In Which Our Heroine Joins the Pop Masses

My official joining into UK pop culture occurred a couple of weeks ago, when I walked into Waterstones (how I love that bookstore), put my £2 down on the counter and said to the clerk "I'm here to join the madness please and pre-order my copy of Harry Potter and the Whatever It Is This Time."

"Certainly, madam." The clerk was obviously quite used to the mass madness. Which was good, seeing as he had a big badge on his shirt counting down the days to the launch of Harry Potter and the Hound of the Baskervilles or whatever it was.

Filled out a form with my name, address and whether I wanted an adult printing or a childrens's printing, took my receipt and left without even knowing the price of the book, as Waterstone's had yet to determine what they would sell it for. All they knew at that point was that it would be less than the cover price, and that there would be a free second book ("Lion Boy" by Zissou Corder, if anyone cares) to go with it. Quite a marketing strategy if you can swing it "you've put a deposit on it, but we don't know what we're going to charge you yet. Mwahahaha!"

The countdown was quite a topic for a long time, with store displays in all the shops, news reports on who was selling the book for a loss to get customers in the shops, etc etc. And then the bombs went off on the Tube and no one seemed to care as much for a week or so. But by the time the launch came round, it was a rallying escape point for Londoners and a convenient excuse to show that they could relax a bit. Plans were still altered, however, when they moved the launch from Kings Cross Station (the station itself is re-opened, but it was felt that it would be quite tasteless to have a celebration above while they are still bringing up wreckage from underneath) to Oxford Street where people started camping out the night before to be into the shop at midnight to get their copies of the book.

Joined the masses I may have, but it was obviously just provisional membership as there was no way on the face of this earth I was going to be in a book store at midnight for a book launch. Well, ok, maybe someday when it is *my* book, sure. But not until then. Instead, as Friday came, a few plans were thrown together to go up to Nottingham to hang out with my friend Sarah and her parents for an evening.

I shocked her father. Not in my usual way of stating something that I really ought not to have said(that happens rather too much), but rather that after spending all this time in England I was not familiar with the works of Flanders and Swan. A trip to town the next day was in order.

And so we went. Flanders & Swan proved a bit tricky, but was eventually tracked down, and of course the now launched Harry Potter copies, sold to us by people who were forced to wear t-shirts with "Muggle" in big letters on the back. We made our way round the new sights of Nottingham (the tram, the sky mirror, things like that) did bits of shopping and eventually retreated back to the house for a cup of tea while Flanders and Swan sang away on the CD player about "The Bold Hippopotamus", and why the English are superior to all others. (Chorus: The English, the English, the English are best, I wouldnt' give tuppence for all of the rest.). Rather tongue in cheek, I hasten to add.

Back to the university to revisit halcyon days by wandering round the lake and then an attempt was made to catch a train, which after a 90 minute wait with no news, no instructions, and no train, we finally got word (via a totally different train) that it was cancelled. We attempted to make a dash to the pub but there was no room. Giving up (and facing a very early train the next morning) home was good and Gin and Bitter Lemon was even better.

Sunday trains. Ah. So much fun. To get to St. Albans in time for Matins (where I'd arranged to meet Sarah and Tati, who were visiting, and we were all going to watch Neil's daughter sing in the choir) I had to be on a 7:30 a.m. bus from Loughborough, change to train at Leicester, get different train at Bedford, hop off at St Albans. Every person on any of these modes of transport had their copy of Harry Potter and was reading it feverishly, as though it was some kind of requirement for being on the train at that hour. And yet, it all worked, even to the extent that having met up with S&T, when I heard a voice go "Do you need directions?" while my immediate thought was it was some exceptionally dodgy male preying on tourists, turning around to view revealed Neil, who while exceptional and male is most definitely not dodgy, and a tourist's friend (if they knew him, which thankfully for Neil they don't as a rule).

The thing about English choirs is that they're just unbelievable. I mean, you sit there and watch this incredible sound come out and you cannot match it up to the teeny kids you're seeing. This was no exception. If I had that kind of lung capacity, I'd be a much better rower. And if I could sing like that......well, I don't know what. I just wish I could sing like that. Amazing. They retire the kids out at 14, which is part of what the service we saw was about - kicking three of them out with a book, a cheque for services rendered, and then a party at the Dean of the Abbey's house. "As befits the ladies of the choir" he said "they will be bungee jumping in my back garden." He wasn't kidding either.

It is all just too English for words, the whole time. Even Harry Potter didn't get left out of church as Neil's non-singing daughter had her copy with her to read before and after the service. She's hoping evil's going to win in the end on that one. Impressive for someone who'd just sat through an hour of religious choir music, I thought.

But when it was over, it was back to the work week, back to the grind, and now back to the bombs. Still, the English are taking it with black humor and stiff upper lips. My friend Deborah has declared that these bombs (since no one has been killed) were by Very Dumb Terrorists who don't know how to connect the brown wire. She is laying the blame entirely at the feet of the comprehensive educational system, and calling for the return of compulsary national service.

The bombs do keep going off though, and every morning there's another security scare where large bits of London get sealed off. Everyone is on guard, and taking luggage on trains of anything larger than a handbag is liable to get you severe stares, not to mention glares as everyone is so wedged on with lines still out of service that bags take up too much room. And the lines get stopped during the rush hour all the time, which means that the buses get overcrowded, etc. People are turning more to bikes all the time which is a good thing I think, but the daily hassle and fear is hard to put up with.

I've turned to rowing. I'm finally out on the water, which is brilliant fun. At first it was a bit unnerving as I would go to the boathouse and no one would speak to me. This isn't rude - it is just English. The assumption is that you know someone and they will talk to you but it is rude to just start talking to someone you don't know. This bothered me as even though I knew what was going on, it was still rather excluding. But once in the boat and introduced, everyone couldnt be nicer. You have to kind of band togethre to fight the tides of the Thames (there's maybe a 15 foot rise and fall at Putney where we row, and it is a wet launch every day), and the debris which after the rains is like nothing I've ever seen. The damage caused to a blade by a floating fire extinguisher is pretty impressive.

There's a party at the boat house on Saturday. For some reason it is an 80s themed party (costume/themed parties are popular here) and I can't figure out what to where, although the friendly girls have invited me to the boat pre-party at their place before heading over and there will be plenty of prep time. Suggestions on a postcard please!

Love
Anne

In Which Our Heroine Gets Back to Her Love

I finally went rowing. Having at long last been introduced to people, they were incredibly friendly. The boat was rigged for someone much smaller and this was pretty bad - zero connection on the front end, which of course led to zippo at the finish, which when rowing feet out made for lots of joy. And right near the end the gal behind me caught a massive crab which sent an oar handle into my back, which is coming up nicely in pretty colours. The water conditions could best be described as Force Nine gale, plus the wake of HMS Plymouth.

I loved every freaking minute of it.

I am now covered in Germolene for blisters, taking asprin for the bruise and walking a little funny, as I ache in weird spots due to the boat not fitting. Happy happy joy joy.

Love
Anne

What a Difference a Day Makes

Greetings to all from the newly reopened front for terrorism. I say newly reopened because a) London is indeed back in business, and also of course because b) London has been through this before on a longer but smaller scale when the IRA used to shut down the Tube at its whim. The IRA though gave warnings beforehand.

The biggest unreported news for me though is the sheer contrast of the day before and the day after. On July 6, at 12:46 in the afternoon, the 2012 Olympic games were awarded to London. This was something that in the run up had completely gripped the nation. Every bit of commentary and gossip was analyzed after six weeks ago reports came out showing that London was now neck and neck with the long time favorite of Paris. It is pretty widely believed (and certainly reported by the tabloid press here) that the day before, Paris lost the eventual vote by declaring in front of some Scandinavian voters that you couldn't trust the English because their food was only superlative to Finland. Consequently, the day of the sixth dawned to more tabloid headlines extolling both the virtues of British cuisine, and the boorishness of Jacques Chirac.

I had my friends Sarah and Tati (they're sisters) making their first visit to England at this point. They really only had one day in London at that point, as they arrived the night before and were flying out the morning of the 7th to a wedding in Poland, but were eager to explore and be joyous coincidence landed in Trafalgar Square (where the victory party was to be held if London won) about two minutes before the announcement. Sarah's photos show crowds of happy people, confetti, a military flyover by the Red Arrows, and a general sense of jubilation.

Both Sarah and Tati had had a great day, and were very enthused about how nice everyone was, how helpful people were, and the cleanliness, history, just plain everything about how London was grand.

The next day, of course, tried to change all that.

At a certain level, it was a day like any other day. I did the morning rituals and strolled to the Tube stop, where it was hot and steamy. An announcement was made that "due to a small fire, the Piccadilly line at Kings Cross station is currently closed." This explained why five trains went by before there was room to shove onto one, as everyone a couple stops up would have hopped off the Piccadilly line to change to the Victoria line (that I was on) to still get off at Kings Cross. Except that once wedged in like a kipper in oil, the doors shut and they announced that this train was now not going to open its doors at Kings Cross either. People were annoyed, but no one was terribly worried. The London tube system is massive, the trains run during peak times at a rate of one per minute, and stuff does happen. It is inconvenient, but that's about it really. I didn't care so long as I finally got to work. I'd been taking the bus the last couple of days, which instead of getting me in 15 minutes early got me in five minutes late which I felt was unacceptable. But I was now running late again. I made it, had the normal sort of "gosh, my commute was annoying this morning" grump at Ali who sits opposite me, and then she had her normal sort of grump, saying there'd been some sort of fire at Aldgate. That seemed odd, I told her, since there was also one at King's Cross. About that moment, Jim phoned in asking me how I'd come to work as Highbury/Islington station was now shut (where we both come from). I told him the thing from Kings Cross must be affecting it.

At that point, Ali and I both started looking on the net, but there wasn't much. When Jim phoned a bit later saying that his walk to the next tube station revealed that all of Zones one and two were shut for trains, it was obvious that something was up. He couldn't get a bus as they were all crammed with people coming off the trains, so he was going to walk. We began to get worried and went back to the net.

Pictures started coming through, along with the first reports that it was not what they initially thought (a power surge causing explosions) but rather bombs going off. Then the report came in of a bomb going off on a bus as well. It was very similar to 9/11 - watching events unfold around you and not knowing what to do or what was coming next. With cell phones shut down across the city as a security precaution (in case the bombs were rigged to phones, and also to deny the bombers a way to communicate easily), it was hard to know who was ok and who wasn't. The streets of London became eerily deserted very quickly.

By this point, I got a call on the business line from Sarah and Tati, who had just made it to Paddington by bus after their tube station shut, and when they arrived there, the bus driver ordered everyone off, saying that zone 1 was now shut to buses as well. They, and the others around them, had no idea what was going on, and they'd missed their flight, so they rang. I debated whether or not telling them was just going to scare them, erred on the side of "knowledge is good" and stressed that Heathrow is about the safest building in Britain. They wound up flying standby, but the miracle is they got there at all as they got on the last Heathrow express before *that* was shut as well.

The next hours were spent pretty much in lockdown in the office, along with the rest of London. With no subway, trains or buses, the only ways out of the city were by foot, bike and taxi. But the police were advising people to stay indoors for safety. We had no idea how long we'd be there, but I did manage to get out to go next door for sandwiches. By the time Jim arrived, we just did what British people do in such times of stress and anxiety.

We made a pot of tea, and we ate a lot of cookies to go with it.

It was all we could do, really. I had notified my family and friends in the US that I was safe, but they were yet to wake up at this point (apart from one friend, bless, who'd had insomnia, e-mailed back and forth with me while I was a raving loon and managed to get me my doctor's phone number. I need to send him something to say thank you. Like a Lotus Elan.)

Eventually, the buses started running again, but lots of people walked home anyway. I grabbed a bus (and a number 30 bus at that) but it should be noted that no one wants to sit on the top of them any more.

London is back in business anyway, and people have coped admirably. They admit they dont' want to be on the tube and the buses, so what did they do? Driving in costs £8 a day, plus parking, so that's not so much of an option. Staying at home isn't an option either. So London, en masse, went out and bought bikes. They sold 5,000 of them in two days, and they're very evident on the roads. Bike commuting is a popular thing here anyway, but it is a very noticable increase this week. According to Charles (a partner here in the office, who cycles to work every morning) it is even more noticable if you are on a bike. "Don't know where they're going, and they're all in my way." says Charles. But he is helping them out, as is everyone else. The CCTV cameras and forensics have already led to arrests, and the realisation that this was native born Britons that did this, not some scary outsider force. While this scares people, it has also made them resolute that this sort of thing will not be tolerated from one or more of their own.

The big story of yesterday was that the US military wouldn't allow its 12,000 personnel into London at the same time Bush was pledging "cooperation." As this escalated into the PR fiasco it should have been, they backed down quickly. Of course, no one kept out the tourists. They were back in force the very next day. As well as on Sunday, when 200.000 people gathered in St. James for a commemoration of the end of the Second World War. It is truly amazing how as a city London has refused to shut, bow, or consider knuckling under. There are changes - the bikes on the streets, the way everyone stops with a bit of alarm if anything with a siren goes by, the palpable tension if a train stops in a tunnel unannounced, and I've started carrying my gym bag unzipped so people can see inside. (I'm not the only one to start doing this.) But the more there are changes, the more the changes are aimed at keeping things the same.

Sarah and Tati are back tomorrow for a few more days. Nerves and all, I think they'll hardly notice the difference. And I think that's wonderful.

Love
Anne

The Differences in Culture Between Americans and the English

These are key differences, as the failure to understand can cause insult on all sides.

The office Christmas Party:
English: Only considered successful if someone, hopefully not you, faxes or e-mails their resignation in the next morning rather than be seen in the office ever again. Clients are invited, and are considered to be entertained if you ply them with copious amounts of champagne. Frequently black tie.
American: Only considered successful if employer will spring for more than one drink. Guests are not invited, and the real party is when everyone leaves the employer's do to go somewhere else and actually enjoy themselves without boss watching. To appear to be having a good time means that you cannot at any moment be stopped and asked for advice which could then be billed to a client, and therefore is seen as poor form.

Sneakers:
English: Plimsoles are black and can be used for casual wear with jeans and things. White sneakers are for sport, and should not be worn outside as may then scuff up squash court.
American: Status symbol. (Men) White sneakers are not to be laced, should weigh five pounds each and be as large as humanly possible. Worn with white socks, and under all types of casual clothing, whether or not they clash. (Women) Not as big, but worn to look as if about to burst into a run at any given moment, despite the fact that the furthest the wearer runs is to the car if they're late for work.

Drink:
English. Tea. Can't make coffee to save their lives, and don't particularly feel the need to try. Complain vociferously that when they travel abroad they can't get a decent cup of tea anywhere that wasn't once part of the Commonwealth, and they are correct.
American: Coffee. Can't make tea to save their lives, and don't particularly feel the need to try. Complain vociferously when they travel abroad they can't get a decent cup of tea anywhere, thus showing they've never been to Southern Europe, South America, Antartica or Canada.

Nudity/Sexuality:
English: Topless women on third page of most popular newspaper, with attributed thoughtful quote on today's top story that you know they never made. After the watershed hour of 10pm, anything goes on telly. Contraception free on NHS, as is abortion. Considers Americans to be promiscuous.
American: Janet Jackson's nipple during Super Bowl causes uproar. Contraception must be paid for, ditto abortion (which on practical level is difficult to obtain in some states at all). Abstinence only sex education. "Ring thing" wait til marriage movement popular. Considers the English to be prudish.

New York Yankees Hats:
American: Shows loyalty to highly overpaid team currently languishing near bottom of American League East. To start discussion, mention new found "Curse of A-Rod."
English: Shows marketing savvy of Major League Baseball to people who've never watched a baseball game in their lives, but know that NY stands for New York. To start discussion, ask them if they've ever seen a game. When they say no, inform of current bottom dweller status, and offer to replace with proper Red Sox hats for winners.

Sports:
English: Wonder aloud why World Series is so named, when only America participates. Excel at sports they invented, such as rugby, cricket, fives, and badminton, which is a professional sport in the UK. Also known to excel at watersports, as befits island nation. Many sports events are upper class social events involving dress codes and royal attendence, such as Ascot, the Grand National and the Epsom Derby (horse racing), Henley (rowing), the Boat Race (no dress code required, but broadcast on telly), Cowes Week (sailing), and gardening (Chelsea Flower Show). Queen enters horses in many races, and is known to enjoy betting on the ponies.

American: Wonder what on earth are the rules to cricket and rugby, aren't they just forms of baseball and football (meaning: American football, not soccer-known-in-rest-of-world-as-football)? Have never heard of fives. Know that World Series has players from all over the world, predominantly South America and Japan, it is just that teams are owned by Americans, rather like Manchester United, which is soon to be relocated to Manchester, NH. Excel at sports they invented, such as baseball, football and basketball. Most popular sport to watch is NASCAR racing. Most sporting events are seen as opportunity for everyone to go and watch regardless of class, but this is rapidly being overtaken by the opportunity for everyone to go and watch on TV since corporate boxes are the way to go at the sporting arenas and your average person now cannot afford tickets. President used to own major league baseball team, has T-ball field on Presidential lawn, and enjoys photo ops with winners but not losers of major tournaments.

Food
American: Fast food predominates. One mega meal can provide entire days recommended caloric intake, and is cheaper than fresh fruit and veg. Considers English food bland and overcooked, but has never eaten it. Portions humongous. Eating out cheap and frequent.

English: Spicy food of former colonies predominates (Hong Kong Chinese, Indian, etc.) along with roasted hunk of meat and veg. Fast food considerably more expensive than fruit and veg. One mega meal equivalent to small size meal in America. Portions small. Eating out event which requires making reservation to guarantee table.

Driving
American: Petrol is cheaper than milk, so why not make your car the size of your house and live in it? Cup holders and fast food drive throughs mean that you don't ever have to leave your car except for the call of nature, which comes in handy when driving across, say, North Dakota and there's nothing for miles and miles. Road signage variable at the best of times, and if you don't know how to get where you're going, you didn't really want to get there in the first place.

English: Stop every two hours for a cup of tea. Cup holders non-existent. Roads good and fast, and radio set up to interrupt broadcast if there is a travel alert so you can take a different road around the trouble. Economy matters, since petrol costs per litre what a gallon costs in America. And besides, if you take the train, you can eat and drink on it, which you would never do in your car unless you're common.

Road Directions
American (well, New England): unofficial motto: "Can't get there from here." So accurate, they spoofed it on Saturday Night Live as a game show. One way systems and lack of signage make every trip to the shops an adventure as you never know where you might wind up. Spring brings pothole season. The spotting of the first hubcap flying off the car in front of you is much like seeing the first robin.

English: will conduct extortionately long discussions on which is the fastest route from A to B, and the cleanliness of the Happy Eater rest stops along the way. The discussions on directions are held at cocktail parties, thus increasing alcohol consumption for everyone listening as they try to cope.

In Which Our Heroine Hops to Vla Vla Land

One of the great things about being in London is that it is so close to the rest of Europe, at least in relation to America not being particularly close to Europe geographically (if at all in any other way). All of which allowed me to conspire over the last few weeks to actually head off to a friend's surprise baby shower.

In Amsterdam.

Just one of those things people do, you know. My friend (Marieke)'s sister (Annelise) had organised a rather excellent event, but knew that Marieke had friends all over the world from both her studying in the US and the fact that the Dutch do get a bit peripatetic. To include everyone, Annelise e-mailed all the foreigners, and asked them to e-mail a baby picture and a recent picture so that Marieke could match them up. I wound up being a bit slack on this as baby pictures had to be dug out, what with my mother moving house (kudos to Grandma for a bit of search and retrieve, and a very good quality scanning job on short notice, although she did in fact meet Marieke many years ago so that helps), When Annelise e-mailed me to politely say "where are the photos?" I said "oops, sorry, Mom's just moved house and can't find anything, and I just moved to London two days ago so I can't find anything either." Upon finding out that I was so close, conspiracy of great nature ensued. Marieke's husband bought me a ticket to Amsterdam for the party and it was all sent via e-mail. And as Annelise and I coordinated stuff, the one thing that wound up lacking was actually corresponding with Marieke, who would occasionally send these notes saying "Um, I haven't heard from you, are you all right? You seem a bit quiet at the moment!"

Not to worry, not to worry. A bag was packed, a bear was purchased (along with Yorkie bars and salt & vinegar chips for Marc and Annelise!) and courtesy of the whole "check in and print your boarding pass the day before you leave for the airport" concept, I whipped in and was in Amsterdam easily. I was pressed into service decorating anything above waist level, and then popped out to the shops to get some vla for the next morning (it is a custardy type thing. And tasty. It is also fun to say, as you sound like a vampire. Vla! I vant to suck your blood! Vla!) and stay there until Marieke got home so that first she could be surprised by her party and then I could surprise her with me.

The first problem that struck me was in the market. I can pronounce words in Dutch, as Marieke taught me to read outloud. The problem is that my actual vocabulary reflects how I learned to read, which was from reading aloud from Miffy books. Miffy (www.miffy.com) is actually a Dutch artist's creation named Nijnte and with all the books written in rhyming couplets, this helps learn the sounds of words. It also left me with a vocabulary not terribly suited to wandering around Amsterdam looking for vla, as I know such handy phrases as "Hij is een stoute rups. Hij at van de mooie bloem!" which conveniently translates to "He is a naughty caterpillar. He ate a beautiful flower!"

There are very few naughty caterpillars in the local shops in Amsterdam. In fact, there are very few caterpillars at all, regardless of behavioural standards.

Never mind. I knew where the shop was, I remembered where the vla was in the shop, I had some Euros, this was going to be easy. And indeed it was until the nice gentleman in front of me in the line turned and seeing I was just holding my little vla container, immediately said something terribly complex in lots of Dutch words, none of which seemed to be "caterpillar." Suddenly reimersed in that year when I didn't understand a word that I was spoken to me, and couldn't communicate back, I actually started to have a full on panic attack and hyperventilate. The nice Dutch man promptly said something else not involving caterpillars or naughtiness so far as I could tell, and I finally managed to gasp out "I don't speak Dutch." hoping all the while he wouldnt' think I had just escaped from the local mental institution.

Being Dutch, he promptly responded to me in perfect English with "is that all you have? Why don't you go ahead of me?" Crisis averted. I was equally handled with kid gloves by the teenage chap behind the till, who also addressed me in full English, asked if I had a card, counted out my change, and told me to have a nice weekend. All very kind of them, but I did feel a bit stupid.

But back for the surprise. It did occur to me that two surprises in 15 minutes might not be the best thing to do to a woman who was seven months pregnant, but there was nothing for it now but to go through the door. All was well, Marieke was happy and the party went off without a hitch. Except that I didn't understand anything that was said. To give me something to do, I read the little quiz cards. Marieke got asked questions, and if she got four answers right, she got to open a present. I read out the questions, and then she gave an answer and there was a bit of discussion. After four, I said "Ok, now you get to open a present. Huzzah!"

That was when she told me that in fact she'd gotten all the last questions wrong, so no presents for her. Sometimes, it does indeed help to understand things.

Silly silly Anne.

Lovely evening out biking through Amsterdam (yes, even at seven months pregnant - I love the Dutch way of biking everywhere!) and noshing on Indonesian food but unfortunately the next day meant a 7 am take off at the airport, so it was all too short. I've vowed to brush up on my Dutch before le bebe is born for my next visit, but I think that that age, he'll understand me perfectly anyway!

More later. So much work on at the moment. The things a gal does for an income.

Love
Anne

In Which Our Heroine Gets a New Hat
Right. Bit sleepy of late, which is what comes of not getting to bed on time. And the actual concept of work means not lots of time to run around and cover the bits and bobs of what's been happening here in Britannia. But a bit of a recap.

When last we heard of our heroine (that would be me) she was headed to Ascot without a chapeau. This was causing her great consternation, as it seemed to be rude and just not the done thing, but in typical form she (still me, that is) would not be stopped.

End third person narrative, it is just plain pretentious.

Anyway.......first there was the back to work element, which was a most joyous occasion, and there was much rejoicing. I had one day at work before heading up to York for Ascot, and everyone was very nice. I think it will be a good job until I get replaced (they're looking for someone permanent, and that isn't to be me). One of the perks of the job is that at the end of the week, the PAs (personal assistant) get to take the flowers home if they like. I wound up taking a massive bunch of expensive flowers up to York which were a hit for the following reasons:
1) Michaela loves flowers, and this provided four vases of them scattered around the house.
2) Gareth, in his Yorkshireness, likes the fact that I didn't have to pay for the expensive flowers.
3) They have a son with quite severe autism, who occasionally destroys things. Were he to destroy the flowers, no big deal as no out of pocket cost. All in all, a winner.

This actually worked out particularly well the next morning when I was trying to adopt a proper stiff upper lip attitude re lack of hat. Mic remembered that she had a couple hats up in the cupboard, and suddenly she had her old hat from her wedding/going away outfit which matched her new dress, and she had a big straw black hat which was very plain "but maybe we can put a scarf on it or something."
\r\n \r\nI promptly pinned two whacking lilies to it and voila, it was perfect for Ascot. Matched the flowers on my dress and all. We were set.\r\n \r\nWe were actually more than set, as Lian had arrived nice and early and poached us a table, enough chairs and a blue parasol. This all came in handy, and as other people realized this they attempted to nick them off her. The force runs strong in her, though - more than we ever realized. In addition to successfully defending our chairs from the rabble, she also went from "so do all the horses have four legs then" type expertise to coming out substantially in profit on the day\'s betting, winning four out of six races. The rest of us were far from so lucky, although we mostly broke even apart from Kevin, who couldn\'t win a pence despite trying. Never mind, we oogled hats, we waved to Queenie (who waved back - very sociable that Queenie) we tried to pick the form, and we drank Pimms amidst an ever deepening coat of 30 proof sunblock.\r\n\r\n \r\nIt was great.\r\n \r\nIt was also exhausting, all that sitting out in the sun drinking gin based things. \r\n \r\nWe met up with Gareth for dins, but beat a relatively hasty retreat back to the house after that as collapse was iminent. And the next morning I had to head to Cambridge for loads of birthday type celebrations. Thankfully, these were understated as was truly warranted. Mostly sitting out in the back garden in the sun (not so hot as the day before though) sipping champagne with strawberries and then having afternoon tea with homemade fresh scones, jam and clotted cream as one should. Back to London at night, and back to work the next morning. It all went well, and tomorrow is payday, which is not to be sniffed at. Ah, the end of iminent poverty!\r\n\r\n \r\nAnd again, there was much rejoicing......\r\nLove\r\nAnne-- Anne Wolfe, Esq, LL.M.Mobile: ( 07890) 462-212",1]
);
//-->


I promptly pinned two whacking lilies to it and voila, it was perfect for Ascot. Matched the flowers on my dress and all. We were set.

We were actually more than set, as Lian had arrived nice and early and poached us a table, enough chairs and a blue parasol. This all came in handy, and as other people realized this they attempted to nick them off her. The force runs strong in her, though - more than we ever realized. In addition to successfully defending our chairs from the rabble, she also went from "so do all the horses have four legs then" type expertise to coming out substantially in profit on the day's betting, winning four out of six races. The rest of us were far from so lucky, although we mostly broke even apart from Kevin, who couldn't win a pence despite trying. Never mind, we oogled hats, we waved to Queenie (who waved back - very sociable that Queenie) we tried to pick the form, and we drank Pimms amidst an ever deepening coat of 30 proof sunblock.

It was great.

It was also exhausting, all that sitting out in the sun drinking gin based things.

We met up with Gareth for dins, but beat a relatively hasty retreat back to the house after that as collapse was iminent. And the next morning I had to head to Cambridge for loads of birthday type celebrations. Thankfully, these were understated as was truly warranted. Mostly sitting out in the back garden in the sun (not so hot as the day before though) sipping champagne with strawberries and then having afternoon tea with homemade fresh scones, jam and clotted cream as one should. Back to London at night, and back to work the next morning. It all went well, and tomorrow is payday, which is not to be sniffed at. Ah, the end of iminent poverty!

And again, there was much rejoicing......
Love
Anne

In Which Our Heroine Lives the Life of the Shiftless Poor
I don't have a job yet. It isn't for lack of trying, although my friend Jim insists there are council estates just waiting for people like me, the shiftless layabout unemployed. Frankly, it is driving me mad not having anything to do - I can't take it.

So, apart from more applying for jobs and more appointments with temp agencies, today I got even more proactive. I was asked at a lunch after graduation if I would keep writing book reviews for the Bi-Monthly Review of Law Books. I confirmed this today by e-mail (me in the UK, the head of the BMRLR in Mexico, which he says is hot and polluted), and then set about looking for newly published books that would be interesting to me to read and then review. This serves a few purposes. It gives review and criticism to books, which is somethign publishers are looking for (and something doens't particularly happen a lot with legal tomes). It also gets them a bit of publicity - people may not know the books are out there, and bearing in mind the price of books (one I requested today is $300 or £165 in the UK) they may be a bit wary about forking it out if they don't know it is good. It also gives me a free copy of an expensive book in my field, and makes sure that I actually read it.

The downside is that I actually have to read it. Which when you're contemplating 1000 pages on International Domain Name Law and Practice, gets a bit daunting. Good for the practice, keeps me up to date, so on and so forth. But 1000 pages on one topic is more than enough for anyone I should think. Particularly when it is an international comparison, jurisdiction to jurisdiction on the same topic. Oooo, that's a lot. I bet it repeats a lot. Wow. I am destined to acheive even higher levels of dorkiness than before!

I also fired off an e-mail to a friend in Australia saying "Wanna write a paper on international privacy regs together?" Dork.

But I did get to do cool stuff. I was sent via e-mail a travel ticket. It is a surprise. Can't wait to find out what it is!
Love
Anne

In Which Our Heroine Goes Back to the Basics
I've always encouraged my coaching students/teammates/self to identify the best and worst things about an outing on the water. There are days where sometimes the best thing you can identify is "I didn't flip." There are also days where the best thing suddenly shifts to "I didn't drown." There is still something to be gained from those days, and at least this practice does to an extent short circuit completely beating yourself up for things.

I'm having one of those days generally today, and with no rowing outings currently in sight! (I love rowing. More than ponies!) I've contacted the local RC, but haven't heard back yet. Grrr.

I had to really reach around today to find a good thing and in the end came up with "organic raspberries are cheap, plentiful and in season" - they're incredible. That's all I could come up with today, but it still works. When compared with the joy of the fresh raspberry, life ain't so bad.
Love
Anne

In Which Our Heroine Packs Her Life Up. Again.

Well, the big move happens Monday. Over to England for six months. The packing has commenced.

You'd think it would be a lot easier - what with having done it before to take off for a year, but it is completely different and a lot harder. All the packing last time was hyper practical. Tent, sleeping bag, hiking boots, it all has to fit in the backpack and has to be carried. Now, all it has to do is fit within the luggage limit (which I've never ever gone up to), and yet it has to cover work clothes, non-work clothes, hiking gear, rowing gear, and always the clincher is shoes, shoes, shoes. Don't fit in compression sacks, can't wear the hiking boots with the work clothes, can't wear the work shoes to go hiking, take up all the space shoes.

I think you can tell by now, I'm not about to inherit the next "Imelda Marcos" shoe title. But still, the packing is a royal pain and a half becuase it has to involve all these weird things I'm not used to thinking about packing for. And I keep being seducted by the fact that since I have this extra huge bag and not just my backpack, I have what seems to be all this space. Soooooo much space. And I want to avoid filling it with soooo much stuff.

Monday. Ack! Graduation at 9 a.m. Sunday, then lunch with full on family (Mom, Gran, Uncle Bob), then small gap, and then graduation/farewell party. oh help me!

Love
Anne

In Which Our Heroine Realizes Her Identity
I realized it the other day.... I'm a Bostonian.

This is impressive, as I've never really felt like I was from somewhere before. We moved a lot when I was a kid. Granted, it was never very far, but it always was far enough to change schools (and once even change back.) But only one person I know lives in the town where I grew up now, and I wouldn't recognize the place if I went back. I'm not from there any more, if I ever was.

But I sat there on Monday, having taken most of the day off work to watch the Red Sox home opener against the Yankees, and even more importantly watch them get their World Series rings, and during an opening video of Boston sports moments (which was at least 20 minutes long) I realized I'm now *from* here. I recognize Bobby Orr and Ray Bourque, and I'm not even a hockey fan. I know why the new bridge should be called the "Bill Buckner Bridge," I know the curse of the Bambino, who Yaz, Teddy Ballgame, and Catfish Hunter were. I can name my senators, and even my US Representative. I know the history of Beacon Hill, where the opening shots of the Revolution were fired, that the Battle of Bunker Hill was fought on Breed's Hill, and that where the current tea party ship is docked is not where it was docked when Sam Adams and co staged the Boston tea party. I know that Evacuation Day is Marathon Day, when the Head of the Charles is, and the names of every bridge on the Charles for over 10 miles.

Most importantly (and this is the true test), I can "get they-ah from he-yah." And once you can do that, it is official. You are from he-yah.
Love,
Anne
P.S. Visa arrived today. Now that I'm from here, I'm leaving!

In Which Our Heroine Catches Up
Agh, almost two months, no posting. First off, the blog move. And hopefully eventually the move back. My exboyfriend was hosting this. This experience, while initially very kind, can best be described as a hassle. I don't think he particularly likes me (though he tries) and I've given up waiting for his exceptionally sporadic e-mails so that when they do come, they're a complete suprise. Actually, given how he lives his life, his e-mails always contain some sort of surprise, but that's an entirely different kettle of chum. At any rate, he decided to stop hosting altogether as my domain name was needed renewal and it all has gone horribly pear shaped, but never mind it'll get sorted out soon enough. I just couldn't deal with it at the time since.....

I just spent the last two weeks in hospital. Dramatic, eh? I'd mostly like to forget about it, but I can comment in the following semi-cryptic ways.
1) Salmonella is a small (and I've discovered tasteless) bacteria, but it is certainly stronger than I am.
2) If you're sick, you sleep for copious amounts of time.
3) Apparently, even if you take "attenuated" (read: weakened) GM bacteria for an experimental trial, you can still mount a spectacular immune response, even if you spend a week on uberantibiotics.
4) Hospital PJs suit no one.
5) Even good hospital food is still hospital food at the end of the day.

I'm out now, and I'm "fine"- a statement which can be taken to mean that I'm safe to be let into the general public, but still pretty weak, although getting stronger every day. And I"m hoping to go rowing later this week (numerous plans have been made.)

All of it seems to pale into insignificance when I just go outside and spring is definitely on the way. Somehow this was all confirmed by riding on the T this morning to come into town. There was this lad, he couldnt' have been more than 15, and he was going somewhere with a lass who if she was not his girlfriend needs to wise up and BE his girlfriend. The amazing thing about this kid was the way he looked at the girl. It was love, true love, quite possibly in a way you can only experience when you're that young and not bashed around by the vicissitudes of growing up and getting your heart broken here and there. Of course, part of growing up is learning to overcome the getting your heart broken part, but somehow I was really rooting for this kid and just hoping (beyond hope, I dare say. I remember what 15 year old girls are like. I was one, and I was not at that point worthy of such adoration, compared to say ...now!) that this girl really did appreciate him and the joy she created for this boy. It was hard not to stare like some sort of psychopath, but it did make me feel really exuberant and filled with the joys of spring.

Go out and appreciate someone that way. We'll all be better off.
Love
Anne-

In Which Our Heroine Tries to Create a Curriculum

I've wanted to teach law for about as long as I can remember, and I'm getting invited to submit a curriculum to do just that right now. I saw an opening for a course I thought needed to be in the progam, and so I'm going for it.

This is an interesting challenge, and not just because I finally get to be mean and cruel for a living if this all pans out. But there's lots of decisions you have to make. Like grading. How do I want to grade this class? I think there should be more writing in law schools, but I also think that writing a paper for a final grade is a bit of a cop out, especialy in a survey course, which this would be. I know in that instance I always wound up writing the paper, learning loads in depth for one teensy weensy slice of the subject, and frequently not paying attention for the rest of it (it rather depended on the strength of the lecturer.) I also tended to put it right off til the last possible minute, and I can't say my compadres were much better. But three hour exams aren't exactly the best way I think to get people to answer things - more to see if they can recall stuff under stress. Luckily for me I'm good at that, but I don't really want to sit down and have to wade through panicked writings of crapola. And so I arrived at the compromise of.....the take home exam.

It is this way with everything. And I'm just drafting the curriculum. Not being able to wait on the lectures, I've already started drafting PowerPoint presentations for those. Gosh, what a weenie.

Of course, the really cool thing about what I do and what I'm trying to teach is that the cases will at least get the kiddies (who are probably going to be older than I am) reading. Extreme Pornography - new case. Interesting take on obscenity. And of course the new case on the unconstitutionality of the bootlegging statute - where else in the law do you get to read about porn, sex, bootlegs and the rock band KISS? Nowhere but IP, baby.

Suggestions, anyone?
Love
Anne

In Which Our Heroine Takes on MassBike and in particular Tom Revay
(There was a Christmas in England, part the second, but it was depressing and the computer seems to have committed suicide (ok, the cat unplugged it) roughly two minutes before posting.)
Whew.

It has been a harsh couple of days.

As many of you know, I used to volunteer and be a member of MassBike. And I left them. I left for a number of reasons. The biggest reasons were:
1) The stuff they were accomplishing wasn't very much.
2) What they were accomplishing mostly seemed to be happening outside of Massachusetts.
3) My volunteering efforts got left by the wayside, both by the staff members and the people who were supposed to be leading my volunteer efforts, and
4) a guy called Tom Revay.

Tom, and I've said it before, but not in print like this, is a certifiable, grade-A, class one jerk. When I first met him, my overwhelming reaction was "why is this guy so angry?" coupled with "really, shouldn't someone be coming by any minute to adjust his medication?" He's a computer guy, which is probably just as well - he doesn't have to have a lot of social interaction with people. Sadly, that shows.

Unfortunately, this week MassBike/Tom and I had cause to tangle again, which is a bit of a shame as I was hoping it was pretty much said and done. MassBike was holding a meeting to organize a Boston chapter. No biggie for me. I obviously wasn't going to go, and eh, it is a blip on the screen. But someone on a list I'm on asked for a sort of press thing whether or not people were going to go to this meeting and what they thought of the idea. My mistake was answering. I started typing and said that I wasn't going, and wasn't too impressed with MassBike. Sadly, Tom was the first person to reply. Thankfully though he gave a list of what he considered to be MassBike's accomplishments. Since he's their VP, he was speaking for the organization. He obviously didn't recognize my name, but in trying to throw him a bone, I cited back to a circumstance where I'd met someone at another event. I honestly couldn't remember if it was Tom or the old MassBike pres Tim, since I've met them both a number of times. Tim's an ok dude, Tom you've already heard me rant about. Either way, I figured a bit of the old physical description would certainly trigger a few memories for him. Let's face it. I've got that special physique. To meet me is to know you've done it.

It didn't trigger anything. I guess he's that much of a jerk to everyone.

He certainly kept right on being that much of a jerk to me on line. I would respond to points, he would start spewing reactionary vitriol. I would say, for example, that it was a waste of MassBike money to send people to DC to lobby the Mass Congressional delegation, and he would say that since he thought the Exec Director was nice and not paid enough it was the least they could do. These are not arguments that were exactly winning me over. He did invite me back to the organization once, but I missed it until he had to point it out again. Of course, I missed it because he also called me a troll, ranted on and on about how I should have read the newsletters for MassBike even though I didn't belong any more, and generally acted like the Tom I had encountered previously. And this guy is their VP? He's their elected public representative? This is not an organization that I want to belong to, and certainly not re-join.

I was put in a bind at the end of the day though when their new Exec Director, Dorie Clark, e-mailed me personally to say that she had been reading the thread and apologized for my previous bad experience, and that if I wanted to come back, MassBike would be enthused to have me.

I was impressed by this. For a first encounter, this shows a bit of moxie on the Executive Director's part. I e-mailed her back and said:
1) I was impressed she'd done this.
2) I didn't have a bad experience at MassBike, I'd had a *really* bad experience.
3) Tom Revay was not a great advocate for the organization, and that getting e-mails from other staff members at MassBike saying that they thought maybe I'd left because someone disagreed with my ideas was not helping either.
4) If there was tangible change at MassBike, I would consider re-joining. But for now I was winding up my other charitable commitments with a view towards leaving the country for 8 months, so now was not the time for a number of reasons.

A small conversation ensued. I think it is still on-going. Feeling that it was poor form to bad mouth Tom to the ED behind his back, I sent Tom a copy of the e-mail. Jerk or not, he should know what has been said about him, good or bad. That's only fair. Dorie informed me that he's not a paid staff member, but he is (as I already knew) on the board and the VP. That's pretty prominent to me, even if it is unpaid. But there's something about Dorie which says to me that she may be the one to turn this organization around and actually achieve some of the things they set out to do. If that's the case, I'd seriously reconsider joining. Because at the end of the day, it is a cause I'm passionate about, and would like to get stuff done. Of course, with this guy spouting off, not much actually is going to get done as he's so incredibly offputting, so de facto if stuff is going to happen, he's going to get shut down somewhere in the process. That's a shame, as he's obviously enthusastic as well, and that enthusiasm should find a way to get channeled. Maybe serious behavioural therapy can mold him into a more productive member of society. In the meantime? I'll stay out of MassBike, and right out of the whole spiel.

In Which Our Heroine Takes a Wee Holiday, Part the First
Ah, the holidays. What better time to go on holiday. With those air miles in the "use em or lose em" category, I opted to use them, fly in a day before the black out period, fly out the day after it ended, and voila. Two weeks in England at next to no cost.

On arrival, I realized that it was a good thing that I hadn't paid for the flight as in fifteen years of trans-Atlantic travel, this was the worst exchange rate I had ever seen. One pound could easily be had in the local bank. Easy, that is, if you ponied up $2.08 for it. Yikes! This took my budget from "tight but comfy" straight to "austere." But never mind, I already had loads of pressies for everyone, the shopping was done, and I was there to enjoy myself.

The enjoying started immediately with Steve taking me to dinner at the local pub. Now, his local pub is about the nicest one I've ever been to in my life, so that worked for me. The food was excellent. The wine was excellent. The shot of brandy was excellent. We left the car in the lot, grabbed my backpack and went to the house, which wasn't far away. Single malt scotch ensued, as did loud music, and soon enough it was beddy bye time. (For those of you uncertain about my relationship with Steve, let me hasten to add - I sleep in the spare bedroom. Always have, always will, never want anything different.)

The next day dawned without anything like the hangover I deserved, but I soon began to wonder if indeed I was losing my mind as a foot long green parrot perched in the apple tree outside while I was making a cup of tea. Inquisitions did reveal that in fact parrots are now almost native to Thames Ditton, but it was still quite a shock to me. Apparently, Steve will get flocks of them in the tree on occasion. Thames Ditton, the new tropical paradise. I headed up to London for lunch with Neil.

Lunch with Neil is always good, and this time was no exception. He had plenty of news, but not a lot of time, so we made plans to catch up the next week. That didn't happen, and it was all my fault. I hope I shall be forgiven. Neil's a forgiving type of guy.

And then off to Cirencester. Good show, that. Greeted by the small children in an appropriate manner (the flinging of little arms around my knees so that I nearly trip and fall over), and a great dinner waiting, I handed out presents with some glee. But nothing quite like the glee of young wee James, who insisted that Auntie Anne sleep on the trundle bed in his room. I had asked his father on the way from the station if he was sure he wanted me to give the young lad what would no doubt be older woman fantasies for the rest of his life and Mark seemed to find it acceptable. (He would - he married an older woman. Not that you can tell!) I, and not for the first time, was glad to have packed my flannel jim jams. Sexy? Not.

But by the time I got to bed, I was very exhausted, and then couldn't fall asleep for ages. So the next morning I slept in. James was very considerate. It turns out that he has taken the standard interest in Harry Potter and witchcraft and informed his Mum that he was just going to check on me "as I think someone has put a curse on Auntie Anne." The curse of the deep sleep - I highly recommend it all. He was very impressed I woke up out of it. He was then also very impressed that we were going into town and I was going to teach him to knit. I have never, ever, seen a child so excited about learning to knit. I only hoped I could teach him. It seemed to work. He is incredibly patient. A scarf was created for Teddy, and when I left a scarf was being created for his sister's teddy. There will forever be warm bears in Cirencester.

Part the second to follow......
Love
Anne

In Which Our Heroine Has Some of "Those" Experiences

We all have them from time to time. A fully grounded real world experience that is the equivalent of a full on out of body experience. Deep within finishing off this blasted LLM (itself a rather out of body experience) I keep having these sorts of experiences all the time, and find that I quite enjoy them as at least they keep me laughing. They include:
- the look of sheer amazement on my now ex-boyfriend's face when he realized that breaking up means no more of those great kisses hello. You could almost see the gears grinding together to figure out that that was the starting point of what wasn't going to happen any more. What part of "we're through" he was failing to understand, I don't know.
- calling a friend, and listening to her two and a half year old clamber to talk to me on the phone. She didn't quite make it, but within two seconds after Mommy put the phone down, we all discovered that la bebe knows how to hit "redial." The following conversation, of which I understood fully five words, was completely transcendental. I may have promised a kidney.
- having someone attempt to pick me up by saying "You! Come over here!" I kept on walking by, so he gave chase. I turned just as he put his hand out and transfixed him with such a stare that he froze in his tracks.
- Discovering that a 90 page government report is the answer to tomorrow's academic exam fears.

Two more days, and the degree is over. Wherever shall I go? Whatever shall I do? I may even have to get one of them there career things......nah, I'll just apply to divinity school. The next person to make a lawyers and lack of ethics jokes gets one of them there transfixing stares.
Love,]
Anne

In Which Our Heroine Marvels Without Seeing

Apparently, blindness ain't what it used to be. Stevie Wonder has ridiculed Eminem's new video. Now, Stevie's got a right to his criticisms, and the words he's used seem pretty valid, but I just can't get past the fact that he hasn't actually *seen* the video. And he's not going to either. Which is a shame, since of course I definitley prefer Stevie to Eminem. Stevie's got the music thing going on, and Eminem's got the flash in the tawdry gotta create a sensation to sell records thing going on. But for a blind guy to comment on the contents of a music video (which don't relate to the song lyrics) well......there's better advocates.

Which reminds me, I was told a great story over the weekend. Bill Cosby apparently relates going over to Ray Charles' house at some point, and when he goes in, it is pitch dark. Makes sense, as why would Ray Charles turn the lights on? All the same to him. So Bill shouts out "Ray! What are you doing?"
"Shaving."
"In the *dark*?"
Then, of course, when Ray just burst out laughing and couldn't stop, Cos realized what a silly thing he'd said.

Back to papers.
Love,
Anne

In Which Our Heroine Goofs Up

Dateline: the library. I officially drove myself crazy today while working on my paper and wondering "what the heck is that buzzing sound?" Given that the computer lab has been tropical of late to say the least, and the computers occasionally start whirring for no known reason, apart from the fact the sound wasn't giving up, I just let myself be annoyed but didn't give it much more thought. It was just one of those things that happens in the lab.

Of course, 90 minutes later when I picked up my backpack and discovered that the sound had been the weight of my books pressing on my electic toothbrush to make it whirrrrrrrrrr, I was ready to throw myself out the window.

Yours in insanity, but with exceptionally clean teeth,
Anne xxxooo

In Which Our Heroine Dreams of When the LLM is Over

The LLM is over. Soon. Thankfully. As of December 14, I've got all the post-LLM time I can handle (of course, I have to get ready to leave the country and in the meantime have promised to try to set up lots of funding and sponsorship for a local charity. You know, because you just never can be too busy.)

But first, I have to get through these damn papers. The deadline is midnight Monday. I'll make it, and it won't kill me, but it *is* going to hurt.

And then....a blissed out week of just ordinary work work and getting ready to head to England for two weeks at Christmas and for New Years. Courtesy of the frequent flyer miles on my account, this is costing me next to nothing. As in, half the price of having my tooth pulled. And infinitely more fun. It also lets me set up trying to get myself one of them there job things while I'm in London for those six months.

In the meantime, it involves spending a lot of time in the library. Where I again re-discover that dreaded class of citizen, the day camper, I mean student. Now, Suffolk's night program is filled with all these PhDs from MIT and Harvard. Up there at teh top of the class they were a competitive bunch and kept me on the top of my game. But the night students and the LLM students all have a reason why they're in that particualar program. The night students are there because it is the best night program in the area, and they're over qualified and also holding jobs. The LLM students are here because they want this certain program, which is offered in no other law school in the area, and only very few in the country.

I've said it outloud, I'll say it on line. The day students are here because they couldnt' get into a better law school.

What do I base this assertion on? Simple observation. I've been spending WAY too much time in the library over the last couple of years, and there are way too many day students in my LLM classes. They are noticable at 100 yards. Basically, because even though they've had the same lecturers that I've had, they singularly failed to have learned anything. This becomes obvious when you hear them speak about the law. It turns into "wow. You paid a lot of money for tuition, you turned up and you just failed to learn anything. Anything." I once questioned a presentation by a day student with the opening line of "Are you honestly trying to tell me that....." That was rude of me, but I was just so shocked that anyone failed to grasp such basic concepts. Yes, it was true. He *was* trying to tell me that. I checked results later. He'd flunked the bar. I wasn't suprised.

I remember starting here as a night student, and a day student had written an article in the school paper about not getting a job. It was obvious why she hadn't - she couldn't even write a persuasive article about not getting a job. Grammar errors everywhere. You had to feel for the girl.

Other night students have noticed the same issues. It really is just shocking, and someone ought to give these students a short, sharp shock PRIOR to graduating. Because they're not getting one after!

Anyway, must get back to papers. And trying not to focus on the idiocy and LOUD TALKING that makes it so obvious.

Love to all
Anne xxxooo

In Which Our Heroine Gets a Wee Bit Antagonistic

We all know (or at least I know, and if you're a faithful reader, you know as well) that there's someone who has yet to ID himself to me down at the Department of Justice who checks in and reads this blog every week. This happens whether I write something on it or not.

This, obviously, concerns me. Mostly because I consider the DOJ under Ashcroft to have been filled with facsist weenies. And also because I think the DOJ under Gonzalez is going to make me nostalgic for the Ashcroft days. How scary is that?

Want to know what happens when this sort of power isn't checked?

This is what happens.

To all you at the DOJ fighting the fight for civil liberties, my hat's off to all seven of you. To the rest of you out there denigrating what America ought to be, you're getting your wish, and I'm leaving the country again for a while. End of Feb, for at least six months. Of course, I'll still be posting here, so you can
Bite
My
Fat
Scarred
Behind.

xxoo Anne

The Day After
I've said it before, I'll no doubt say it again. I hate George W. Bush. I can't believe people voted for him. Don't these people like having jobs, or health insurance, or a country without a massive deficit, or civil rights? Or do they really like sending their sons off to war, terrorist attacks (didn't anyone else find it weird that the only president to suffer foreign terrorist attacks on US soil claimed he was the best guy to fight it?), the cronyism of Haliburton and the simple fact that the abortion rate under Bush has actually risen?

I e-mailed most of my foreign male friends this morning and proposed marriage. I'm awaiting the answers. Of course the new boyfriend still has an Argentinian passport, so that could be the answer. Time to flee, peeps.
Love,
Yours under threat here in America.