running along, i feel compelled to stop and pick them up, glossy and perfect, littered as they are across the pavement, celebratory confetti rained down from the broad branches above.

i can’t help myself. even as a kid, i used to collect them every autumn. line them up to decorate the rungs of my bunkbed. fresh out of their shell, they’re so tactile – the burled skin as slipperysmooth satiny as sleek polished marble, shining brightly like wet lacquer. so smooth they almost feel moist to the touch. the warm brown marbling giving a deep resinous glow, like antique wood. i used to oil and burnish them to a high sheen, then arrange them with care – a plethora of nut tchotcke festooning all the ledges and sills.

even now i am drawn to them. holding one as i run, feeling the satisfying weight of it, caressing the soft smoothness with my thumb, like a worry stone. inexplicably soothing to the touch.

they will soon shrivel and dry and lose their lustre, roll off into the gutters and cracks, and winter will come. but for now, they glitter against the bright autumn leaves underfoot, little golden embers winking at me invitingly, as i pass by.

the acorn – dents

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i’m so proud of my friend (and honorary third sister) diana, who was just listed in san diego magazine as one of their “women who move the city”.

she’s one of the strongest, smartest and most socially conscious women i’ve ever had the good fortune to know, and she just makes the world a better place to be. basically, she just kicks ass.

and *she* has more foreign policy experience than sarah palin

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i came home in a terrible mood. tired, cross, frustrated, not in the slightest mood to go running.

but i laced up my trainers, on autopilot and headed out. leaden legs, huffing and puffing. the skies threatened above, and it was getting dark already.

and then somewhere around 4 miles in, it happened. this song came on the ipod. the streetlights began to glow, the clouds became gently lit from below by the setting sun. a fresh breeze cooled my face, lifted my feet… and it felt like flying. pure energy in motion, electricity cycling through my veins, my lungs and legs speeding ahead completely of their own accord, carrying me along for the ride, faster and faster, as if they couldn’t go fast enough.

there are moments in one’s running when for a brief, blinding moment, you lose your separateness, your consciousness of self, and just become a kind of transcendental physical expression of joy. it lifts you up in a way no religion or drug can, wholly generated within your corporeal being.

bliss.

if only running always felt like that.

how i became the bomb – killing machine

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believe it or not, once upon a time, i was actually stylish. living in new york kind of forces it upon you – in a city chockablock with model/actresses-in-waiting waiting tables, artists looking to make their indelible mark, rich sophisticates, and teen rebels without a cause, you have to find your own way to stand out from the crowd. there’s a creative energy that seeps into your skin.

and so being a twenty-something gen-xer at the centre of (then) fashion universe, it was impossible not to feel inspired to try new things and different looks. mind you, i was often more concerned with looking unique than with looking *good*, but i was rocking early-alternative tattoos, piercings and multi-coloured hair long before they became de riguer for indie-wannabes. the fashions were atrocious, of course, but they were playful and, who cared if i looked silly, because at least i looked different. i wasn’t trying to be cutting edge, so much as avoid blending into the sea of millions around me. suddenly spending more money and time than you would have thought possible with a head full of bleach and a closet full of accessories seemed like a way to tell the world something about who i was. being twenty-something, it’s like some genetic switch gets flipped – not only is it expected that you will try to break the mold, it’s almost a biological imperative.

these days, though, it all seems so much harder. i see kids with their hideous puffy high top trainers, carefully sculpted hair, and ridiculous white plastic sunglasses, and they look so *tired*. like those throwback ray bans are covering dark circles under their eyes. i want to give them a hug and tell them, “hey, we lived through day glo precisely so you wouldn’t have to!”. i read about hipsters who reject labels like cool even as they desperately seek to *be cool*, yet find themselves always trying to stay one step ahead of that catch-22… of being too cool to yet be considered cool (and therefore immediately becoming uncool). trying to always be a trendsetter even as that same trend is blowing up into a phenomenon twenty seconds behind you.

the articles say things like:

An artificial appropriation of different styles from different eras, the hipster represents the end of Western civilization – a culture lost in the superficiality of its past and unable to create any new meaning. Not only is it unsustainable, it is suicidal.

it all looks and sounds like exhausting work. and when fashion becomes unfun, what’s the point?

yet, you *have* to be part of it when you’re young – rarely can one deliberately abstain from being caught up in the culture of their era, the treadmill of continually creating and discarding the norms which will come to define you and your cohorts long after you become boring fuddy-duddies like every generation before you. it’s a necessary part of the ritual of growing up.

and so i feel sorry for those kids i see, with the “members only” jackets, the skinny jeans, the long, weary faces. having to constantly remake yourself afresh takes a lot of energy, and i feel sorry that they have to put in so much more effort than i ever did.

mostly, though, i feel sorry that (if what i witnessed in gap the other day is anything to go by) they’re doomed to repeat the tragic error that was pleat-front jeans.

of montreal – suffer for fashion

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as part of my commitment to run the royal parks half marathon, on behalf of unicef’s “born free” mission, i’ll be doing a weekly series here to publicise why i feel so strongly that this intiative deserves your support. please consider sponsoring me at my justgiving page, or simply click the widget in my sidebar. a big thank you for anything you can contribute.

born free: unite for children, unite against aids

i’ve been incredibly busy lately, and not had much time to blog. but with only 3 weeks left, and only 50% of the way to my fundraising goal, i need help. if you’ve thought about donating before, but haven’t yet, please consider it again now! if you haven’t considered it before, let me tell you why your help is so important.

when i last left off on this topic, i wrote about how out of the people living in sub-saharan africa only 9% of hiv positive women, get the antiretrovirals that can prevent transmission to their babies.

yet in the u.s. and europe, small children dying of aids is nearly unheard of now. in these areas, mother-to-child transmission rates are less than 1%. this is because with access to proper healthcare and medication, 98% of hiv positive mothers *do not* pass on the hiv virus to their newborn babies. we are so lucky to live in countries where mothers can protect their newborn children from becoming statistics.

the picture in the poorest countries is much more dire. the kind of rampant devastation this disease is wreaking on the vulnerable and poor is truly awful, even just in words. that innocent children are suffering in such numbers from something so preventable, is just unfathomable.

– in 2007, there were 2.1 million children with hiv, and 90% of those live in sub-saharan africa.

– in 2007 alone, almost half a million children were infected with hiv and did not receive care or treatment.

– mother-to-baby transmission accounts for over 90% of hiv in children.

– 50% of these children will die before the age of 2, and most are dead before they reach the ripe old age of 5.

– every minute of every day, a baby is born with hiv, and a child dies of hiv-related causes

**but this is preventable!** testing and medications can save babies from a death sentence.

just 68p will buy antiretrovirals for a mother and baby at birth. (that’s just over a dollar at today’s exhange rate!) think about how much good your donation can do for these children – if they only get the chance to be born free of hiv, they can go on to live long and healthy lives, instead of likely dead by five years old.

such a small amount can make such a life and death difference. so won’t you consider giving, even a pound/dollar or two?

(in my next posting, i’ll be talking about other aspects of preventing mother-to-child transmission, and the impact hiv has on babies’ and children’s lives.)

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trying to learn a language at nearly 36 is a lesson in humility.

a) i know a teeny-tiny bit of french already (one year in high school and some osmosis in montreal)
b) it gets well and truly muddled up with my spanish in my brain (bloody romance languages!!)
c) adult ed classes are not exactly aimed at geniuses (e.g. the woman who complained 5 minutes into the class that it was “too hard” as we were all repeating “je m’appelle…” like little french robots)

le sigh.

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coming home from shopping today, i saw you get on the tube. your haircut and clothes were neat, expensive looking, chosen with obvious care, but you had no handbag or jewellery. your face was naked and pale, your eyes bleary, red and wet.

you sat opposite me, avoiding eye contact, head slightly bowed, as silent tears streamed down your face. you neither hid them, nor made any motion to wipe them away. it was a look of resigned but dignified grief. an open and honest sorrow, plain for all to see.

as the train hurtled on through the tunnel, i thought about asking you if you were okay, though it was clear that you weren’t. i thought about offering you a tissue, but your carriage stopped me from breaching that invisible wall.

in the end, i did nothing. see, i’ve been there too – with private emotions on display in a public space, because there’s no place to hide them, and the shock of deep sadness inures you to caring. it happens in big cities – you can cry anonymously in front of a group of strangers, who all pretend they don’t see.

as we pulled into my station, i got off, and as the doors closed behind me, i glanced back one last time to look at you through the window. you knuckled your eyes dry, smoothed your hair behind your ears, sat up, fixed your gaze straight ahead, and the train sped away out of sight.

powderfinger – passenger

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sometimes i really have to wonder how i make it through the day.

for my work i have to use an i.d. swipe card to get into and out of lots of doors. it’s handily put on a badge lanyard, but i can’t stand to wear i.d. around my neck like some kind of tagged animal, so i usually shove the card in my back pocket and let the lanyard dangle out for easy grabbing.

i also try to drink a lot of fluids at work, which means i have to pee a lot. the ladies’ room is through several sets of doors on the next floor down, which means i have to take my swipe card.

(you see where this is going, don’t you?)

and yes, it finally happened today – i ran to the ladies room, backed up to the toilet, pulled down my trousers, sat down…

… and managed to pee all over my lanyard, still hanging from my back trouser pocket, but the cord swinging gently inside the lip of the bowl.

the acorn – flood pt.1

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argh! why oh why do people in london not move aside for ambulances!!!

it’s infuriating! they all sit there passively, not even attempting to pull to the side of the road. and now, having actually been in the back of an ambulance, it’s even more maddening.

that could be someone’s family member in there, suffering a heart attack, or with internal injuries, or going into anaphylactic shock. and they just sit there in their cars on their mobile phones, or playing with the radio, or twiddling their thumbs, without any sense of urgency whatsoever.

*move the fuck over*

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you know, although i am a self-described bleeding heart liberal, i’m *not* anti-republican. i have several intelligent friends who are republicans, and (even though they are wrong ), i can respect that they honestly believe that conservative policies are the best way to run a country.

however, i’m just going to go ahead and say it: i cannot respect a woman who calls herself a feminist and votes for any ticket with john mccain or sarah palin on it. for me, “feminist” isn’t a label you slap on yourself – feminism is living and acting in a way that advances the goal of equality for all women. you don’t have to call yourself a feminist to be one, and calling yourself a feminist doesn’t automatically make you one.

i find it incredibly insulting, therefore, that mccain seems to think that by sticking a woman of sarah palin’s calibre on his ticket, he can attract women voters who have felt disenfranchised by the ritual slaughter of hillary clinton.

mccain who, on the ledbetter fair pay act, (a bill restoring the right to sue when discriminated against on the basis of pay for doing the same job), said:

“They need the education and training, particularly since more and more women are heads of their households, as much or more than anybody else,” McCain said. “And it’s hard for them to leave their families when they don’t have somebody to take care of them.

huh??!!??

mccain who has maintained a 0% rating on a woman’s right to choose since 2001, explicitly advocating for roe v. wade to be overturned, opposing funding to prevent teen pregnancies, and voting against even requiring health insurance plans to cover basic birth control.

mccain, who just selected sarah palin as his running mate.

clearly sarah palin is a bright, ambitious woman. but the idea that she would somehow appeal to hillary voters is ludicrous beyond belief.

sarah palin who is against abortion even in cases of rape and incest.

sarah palin who supported pat buchanan for president in 2000. (you know, the guy who said aids was a punishment for gays, and believes feminism is contributing to the decline of western civilisation.)

sarah palin who likes the story about women being created from a man’s rib so much, that she believes it should be taught in schools.

sarah palin, a woman who has the gall to call herself a “feminist”. i’ll say it once again: a feminist is not something you call yourself, feminism is something you *do*. being an elected official does not automatically mean you advance the cause of women.

gloria steinem gets it spot on:

Here’s the good news: Women have become so politically powerful that even the anti-feminist right wing — the folks with a headlock on the Republican Party — are trying to appease the gender gap with a first-ever female vice president. We owe this to women — and to many men too — who have picketed, gone on hunger strikes or confronted violence at the polls so women can vote. We owe it to Shirley Chisholm, who first took the “white-male-only” sign off the White House, and to Hillary Rodham Clinton, who hung in there through ridicule and misogyny to win 18 million votes.

But here is even better news: It won’t work. This isn’t the first time a boss has picked an unqualified woman just because she agrees with him and opposes everything most other women want and need. Feminism has never been about getting a job for one woman. It’s about making life more fair for women everywhere. It’s not about a piece of the existing pie; there are too many of us for that. It’s about baking a new pie.”

Selecting Sarah Palin, who was touted all summer by Rush Limbaugh, is no way to attract most women, including die-hard Clinton supporters. Palin shares nothing but a chromosome with Clinton. Her down-home, divisive and deceptive speech did nothing to cosmeticize a Republican convention that has more than twice as many male delegates as female, a presidential candidate who is owned and operated by the right wing and a platform that opposes pretty much everything Clinton’s candidacy stood for — and that Barack Obama’s still does. To vote in protest for McCain/Palin would be like saying, “Somebody stole my shoes, so I’ll amputate my legs.”

emphasis mine

and that, in a nutshell is what it boils down to. you cannot support women’s rights and vote for a platform which seeks to undermine them. you cannot vote for a woman candidate who does not believe in the power of women. you cannot believe in the inherent equality of women and elect a president who sees you as a second class citizen, and thinks he can appease you with someone like sarah palin.

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heavy metal band names

(i must be hanging around him way too much, as i actually recognise some of these!)

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the other day forbes came out with its list of the 100 most powerful women in the world. on a list of 100 women, exactly *five* were from the uk…and one of those is the bloody queen.

for the second most powerful nation in the world, that’s pretty pathetic… but explains the complete lack of surprise when it was reported yesterday that not only are women not cracking the glass ceiling in britain – they’re actively losing ground. i’ve written here a million times before how i find subtle (and not so subtle) sexism much more institutionalised here, but it’s just so disheartening to see the knock-on effects in black and white.

The Equality and Human Rights Commission (EHRC) said that in 12 of 25 job categories it studied, there were fewer women holding top posts.

…
According to the report, there are now fewer women MPs, cabinet members, national newspaper editors, senior police officers and judges, NHS executives, trade union leaders and heads of professional bodies, compared with 2007.

The number of female media bosses, MEPs, directors of major museums and galleries, chairs of national arts companies and holders of senior ranks in the Armed Forces has remained the same.

Women’s representation had increased in the House of Lords and among company directors, council leaders, university vice-chancellors and top civil service managers.

However, in six of these categories the increase was less than 1%.

i think probably the only way it could get more depressing, would be to see sarah fucking palin at the top of the forbes list.

the strokes – modern girls and old fashioned men

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j and i watched “the wackness” last night. set in nyc in 1994, the plot centres around the relationship between a newly-graduated, dope-dealing teen, and his dope-smoking, bipolar psychiatrist as they both grapple with the disillusionment and angst of growing up.

but as intriguing as this unusual pretext is, what really made me fall for this movie was the backdrop. from the first dropped beat, the music transported me straight back to a time when new york was the detonation point for the culture bomb that was rap/hip-hop. biggie smalls, wu tang, tribe called quest, krs-one… those formed the soundtrack of some of the best years of my life. in 1994 nyc, i was completely saturated with the haze of 40 oz malt liquors and blunts, the insistent vibe of bumpin’ rooftop parties and bass-heavy hip hop, the raw edge of scraping by and living cheap, and the pure adrenaline of being young and alive and in love in the greatest city in the world.

it was absolute intoxication, an irreplicable speedball concoction. and like any drug, that space and place and time brought some of the highest highs, and lowest lows – yet through it all, only the music and friends and dreams mattered. boiled down to the bare essentials as you can only live when you’re 22, the distillation of that experience changed me completely and turned my heart and head inside out. i would live in new york for many more years before moving on, but none was more seminal than that.

singing along, the music in the film resonates deeply – but at the end what the viewer finds is that, in spite of all the strange characters, “the wackness” is, at its core, a classic coming of age story.

and new york in 1994 was mine.

notorious b.i.g. – juicy

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