to figure out what it all was and make an informed decision, so I just took a little bit of almost everything and it was good. Thierry managed to communicate about three sentences to me in rough English that he conjured up. Which is impressive considering the only thing I was capable of saying was “Bon Appetit.” He asked me what the equivalent to that was in English, and I realised there isn’t one – we say “Bon Appetit” – he thought that was odd. Which it is – what would we say in English….."Happy Eating?" Why don’t we have a saying in for that? So I would like to fill the gap with a new ritual – the American “fork toast” – where you clink your forks together with your dining companion across the table (kind of like a sword fight) before digging in. Thoughts?

After dinner, I considered sitting out on the swing on my terrace (because how often do you stay at a hotel with a swing on a terrace?), but the driving rain, bat-sized mosquitoes, and my decision NOT to take malaria tablets for this trip convinced me to go to bed instead.

Celebrating the One-Year Anniversary of My Croatian Holiday With This Blog Post

This is a first for me – writing a blog post about a holiday one year later! Oh well, better late than never, right? I’ve had three-quarters of this thing written for the past year and forgotten in a folder on my laptop, so time to finish what I started and put this ditty to bed – after all, it would be a shame to waste perfectly good words.

In August 2007, my friend Nana came from NYC and we went to Croatia for a 4-day getaway to Split, Hvar and Dubrovnik – quite a bit of territory to cover over such a short time. I mean, Croatia looks small from a glance on a map, but the 6 hour bus ride down the coast between Split and Dubrovnik proved otherwise – and that was only the southern Dalmatian coast.

We chose the absolute hottest and most crowded time to visit the country, which was truly phenomenal planning on my part. But I suppose given I could see my breath when I left the airport in London (yes, in August), one can’t complain about getting a little dose of summertime (and I must say, editing this a year later after what has been another rainy, cold and crap UK summer, I am longing for that Croatian sun this very moment)

Split

Split is a lovely little town situated alongside the Adriatic with an old walled palace where most all the sites are. Our hotel (Hotel Peristil) was wonderfully located right inside the walls….Nana picked the hotels and did a brilliant job. This hotel was very clean and homey and the room cozy. Can’t tell you how the breakfast was though, we didn’t wake up in time for it.

I was really surprised and impressed by the Roman ruins in Split….they were everywhere, crumbling in all their decaying beautiful glory (I do have a soft spot for ruins…don’t care if they are Mayan, Aztec, Incan, Roman, Etruscan, Egyptian….they are all magnificent to me). We did a walking tour inside the walls, through the maze-like streets and alleys, taking in the old cathedral and tower, the Temple of Jupiter (with its beautiful barrelled ceiling, intricately carved baptistery, 5th century column and headless Egyptian sphinx outside), the full-of-ambience “Protiron” alongside the Cathedral of St. Domnius with its encasing layers of steps which are a popular place to hang out in the evenings. The whole area inside the walls looks like a movie set with its shiny marble pavements scattered street lamps, shuttered windows, ruins, and layers of stone buildings.

Outside the “golden gate” of the city walls is the very large statue if Gregorius of Nin, a 10th century Croatian bishop. Nana and I called him “The Lord of the Rings” though, or “The Wizard” – because that’s what he really looks like. His big toe is rubbed to a golden sheen, as it’s fabled to bring those who rub it good luck.

For dinner in Split, we ate at a great little place called “Buffet Fife.” Clearly popular (as can be assumed since it was listed in my Lonely Planet Guide....how pedestrian), we waited about 40 minutes for a table as our stomachs growled from the amazing smells emanating from the back door of the kitchen, but it was worth it. When we finally got seated in the small and cavernous dining room, we had some local Croatian beer and a rather large assortment of fried fish and seafood…it was so yummy….we were absolutely stuffed walking out. Not so stuffed though that we didn’t stop for gelato on the walk back to the hotel…a ritual we indulged in every evening while there.

Fish, seafood and pizza (all doused with the same seasoning) are the main culinary staples of the Dalmatian Coast – which were also the only two things we ate. But hey, they were both extremely delicious, so why mess with a good thing?

The next day we walked around Split some more and spent a couple hours sitting in a harbour-side café reading, writing and relaxing (ok, I checked my blackberry and did a little stressing out over work too which I think might have been slightly annoying for Nana). Around 5pm, we got the ferry to the island of Hvar, about an hour from Split. The minute we arrived, we realised we should have planned more time there. It was so pretty….sparking clear water, sailboats everywhere, a pretty little island centre that started around the harbour and worked its way up the hillside, the crowning peak topped by the giant Spanjola Fortress overlooking the harbour.

Hvar

Coming off the ferry in Hvar Town around 6pm, we were greeting by pounding techno music coming from a club right on the harbour, jammed to the brim with lively bikini-clad people dancing away, drinks in hand. Hvar is a big European holiday spot filled with mostly Italians and Spanish from what we could tell…maybe a few Germans too. Anyway, at the club, we took some time to watch a guy (who we dubbed “Wolfgang” for no particular reason) in nothing but a teenie-weenie Speedo get his groove on to the music, nearly falling off the wall he was dangerously dancing on. Good times.

In Hvar, we stayed at the “Palace Hvar” right in the centre of town. It was a friendly, nice and clean hotel with a very pretty exterior, though we termed it’s interior beyond the lobby “institutional chic,” as the rooms looked like a 1950-60s European hospital (well, at least that is what I would think a 1950-60s European Hospital would look like….) But it was still a very comfy room with large French doors that opened up to a very nice view of the harbour and sea.

For our evening in Hvar, we walked along the shoreline for awhile, past the Franciscan monastery, and watched the sunset. It is so peaceful there. We admired the giant yachts that were docked in the harbour (ah, one day, I will have a yacht for sailing to far-off exotic places…where I will stay for months at a time as I write my epic novel), then we browsed the jewellery and lavender stalls that lined the harbour (lavender is king in Croatia, they sell lavender sachets and souvenirs everywhere – my suitcase smelled absolutely heavenly when I got home).

We then took a stroll around the old cobblestone backstreets of Hvar that line the hillsides at sunset - very charming and sweet. We browsed several shops and just enjoyed the charm of the rustic streets and night air.

For dinner, we ate at a popular spot called Hanibal’s in the main town square with a large outdoor seating area with a nice night view of the church (the Trg Sveti Stjepana). We had another amazing spread of fish and grilled vegetables and a bottle of rose wine. It was a lovely night to sit outside, enjoy the summer evening breeze and chat away over some yummy food. Nana and I never have a lack of things to chat about, which I think is always “fun” for the people dining near us.

The next morning we had breakfast outside on the hotel terrace and then went for a morning hike to the tippy-top of Hvar to the Spanjola Fortress. That was an AMAZING view. The walk up wasn’t too bad…there was a broad path that gently zig-zagged to the top. But it soon became blazing hot, and by the time we reached the top and were no longer shielded by the shade of the trees, it got pretty oppressive and sweaty. We stayed at the fortress wandering around and marvelling over the views for about an hour before making our way down. On the way back, we stopped at a lavender stand and bought some sachets and candles.

The Road to Dubrovnik

That afternoon, after our hike up the Hvar hillside, we caught the ferry back to Split and had just enough time to dash across the street to the bus terminal, grab a couple slices of pizza and some Cokes for the road, and catch the bus to Dubrovnik. We heard the bus ride was about 5 hours, but with all the stops it was closer to 7. Ooops. But the good news was that the route was along the coast the entire way and was incredibly scenic. Nana read most the way and sat on the aisle. I get sick when I read on busses and in cars, so I sat by the window and just stared outside the entire time. It was really warm (ok, hot) most the trip...even with the half-hearted air conditioning, the sun coming through the windows was intense.

But I was completely obsessed with the view. Almost the entire coastline was dotted with little beaches where people were taking reprieve from the hot summer. The road leading out of Split was lined with a string of small villages that were clearly summer holiday destinations, perhaps for a more local crowd of Croatians it seemed. So peaceful and pretty. The beaches in Croatia are not sandy, they are rocky. But the water is bright blue/green and absolutely pristinely crystal clear. I had the most intense longing to be in the water the entire bus ride…it was almost painful!!!

As we got closer to Dubrovnik, the landscape became hillier and the sea dotted with tiny islands everywhere. The sun began to set the last couple hours of the trip, so every turn of the increasingly twisting road became a beautiful bend of gorgeous scenery with the sunset reflecting off the sky and water. I couldn’t take my eyes from the window.

Finally, very weary of the bus, we arrived at the bus station outside Dubrovnik. After a bit of confusion over whether to catch a bus or taxi to our hotel (and a rather tense conversation between me at the hotel clerk on my cell phone trying to figure it out), we decided on the taxi and were on our way to the Hotel Uvala where we stayed. While the hotel service was less than friendly (we found the people in Split to be nicer), the rooms were comfortable and clean, and the hotel had a very nice pool. It was right across the street from a pleasant beach as well.

Dubrovnik: Croatia’s Big Hoax?

I say “hoax” because at first I was convinced Dubrovnik’s old walled city was a purely fabricated place with a fabricated history, put in place just to lure tourists with its storybook-perfect looks. But then I learned its perfection is attributed to its almost complete and loving restoration after severe damage by the ravages of earthquakes and war. But regardless, in a class-clown effort to amuse Nana after my “Dubrovnik is fake and I will prove it!” declaration, I tried to karate kick the “fake” stone walls in to reveal cleverly-painted Styrofoam, which only lead to a loud groan of pain as I slammed my foot into the very solid stone wall (and maybe broke my right toe - I swear a year later it still doesn’t look right to me…) So I can now solidly confirm (after my martial arts stunt AND much research on Google) that the city of Dubrovnik, its history AND its stone walls are very, very real.

After settling into the hotel, we caught the bus into the old walled city of Dubrovnik that evening – it was about a 15 minute bus ride. We got off the bus and followed the crowd about a block to the entrance of the city. As we approached the medieval gate of the enclosed city, crossing the bridge over the moat, I had the sudden feeling that I was entering Disney World or Bush Gardens: the Old Country. It looked like a completely fake and perfectly modelled theme park. No crumbling ruins like in Split – everything here was immaculately restored in great detail.

Once inside the walls, it was indeed like we had entered a fairy tale theme park. I began looking for Cinderella. Right at the entrance was a giant octagonal “Onofrio” fountain, and stretching ahead of us was a long marble cobblestone street (the “Placa”) lined by old stone buildings and ending at a bell tower. The street lanterns were all ablaze, there was music in the air, and the marble pavement was gleaming, just like in Split. As we continued down the street lined by shops, gelato stands and ancient churches, we found ourselves in the central plaza (Luza Square), in front of a giant cathedral (St. Blaise’s) with illuminated stained glass windows. Open air plazas with tables and chairs fill the interior city walls, with people everywhere outside enjoying food, wine, and coffee as they watch the crowds go by. Summer is the time for a large arts festival in Dubrovnik, so there were some small concerts happening in small corners around the walled city.

We were hungry, and found a pretty little restaurant called Restaurant Jadran, situated in the garden courtyard of an old convent. While the atmosphere was peaceful and quaint in the night air, the service left much to be desired. But the food wasn’t bad. We started with a plate of ham, cheese, octopus and olives and I had pasta with tomato sauce and seafood as my main. Nana got fish.

After dinner, we wandered the city some more and enjoyed the crowds (and goodness were there crowds), had some gelato, then caught the bus back to the hotel. We were tired and hot and ready for bed.

The next morning we got up, had breakfast, then I sat by the pool and read for awhile before we headed back to the old city for a day of proper touring. The old city walls looked just as unreal by daylight as they had the evening before. Using my book as a guide, we made our way past the Onofrio fountain (again), peeked into the old St. Saviour Church (which still has a beautiful outside façade), and toured the Franciscan Monastery and Museum (which, oddly enough, houses the oldest pharmacy in Europe, still in operation). The cloisters of the monastery were very pretty and tranquil and a nice respite from the blazing sunshine.

Next we toured the old synagogue built in the 15th century, which I really enjoyed. It is the oldest Sephardic and the second-oldest synagogue in Europe. There are two small museum rooms inside, as well as the actual temple, which is still very lovely and serene.

For lunch, we found a nice little restaurant on a side street about halfway up a hill leading to the outer wall. We sat outside at a sidewalk table and enjoyed eating and giving our feet a rest.

After lunch, we decided to walk the perimeter of the (top of the) wall around the city. This afforded amazing 360 views of the whole city with its ocean of terra cotta tiled rooftops and palm trees. The views of the sea were vast and stunning in almost every direction. However, we only made it halfway around the perimeter before we had to call it quits. It’s a much bigger place that you initially think, and it’s not a flat walk….you are constantly climbing steps and embankments along the wall, and after having climbed up into some watchtowers and scaling some pretty high points, we were exhausted and decided we had seen enough sweeping views. All in all, I’d say we were walking the wall for about an hour and a half…..the great wall of Croatia!

After our walk, we collapsed into some chairs at an outdoor café in Luza Square where we took in some shade under the umbrella, had some cold drinks, and wrote in our journals. We also did some reading and people watching. I enjoyed watching a little boy about 4 years old, in tighty-underwear and sandals (and nothing else), chase pigeons around the square (I always find little boys to be overly busy and a little nuts).

After our break, we wandered some more and did some souvenir shopping. I bought some T-shirts for my nieces, as well as some gold jewellery (earrings and a necklace in a typical Croatian design). I also bought an ornament for Grams.

That evening, we had dinner at a well-known restaurant called Proto. We ate on the roof terrace and enjoyed some nice wine and a dinner of rich, delicious dishes. I can’t remember what I had, besides some octopus salad to start and a very rich mushroom and polenta dish. Despite the fact we were tired and about to burst after dinner, we still managed to make room for one last round of gelato on the walk back. Pure and utter indulgence.

We were beyond exhausted after dinner - and very tired and grimy from the hot day. So we left the city walls one last time and were both relieved to get a shower and jump in bed when we got back to the hotel.

Our last day in Croatia, we had breakfast, checked out of the hotel, then laid by the pool for an hour or so (after a massive debacle trying to get towels for the pool from the hotel spa). I had tried to go lay out at the beach, but it was very crowded and I was having trouble securing a beach towel from the hotel (who knew towels would be such a problem in Croatia!). But I did take a very nice walk along the water and got to put my toes in….it was beautiful and felt cool and refreshing….just a little hard to stay on your feet on that floor of smooth stones (you sort of need those little rubber beach shoes for traction). I liked how many older people were out in the water enjoying the beach – there seemed to be lots of over 60s out enjoying the water.

After the pool, Nana and I changed, walked down the street to a casual pizza restaurant for lunch, then took a car to the airport. We were back in London later that evening, toasting the end of our trip over dinner at the Covent Garden Hotel. Another great holiday with another great friend.

Pretty Pretty Pictures

Click here to see my favourite photos of Croatia: http://www.flickr.com/photos/catsview/sets/72157601663938525/

Summer Balance & Writer's Block

Sorry people, but I have had a major case of writer's block lately. 

Or maybe it's just laziness. 

I have not properly reported yet on my trip to Croatia (um, which happened a year ago), nor my adventures in Vietnam (April).  Both posts are three-fourths written, but I can't seem to finish them for some bizarre reason - it's like I'm not even interested in my own stories anymore. I had a heavy spring season of travel (which I can't even remember all of right now), so I think it all just overwhelmed my head and caused writer's shut down -- which, by the way, follows writer's block.

The strangest thing has happened over the past two months - I think some people in far-reaching corners of the world refer to it as "work-life balance." When summer started, all my work travel unexplainably and mysteriously came to a halt. People started acting strangely - scheduling web conferences and phone calls instead of plane trips (I think it has something to do with this "fuel surcharge" thing that I don't really understand). Anyway - so the output is I have gone without any work travel for 2+ months (which has not happened since the day I moved here almost three years ago). I have been living in London day in and day out - and it has been remarkably good for the psyche. I think this is what "normal" people must feel like. 

...So I have had a summer full of spending lots of QT with my lovely friends here in London, having tea, sleeping in on the weekends, reading tons, shopping, going to dinners, movies, theatre, calling people on the phone, cooking, a bit of running in the park, having Sunday lunch. I'm even "dating" someone - which in my life means that I can see a guy I like more than once every two months.

In July, I took a week holiday home to the States to visit my family and friends. While there, I spent a few days on Cape Cod which I love (one day I hope to "summer" there like a Kennedy). The London weather even managed to get warm-ish with honest-to-God sunshine in late July (there is seemingly no spring here, it goes straight from winter to summer - which in England is more like the U.S.'s springtime). It's kind of bliss. Don't get me wrong, work is still very busy, but it all seems somehow manageable.

I won't say any more about it though as I don't want to jinx...it's that "Jewish guilt" my mother always said I had - i.e. - I think that if God notices something good is happening to me, he'll take it all away. Oy vey - does God surf the internet and read blogs? I sure hope not. If so, I take all the balance and happiness stuff back.

Maybe I'm not writing so much lately because I'm just living versus recording. Hmmmm.....

Coming up this weekend I have a getaway planned with a friend in the Cotswolds (SE England country), and then I go to Portugal for 5 days to celebrate two friend's 35th birthdays at a seaside resort. Come September, the work travel will start up again, but why jump the gun speculating about that.

Ok, time for sleep. Which will be nice considering I just ate the biggest yummiest bowl of sweet little ripe British strawberries and a gorgeous wedge of French cheese....while listening to my favourite Counting Crowes unplugged album...all on a school night - oh the gluttony and wild abandon!

Can I get a SAG membership for this?

Today was one of those days where certain facets of my career can still surprise me.

I was asked by a colleague to be in a little video for a new business pitch. Barely five minutes later, I was sitting on a sofa in front of a video camera, holding hands with a male colleague I had never spoken to before, pretending we had been married for 10 years, and talking intimately about his erectile disfunction, the stress it caused in our marriage and what a relief it was to learn the cause of the problem and that it wasn't me. All improvised, of course. And after a minute and a half of drama fit for a "Lifetime for Women" made-for-TV movie (and in just one take I might add with not so much as a smirk), we released hands and went back to our desks.

All in a day's work.

Iron Man: Hooray for the Summer Blockbuster!

Just got in from a great Friday night out with my friend Dave (he's a lot like me but Australian and a guy). We saw "Iron Man" AND IT WAS AWESOME. So well done and such a crowd pleaser with a great ending (and good music). The effects were great and it was peppered with some fab one liners "ya, I can fly....." We had a popcorn dinner (my favourite Friday night meal). Then, after the movie, we went and had drinks until they turned the lights on and kicked us out (hate it when that happens).

My only complaint are these English movie-going crowds. No engagement or interaction. No laughter. No cheering or outbursts or "HELL YAs!" No clapping or yelling at the screen. Really, if Iron Man can't get them worked up, nothing can.  Or maybe that's just an American thing (I'm sticking to it regardless). Man do I love a good super hero!

I might even go see it again. After "Sex and the City: The Movie," of course.

There was one scene on Robert Downey Jr's (Iron Man) private jet where there was crazy music and flight attendants  dancing around a pole - which caused Dave to exclaim "Every plane needs a pole!" - So I have a suggestion next time I fly Virgin. Dave says it would be a good preventative measure for deep-vein thrombosis. He actually might be on to something.... 

Once Upon a Shredder: The Indestructable Pashmina

In Hamburg with the team this week. Today, while being very professional-like on a conference call, this loud, mechanic, grinding noise kept happening every minute or so. It was just my colleague Justin and I in the office, and he and I kept looking at each other each time it happened with puzzled looks followed by big shoulder shrugs. Sounded like construction - like a drill. Perhaps they were doing some work outside, or on the roof? Justin even peered out the window at one point to see if he could figure out from where it was coming. Sounded close. Really close.

Then, my colleagues Jessica and Pia came back into the office and sat down at their desks. And there it was again, that noise! I continued with my call. Whatever.

The noise kicks in again, and out of the corner of my eye, I see Pia rush over to my side, wide-eyed, but trying to stay silent as she scrambled - I was like, "what the...."

Then I see. My pashmina (that is a long cashmere scarf/wrap that girls wear to keep warm) was slowly getting sucked down the slot of an automatic paper shredder parked on the floor next to my chair.

I maintained composure on my call while Pia struggled with the pashmina to not let it get sucked in any further (oh, it was wrapped a couple times around my neck, BTW...thought I felt a strange tug...) until she finally got to the "reverse" button on the shredder whereby it then started coming back out, slowly but surely.

We then had to put the phone on mute to gather ourselves again because there was screaming laughing. Which sort of continued throughout the rest of the day. Good stress buster, especially given no one got strangled or lost a finger.

But here is where I make my all-out consumer endorsement for TIE RACK-brand PASHMINAS. Would you beleive that the pashmina came out of the shredder COMPLETELY undamaged?????? We were perplexed! Not a pull, tear or shred I tell you! So, if you ever stop by a Tie Rack kiosk in a shopping mall or airport, I can hereby tell you that the 50% Pashmina Cashmere/50% Silk Made in Nepal (Dry Clean Only) variety are fully indestructable and well worth however much you pay for it.

My First Earth Tremor

Early this morning, at 1am, I was on the phone with my pal Vinnie, gabbing about a date I had just been on (like how I threw that in?) - when both our flats started shaking. She heard a noise and was like, "Did you hear that?" and I was like, "hear what?" and she said, "sounds like rain, or like the boiler just kicked on." And I said, "OMG, my apartment is totally shaking, what's going on?! Is your apartment shaking??" and she was like, "Ya man, what's up with that?" And I said, "Wait, we live 45 minutes apart from each other, why are both our flats shaking?" And she said, "Maybe it's an explosion." And I said, "I think it's an earthquake!" Then, about 15 seconds later, it stopped. In true Brit fashion, Vinnie was like, "Ok, I'm going to bed, goodnight." And in typical American fashion, I freaked, picked up the phone, dialed my brother-in-law, and when he wasn't excited enough for my liking, I called my mom (who was sufficiently excited), and then I kept the BBC on and surfed the Internet until it was confirmed at about 1:35am that "Earth Tremor Felt Across Britain!" Epicentered (is that a verb?) up North in Lincolnshire, it was a 5.2 on the Richter Scale (which my colleague from Mexico City scoffed at today, proclaiming, "HA! That's Nothing!!!"). But for me it was totally something, because when you haven't felt the earth move before it is really something to behold. But that's about as much earth movement as I think I ever want to feel. I went to bed cautiously, but very excited to get to work this morning so we could all talk about, "What were YOU doing when the tremor happened??" But I must say the "stories" lasted far less time than the tremor itself and were not very interesting - seems I was the most excited of the bunch - and I am definitely the most nocturnal since most people simply slept through it (except those people near Lincolnshire of course, who had more shaking than the rest of us). No one was hurt though, thank goodness!

Here is the OFFICIAL news report from MSN UK:

A "significant" earthquake which hit the UK resulted in at least one injury and damage likely to run into millions of pounds.

The Association of British Insurers said that the cost of damage to homes and property is likely to be in excess of £10 million.

The tremor hit at around 1am and was measured at 5.2 on the Richter scale.

Its epicentre was near Market Rasen, Lincolnshire, but emergency services across the UK received calls following the incident.

The British Geological Survey (BGS) initially gave the magnitude for the 12.56am earthquake as 5.3 on the Richter scale but has now said it was closer to 5.2.

It said the centre was 8km east of Market Rasen, Lincolnshire, and 22km south west of Grimsby.

Seismologist Dr Brian Baptie of the BGS said: "This is a significant earthquake for the UK and will have been widely felt across England and Wales."

The BGS said it records around 200 earthquakes in the UK each year - an eighth of which are able to be felt by residents.

It said earthquakes of this size occur in the mainland UK around every 30 years but are more common in offshore areas.

Wednesday's quake is the largest since 1984 when an earthquake measuring 5.4 on the Richter scale shook the Lleyn Peninsula of north Wales and was widely felt across England and Wales.

For the Love of Dysfunction

I have a very warm spot in my heart for stories about dysfunctional families and relationships, which is best demonstrated by my deep love for Wes Anderson films; books by Jonathan Franzen ("The Corrections") and David Sedaris ("Naked" and "Me Talk Pretty One Day"); and any play by Arthur Miller or Tennessee Williams. I think this alone qualifies me as a person not many people would want to spend too much time with.

For those who don't know, Wes Anderson wrote and directed the movies "The Royal Tenenbaums," "The Life Aquatic" and most recently, "The Darjeeling Limited." And before anyone even knew who he was, he did a genius little film called "Bottle Rocket." His films are funny and quirky, for sure (you either love him or hate him). But what makes them truly special are the lovable yet oblivious dysfunctional people and families that take centre stage - mostly because there is always a kernel of truth in his over-intellectualised characters that make charming what in the real world would be seen as somewhat tragic or abnormal. All his stories involve misfits with substantial issues and differences, but who are trying (almost desperately) to connect with each other, whether they realise it or not.

I recently watched "The Darjeeling Limited" over the course of three plane rides spanning a couple months. First ride, the entertainment system broke down about half way through. Second plane ride, I picked up watching where I left off, but started too late and the plane landed before the ending. Third plane ride, I finally finished it...tucked into an airplane bed under a fluffy duvet, sleep suit on, eating a pear, and giggling infectiously before falling asleep (which I'm sure was great for the guy next to me). I was actually kinda sad when my airplane "series" had ended.

ANYWAY - the movie is about three grown brothers who recently lost their father, have been distant ever since, and then reunite on a wacked-out "spiritual" train journey across India in search of their mother - who didn't come to their father's funeral, but instead ran off to run a convent (in India). It's completely ridiculous, but you can feel the genuine affection between these people - even though they are all at odds with each other and completely unable to communicate. In one scene, the no-nonsense mother (Anjelica Houston) has them all sit in a circle and "communicate what they are feeling without saying anything" since they can't seem to manage a civil conversation - which turns out to be trippily successful (hmmm...need to try that next time I'm having a row with someone).

But I'll let you watch the movie yourself instead of me paraphrasing it, because I loved it and could seriously go on about it all night. The sets, scenery, music and colours are really magical - it's cinematic eye candy.

In the end, they quietly reconcile with each other and with themselves, even though they didn't proactively make it happen as planned, nor achieve what they hoped the way they hoped (lots went wrong, of course) - but they quite literally ditch their (not so) proverbial baggage and a resolve just kind of simply happened....I think, because at the end of the day, family wins out...no matter how weird and damaged they might be.

Then, last week, also on a plane, I watched the (very good) movie "Into the Wild" - another (more serious) film with a dysfunctional family and damaged son at the center. Toward the end of the movie, he befriends an elderly man who tells him, "When you forgive, you love. And when you love, God's light shines on you." I know, I know, right now you're thinking "Oh jeez CF, please just go back to the Bible Belt already!" (I am not from the Bible Belt, FYI) -- but I really liked that.

So, with all THAT said (the Bible Belt, Darjeeling Limited, airplanes, Wes Anderson, duvets, pears, forgiveness and love), I think I have finally started to understand that there truly is no such thing as a perfect family without issues - the kind I used to swear existed when I looked at the surface of my friends' seemingly shiny home lives. And sure, there are all different levels of dysfunction and residual damage. But what I think I am getting closer to understanding these days is that it's not about trying to change people - or yourself for that matter - in order to mend your wounds and get over it. And furthermore, it's not about wishing and waiting for those closest to you to change while pretending they are something they are not.

I think it all simply comes down to acceptance. Beautiful, simple acceptance (I think that's what people used to do in the old days before credit cards and prozac). Accepting things and people for exactly what and who they are, 100 percent, right now, loving them anyway (at least as much as they love you, which is probably a lot), and getting on with it. Not sure that's as easy as I just made it sound, but today and the people in it are all we have, so we should probably do what we must to make ourselves happy...because no one else can ever do that for us.

This doesn't mean we have to like and approve of everything everyone does, but it seems a hinderance to dwell on the negative and what could be. Sometimes, what IS, no matter how screwy, can actually be ok, if you just look at it from the right angle - which perhaps is no angle at all, but straight on. And if someone is truly harmful or bad for your emotional and/or physical well-being, you must find the strength to let them go, block them from hurting you, and move on.

And this is what I've learned from Wes Anderson films.... :)

I read something funny in Esquire (my new favourite magazine) this month about getting "closure" in a relationship that has ended. The columnist, Stacey Grenrock Woods says, "Ceremonious closure isn't necessary.....(quoting psychologist James Tobin)...it is largely a myth, since it suggests that one's emotional life works in a linear fashion. The end of a relationship is a discreet event that involves somebody and another person, but also one's relationship with one's self....Should someone request closure from you, just say you are currently journaling your journey and don't know when you'll be done, if ever. Get used to unsatisfying endings."

Though speaking specifically about romantic relationships, this applies to dysfunctional family residue as well. I mean, some people spend tens of thousands of dollars in therapy over the course of their lives to get some sort of "closure" and resolve to family matters. Perhaps the takeaway here is to try and accept the unsatisfying endings and circumstances in your life for exactly what they are - so that you don't falter in truly living in the moment now - waiting for things to become ideal, and thereby depriving yourself of the happiness that (I think) we all deserve.

And as a guy I was out to dinner with last night said, "I don't think I would hire somebody who wasn't from a broken home." Ok, maybe that's taking it all a bit too far, but he seems to believe that broken home credentials bring some sort of merit and savvy to being successful at a challenging job (no worries all you Ozzie and Harriet types, I think the jury's still out on that one).

I wonder if there really IS a Darjeeling Limited. If so, a train ride through India might very well be my next holiday. But for now, I have started letting go of all the years I fought dysfunction (which is totally subjective, by the way) and am just trying to embrace it. Actually, I think I may have already started to love it.