breakin’ the law

There’s a nice post over at Mel’s Diner about the furore caused by a Danish newspaper when it depicted the prophet Mohammed in a series of, perhaps less than flattering, cartoons.

Woooo-weee did folks get mad over that. Apparently, there was big boycott of Danish products by Muslims. Since the only Danish product I could think of – Danish bacon – didn’t seem like the kind of thing that would have a big following in the Middle East, I wasn’t sure how much that boycott would sting. (I remembered later that the Danes also make butter and really lovely flatware and I guess they make some other stuff, too.)

Now the paper which published the cartoons has apologised and the Danish Prime Minister has welcomed that apology (but wouldn’t apologise himself and stressed the importance of a free press)

The Brussells Journal – an online paper – says that European Appeasement only reinforces Muslim Extremism. Maybe so. Anyway, they aren’t appeasing – and they’ve published all the original Danish cartoons on their website.

The end of this row couldn’t come at a more interesting time in Britain. Today, Members of Parliament vote on the “stirring up religious hatred bill” a nasty little bill which will essentially end the right to say “I don’t like Islam” or “I don’t like Christianity” or even “Atheists suck.” Government Ministers swear up and down that they will only use the law for people who really, really want to stir up hatred and will look at the context of the speech.

All sorts of people came out to protest today at Westminster to say the Government Ministers were full of crap. I think they’re full of crap, too.

Nick Griffin, the leader of a nasty political party, the British National Party (BNP) is currently on trial for saying that “Islam is a wicked religion”. But wait – “stirring up religious hatred” isn’t against the law yet. Oh, they’re getting Mr Griffin on the old law, the law against stirring up racial hatred. My understanding is that prosecutors allege that because most Muslims are Asian – Mr Griffin’s speech was really racist – thus a prosecutable offense. Sure, prosecutors also admit that they probably wouldn’t have charged anyone else. But I don’t think we really want a law of this type, the kind that seeks to look into people’s hearts rather than judging their actions and which is passed on the principle that it’s not to apply to all.

Busy, busy

We’ve been pretty busy showing our visitor K around town. On Sunday, we took her to the British Museum, despite the fact that she’s not a big fan of museums. We kept it brief. The Great Court itself is worth seeing. And then we zoomed around the Egyptian area to take in the Rosetta stone and the big giant Egyptian heads. We took her to see the Elgin Marbles. The Elgin Marbles are basically bits and pieces from the frieze around the Parthenon in Athens (not to be confused with the one from Nashville). The British have big chunks of torso and legs and panels. If you want to see the heads, you have to go Copenhagen. When the Turks held Greece and accidentally (on purpose?) blew up the Parthenon when they were using it as a munitions depot – the Danes came in afterwards and knocked off all the heads as souvenirs. The British – always being greater respecters of history – took the panels as a whole where they could. Now the Greeks want the whole thing back. I think that the heads should be returned to the torsos, so we can see it as a whole in the British museum.

The British got a head

Great Court at the British Museum

We also went to Covent Garden market. But we took the long way, because we failed to bring a map. K bought a hat and some nice souvenirs in the Transport for London museum shop (the museum itself is currently closed for refurbishment).

Then dinner in Stockwell at the Portugese restaurant. Then home to play the game based on the Underground map that I had bought that day. It’s very educational – a great way to find out about different things to see and do in London and to learn the Underground lines – and you can do mean things to other people by closing their stations and making them go the other way. Just like real life.

Ice breaker activities

Tomorrow I’m running an event and we’re planning an ice breaker activity.

I usually balk when I’m asked to do these. (You want me to build a bridge out straws and a piece of notebook paper? You want me to explain my job in three words to ten people I don’t know? You want me to introduce one person to two other people?) But I expect all my group participants to play along when I ask them to do it.

In the past, I asked people to give their names, their jobs and the last song that was running through their head. That one worked well. I could tell that some people were lying. They were lying to avoid embarassment, because they thought the song was stupid, but the song they admitted was still stupid. I liked the people who admitted to having silly songs running loose in their brains. I had respect for them. It was a good icebreaker.

Tomorrow I think I might ask participants to name a fun, useful website that they visit on a regular basis. My plan is to get to put them all up on a flipchart and look at their common characteristics. (Informative, easy to navigate, etc)

These people aren’t big web users, so I’m hoping we don’t get 20 responses that are all “I dunno, Google?”. But maybe it will go well. Maybe one person will admit that their fun and useful website is http://www.hotchicks.xxx

Shandy

K arrived from San Francisco yesterday morning. We let her sleep awhile and then took her out to the deer park.

On the way out to the deerpark we picked up the Texan. Now the Texan is very tall, and she sets a good pace. The Texan and the Vol-in-Law charged off, leaving K and me a good bit behind. They were too far ahead to call back and confer about which way to go, so we ended up going a little bit further than anticipated. And it was cold. We walked a long, long way so that we could see the deer who seem to congregate on the other side the park during winter months.
Then we took K to see the delights of the pubs of Wandsworth Town. We introduced her to “shandy”. What is shandy? It is a pint glass half filled with beer and half filled with British style lemonade – it’s like Sprite. K said “It’s kind of floral, it tastes like suntan lotion.”

Don’t let that put you off shandy. It’s an acquired taste.

We managed to keep K up til about 11 and then gave her a sleeping pill.

Big bird watch

The Royal Society for the Protection of Birds (the RSPB) is having its big bird watch this weekend. Gardeners and homeowners around the country are asked to watch their gardens for an hour and identify the different birds and count them up. You’re then asked to report the most frequently sighted species.

This has been going on since 1979, and the RSPB has built up a “scientifically valuable” database. People in England take this kind of thing seriously, it’s one of the things I find endearing about this country.

I won’t be participating. It’s too cold for one thing, though I suppose you can watch from the window. Also, my bird ID skills are poor. But I suppose they’re good enough to identify the garbage birds that appear in my garden. (Pigeons, wood pigeons, black birds of some type, and overflights by seagulls).

A couple of years ago there wasn’t a living bird in my garden. There are cats all up and down our street, nearly everybody has at least one, and I assumed that this was the cause. My next door neighbours had two cats and when they moved they took the cats with them. Within months, the birds and squirrels returned to the back gardens along our road. At least one of them must have been a superb killer.

We could probably have more birds if we got a bird feeder, but the Vol-in-Law won’t let me. I had a bird feeder when we lived in Sheffield without cats. He didn’t like my motives. He wanted to know why I wanted a bird feeder when I’m not even that fond of birds. I told him that though I didn’t like birds, I liked cats, and feeders attract birds and birds attract cats.

Bring your cat to work day

The rodent infestation and ensuing drama at work continues apace. We’ve been asked to keep a “mouse log” – a record of sightings and so forth. And since it’s known among my team that I usually carry my camera with me everywhere, I’ve been asked to photo-document any mouse damage or droppings. A mouse log log, if you will.

When the problem first became apparent some months ago, I suggested that we get an office cat. This would be more environmentally friendly and would have a calming effect on the staff. If that were not feasible, I suggested that we at least have a “bring your cat to work day”. I emailed my suggestion to the head of facilites, copying in all relevant personnel (though not my actual bosses).

I have yet to receive a formal reply.

Brrrr…..It’s cold out there

It’s turned cold in London. And when I mean cold…I mean it’s dropped just below freezing. It was record cold in central London the other night – about 28 degress Fahrenheit. Of course, that doesn’t count the wind chill factor.

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I’ve been lame on the blogging front. I’ve been quite busy at work and I’ve also been fretting about getting my house up to a respectable standard for a guest who’s coming this weekend. She says “don’t worry about it”, but I am. I’m supposed to be grown-up. Not a slob.

(Note, that I’ve been fretting but not actually cleaning.)

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Speaking of squalor. We have a rodent infestation at work. There are mice and rumors of mice. Mice have been seen living, dead and clinging to the veil that separates this world from the next.

Some of my co-workers have got quite lathered up about it. Including ones who’ve admitted to having rodent pets as children (hamsters, gerbils, etc.). Myself, I can’t really see the difference. Though obviously a rat in a cage is better than a rat chewing up my files.

This problem has been going on for some time, but the whole of London is infested. The building management says that the increase in mice sightings recently means that the mice are getting desperate, the mice are on the run, the anti-mice activities are working. Hmmm…. Isn’t that what Dick Cheney says about the insurgency in Iraq?

Poor thing

If you have a flickr account and review your photos, you’ll know that it says whether or not a given snap has been counted as a “favorite” by others with a flickr account.

My cat referred to on this blog as “Other Cat” has her good qualities, she’s very sweet. But she really is kind of a secondary pet. When her mother died, we had to go out and get another cat, because she’s really just not an adequate pet on her own.

However, I think she’s pretty photogenic. And she features in the second most viewed of my photos – and this is what I see when I go through my sets.

Nobody counts white and black cat as a favorite.

Poor thing. Won’t somebody count white and black cat as a favorite?

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This idea was suggested by the Vol-in-Law, cause it makes him sad. He thought a blog appeal might fix the problem.

A Brit’s view of whiskey and country music

The Vol-in-Law was spouting a number of observations about whiskey and country music this morning.

Okie from Muskogee is held up as some kind of conservative anthem, but it espouses consumption of illegally distilled alcohol. I’m not certain how that reinforces the conservative values of respect for authority.

Rocky Top celebrates the murder of two federal law enforcement officers, I don’t know how many British people could get their head around that. Or yankees for that matter.

I guess if Steve Earle were to add another verse to Copperhead Road, his son would come back from Iraq and cook meth.

See how I have enriched his cultural life.

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And for the culturally uninitiated:

• Okie from Muskogee: “…white lightnin’s still the biggest thrill of all”
• Rocky Top: “once two strangers climbed ol’ Rocky Top lookin’ for a moonshine still, strangers ain’t come down from Rocky Top, reckon they never will”
• Copperhead Road sysnopsis: Vietnam vet abandons family hooch business to grow dope in the hills.

moral character and nationality

Chit-chatting with the embassy civil servants the other day, they were practically encouraging me to take out dual nationality. “You won’t lose your American citizenship, you know.”

Yeah, I know. But taking out a new citizenship is a lot like getting married. It’s a lifetime committment and it ought to be based on love. I’ve struggled with the idea for a long time, I even have the application for British nationality mostly filled out and sitting in my “holding-tray” at work. There are two things holding me back:

1.) You have to swear loyalty to the Queen, her heirs and successors.

Well, I don’t mind the Queen, she’s seems alright. But I have my doubts about Charles, and it seems to me that you’re signing up blind. I mean, chances are, all the future monarchs that I’ll see in my lifetime are already here and on display. But maybe that’s not the case, maybe somebody I’d be swearing loyalty to hasn’t even been born yet. Talk about hostage to fortune.

Plus it seems a kind of metaphorical slap in the face of our Founding Fathers and my own ancestors who fought against British tyrany. And I am a [small r] republican. I really don’t believe in that nobility malarky. (Though if I ask myself – would you accept a peerage? I have to say too bloody right, I would – think how cool my stationery would look.)

Most of my British colleagues are surprised that I don’t already have a British passport. They seem to have a disturbing notion that that’s all citizenship is: travel documentation. Many seem to think that all you have to do is marry a Brit and hey presto, the passport arrives in the post, without the bother of even sending in four cereal box tops.

Actually, because there is a new requirement to take a test and have a swearing in ceremony at your local council, they’re starting to become more aware that becoming British is bit of a bigger deal. That’s a good thing. Of course, the New Labour citizenship quiz-masters have come up the stupidest test. First you have to read a booklet called Life in the UK, then you have to answer multiple-choice questions based on this booklet. So, for example, Life in the UK explains what to do if you spill someone’s pint in the pub.

And the test asks: What, according to the book, usually happens next?*
A) You would offer to buy the person another pint.
B) You would offer to dry their wet shirt with your own.
C) You may need to prepare for a fight in the car park.

2) My moral character

The other bit of the application that troubles me is a series of questions on my moral character. I know there’s an equivalent question on the US application which says something like “Have you ever been a Nazi?” The British one encompasses a heckuva lot more. To wit:

Have you ever been convicted of genocide or war crimes?

I gave the NO box a big tick.

Have you ever been suspected of genocide or war crimes?

Well, I can’t say for sure, because how do I know what’s in another person’s mind? I suppose there might be someone who thinks that because I eat meat, drive a car and refuse to buy FairTrade coffee I’m contributing the genocide of indigenous peoples and/or fluffy animals. But I’ve lived a life pretty well clear of the danger zone on this one. Tick that NO box.

And finally: Have you ever done anything which might bring your moral character into question?

What the heck does that mean? Umm, yeah. Does stealing street scenes or re-gifting wedding presents count? The folks at my grandfather’s Pulaski Street Church of Christ frequently questioned my moral character for dancing, drinking, smoking and my failure to believe in the doctrine of inerrancy.

I know the real answer is yes, but that it’s also the wrong answer. The box is unticked and the form collects dust yet.

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*OK, this seems stupid to me, but VolBro describes a hilarious incident in which he spilled the beer of a fellow patron of a Knoxville bar. He chose D) Say: Hey buddy, you’re not gonna melt and then had to shift to option C).