What Do I Know?

Dear Tony, (And Why Don't You Ever Answer My Letters? I've Sent, Like, Three!)

Dear Tony,

I see you have failed utterly to bring peace to the Middle East, but don't feel bad: Others* have tried before and also failed, only you didn't really try, did you? I suppose you may have tried to get a word in edgewise with your pal George—does he allow you to call him that?—but his attention was on Kofi and Angela at the G8. I guess he's bored with his pet poodle, now that there are other world leaders to embarrass. And besides, who knew all those world capitals were ALL eight hours from St Petersburg?!

And now your latest visit, hailed with much hope here and probably ignored there, has turned into another lost opportunity. Was Camp David not available? Maybe you could have cornered George by the fireplace in Aspen, grasped him by the shirtsleeves, stuffed a roll in his mouth, and explained to him how Israel isn't really playing fair with those toys he's been sending over. I know, it's a difficult job, and you did wrangle an apology out of him. Although I bet you've heard better apologies from Leo:  "I'm sorry I forgot to ask if I could use your airfield. May I be excused now?"

Anyway, I'm not writing to rag you about peace in the Middle East—it's so, like, 70s, isn't it? I mean, Clinton pulled it off again in the 90s, but who likes sequels anyway?

No, what has compelled me to write is news that you are finally—finally!—showing some backbone by going around George's back and signing an agreement with Arnold out in California. Clever move, from what I can tell. We need less carbon around here.

By the way, the weather's been fine since you left—but those Met Office folks are predicting another heat wave, starting next week. I'm thinking of heading for Greenland—you know, escape the heat and watch the last of the glaciers melt. Know of a good B&B, maybe one with a view of Kangerdlugssuaq?

It's really a shame that CNN has to slap a bright yellow Breaking News banner over the news about your pact with Arnold, reminding us how you failed in getting even a 48 hour ceasefire. But at least those dead Lebanese children won't have to worry about greenhouse gases anymore!

Better luck next time with that peace thing. Maybe Angela could have a go at it.

Best,
KathyF

*Are you coming up with any names? Me either, other than Carter and Clinton, who managed to keep a lid on that Middle East thing. Maybe you could, uh, stop in Plains on your way home.

Dorset: Geology, Anthropology, and Animal Intervention, All on One Coast!

The Dorset coastline

Yesterday I took the girls to Dorset, a journey that should have been accomplished in around two hours, but took almost four instead due to the traffic on the M3. We crawled between Winchester and Southampton (about 10 miles) for over an hour and a half, slowed by the enormous number of people who decided that yesterday, predicted to be the last of our current heat wave, was the perfect day to go to the beach. I estimate there are approximately 30 million people living in southern England, and at least half of them were heading to S'hmpton (motorway shorthand) yesterday between 9:30 and 11:00. (Note to my Scottish readers: This would have been an excellent time to launch an invasion. Payback for Culloden and all that other nasty stuff, you know?)

Our destination was Monkey World, which actually has more apes than monkeys, but let's not get too picky with terminology. The only apes I did not like were the human ones. There were far too many of them. Have I mentioned there are approximately 30 million humans living in southern England? The half that weren't at the beach were at Monkey World. This is what one chimp did to get away from them. The crowds, though, were actually a good thing, since the entrance fees go to support more primate rescues.

Monkey World is where the Animal Planet hit show Monkey Business is filmed. It's really an Ape Rescue Centre, and their mission is to rescue abused and exploited primates from around the world. The television show is like Hollyoaks for primates, filled with drama and melodrama. Typical storyline: chimpanzee Cherry neglects her baby; keeper Jeremy must take little Pip away and hand raise her. Will her mother ever accept her again? Meanwhile, Jim and Alison Cronin are in Thailand, searching for abused orangs. They find them at a tourist trap, learning to ride bicycles. It's heartbreaking, and entertaining, just like Hollyoaks (a nighttime soap opera, for you Americans).

From Monkey World it's only a short drive to Lulworth Cove on the Dorset coast. This section of coast is known as the Jurassic Coast and is a haven for fossil hunters. We stayed on the beaten paths, so we didn't see any fossils, but I did get called a "stupid American twat" by some guy who was beating his dog. I don't know what it is about me that I can't keep my mouth shut when I see an animal being abused. Since the dog in question had returned, with a big smile on her face, when the stupid British prick had called her, I was especially shocked when he started hitting her with the lead. I tried to explain that punishing a dog for obeying didn't make any sense, but you can't really argue with a guy who uses words like "twat". I'm sure his girlfriend was impressed by all that manliness. Jerk.

But anyway, Lulworth Cove was a geologically fascinating place. If you want to know why, you can check out this link, but since my knowledge of geology is pretty much limited to identifying flat rocks for rock skipping, I just enjoyed the scenery. We heeded the warning signs and stayed off the rocks, but some teenagers were jumping into the water from atop the rocks. My anthropological observation: the apes at Monkey World were much more intelligent.

A couple of miles away is the potterishly named Durdle Door, which I suspect has been around much longer than Harry Potter. Again, I'm no geologist, but imagine a few dozen millennia in fast motion, eroding away the limestone to create such an image. For movie trivia buffs, the opening sequence of Pirates of the Caribbean was filmed here, as well as the Tears for Fears video of Shout.

There were beaches at both Lulworth Cove and Durdle Door, the former, especially, filled with inappropriately dressed humans. (I would insert a lecture here on what people over fifty ought to put on their bodies, and that should include sunscreen and not bikinis, but hey, who'd listen to a stupid American twat anyway?) I will offer this advice, if you're in search of a relatively uncrowded beach in southern England, head to Durdle Door. The two beaches on either side of the Door were relatively human free. Although personally, I'd head across the Atlantic to Florida if I were in search of a beach, which I'm not—there is just way too much sun at beaches. For some reason beaches here are covered with gravel instead of sand. Must have something to do with geology.

We didn't have time to stop in the little village of West Lulworth, but it was filled with thatched stone cottages. They were the cutest things I saw yesterday, other than the baby chimps; unfortunately I didn't get a photo.

But I got plenty of other photos, which can be viewed here. The Dorset coast is approximately 130 miles from London, if you ever care to visit. You really should, although don't attempt this on a hot sunny day; otherwise you'll compete with half of southern England for space on the M3 as well as the beach. Your best bet might be to take a train to Poole or B'rnmth and hire a car from there.

Or better yet, stay longer. The coastline is constantly changing—well, every millennia or two.

Friday Zeedonk Blogging

This cross between a zebra and a donkey lives at Groombridge Place, where the Bennetts lived. (They called it Longbourn.) It's now a sort of theme park, with an Enchanted Forest, beautiful gardens, a moat, and a tea shop. 

But back to the zeedonk. He was an attractive fellow, with a well-shaped head and beautiful big eyes. He was also, shall we say, well-endowed. For a not-worksafe photo, click below. Despite Mrs. Bennett's shortcomings, Lizzie Bennett must have had quite an education, living on a farm.

But there's just something wrong about the idea of cross-breeding zebras and donkeys. Didn't George Bush warn about this?

World War Three

I understand the new conservative talking point is The Sky is Falling. No, that was Chicken Little; it's hard to tell sometimes.

World War III, that's it. We're in the Third World War, according to Newt Gingrich, among others, and now he's pushing his theory to the British public via Comment is Free. (via)

What I want to know is, if we're in a Third World War, why has no one proposed rationing? Where's the sacrifice? Citizens of both the United States and Great Britain parked their automobiles, tightened their belts and planted Victory Gardens during earlier world wars. A whole town in Dorset disappeared as people moved away to make way for an Allied gunnery range. Children were sent out of harm's way, while their parents stayed home and fought the War Effort. Stately homes turned into army headquarters; factories made bullets instead of soap. Personal and corporate sacrifice led to victory.

I don't hear anyone talking about turning Wal-Mart over to the War Department.

Gingrich says "with nerve and steady focus it is possible to win a decisive victory." Unfortunately, all we've heard so far from Americans is whinging over higher gas prices, not calls for rationing.

Nerve, people! Steady focus! Call your recruiter. Turn off the air conditioner. Your civilization needs you!

WDIK Location Quiz

Can you identify this place?

Hint: It's close enough to last week's purported location that a young lady could walk, should a carriage not be available due to reduced circumstances. 

Wednesday Food Blogging: Spring Rolls in the Summer

Why do they call them Spring Rolls when they're the perfect summer food?

It's still too hot to cook, but I don't really like cold food. Unless it's spring rolls. Not the fried kind you get in some Chinese restaurants. Those are really just egg rolls. No, I'm talking about the salad-type starters you get, served with a bowl of dipping sauce. All the different textures and cool tastes blend together perfectly with a sweet or spicy dipping sauce.

The best part is, spring rolls involve very little cooking. Just pour hot water over the rice noodles, and if you're using tofu, you'll want to boil it a few minutes. No need to even heat up the kitchen, which is a good thing when the temperatures are in the 90s and you don't have air conditioning.

When is this heat wave going to be over? I can't think of any other cold foods I like. I don't even put ice in my water, but I found myself cracking open an ice tray this afternoon.

If it's not any cooler by next week, I'll be posting a recipe for ice lollies.

Collagen Marshmallows, Lardy Cake, and Lost Aubergines

Your Wednesday Food Linkage:

It's interesting that so many people assume vegetarians are the main consumers of soya (soy in the U.S.). Actually, you meat eaters are responsible for far, far more soya consumption, despite the fact I have it every day on my cereal. The vast majority of the (GM-free) soya that is grown in the former Brazilian rainforest goes to feed the chickens you eat. This phenomenon has been in the news quite a lot here lately, and finally Brazilian soya producers have pledged to use more ethical methods. Try just eating soy directly instead of second hand through your chicken; soy chicken-style nuggets are just as good. Or try the Quorn brand, which don't use soy.

Time to rediscover the aubergine. I had no idea it was lost! Maybe I'll put an electronic collar on those two in my vegetable bin.

On the other hand, it's time to lose Lardy Cake.

In more Amazonian news, Amazon.com will now sell cereal, as well as 14,000 other non-perishable food items. Coincidentally or not, I heard on the news this morning that their profits have fallen. Welcome to the grocery business.

Heidi has some great tips on photographing food, if you're one of those weird people who must photograph your meals before you eat them. (Don't use a flash.) She also links to an earlier article she wrote on HDR photography. I can't understand a word of the text but she sure does take pretty pictures.

Finally, some beauty news: Forget collagen injections and botox. Eat collagen marshmallows instead. (Wonder if they come in a vegetarian version?)

It's No Good

It occurs to me that maybe it's because people just don't know. No one has ever bothered to point it out to them, perhaps afraid of being called anal, or accused of nitpicking or its nastier cousin, preaching.

I've run across it several times today, once at Raw Story and just now, believe it or not, at British Airways' website.

It's driving me crazy.

It, of course, is the tendency most people have to spell "its" with an apostrophe.

Here it is, then. Make a note of it:

It's = it is.
Its = the possessive form of "it"

There are no exceptions to these rules. None. No matter how many times you see it spelled differently in the New York Times or anywhere else. This is one of the few absolutes in grammar. (The other is that "alot" is not a word.)

Note that while possessive forms of nouns and proper nouns are formed using an apostrophe:

Ex: Kathy's dog, dog's bone

the possessive form for all pronouns does not require an apostrophe:

Ex: hers, his, theirs, whose

Why is it only "it" that people get confused? (And sometimes "whose" is misspelled "who's".)

Now, for fun, class, count the number of times I've used the word "it" in this post.

Four Girls in a Boat*

River voyages are not to be undertaken lightly.

We went to Oxford yesterday, a journey that was not without its perils. Roadworks on the A40 have resulted in massive traffic tie-ups that seem to get longer every time I travel to Oxford. I suspect the same cars are just piling up, mile upon mile, day after day. It took an hour to get through the roadworks, whereas last time it took only 20 minutes. (That's right, I said "only". Traffic jams here usually include bottles of water airdropped by helicopter on hot days, free coffees during the winter months.) But I had convinced the girls we should try our hand at punting. So once we got there, we headed for Magdalen Bridge (pronounced "maudlin") where we managed to procure a punt. (£12 an hour, plus deposit and proof of sanity.)

A punt is a flat-bottomed boat about the size of a canoe, but instead of rowing with paddles you pole it around from behind. (Rivers in England aren't very deep; this would never work in the Atchafalaya River, for instance.) They also provided a paddle, for steering, or maybe just to avoid the proverbial analogies to a certain creek.

As we boarded the boat, I ordered Daughter Number One's friend, who looked like a strong girl, to swallow her ice cream cone and grab the pole. But the rest of the crew quickly lost confidence in her leadership and mutinied. DNO took over, and she proved an excellent, if somewhat bossy, skipper. It did take her a while to get the steering thing figured out: we floated around in gentle circles while our fellow punters laughed at us, offering friendly tips. I reverted to dog training mode: "Good girl!" I shouted whenever she managed to get us headed in the right direction. "Shut up!" she barked back, "and paddle in the OTHER direction!" (You've heard of seasickness? I have sea dyslexia. Remember this term if they institute the draft.)

By the time we'd gone halfway round the route they'd outlined for us on the map she seemed to be in fine form, although I could tell from observing the other punters that she was facing the wrong way, employing more of a shoving action than a propelling one. But we brazened it out. "We're Americans," we shouted to the other punters, in case they didn't guess from our accents. "We own the seas!" (Okay, we didn't say that. Probably because most of the other punters were Americans too. We own the airlines.)

The voyage did not prove to be without obstacle; forget those images of gently floating along the river, a plastic cup of champagne in your hand, the quiet sounds of water sloshing against the bow (or is that a prow?) while a nocturne plays in the background. (We really did hear a nocturne, at one point, coming from one of the nearby buildings. This is Oxford, remember.) It was a little more like shooting the rapids in the Rockies, except instead of dangerous shoals we had dangerous foliage, which for some reason they have allowed to line the banks of the Cherwell. Like a siren, it lures novice punters to its green depths, entangling them in thorny limbs...you get the picture.

Daughter Number Two was along, too, but she was more or less an impressed sailor. She doesn't like water, she informed me as soon as she'd taken her seat in the punt. In fact she hates it, she told me a minute later. Further, she didn't want to be there, she added as we lodged ourselves firmly against one of the docked punts. When we nudged against the sloping riverbank later I offered to look the other way while she went AWOL but she refused to abandon the ship. (I think it was the education benefits we'd promised her.)

When we finally made land, we were all a bit grumpy with each other. This may be an indication that long sea voyages are not a good idea, at least not for landlubbers like us. I'm much more at home with a steering wheel and anti-lock brakes. We were, however, pretty proud that we'd returned mostly undamaged, except for the scratches from the foliage and wet bottoms. As we floated gently under Magdalen Bridge, careful to avoid ramming it this time, another punter almost hit us. "Sorry about that," he shouted. "It's our first time!"

"It was ours too, an hour ago," I told him, with an encouraging smile. "You'll get the hang of it!" Then, as he propelled his punt toward the center of the Cherwell, I called out, "Good boy!"

More photos lie below the fold.

*Not to be confused with the book Three Men in a Boat by Jerome K. Jerome, which if you haven't read you simply must. Especially if you have any intention of taking to the high seas.

Barkley Shoots...Scores!

I've always had a soft spot for Charles Barkley, despite the fact he entered the fold of The Enemy.

You see, he used to wash my daughter's hair.

That's more innocent than it sounds. When Daughter Number Two was little, we had a huge plastic cup—Big Gulp size, though I can't imagine ever buying such a thing—and it had a picture of Charles Barkley on it. It somehow made its way into the tub, and became the perfect instrument for washing little DNT's hair.

A difficult child at times, she readily agreed to keep still while such an awesome figure rinsed the soap from her hair. She even enjoyed tub time, just hangin' with Charles Barkley, you know? She later became a huge NBA fan, and I wonder if it was due to the early benevolent influence of Mr. Barkley.

To this day, I cannot think of Charles Barkley without wondering nostalgically, "Where does the time go? Seems like just yesterday I was washing her hair in the tub, now I'm laundering her basketball uniforms..." And then I wonder what happened to change Charles Barkley from a Big Gulp icon to a mouthy Republican—okay, that's not so hard to decipher. Big Gulp just sort of screams "Republican Excess!!" doesn't it? (It's what I do whenever I think about the budget deficit: Gulp. Big.)

I think that cup got a crack in it, and we had to throw it away. I try not to think of that as symbolic. Especially now, since he's apparently had a change of heart:

"I was a Republican until they lost their minds," Barkley said.

I'm glad to hear that. Will someone change the scoreboard to reflect another two points for our side?

Iraq Who?

This was the cover of The Independent today. They contrast the "morality" of George Bush's decision to veto the stem cell bill with his equally phony morality in Iraq. The accompanying story, about the sectarian slaughter in Iraq, is chilling.

That's right, Iraq. Remember Iraq? Capital, Baghdad Green Zone; population 23 million and falling. Scene of the war of aggression WE started. Former Cradle of Civilization, now Cradle of Civil War.

It's Still Hot, But I'm Cool!

I got a mention on Andrew Tobias's website today, which if you are not reading this on the 21st you will have to find a link for in the archives. To understand the reference you'll have to read the history of the apes comments from the last two days, here and then here.

And if you aren't reading Andrew Tobias every day, you really should. His political commentary is the best out there. Plus he's funny. And he knows what to do with a bag of frozen peas.

Friday Cow Blogging

I call this lovely cow Jenna after one of the Bush twins. Look closely*; she's sticking out her tongue. (Some people should teach their embryos better manners.)

She and her herd live on the banks of the River Pang in Berkshire, not far from Netherfield, which the National Trust insists on calling Basildon Park.

*Or "embiggen", as KathyR calls it

I Haven't Been Ignoring You; I've Been Locked Out of TypePad!

For the last couple of days I've periodically been locked out of all TypePad sites, including this one. I posted something on Wednesday about Chicago's attempt to restrict the sale of trans fat in its restaurants, but the post was eaten. (No pun there, folks, move on.)

Yesterday morning I had access for a while, and then it was dead to me. This morning I awoke to blank screens but just now the site opened. Hopefully this post won't get eaten either.

Anyone else out there experiencing TypePad problems? Apparently no one else has been locked out of this site, only me, if SiteMeter is to be believed. Which must come as a relief for all those googlers with vomiting dogs or curious about how much dirt weighs.

Stem Cells and Superman

Usually my anger at George Bush is directed more broadly at his administration, or rather the Dick Cheney administration, but this time he gets the full brunt of my ire.

For this. I found myself wishing he'd suffer the same terror I did when I imagined I had an incurable hereditary neurological disease, wondering who would take care of my children when I ended up prematurely in a nursing home, while my mind rotted away.

But I would never ever wish that on anyone, even George Bush. I do invite him to meet my mother, and millions of patients who will now have to wait longer (or forever, in many cases) for a treatment for their disabling diseases. With a stroke of his pen he delayed a cure that inevitably will come, as soon as we return a rational Democrat to the White House.

One of my mother's doctors in Albuquerque was the sister of actor Christopher Reeve, and she told me stem cell research held hope of a cure, not just for paralysis but of countless currently untreatable diseases. She applauded my attempts to rid the White House of George Bush.

If only I, like Superman, had succeeded in saving the world from evil.

WDIK Location Quiz of the Day

Does anyone recognize this place?

UPDATE: Here's a hint: Bingley once lived there.

Wednesday Food Blogging: Fagioli

I like to think of fagioli as a little bowl of Italian sunshine.

It's too hot to cook, too hot almost to even think about eating. But I can't get the food of Tuscany out of my mind...

In Italy we were served luscious fagioli, soaked in olio, and in Siena, fagioli arranged on bread bruschetta-style. They're a perfect side dish for pasta, and when the weather's hot, what can be easier—and cooler—than opening a can of beans, tossing in some garlic, and pouring on a glug or two extra virgin olive oil?

The garlic, I admit, is my own touch, because I like garlic. I hear it's good for you too.

I also like my fagioli heated just a bit, so I popped the bowl in the microwave, but it would be good cold too.

Especially when the temperature is in the nineties. It's looking more and more like Italy around here.

Now if only a cute Italian waiter would pop round with a glass of Chianti in his hand...

Yacht Racing in Hyde Park

And they're off!

Forgot to post this photo of the Yacht Races in Hyde Park on Saturday. The Model Yacht Club were racing their model yachts on Round Pond. The boats are not remote-controlled; they just skim along propelled by a steady wind. Several tilted so far down I thought they'd capsize, but they made it to the other end of the pond, upsetting the swans who normally race there on weekends.

Links, With Commentary

•Apparently there are no women capable of speaking on the issue of "What to do in Iraq?" Or maybe the roundtable just wasn't big enough after they found six men to sit at it. Those heads, after all, need lots of room.

•I'm late to this link (via), but here's what the British really think about Americans. (BTW, you'll notice in the language of the poll itself and in the comments that here the U.S. is generally referred to as "America," ignoring completely the the existence of nine other countries in North America alone.)

•A good map will help to understand the current Mid-East crisis. BBC colour-codes the strikes: blue outlines for Israeli strikes, green for Hezbollah. Can you count them? (I feel like I'm talking to four-year-olds; is foreign policy really this simple? Yes; see above.)

Is Your Globe Warming?

The pond is drying up, but animals still come in search of water.

My friends in the southern U.S. may not have much sympathy, but consider that temperature is relative. One region's heat wave is another's cool spell. Currently Britain is suffering from the former, a heat wave predicted to get worse tomorrow as temperatures head into the 90s.

We're already in a drought; our lawns and roadsides are brown; our hosepipes forced into retirement by restrictions. Now we may see the highest temperature ever recorded in Britain, 101F, breached on Wednesday.

While temperatures that hot are not uncommon in the U.S., here in southern England such heat is almost unheard of. Yesterday rail lines buckled, glass windows fell. Last summer, when the temperature hit 89F in London, Big Ben failed to strike. A few shops and restaurants have air conditioning units (nothing like the central air that combats heat in the U.S.) but most houses don't. Cars, too, often lack an air conditioner, and the Underground in London will be sweltering. (Commuters are advised to bring water, and to go above ground if they feel overheated.) School is still in session, in un-air conditioned school buildings.

Fortunately, my house is well suited to withstand the heat. It's rarely too hot indoors; even when the temperatures are in the 80s I feel the need for a sweater. My office on the north side stays quite cool, but the kitchen, with its large south-facing window, heats up in the afternoon. No baking for me.

The U.S., too, is cooking in unprecedented heat. My aunt reports a heat index of 115F, making the broken air conditioner in my mom's nursing home room potentially deadly. (It's fixed now, thanks to her intervention, but many residents wouldn't have the ability to complain.) Heat kills: in the U.S. more people die from heat each year than from all other weather causes. A heat wave in Europe three years ago killed 30,000 people.

As bad as it is for those of us in the pampered developed world, there is far more ominous news. Scientists are now predicting that the Amazonian rainforest will not last throughout the century. Last year's unprecedented drought will not be the last, and as the rainforest dies, it absorbs less and less carbon dioxide from the atmosphere. Global warming's vicious cycle continues.

In fact, if there is an upside to this extreme weather, it's that finally we see—and feel—the truth of those dire predictions we've been hearing, and for many denying, for so long. Scientists have predicted just these types of weather abnormalities for years, but even for those of us convinced the predictions were true, it was easy to make light of the consequences: every odd weather event we breezily proclaimed "must be global warming!" It's like the anticipation of a hurricane. Even though you know the force will be destructive and deadly, you can't help but watch the trees outside for any sign of the awesome wind.

But it's hard to deny something is wrong when southern England is turning into an arid savanna, before our very eyes.