Tomorrow could be boring

In a hole in the ground there lived an Englishman

Despite my grumbles about the Hobbit being made into three films instead of one, we did go to see the first of the new trilogy today and enjoyed most of it. I'm assuming that readers of this blog will have read the book so can go on to say that the way they handled the troll scene really irritated me. The whole point of the scene in the book (about the use of wit instead of weapons) was sacrificed in favour of an all-out action sequence, seemingly created by nervous film executives for the attention-span-of-a-gnat generation.

My favourite scene? When Bilbo's hobbit hole was being slowly taken over by strangers and he was trying to make his fury known by repeatedly saying "I'm sorry". That clip should be shown as an instructional video to people emigrating to the United Kingdom.

(Part of the same kit should also be Watching the English, Notes from a Small Island and a towel).

In other news, Lucy Mangan's columns in the Guardian Weekend magazine are always good but today she really excelled herself with a well observed, poignant column about the luck of the draw:

I consider myself lucky. But, despite all their wealth and security, I suspect our political and business leaders never think that of themselves.Do they never have moments when the weight of their astonishing luck makes them buckle at the knees and fall to the ground in gratitude? I suppose not. It can only be by thinking yourself entirely responsible for your own fortune that you can think of all those who are poorer, less successful or less independent of the state as personally responsible for theirs. Thus they deserve punitive policies and sanctions designed to remedy their immorality and sloth. A moment's honest thought, that's all it takes. I wager that you'll agree, because I wager you have them yourself. It would take an inhuman, almost sociopathic degree of arrogance and lack of imagination not to.

I have often wondered whether most people born into exceptionally lucky circumstances or those who have had the fortune of an unusually lucky break ever stop to think about the ratio of luck versus their own efforts; whether they have narrated their situation internally so that they deserved it, were entitled to it and therefore feel arrogant and protective about it. Many people in positions of power, especially in politics and leadership roles tend to hold "lesser beings" in thinly veiled contempt. Things like the workfare scheme in the UK have, quite frankly, been a disgrace.

What is the difference between 15/km2 and 392/km2, other than 377?

Finns are drowning, getting drunk and crashing their cars this weekend. They are also building big bonfires, eating sausages, swimming naked in the sea or in one of the 155.000 lakes, heating up saunas - and some might even be collecting wild flowers and putting them under their pillows based on old love spells.

It's Juhannus (Midsummer) in Finland and I feel homesick. I miss some of the above. Not the drunken, drowning part. I miss the odd, golden haze of Finnish summer evenings. I miss Puffet ice cream sandwiches. I miss the way supermarket cash register staff don't look at you in the eyes and how you have to pay for your plastic bags. I miss the cheesy Finnish soap operas and reading old, yellowing Aku Ankka (Donald Duck) pocketbooks at the summer house. I miss having space to move around, even in the cities, without feeling suffocated.

I would love to go for a midnight swim, or for a stroll in the forest.

When I moved to England over 16 years ago, one of the many things I didn't quite realise was that I'd be swapping space for crowds.

Today the population density of Finland is 15/km² and the population density of England is 392/km². Even the numbers tell you that one place is crowded and the other one is not, but I made an image to illustrate the difference. Whilst the figures would have changed in 16 years, the ratio would have remained similar.

Of course one has to take non-arable land into consideration (there are all those lakes in Finland after all. And when you take a birds-eye view, the whole country looks like a giant forest, splattered about with water and the odd field and town). Most of Finns live in the cities and down the south. There is a tendency for city-dwelling Finns to huddle together for warmth and resources; it is normal and expected for people from all sorts of backgrounds to live in blocks of flats. Sharing the heat, sauna and laundry facilities makes sense in the harsh conditions that are the norm for majority of the year.

The Finnish summer is bittersweet; heart-breakingly beautiful, but so fleeting that half of it is spent recovering from the winter and the other half anticipating its return.

Even keeping all of the above in mind, one place is crowded the other one is not. There is a difference in how it feels to be here and how it feels to be over there.

But here's the real catch: I've grown accustomed to having lots of people everywhere. Visiting Finland makes me feel a little uneasy. Where is everybody?

Yet in my heart I crave space. The wonderful duality of expat psyche.

Finns are, generally speaking, rather homogeneous. There is the same stuff in the shops, the same aesthetic preferences, the same morals, the same political leanings. When viewed from the outside, that is. And when generalising rather broadly. Nevertheless, the homogeneousness is noticeable from this angle and is perhaps one of the other reasons why, after a while, staying in Finland makes me feel like I've been sealed in Tupperware. You have to get out and take a deep breath. And of course, living away from it all, I fill my home with reminders from Finland. The same stuff, the same aesthetic preferences, the same morals, the same political leanings. I finally found a guy with whom a relationship seemed easy and right. His mother is half-Finnish. Etc, etc, etc.

There is a deep comfort in being among people who, without any effort, think and feel like you do. Living abroad is a constant daily mental effort; I once assumed that this would be eliminated over time, but I'm not so sure any more. On the surface (spoken language, body language, writing, appearance, manners, rituals...) one can become very well adapted; almost indistinguishable from the real deal. A bit of an accent in everything you say or do, but almost, almost. I think and dream in English. I no longer accidentally offend people quite so often (reading "Watching the English" helped with that). I blend in locally, in London and almost anywhere in England and the UK as a whole. There are so many different types of people living over here anyway that this is relatively easy.

But your deepest feelings, memories and psyche remain rooted in where you came from. Ironically, when I lived in Finland, I never felt I belonged there either. Only once I'd moved away, I gradually realised just how Finnish I really am.

The summer holiday season will soon be over. The Juhannus-celebration marks the start of the real Finnish summer. This year I may be able to pop over in September, but by then, I won't find fresh berries on the market stalls or get to swim in a lake. But this year is different - my best friend is becoming a mother and her baby is due then. She only recently came to visit London with her mum, but I miss her already. And, as I've mentioned before, she's the only reason it truly sucks to be away. With everything else, one can make do.

On geeks, categorising and marketing

"The more I think about it, the more geeky I realise I am," I said to Timo today. Having just returned from Eastercon, it's no wonder I've not floated down to "somewhat normal"  yet.

"What, you're surprised by that?" Timo replied.

"No, what I mean is that there are a few things I'd always taken to be my little quirks, which I now realise are traits shared with many others. This sounds so naive, but I really didn't think that there'd be so many people for whom having complete sets of things, or having such sets categorised and organised in some specific way would be as important."

I'm not a collector; not exactly. There are very narrow areas in which I'd say it's important to have the set for its own sake. Mostly that happens to me with books.

Today, whilst dusting the shelves (and looking for Timo's copy of Coraline, which Neil Gaiman's comments during the Darker than Potter panel made me want to read), I spotted a pattern.

The book series for non-SF/Fantasy fiction, say, by a Finnish crime publishing house, are uniform in colour and typeface, but don't have numbers on the spines. Same goes for "modern classics" and, upon further inspection, all other mainstream fiction series we have knocking around. Hmm.

Whereas - most of the SF/Fantasy book series are numbered. Even "...best new SF" uses this device, even though it might have made sense to print the actual year for which these are meant to be the "best" collections for. Instead they've sequenced using numbers. And the numbers are big on the spine too; it'll be really obvious if you've missed one.

I wonder if this is a deliberate attempt by marketing departments to tap into the geeky tendencies of the target audience for these books. If it is, it's working and I'm impressed.

Something else that's impressed me - Neil's business sense and his ability to use it in subtle and effective ways. Coraline did get mentioned rather a lot during the con and what do you know; it's due to be released as a film soon.  And if you're quick, you can still download a free copy of  American Gods from his website (but expect to feel the urge to buy it afterwards - the sales of this book have gone up significantly since the freebie offer).

Someone asked Neil: "Since you record and sell audio books, does it bother you that these have been made illegally available via peer-to-peer download services?"

He replied by asking how many people in the audience had found their favourite author by buying a book they knew nothing about, apart from the blurb on the cover. Some hands went up. He then asked: "How many of you found your favourite author for free; through borrowing a book, or by some other means?" A forest of arms shot up.

"See?" said Neil.

By doing this sort of thing, he is clever on so many levels. Instead of demonising potential fans, he works with them. Instead of struggling upstream against the inevitable changes in how the market and technology is evolving, he swims with the current and uses it to his advantage.

I've got into the habit of listening to podcasts and audio books whilst sat at airports waiting for delayed flights, or trying to relax in uncomfortable hotel rooms. I found Stardust as an audio book on iTunes, narrated by Neil - and am now tempted to buy it. Can't decide whether it would be silly, considering I have it as an actual book (now also autographed; thank you very much!).

There is no way I'd use a peer-to-peer service, just in case you're wondering.

Turns out the Chinese invented Breakdance

Shaolin Monks was great. A mixture between Martial arts prowess, energetic dance and stagemanship; it was a Martial arts circus. Definitely something to see (I could add the nauseating: for the whole family). There were spectacular shows of well-practiced moves, the circus-element of brick-breaking and balancing on sharp spikes seemed to appeal to the younger audience and there were moments when the cartwheels and rolling on stage held a striking resemblance to Breakdance.

The highlight of the show was a double-act by two very young boys - they looked like they were under 7 years old, but their size might have been misleading. They effortlessly sparred, skipped and hopped through complicated Kung-Fu moves with the sort of ease that usually follows years and years of tireless practice. Watching them was like an optical illusion that made the audience gasp time and time again; it was like watching miniature adults.

We did notice one thing - the audience was completely different from the last Sadler's Wells production we went to see. Yes, lots of families, but also people who looked like they'd never set foot in a theatre before. Many people arriving really late. Or talking during the performance. I don't care if it's your first time when you're 48 years old, but you could at least observe some polite common sense rules on how to conduct yourself.

Perhaps that's harsh. But seriously. Granted, not everyone was taken to their first concert/opera/theatre performance at under 5 years old, taught to sit still and focus, taught to figure out the plot of an opera sung in another language from looking through the programme booklet, but I do idly wonder whether common sense about certain things has to be taught too. Is common sense something you can, or have to teach?

It seems that many Finns still value opera, classical music and the theatre in the sort of way I was used to. In that you don't have to be wealthy, or in any kind of particular social class to take yourself (and your kids) off to see the latest production of The Magic Flute. At least that's the impression I get from the delightful film "Pelikaanimies" (Pelican Man), a film we watched yesterday. I bought it on our Finnish trip this summer, but we hadn't got around to watching it until now. Pelican Man is a simple, but delightful fantasy aimed at children, but entirely watchable by adults. One day a pelican decides to turn himself into a human by landing on a beach and putting on human clothes. The film explores human perception, what it's like to be an adult and what it's like to be a little boy whose parents have just divorced. There is lovely Finnish scenery and a beautiful feel to the whole film.

I want more FlyFly

Timo played a really cruel trick on me recently.

He bought FireFly and Serenity on DVD and made me (yes, forced me!) to start watching. He thought I might like them. Well, he was wrong.

I fell in love with them instead.

The fucker! After getting caught up in the characteristic Joss Whedon layers of emerging and intriguing stories, ready to bubble into the surface... I get told, sorry, you'll never find out how they'll develop. Will they, won't they? Does River lose it completely, or will she now become the best pilot in the known universe? What was all that about Book's past? How... when... who?

We watched couple of episodes a night, finally finishing with the film yesterday evening, and then, it was all over. I sat on the floor, forlorn, repeatedly mewling: I want more FlyFly.

This is indeed, a cruel and hard world. And there are too many moronic American TV executives who should have their innards fed to them in some peppery sauce.

Theme from Firefly

Take my love.
Take my land.
Take me where I cannot stand.
I don’t care, I’m still free.
You can’t take the sky from me.

Take me out
to the black.
Tell ‘em I ain’t comin’ back.
Burn the land and boil the sea.
You can’t take the sky from me.

Have no place
I can be
Since I found Serenity.
But you can’t take the sky from me.

Words & Music by Joss Whedon
Performed by Sonny Rhodes.

Homeopathy hocus pocus

It's lovely to have alternatives available for "conventional", Western medicine. It's nice to have an "open mind". I make these statements with only a touch of wryness; I do sincerely try to keep an open mind. Nevertheless, I am really rather relieved to read news reports about a group of leading British doctors who have directly challenged the way many NHS trusts use their funds.

A GROUP of Britain’s leading doctors has urged every NHS trust to stop paying for alternative medicine and to use the money for conventional treatments. Their appeal is a direct challenge to the Prince of Wales’s outspoken campaign to widen access to complementary therapies. Public funding of “unproven or disproved treatments” such as homoeopathy and reflexology, which are promoted by the Prince, is unacceptable while huge NHS deficits are forcing trusts to sack nurses and limit access to life-saving drugs, the doctors say. As reported by The Times Online

I have very little faith in the NHS, as some of you may already know, but, rather ironically, the aforementioned doctors' lack of faith towards unproven alternative therapies is increasing my faith towards the doctors.

Some alternative therapies may form a solid support mechanism for suffering patients, but I do think they should be an optional extra; a luxury in a way; not something that the taxpayers pay for. If any of the alternative therapies would be scientifically proven to be consistently effective in treating serious conditions, I'd be saying different things.

If I have a tension headache, or if I am feeling the pressure of stress, aromatherapy might help. But I wouldn't dream of making someone else pay for my treatment.

If I have an incurable disease for which I am receiving conventional treatment, I might also wish to use some additional therapies. But the additional therapies should be a choice, an extra and entirely at the expense of the private individual.

Some alternative therapies seem to hover between the line of "conventional" and "alternative". That's when this whole thing becomes very messy and it's hard to hold on to a hard line on either side of the argument. The BBC website has a wonderful set of resources, examining these very issues:

Research conducted by the BBC has shown that alternative medicines are becoming increasingly popular. Yet their effectiveness is yet to be proven to the majority of medical practitioners in the UK and there are concerns over safety as many of the treatments remain untested. BBC News Online's health team examines the issues.

Paris, 20e arrondissement
Originally uploaded by mainblanche.

My biggest beef is with Homeopathy. You see, it's utter bollocks. Well, apart from the - sometimes, admittedly, very vividly experienced - Placebo effect.

Let me elaborate (although the above statement sums it all up quite tidily). The original concept of Homeopathy, when explained to a person to whom metaphysical matters are of interest, will sound inviting, promising and even plausible.

To treat the patient with a little bit of what might be making them unwell.

Classical homeopathy is generally defined as a system of medical treatment based on the use of minute quantities of remedies that in larger doses produce effects similar to those of the disease being treated. Hahnemann believed that very small doses of a medication could have very powerful healing effects because their potency could be affected by vigorous and methodical shaking (succussion). Hahnemann referred to this alleged increase in potency by vigorous shaking as dynamization. Hahnemann thought succussion could release "immaterial and spiritual powers," thereby making substances more active. "Tapping on a leather pad or the heel of the hand was alleged to double the dilution" (ibid.). From (the utterly scrumptious) The Sceptic's Dictionary.

So, the original concept seemed to have a little bit of potential, well, to gullible sorts anyway, but good grief. Basing the entire treatment on how much, and through which very specific methods it has been diluted?

Let me put this in other terms. Let's say we start with a few drops of a plant extract. All well and good. I actually DO believe that plant-based medicine and treatments can be incredibly effective. After all, much of the now so-called conventional medicine started that way.

However, in Hocus-pocus-pathy, you take the plant extracts, dilute, shake... then take the diluted mixture, add a few drops of that to a new batch of water and dilute, shake... then take the diluted mixture, add a few drops of that... well, so on and so forth, until the final "remedy" has as many molecules of the original plant as you would randomly find by chance in, say, sea water.

Just think about that quietly for a moment.

Various tincture-based elements are then added (alcohol, grapeseed oil, or perhaps something else to give the remedy a medicinal consistency) and abracadabra, a cure-all is ready!

Homeopathy is based on the notion that water has a memory. That its molecules can remember the presence of a substance that, for all intents and purposes is no longer there.

Did I mention the word BOLLOCKS yet?

What homeopathic practitioners do very effectively, is provide consultative, holistic treatment to their patients, complete with such apparent (or quite possibly very sincere) care for the wellbeing of the patients that the experience in itself must be very healing. And I don't dispute that. I just so wish that people weren't being told, well, bollocks.

I wish that if a practitioner were to set up a councelling and spiritual support service, they'd just set up one of those; not a charlatan outfit designed to exploit the weak and vulnerable. Homeopathy is the Scientology of alternative therapies and I really don't think it's fair to charge people horrid amounts for so-called remedies and therapies when it's all a bit of a con, really.

It's been bugging me for some time to know that in this country, my tax money has gone towards paying for someone's homeopathy treatment - I would certainly let out a little whoop of delight if NHS dropped that form of alternative therapy from their list of funded services. It is none of my business if people wish to pay for this kind of stuff privately (it doesn't harm me; and I know lots of people get something very real out of it), but I don't think it has any place whatsoever standing shoulder-to-shoulder with therapies that have been scientifically proven to be effective.

Cross-posted to: Blogcritics.org
EDIT 30/05/06: This entry was chosen as one of the "Editors' Picks" at BlogCritics.

Take a ticket, your number is 37758

Today, on Mozart's birthday (thank you, Google), I am going to talk about football.

There were at least two things wrong with that sentence, but no, you weren't imagining it. I'll allow you time to re-arrange your reading glasses on your noggin and to wipe that ridicilous grin off your face.

You see, Timo, my gorgeous half-Finn, half-Northern Irish love, is an avid football fan. Luckily not in the Eeeeeenglaaaaand-beer-bellied-going-out-to-get-smashed-wiv-the-lads-way, but rather, in that Fever Pitch-a-tad-obsessed-about-club-football-specifically-about-Arsenal-way.

Which, to a person like me, previously uneducated about these important differences, and ignorantly assuming that all football fans were alike, is a lesson learned. No, Timo didn't just make me write that. Although, I do think that he has subtly brainwashed me. A little. But I think I volunteered.

Not only am I beginning to understand the offside rule, I've now actually been to a football match (not just any match, but Arsenal versus Wigan, which was held on Tuesday at the Highbury stadium. Highbury is a place full of history, has beautiful Art Deco facade, and is due to be closed as a stadium and converted into flats. Arsenal FC will move to a new stadium nearby).

The picture on the left is of a penalty shoot-out (click for larger version), which, sadly, did not result in a goal for Arsenal. It is quite amusing to see how superstitious many of the devoted fans are - Timo kept on saying that he wished he hadn't taken that picture, because obviously, that's what proved to be unlucky for Arse. Yeaaaah.

When we were waiting for the match to start, outside the Gunners pub near the stadium, one of Timo's friends commented: "So, it's her first time at a match. Hope she's lucky".

A coach full of Wigan fans travelled past and the people inside thumped and jeered so viciously that I wouldn't have been surprised if they would have managed to break the windows and spill out onto the street. I guess there's a reason the Gunners has a sign above the door, stating: "Home fans only".

The match itself was exciting, but uncomfortable and frustrating. Exciting, because it was a new experience and because I couldn't help but get drawn in to the trance-like state of willing those players to get that fucking ball into that fucking net. Already.

Uncomfortable because it was very, very cold. One of the coldest nights this winter, with temperatures below freezing. And frustrating, because despite a score of 2-1 in favour of Arsenal, it was Wigan who came out as the winners, due to the calculations that determine the winning statistic when deciding who moves forward in the contest. And with this being the second match, and with Wigan having scored higher in the previous one... bah.

I've joined the club as a Red Member, which means that I'm now automatically in line for a Gold Member status (which, sadly, doesn't come with complimentary schmokes and pancakes*, but does mean that the likelihood of being able to obtain match tickets is higher). Timo is also a Red Member, and has joined another kind of line... the ridicilously long one for season tickets. His queue number is 37758. Maybe his grandchild might get a season ticket. If he's lucky.

I wish Arseblog would have been nominated as best sports blog in the 2006 Bloggies, but perhaps the regular visitors (or those witty and clever people who leave the most comments on any weblog, ever, according to Arseblogger) were too busy commenting and not busy enough nominating. For shame. Next year?

*If you get this reference, you're officially a nerd. Well done!

On the nature of arrogance in blogging

Anyone who creates something and wishes for their creation to be public, could be classed as arrogant. After all, they have a vision or an object - a voice that they hope others would hear. They have made something they are proud of and want to share with the world. Or perhaps they have an opinion that they feel must become known to more than just the random relative, or work colleague who cares enough to listen. So we could call authors, artists, journalists, columnists, stand-up comics; a whole heap of people, arrogant by default, but we, as a society, tend not to. Instead, bloggers are sometimes referred to as no better than monkeys with typewriters. What is so different about bloggers? Why do many producers and consumers of the more "traditional" media often make statements like these:

Bloggers are no better than those bloody awful senders of Round Robin Christmans letters. Self centred and arrogant. Greedy for more than 15 minutes of fame.

Left as a comment by Josephine Bennington to an article about the digital revolution, at BBC.co.uk.

What is so wrong about wanting more than 15 minutes of fame, I wonder, Josephine? That's not a new thing in the world. It is not the exclusive right of Bloggers. The "Look Ma!" instinct is strong in people. I would also love to ask her a few questions, such as: Do you ever answer in more than one word, when asked "how are you?" Because surely, that could be considered bloody self-centred. Ah, but bloggers announce "how they are" to the whole world! Stuart doesn't like that one bit:

Blogs: Badly written, mundane drivel from under-informed, over-opinionated people. All the digital revolution has achieved is to give a platform to the "me, me, me" generation. It has given the pub boor a megaphone. (As before), Stuart, UK

But Stuart, a megaphone is something you can't ignore, whereas a blog is handy in that you don't have to read it if you don't want to.

Obviously Stuart's opinion, given online, to an article from where both of these comments came, is so important that he can begrudgingly put his distaste for opinionated people making themselves heard through the aid of the evil digital revolution to one side.

Blogs are pathetic - suddenly every person on the planet has an opinion that just has to be heard. (As before), Paul Charters, Sutton, UK

Paul, this is not "suddenly". Everyone on this planet has something they wish others could hear. Whether that's a personal take on something mundane, or a shared feeling, or a criticism of world affairs - don't we share these things with each other every day? What has happened "suddenly" though, is that a new medium, through which everyone can reach a wider audience has made an entrance and it looks like a little more than a fad.

Blogs do not have much of an access barrier, apart from the ability to get to a computer that has an online connection. That's beginning to be a very low rim these days, though there are, of course, millions to whom reaching for this barrier would still be impossible (and unimportant).

Bloggers can, and do come in all flavours. There are arrogant ones among them, but that doesn't make all bloggers arrogant by default, just like one arrogant newspaper columnist doesn't make all newspaper columnists arrogant by default. Blogging is accessible, and at its basic level - incredibly easy, but just because it is possible for an absolute ignorant moron to start one, doesn't mean that all bloggers are absolute ignorant morons. Only an absolute ignorant moron would make a statement that suggested this was the case.

The World Wide Web is a way in which people can reach out for other people. It's a tool with which to engage yourself with the world in a way that has not been previously possible. Blogging is just one expression of that. The critique of the faceless readership is often very simple: "will read that" or "don't want to read that", which means that whilst there are many blogs that have barely evolved from Txt MsgIng, they won't be the well read or influential ones. The surfing blog reader will choose exactly what they find entertaining, or informative. This frightens many of the producers of "traditional media" and in cases of well researched and well written political blogs, the influence of which has sometimes surpassed that of the news broadcast or a newspaper, the world of current affairs and political reporting has been irreversibly altered as a result of the humble Blog.

It's funny to see some people getting all uppity about blogging, podcasting, etc and whether they're new or not, or faddish or not, sad or not... we who blog, blog, those who don't, don't. Nothing more to it. There is good and there is bad and, naturally, the best and most interesting stuff rises to the top and stays. (As before), Vitriolica Webb, Portugal