Ahh!
A whole weekend with nothing to do but to read the papers. You know you're getting older when it takes you a couple of days to revive following a drunken Friday.

According to Benjamin Markovits, 'the English tend to think Americans are obsessed by winners. But it is winning, the heartbreaking quest for it, that's interesting - the goal that makes sense of the game that makes losing what it is: romantic.'

Winning - the quest for the otherwise considered unobtainable (be that the girl, the match, the good job) - or rather the journey toward the success, is surely what makes every story, every arc of the story, worth watching, participating in, what makes the Olympic and every World Cup imaginable worth a glimpse, yes, even cheese rolling in Gloucestershire can be deemed excited if you are so inclined.
This is not only reserved for Americans. What separates the Americans from the English here is the stories in which Americans revel. In every part of American (pop) culture, the story must be romantic (in Markovits' sense of the word) - romance is pursued, from Carrie's pursuit of the perfect man in Sex and the City to Bree's pursuit of the perfect home life in Desperate Housewives, to Leonard's characters' pursuit of poetic justice to Batman's pursuit of his demons. Romance thereby serves as mean to a 'perfect' end or as 'that which cannot be had' leading to tragedy.

What the English are much more interested in is the real, ie the kitchen sink drama, Eastenders, Little Britain - if there is winning it is only momentarily and then life goes on or the gift turns out to be a curse and we are all loosers in the end.

No more obvious was this than in my recent travels to California. Americans will ask (looking hopeful): 'So how do you like our country'?
I'd answer: 'It's lovely, it's really beautiful here'
They would light up in sheer pride: 'Yes, isn't it! I'm glad you like it'
This was frankly a welcome change from the British, who, before I even have time to compliment anything, will mutter: 'Yeah, it's all shite here'.
Right then.
While American up-beatedness can be trying, at least they are positive. Inherent insecurity or inflated ego?
The British on the other hand are used to resting on their laurels so to speak and have never really recovered from losing India.

Markovits drags the 'great American novel' into the equation; 'it's Ahab's ambition, not his triumph, that makes him the hero of Moby Dick.' And that is perhaps the ultimate differnce between the American reader and the European: in my opinion, Ahab was never a hero, but rather a symbol of the American Dream - charging for a quest and killing himself on the way, both physically and metaphorically.

Well; Fever Pitch to The Perfect Catch. Reviews not bad at all, actually.


And The Observer has picked up on BookCrossing years after anyone else. Well done.
posted by charlotte at 13:35 - comment

Much to my husband's dismay, I am an avid fan of University Challenge.
What is not to love about a bunch of self-satisfied twerps putting their reputations on the line, all for the fame and glory? How can you not admire the brusque, barking Paxman?

What is part of the fun is seeing the differences between colleges. Let's do a case study:
Christ College Oxford v. Reading, for example.
Christ College:
Tweed, the Queen's English, some sort of nasal obstruction.
Reading:
T-shirts and curly hair.
Christ College:
A look of agitated self-approval in the eyes.
Reading:
A nervous squint.

This division exists within London as well; ie UCL (don't get me wrong; I have a perfect love/hate relationship with UCL, mostly to do with the fact that they wouldn't have me) v. St. Mary's or whatever. Goldsmiths, of course, will have nothing to do with this sort of thing - at some point during my three years there, someone meekly suggested participating - a suggestion that was laughed at so hard and so long that it lingered on the suggestion-stage for a while and then vanished into oblivion.

Anyhoo.
University Challege's 'Professionals' edition is usually more of the same - funny how people never forget what they 'ought to be'. This is a city of appearances.

Last night it was the time-honoured Financial Times v. The Idler.
I had never heard of The Idler, which I guess is rather suitable.
Suffice to say that The Idler kicked the Financial Times' butt severely - a strike for the work shy all over the world. Thank you, Idler.

Ever since Robinson Crusoe tried to persuade me for the 2000th time that he was never idle, I have had severe problems with 'not being idle'. Why should one not be idle, then? It is such a bloody middle class way of thinking: Work hard, get money, buy stuff, rise on the status ladder.


Yes, I know, I know, easy to be idle if you've got the money. The Idler: a group a child-men refusing to grow up and take responsibility?
I guess it is time to find ways of perpetuating idleness in a practical way.
Go on, Idler, you can do it! (Although I do expect The Idler prefers living in half-obscurity).
posted by charlotte at 11:45 - comment

The human mind is incredible. Two weeks later, and here I am, happily getting the tube back from work, dozing off on the journey, NOT checking bags and people and nervous movement in the carriage. I have no choice, I have to take this trip in this manner every day.
I get back from work, and two weeks ago, the first thing I did was turn on the TV in order to find out what had actually happened, and where, and was it still going on.
Today I leasurely go shopping locally, wander home, open my post, check my email.

What excites me even more than all of this, is in fact that I finished a lovely book yesterday, Knut Hamsun's Hunger, and he can be discussed until the end of time, especially the did he-did he not (he did) support the Nazis during WW2. The fact of the matter is that it is an extraordinary well-written text, full of sadness and uncompromising wish to write, only write and nothing else.
Reading in Danish is much different to reading in English - I understanding in a different way; from the back of my spine as opposed to the top of my head. Strangely, though, I find that English texts reach the depth of my heart and the pit of my stomach in a way that Danish writing rarely manages.

Hamsun has touched me and inspired me and this is so rare these days, especially when I read in Danish, that I feel unconquerable today, because I have read something great.

And those little wannabe terrorist amateurs can go f*** themselves.
posted by charlotte at 18:15 - comment

*Yawn*

All this being bombed is a bit tiresome by now.

Will brave the odds and try to get home.

Terrorists are boring.
posted by charlotte at 16:12 - comment

Too hot to blog!

*Gasp, gasp*

Have been stuck in a bus for an hour due to gridlock and must have lost about 10 lb.

(I've been given a collection of poetry by Saul Williams which seems promising. Will give that a go over the weekend.)

Weekend's started.

Over and out.
posted by charlotte at 19:41 - comment

According to Danish newspaper Politiken, a bus driver in Denmark has been attacked by a man, only uttering the word 'London'. The bus driver is a Sikh. The perpetraitor got away.
posted by charlotte at 15:11 - comment

The following day I am safely ensconced in my flat. For a while I have been planning to take this day off due to a massive load of overtime worked, so I don't need to worry about getting to work.
It seems that most transport is running pretty much to schedule, though.

So what actually happened yesterday?
I went to work
I stayed in the office until 3.30
I got my husband to pick me up on the Vespa and we got home fairly easily

I'm such a lucky bugger; it seems that the first bomb went off pretty much as I got on the tube. However, my travels take me in the opposite direction of the East and we were only told that it was 'probably power failure'.

I think that the second bomb went off just before we, deep underground, were told that Westminster Station was closed.

Edgware Road (which is very, very close to where I work) must have happened just as I got off the train.
I went to get a cup of coffee and was told that all stations had been closed.

Went to work, found out about the bus (which brings a few of my co-workers to the office each day), finally was sure that it was nothing but nothing else than...that.


I think most people felt the same. All shocked, none surprised. We have all felt that it was only a matter of time.
Londoners are resilient, very brave, and used to living with this kind of danger. This is still why it's so bloody difficult to find rubbish bins in public places.

Going home on the scooter it was eerily quiet on the strets, there were cars and people but everthing seemed so still. Turning down Southampton Row the opposite end was cordoned off and there were police and absolutely nothing to see. People were crossing the bridges in droves, quietly talking and determinedly walking to get home or at least somewhere from which they could get some sort of transport.

Monday I'll get back on the horse.


James Meek has an account that says it all.

Muslim fear of backlash


Update:

Just amended a few spelling mistakes.
As time goes by, opinions are aired as to the 'why'. Yes, I know that both my mothercountry and the country in which I live have approved of killings on larger scale than what we experienced yesterday. Yes, I agree, it's wrong - I believe that we have killed an unforgiveable amount of innocent people in Afghanistan and Iraque (and many other places). That does not justify what happened yesterday, though. I have personally never killed or intended to kill anyone, and I could just as well have died yesterday. And I hazard a guess that most if not all killed and injured yesterday, have never hurt a fly. So don't give me that eye for an eye bullshit.
posted by charlotte at 10:51 - comment

Under siege!-

Well, hardly, but the sound of helicopters overhead, police and emergency units whisking by and frantic phonecalls to and fro, makes me feel slightly as if war has broken out.

The worst thing is obviously that we are told nothing other than 'power fault' (ie nothing to worry about).

Anyway, we're all well and good here.

Update:
Seems that we are actually under siege.
Crap.

Another update:
Still here in the office until I've decided how to get home. Obviously no tube or busses and it's a bit far to walk (and it's raining). Not much work gets done, just loads of surfing on the internet for any shred of information, and chatting to friends and family, reassuring that we're okay.
I've momentarily lost track of my husband but assume that he is not stupid enough to go walkies in Leicester Square or something.
There are free river boats apparently which is great news to me and my Essex-based friend who has got to stay over, since there's only few mainline trains as well.

At some point we lost internet connection as well as the mobile phone networks being down, which only added to the sense of being completely and utterly out of touch.

I don't mind being here so much (although my colleague has just kindly informed me that we're almost literally sitting atop the Bakerloo Line), but I really worry about getting home within a fairly short time, without being blasted on my way there.

It is kind of unreal, being here in the office, the army helicopters are still hovering real low and sirens are on and off around here, but apart from that it looks like a normal day in the office. But only a few miles from here body parts are scattered and there is nothing else to do than take care of yourself and those around you.
posted by charlotte at 10:06 - comment

2012, 2012, 2012...

Well, at least that gives me something to work with. A deadline, if you will. Must move out of the city by 2012, must move out of the city...

While I can see the benefits (for some!) in this exercise, I find it morally wrong on all levels. And while I recognise that the East End probably will get a much-needed, well-deserved 'face-lift', I would prefer to just give them the friggin' money, instead of making a big song and dance about it. And if you don't have much money as it is already, the idea of having to cough up loads more in council tax may just prove impossible. Who cares about long term benefits if you just don't have the dough?

On a more personal level, I'm happily oblivious to the Olympics. Sports leave me cold. 2012 in London? I have but three words:

LONG


HAUL


FLIGHT.


Oh, and does anyone know Danish band Aztrid (or however they spell it?)? And have I completely lost all sense of, well, sense, by liking them?
Or are they actually pretty cool? Cheesy lyrics, brooding voices? I must be right.
posted by charlotte at 16:25 - comment

Career Doctor, Guardian, 05.07.05

Question:
Our head wants pupils to drop English literature at GCSE in favour of media studies. As head of the English department, I am very concerned. What can I do?

As an English graduate I am obviously biased, but I do not even begin to understand the comparison. Given that the Head Teacher wants to substitute English with Media Studies, there must be some sort of comparison taking place. These days most English graduates will go on to work in 'the media'; obvious choice: journalism, as obvious, less glamourous: arts management - or will want to, at least - and most end up in administration. So the line of thinking could be that since these people inevitable end up in the industry anyway, or at least will want to, we may as well give them the proper background.
Or could it be, as the Career Doctor ponders, that:

...your head is encouraging pupils to do media studies because it is a great deal easier to blag a GSCE that way. [...] For any school keen to boost its league table rankings, the atractions of media studies are obvious...


What about English as a subject, though? As well as equipping students to analyse the world around them and read other people and situations (which surely must be a benefit), the sheer joy of reading is incomparable to getting paid £40,000 p/a. I'm not saying it's better, it's just incomparable. While I (and the Career Doctor) have nothing against Media Studies at all, or getting a good job, or getting a lousy job in the media, I feel desperately saddened by the idea of the possible demise of English at GSCE level. The people I know who read (actual books, not just the back of the cornflake box or the sports section of The Sun in the loo) have been reading all their lives, have been read to as children, have grown up in houses that contained books (not necessarily so-called high literature), have been encouraged to read by parents, teachers and friends.
Reading develops your imagination, makes you smarter, teaches you, comforts you, scares you, brings you in touch with your emotions, challenges you and makes you think. Surely that can only be good.

Yes, English Lit can be awfully hard and terribly boring, but perhaps a way of coping would be to look at the curriculum, look at the teachers and finally to realise that English is not for all but fantastic for some and at least at GSCE level it is worth it giving pupils this experience. Afterwards, they'll have all the time in the world to renounce English.
posted by charlotte at 17:17 - comment