What Do I Know?

Buy a Pint for the Boys and Girls in Blue

Nosemonkey at Europhobia received a request from an international reader wanting to help, but knowing typical donations weren't needed. What he really wanted was to buy a pint for brave Londoners.

Nosemonkey had a suggestion. He's got a Paypal account, and promises all funds raised will go to buy a round for the guys and girls who helped during the "incidents". (I love that word!)

The donations have already started coming. If you'd like to buy a pint for rescue workers go here and donate a few quid. (That's pounds, which are currently selling for around a buck seventy five US.)

We Defy Terrorism

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WE DEFY TERRORISM
We pledge to assemble in London in a public demonstration of respect to the
victims of the July 7 atrocity, defiance of the murderers who carried it out
and solidarity with the people of London.

This pledge was started by the

Sharpener group blog,
and is being hosted on

Pledgebank.
To sign it, go

here.

Friday Lamb Blogging

"Blaa blaa blaa grass. Blaa blaa dog!! Blaa blaa blaa Mommy!"

Mary's little lamb is growing up. Their faces look more like adult sheep now, but I can tell they're lambs because their moms have all had a shave, and they still scurry under mom's udders for a drink every now and then.

This one was at the stone circles at Avebury. They were a pretty noisy bunch.

How Not to Fight Terrorism

Link: AlterNet: Who's Watching the Watch List?.

My name is on a list of real and suspected enemies of the state and I can't find out what I'm accused of or why, let alone defend myself.

Read the rest. Then read Richard Clark's book, Against All Enemies to get an idea of what we should be doing to fight terrorism.

Brains, Not Bombs

More than 50 are dead from the attacks yesterday, 22 seriously injured, and millions have returned to work as normal.

Metropolitan Police have just given a press conference, and say there are more bodies still in the King's Cross tunnel, so the number may rise. There are indications of al-Qa'eda involvement, which I guess means I'd better learn how to spell the word, and Americans might better remember who the real enemy are.

The bad guys are the ones who put those bombs on the trains, who brought the bomb on to a crowded bus full of diverted tube passengers. Whatever sociopathic minds devised such a plan are the true evil.

It didn't take a genius trained in top notch al-Qa'eda camps to figure out how to kill lots of innocent people. Just someone totally ruthless, totally dedicated to whatever twisted religious dogma proclaims murder is the ticket to Heaven.

It does take a genius to figure out how to stop them.

We don't "bring the war to them" by invading countries where they may or may not hide. We don't counter their cultist training by dropping bombs that kill many many more innocent people. We don't stop the fear our citizens live with by mocking those who want to understand the minds of terrorists in order to give rednecks another talking point.

George Bush, Tony Blair, and even Karl Rove, are not responsible for what happened yesterday. Not unless they're found with traces of explosives on their fingers. They are, however, incredibly stupid men to think their actions for the last four years have been of any use at all in stopping acts of terror.

The responsibility belongs squarely to the sociopaths who set off the bombs. If we forget this, in our desire to turn this into political capital, we're as stupid as they are.

Their stupidity, however, should be hung around their necks.

London Pride

I love Brits. I didn't just discover that today, when suddenly my country is under attack. (Yes, lately I've been thinking of this beautiful island as "my" country. You'd claim it too, this time of year.)

I said to someone just the other day, at some point I forgot how "weird" things were here and accepted it as normal. Roundabouts, pubs with funny names, "neighbours" who spell funny, a government that thinks it's Mary Poppins, the whole bit.

But today my neighbours weathered a storm with grace, grit, and a bit of an in-your-face attitude they may have learnt from their American cousins.

All is normal, despite bomb blasts on tubes and buses. The FTSE barely trembled. Trains are running again and The Archers is on the radio. Take that, Al Qaeda, or whoever your sorry asses are.

Londoners are a tough breed. I was at the Imperial War Museum a few weeks ago, where I read about the Blitz that killed 41,000 Londoners. They sent their children away, stiffened their resolve, buried their dead and removed their rubble to Regent's Park.

I saw a man interviewed today. He was calm, despite having blood running down his face. He told his story, then walked away.

His mum and dad probably lived through the Blitz. They'd be proud of him now.

I learned something else today: London Pride isn't just the name of a beer. It's a poem, by Noel Coward, who certainly was no coward.

London Pride has been handed down to us.
London Pride is a flower that’s free.
London Pride means our own dear town to us,
And our pride it for ever will be.

Oh Liza! See the coster barrows,
Vegetable marrows and the fruit piled high.
Oh Liza! Little London sparrows,
Covent Garden Market where the costers cry.

Cockney feet mark the beat of history.
Every street pins a memory down.
Nothing ever can quite replace
The grace of London Town.

There’s a little city flower every spring unfailing
Growing in the crevices by some London railing,
Though it has a Latin name, in town and country-side
We in England call it
London Pride.

London Pride has been handed down to us.
London Pride is a flower that’s free.
London Pride means our own dear town to us,
And our pride it for ever will be.

Hey, lady! When the day is dawning
See the policeman yawning on his lonely beat.
Gay lady! Mayfair in the morning,
Hear your footsteps echo in the empty street.
Early rain and the pavement’s glistening.
All Park Lane in a shimmering gown.
Nothing ever could break or harm
The charm of London Town.

In our city darkened now, street and square and crescent,
We can feel our living past in our shadowed present,
Ghosts beside our starlit Thames who lived and loved and died
Keep throughout the ages
London Pride.

London Pride has been handed down to us.
London Pride is a flower that’s free.
London Pride means our own dear town to us,
And our pride it for ever will be.

Grey city! Stubbornly implanted,
Taken so for granted for a thousand years.
Stay, city! Smokily enchanted,
Cradle of our memories and hopes and fears.

Every Blitz your resistance toughening,
From the Ritz to the Anchor and Crown,
Nothing ever could override
The pride of London Town.

Explosions

There's been a series of explosions in the buses in London today, and a major incident in the underground. Waiting further news, including news of friends near Russell Square...

This is likely related to the G8 meeting in Scotland.

What asses, thinking violence will solve anything.

Ironically, I was planning to see a play called "Talking to Terrorists" tonight in London, but the tubes are shut so that's not going to happen.

Don't feel like talking to the bastards now anyway.

UPDATE: They're reporting 90 casualties. I've finally heard from my husband, who's okay. Still no word from my friend near Russell Square. Carolyn, if you're reading this, call me, okay?

UPDATE: Just talked to my friend, she's okay. She said the bus stop there at Russell Square is always crowded, and she's heard there were explosions on two buses there.

Now they're saying it's Al Queda. Remind me again, who is Al Queda? Wasn't that something to do with that tall guy, bin something or other? Didn't we go to war in Iraq to take care of him? Yeah, right.

UPDATE: We're safe now; Tony Blair is on his way back from Gleneagles, probably with plans to invade another country that has nothing to do with Al Queda.

150 seriously injured. Millions inconvenienced. Unknown number of dead, but there are several fatalities at Edgware and Aldgate.

UPDATE: For a blow by blow, check out Europhobia. For a harrowing first hand account of a blogger at the Edgware tube station, go here. As of now, 37 are confirmed dead, 700 injured. I'm so sorry for all of them.

Overlooked by Evolution

I have horrible eyesight. Lately, I've been spending a lot of time with my optometrist, trying to get contacts and glasses that work. Still not there, but he's given up, and advised me to accept that I'll never see 20/20 (or 6/6, as it is here).

I asked him, why didn't people like me fall off the evolutionary ladder? My ancestors surely couldn't see that saber tooth tiger chasing them, so why didn't my line just die off?

He explained that during human evolution eyesight needs were different. Our ancestors didn't need to read the paper to hear about the latest cave drawing exhibition, or decide which spoke to exit on at the roundabout. They just needed to be able to see well enough to identify an edible plant from a poisonous one, or to avoid hitting a tree when they were running from said tiger. (And, with no glasses yet invented, shortsighted girls didn't have to worry about guys not making passes. They pro-created at the same rate as Cro-Magnon cheerleaders!)

Not only were their needs different, masking their vision defects, but because they weren't gazing at computer screens and distinguishing small marks on a page at an astonishing rate, their eyesight was, perversely, better. The constant straining we demand from our eyes, starting from an early age, actually changes the shape of our eyes, and wrecks our vision.

I never knew this. All those years devouring books, I was ruining my eyes. Even now, I spend way too much time in front of a computer screen. I complain about the resolution, but it's really my eyes getting worse. (I'm so nearsighted I can't really see near, either.)

My doctor told me there is a new laser surgery that gives people with "perfect" eyesight even better acuity. Tiger Woods has had it, for obvious reasons. My brother-in-law with almost-there vision had his corrected, the wanker. Meanwhile, the neediest among us can't be helped much by surgery. As one eye doc put it, "It's like putting a golf ball: the nearer you are to the hole the likelier you are to sink it."

I'm pretty far from the hole; not even Tiger gets it in consistently at this distance.

So, evolutionary miracle that I am, I continue to blink and stare and squint through chic cokebottle contact lenses, dodging the tigers and trees as best I can.

Tear Down This Wall, Mr. Bush

They're building a wall again.

BAGHDAD Iraqis call it Assur, "The Fence." In English, everyone calls it "The Wall," and over the past two years it has grown and grown until it has become an almost continuous rampart, at least 10 miles in circumference, around the seat of American power in Baghdad. (Via Blogenlust)

It wasn't that long ago I went to Berlin, and helped to tear down another wall.

My niece, who's been visiting, was asking the other day about the Berlin Wall. She's too young to remember much about the celebrations as the wall came down, but I was almost there that week. We decided instead to go later, when the baby was older, and so missed the opportunity to participate in history, though there was plenty of wall left for cheap-souvenir hunters.

We spent the Fourth of July in what was left of communist Berlin, and yes, I was glad to be an American that day.

But when I read today about what's happening in Baghdad, it's not pride I feel.

It's disgust.

It's not the wall itself—it's there, after all, to protect Americans, some of whom I know and love—it's what the wall represents.

The wall divides lives as cleanly as Checkpoint Charlie cut out those without the proper passport. Those outside the wall are expendable. What's another Iraqi death, when there've been so many? As Riverbend of Baghdad Burning comments:

Bush said:"Iraq is the latest battlefield in this war. ... The commander in charge of coalition operations in Iraq, who is also senior commander at this base, General John Vines, put it well the other day. He said, "We either deal with terrorism and this extremism abroad, or we deal with it when it comes to us."

He speaks of "abroad" as if it is a vague desert-land filled with heavily-bearded men and possibly camels. "Abroad" in his speech seems to indicate a land of inferior people- less deserving of peace, prosperity and even life.

Don't Americans know that this vast wasteland of terror and terrorists otherwise known as "Abroad" was home to the first civilizations and is home now to some of the most sophisticated, educated people in the region?

I remember the museums in East Berlin, rich with relics from Mesopotamia, great works of art from the cradle of civilization.

Where the relics once stood there's a wall, not unlike the one we swung hammers at on a Fourth of July during the last throes of a communist country.

"They are doing that by building the institutions of a free society, a society based on freedom of speech, freedom of assembly, freedom of religion and equal justice under law." --George Bush

You're All Invited...

to the Olympics! It's London!

For weeks we've been in a showdown with Paris over which city gets to host the 2012 Olympics. They've just announced it's London.

More details later.

UPDATE: When I told my daughter the news, she was almost as excited as David Beckham. I was anti-Olympics until recently, then I realized it meant our transportation system would be upgraded. As you've heard, London could use a transport makeover. (Although...ahem...it's still better than LA's.)

In related news, still no train service out of here. Here's a grisly photo of the damage.

 

Wednesday Food Blogging: Deep Chocolate Vegan Cake

"Let them eat cake," she said, "particularly the Deep Chocolate Vegan Cake with Chocolate Peanut Butter Frosting."

No, "vegan cake" is not an oxymoron. In fact, I don't tell people this is vegan, in case they're put off. Once I do, no one can believe it has zero cholesterol.

Now, I don't claim it's good for you, exactly, but it IS good. Very very good. The rich, dense chocolate cake is covered with peanut butter and chocolate frosting. Like a Reese's cup, with crumbs.

I've seen similar recipes for this in different cookbooks, including several of the Moosewood cookbooks. They all include vinegar as a rising agent, which means the batter isn't so good for licking, but the vinegar taste disappears completely after baking. It was probably invented during the war years, when eggs were in short supply. Or by a hungry baker who had her heart set on cake but hadn't any eggs.

Now the problem is, what to serve with cake? How about tea?

When Cars Fly

Just got back from London. Had a really chitty day.

I did pay homage to the Christ Child, though, at the National Gallery. In all those paintings titled "Adulation of the Christ Child" I don't see one where Joseph is holding the kid. Maybe if he'd been wearing nappies his dad might've taken a turn at parenting.

(Although he was probably still pissed at Mary for that whole "virgin" bit she pulled.)

Anyways, I'll have more tomorrow. I hear a bunch of white guys are meeting in Scotland, which means it'll be impossible to get a tee time at St. Andrews. And they announce who gets to host the Olympics tomorrow. I know there's some doubt about whether Londoners support the bid, but the committee have to understand no one here gets too awfully worked up about anything.

Except flying cars.

Why Comedy Central Probably Won't Be Calling You

We were at a Fourth of July picnic the other day with people I mostly didn't know, and when I joined my husband at the grill, where he was overseeing the veggie burgers, this guy guffawed and told me how he was giving my husband a hard time about "this vegetarian stuff."

I looked him straight in the eye (ignoring his huge belly) and told him, "That's okay, when you have a heart attack or cancer or fall down from mad cow, I won't give you a hard time." This was the politest comment I could come up with, being as I was pissed.

Overheard at the same party: "I don't know why they're raising money for Africa, they've got all those cows in India and they won't even eat them."

It's been over ten years since I became vegetarian, and trust me, I've heard all the jokes. They're no longer funny. If you're one of those people who think you're hilarious because you can work the word "tofu" into a knock knock joke, you're not. Stop doing that. Right now. You wouldn't consider laughing at a Jew who eschews ham, would you? Or maybe you would.

That's okay, when you're slobbering with mad cow, I won't laugh. Promise.

Feeding the Addiction, One Blog at a Time

My usual addictive blog surfing has been slow lately, as I find myself every day traveling to strange and unusual sites that aren't even on the web! How cool is that?!

But I've had a peek here and there, and it sounds like there's going to be a rumble soon, according to Catherine at Poverty Barn. I'm all down with that. Personally, I'd like to be nominated for Supreme Court Justice. I know I'm just as qualified as anyone Bush nominates. And what else am I going to do with a pre-law degree, anyway?

Before we rumble, though, Barbara at Mahablog wants to be sure we don't forget old business. When I'm Supreme Court Justice, I'm going to demand Karl Rove retire. No, wait, I'm doing it right now. Karl, you're so fired. Pack. Now.

The Heretik has been serving up some good drinks lately. Including this Kafka-esque post.

If you're in the mood for a genetics lecture (and who's not?), check out Clone War of the Sexes at Pharyngula.

I've been so busy I almost didn't have time to read my email. That's how I discovered Diane at DED Space has updated Princess Cafe. I'm the guest chef! Go on, check out my recipes for Risotto with Asparagus, Peas and Rocket and Courgette Soup with Harissa Sauce. Remember, eat responsibly.

And finally, today's the Fourth of July. Chris Clarke reminds me why I'm proud to be an American blogger. Yeah, our country's great and all that, but it's the people, stupid. Let's not ask them to sacrifice their lives without a damn good reason.

Live 8 from the Eye Pod

The blobs between the trees is Live 8, held in London's Hyde Park. The fuzz to the right is Wembley Stadium, where Live Aid was held.

We went into London today to watch Live 8. Our seats were pretty far in the back, in fact, they were actually in the London Eye. I couldn't see who was singing from so many miles away, but I'm pretty sure I saw cigarette lighters swaying, so it must have been REM singing Everybody Hurts.

The only people who got into Hyde Park, of course, were those with good texting skills. Tickets were free, but you had to enter a lottery by sending a text message. Since that would involve reading a manual, I decided there must be an easier way.

They turned down my application to be a roadie, so we headed over to the London Eye, even though I'm terrified of heights. And pods. But, it's Live 8. It only comes round every 20 years.

A lot of people have criticized Live 8 as a publicity stunt, but I think it's very nice of Sir Bob to put this together. Pensioners need something to do with their time, don't they? I must say Pete Townsend looks nice for, like, an 80-year-old. And Paul McCartney still belts 'em out like he's 20. Joss Stone, on the other hand, belts 'em out like she's 50, which makes me wonder what she'll sound like in 32 years, when she really is 50.

And of course, a publicity stunt is exactly what it was intended to be. The previous Live Aid had limited vision. They raised a lot of money for Africa, but not even Sir Bob could wipe away generations of poverty and its causes.

So this time he set loftier goals. Raise consciousness, and force the G8's hand. (I bet he'd have better luck getting them all in a studio to cut an album: "We are the world; we own your bank drafts.")

Here's Bono:

Link: Scotland on Sunday

"We're not looking for charity, we're looking for justice. We can't fix every problem, but the ones we can - we must."

"Three thousand Africans die every day from a mosquito bite," he said. "We can fix that. Another 9,000 die from preventable diseases such as Aids. We've got the drugs." Then, to thunderous cheers, he became his most Bono-esque: "Eight of the most powerful men in the world are meeting at a golf course in Scotland. The message to them is this: 'Make history, make poverty history'."

Personally, I hope it works. Maybe kids the same age as Joss Stone will, if nothing else, decide it's cool to be pro-Africa. Or maybe they'll just go out and buy another Snow Patrol album.

Friday Cow Blogging

"So long, girls, you're on your own. I'm going out to pasture."

From now on I'm calling this one Sandra Day O'Cow-nor. Every once in a while she'd give us some cream, but now she's turned her back on us.

How Much Does Dirt Weigh, Anyway?

This sign at the Tesco construction site makes sense now.

Yesterday I was in London, meeting with other members of the vast left-wing conspiracy. I also went to St Paul's Cathedral, which will be significant in a moment.

(No, I didn't have a conversion.)

When I arrived at Marylebone to catch a train home, the marquee was blank. I thought I'd missed the last train but then they announced an even bigger disaster: the train tunnel at my town collapsed. No one was hurt, but there were plenty of out-of-sorts commuters. (We bonded, however, on the replacement bus, though it was a little eerie. I felt like I was heading for some kind of upscale gulag with my fellow passengers, on a coach with photos of Queen Elizabeth's Golden Jubilee taped to the inside. Sometimes you don't ask questions.)

As for that wayward tunnel, I have my theories. Before I moved here Tesco received permission to build a store in this small town, after much local opposition. It's being built right over the train tracks. They finally finished constructing the tunnel, and the other day I noticed they'd filled the dirt in over it.

"That's a lot of dirt," I thought. "I wonder if that tunnel will collapse one day."

(No, I still haven't had a conversion. Just a prescient moment.)

We've had a lot of rain lately, and when dirt gets wet it becomes heavier. I guess the engineers who designed this didn't factor that in, being as Tesco was in a hurry to open the store and start raping and pillaging making a profit.

Which brings to mind another theory. The local grocer, A.A. Fisher, will likely go out of business when the new Tesco opens. Nah....

And the St. Paul's connection? While I was inside the cathedral, I marveled at the mastery of architecture and engineering Christopher Wren must have had to build such a monument 300 years ago, probably without Mathematica on his laptop, even. He was in his early thirties at the time, yet had been a practicing architect since he was a teenager.

I know some commuters who wish he were around today.