Eurovision

So there is this (mostly) European song contest called Eurovision.  We don't have anything like it the US, and that is truly sad.  It is a completely camp clash of cultures, and it is absolutely awesome.  Awkward choreographic choices and strange costumes rule the day. You have to see it to believe it.  Each country makes an entry.  The winners are picked by voters calling in (mostly), but callers cannot vote for the country they are calling from.  So in the UK, we can vote for anyone but the UK entry.

The BBC definitely give the impression that they genuinely want to win, but their strategy seems to be at odds with this desire.  This year, they sent Bonnie Tyler.  Last year, Engelbert Humperdinck.  Two years before, they exhumed Andrew Lloyd Webber to compose the song. Have the BBC offices relocated to Gamma Pavonis?  That would explain why the 'Europe' they are seeing is from 30 years ago… because it took that long for the light to reach them.

Ah, but the English do enjoy a good whinge…so as expected, when the UK entry comes on with their 'new' out-of-date song, well, the BBC presenter is already indignant that no one is going to vote for it even before the voting starts.  That's funny enough, but the best part is his constant string of sarcastic quips poking fun at the other entries in between songs. It's hilarious.  By the way, you wouldn't know it by all the tetchy BBC commentary, but the UK is one of the most successful Eurovision countries with five wins: second only to Ireland with seven.

All videos from Eurovision:
Greece (finished 6th)
Romania (finished 13th)
Belgium (finished 12th)

The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night Time

As I mentioned in the previous post, my beloved and I went to the Apollo Theatre on anniversary weekend to see The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night Time. It was just fantastic. It tells the story of a teenager who is diagnosed on the Autism spectrum. But during the course of the play, we start to see the other characters as unpredictable and perplexing as they react to invisible forces of social convention while the teenager remains reliable and straight forward within the context of his point of view.

The portrayal of sensory overload on the railway station was fantastic, capped by the comic presentation of urinating on a moving train in standing. I love how spontaneous dance-like movement and playful breaking of the fourth wall wove their way in and out of the performance.

The ensemble cast was seamless. When one actor morphed into one of his or her many multiple roles, it was like an entirely different actor appeared. It was all the magic of performance and all the humanity of reality together in just the right proportions. I laughed. I cried. I saw the world anew. It was just beautiful. I cannot recommend it enough.

Photo Credits

Niamh and Luke: The Guardian
Up a Wall: TNT Magazine

Detective Work: London24

Anniversary Weekend: The square root of a gross!

I surprised my beloved with tickets to The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night Time, a fantastic play which I will discuss more in a future entry.  I was hoping to surprise her with an award winning pie from The Windmill in Mayfair but it apparently is not open weekends.  So we ended up at her favourite Mexican instead: Catina Laredo.  We weren't thinking of the Mexican connection when we planned our wedding but serendipity granted us a mariachi band who played right next to our table.

The next day we had a bus adventure to St Albans.  We did a little shopping then we went to the cathedral, which was stunning.  Because it isn't in London, all kinds of things were open to the public, like the shrine to St Alban, the first British Christian martyr… and it wasn't crowded. A guide actually insisted that we touch the 2000-year-old roman bricks. The city has history at every turn: Catuvellauni, Verulamium, Pope Adrian IV, Magna Carta, War of the Roses… whoa, I had no idea.  We made our way to the Cote Brasserie were I had my first and last French beer (what was I thinking?).  But the steak and risotto were both excellent.

More good fortune is that we live in a place that has a bank holiday on our anniversary weekend, so we get an extra day, which was a little more low key. My beloved introduced me to the local: the Horse and Groom. It was good. Very friendly, lots people and dogs, and lots of guest ales.  Unfortunately, they were all pale. I had the Red Squirrel Bitter. It wasn't too hoppy: nice, but still too clean a taste for me. Then we walked around the village a bit and eventually wandered home were we took a little nap.


Photo Credits
Poster art: anothertongue
And thats just the nave: trestle
Horse and Groom: wikipedia

From Surrey to Hertfordshire

The move went very well. In less than 24 hours from the movers leaving, we had a fully functional bedroom and kitchen. Having finely honed our moving skills such as we have, it seems wasteful if we don't move every week or so.

Riding in the vans with the movers got me considering about how privileged my life is. Gus was driving. Our removal was the second of his day, which took about 5 hours, not including driving to and from the job.  The move itself included an hour drive between flats and carrying our belongings up two flights of stairs. After that, Gus drove to Wimbledon in rush hour to park the van, so that probably took 1.5 hours, at least. After that he drove home to Wembley.  That's another hour.

I realise that my job is not for everyone. There are many difficult aspects including witnessing personal loss in a manner and on a scale most people in this very wealthy and prosperous nation never consider. I wonder if Gus could peer into one of my work day in the manner that I just peered into his if he would think how blessed he is to have his job. I cannot claim the ability to see into other men's souls. But I hope that vantage into mine shows true appreciation for Gus' contribution toward getting my beloved and me into our new home. Handling the entirety of other people's earthly possessions requires a certain amount of care, integrity and empathy, not to mention physical strength. I imagine some removals are the result of job loss, or divorce, or death of loved one. Gus has a very important job and ample opportunity to do lots of good for others. But for me, watching Gus very adeptly and professionally get my belongings from Surrey to Hertfordshire helps me to appreciate the contribution I get to make to my community in my job. I can only hope that Gus feels the same way.

Photo Credit: Moving Locations

Boston Strong

When the Marathon bombs went off, I could not bring myself to post my usual drivel because it seemed meaningless. I also could not find any words to discuss the event itself. I hear the expression 'deeply saddened' a lot, but I never have heard it used in a way that I thought was sincere.  But I am sad… and the sadness is very deep. I found hope in the kind acts people from my corner of the world engaged in. I found hope because in the midst of tragedy, people responded with kindness… my people. I am so proud that I am from a place who takes strangers into their homes and businesses to feed and shelter them. If we can recognise ourselves in our fellow human beings, even in the face of grotesque violence and hatred… well that is something. It is all too easy to get caught up in the fishhook that is hatred and violence. It always breeds more. These acts of kindness say to me that there is hope for us after all.

For my UK friends, it may be hard to fathom, but very soon some of the families of those treated in hospital will be receiving bills…very large bills. One family, who most will know from the pictures in the newspapers is the Richard family. I don't know them personally, but I know several people who do. If so inclined, help them here: The Richard Family Fund. There is also a larger fund that will try and help all the people wronged by this senseless hatred here: The One Fund. Even a dollar will help.

Finally, I want to thank my brother-in-law who inspired me to break my silence. I love his honesty and thoughtfulness as he speaks about what this last week has meant to him, even though he also was at a loss for words. His usual show is comedy, but in this one, you will get insight into complexities that I also feel: Podlast: Episode 33. I have never lived in Boston, but I have spent many many many hours there… and it feels like home to me.

Photo Credit: The Boston Globe

Seven Words at Saint Pauls

This year I did the Seven Words at Saint Pauls. For those who are unfamiliar with how this service works, it is mostly readings, sermons, music, and silence. During this year' silence I got to thinking about why I identify with God suffering. Perhaps it has to do with the suffering that I witness. My workplace is the home of some of the greatest suffering possible in a country as wealthy and technologically advanced as this one. I am regularly face to face with people being assessed for consciousness. Others are receiving treatment to stop them from harming themselves or others. Others are fighting against the devastating, unfair new reality into which they have been thrust. Others are not fighting at all and are surrendering the idea of life itself. Some suffer frequent or nearly constant pain. Some are amazingly valiant in the face of their tragedies. I am grateful to be in a position to offer these people as much humanity as I can muster. I fail them sometimes due to my own limitations. Institutional and societal constraints also limit our efforts. While therapeutic gains could always be better, at least I am present in a place where I can contribute.

Sitting there in the Good Friday silences, my mind wandered to some people in this and other equally wealthy and technologically-advanced countries who are quick to credit their own good fortune to some quality they possess or some act they have perormed. Such a view insists that my clients deserve their fates, but no one could deserve these fates. I suppose mankind has never been short of people who claim that they have all the answers to life's mysteries, demanding, as if they are gods, that everyone live by the rules that they have picked out for all of humanity to live by. Those people only wish to wield power over others. Perhaps that is what I like about Good Friday. Instead of spouting off rules and wielding power over us, Jesus chooses a fate no one could deserve. In those moments on the cross that we contemplate on Good Friday, there is no resurrection, no celebration of a certain end. I relate to those moments. War, famine, poverty, my clients: suffering is all around us. I can relate to what my mind's eye sees when it looks up toward an innocent carpenter being tortured. Sure, I can imagine salvation too. But I do not have to imagine suffering. It is all around me. But suffering often reveals the grace and beauty of real people who react to suffering with recognition and kindness rather than with demands and judgements. Their altruism speaks much more powerfully to me than some paradise that is not consistent with anything I have ever experienced. The people who judge everyone but themselves: who are they behaving like in the Christ's passion? The God on the cross is not dictating prescriptions of behavior.

In the end, I do not have the skill to write exactly why I identify with a suffering God. As a man, I do not have any answers, behaviors or otherwise, that are useful for anyone but myself. Do not follow my example; I am no god. But as a human witness to suffering, my heart is more inclined to a God who suffers with me than one who spouts inflexible rules devoid of compassion or glares down a condemning, pointing finger.


Photo Credits
Saint Pauls Interior
Jesus Suffering

...visions of sugar-plums...

This time, moving has an array of variables to consider now that our respective commuting destinations are separated by 70 miles. It is no longer just a matter of accommodation cost to consider, but also transport costs and travel times: with each potential location tugging and pulling at these variables.

By way of a somewhat meandering route and a widely cast net, we considered locations such as Putney, Acton, Walthamstow, Stevenage, Hatfield, Welwyn, New Barnet, and Cambridge. The first serious contender was Stevenage. However, serendipity, karma, or perhaps even providence led us to Hatfield. You can pick the transcendent force of your choosing according to your belief structure.

I would like to tell you that reasonable costs, a picturesque old town, and a gorgeous garden which residents can access year round were the main factors in Hatfield's favour. However when you learn that the garden is associated with Hatfield House, the folly of such a tale is revealed: for Hatfield House was the site of the favourite residence of Elizabeth Tudor.

Moving into a new flat is so full of hope, like running down the stairs on Christmas morning. It is one of those ensorcelling spaces that dreams inhabit. Our dream is of a considerate landlord, an ethical letting agent, and a quiet, safe, commutable space.

Photo Credits
Gigantic Sugar Plums: The Art Zoo
Sun Hug: Rippled Transcendence