I have tried to put on a brave face for a long time now.
I am tired. I feel broken. I feel helpless.
I know I have friends, but that is beside the point; as much as I love them, you cannot balance out profound grief. They may stop things from getting worse, they may listen, they may give me a reason to soldier on.
But the pain stays. It won’t go away. I might be able to endure it better in some ways, but I am hurting nevertheless.
This is old news, but something I feel strongly about. The following RTE interview with G. W. Bush was pulled by the White House in 2004. It is conducted by Carole Coleman. I got fairly angry reading some of the comments on this video (yeah, I know. YouTube would be better without comments), so here’s the video and my take…
Things that piss me off:
The sheer imbecility. The failure by Bush to answer a single one of the questions posed, the weaselling, the empty phrases, the feeble attempts to cling to the imaginary 9/11-Iraq link. The sight of the man who should be able to answer all these questions becoming visibly flustered by not being mollycoddled.
The fact that the objection by the White House is based on the idea that Ms Coleman “interrupted the president unnecessarily and was disrespectful.” Bullshit. Newsflash: When a good political journalist finds that the interviewee is incapable of answering a question, the right course of action is to interrupt his inane babbling, ask the next question and hope for a better answer. The press is not there to coddle politicians, which apparently comes as a surprise to many Americans. This is where the allegation of disrespect comes in: journalists must not express “respect” by letting interviewees off the hook. It is their job to scrutinize political events and decisions. Harshly. Respect is limited to refraining from personal attacks, the expression of blatant opinion in non-op-ed pieces and, well, physical violence I guess. Ms Coleman was not only in line, she was doing her job exceptionally well. This is what proper journalism should look like.
Get this quote from the article linked above:
And it emerged last night that presidential staff suggested to Ms Coleman as she went into the interview that she ask him a question on the outfit that Taoiseach Bertie Ahern wore to the G8 summit.
Isn’t that a perfect summary of what the American press and the expectations held for it have become? You can say what you like, but in this case, Europe clearly has the edge.
Addendum: If I were the praying kind, I would certainly pray for the miracle of Jeremy Paxman getting a sit-down interview with Bush before he leaves office. I can’t help but feel that tears of joy would result.
From me, that is, possibly from Paxman, in private, later — but not from Bush, who would probably spend the next eight or so years of his life in a corner, trembling and sucking his thumb.
One of the great things about living in Berlin is the amount of Cool Stuff happening all year, all the time (though I’m sure the same goes for just about every capital city).
21 Embassies open to the public on July 5th. And because any festival with a bit of pride in itself needs a topic, the topic is — Breakfast. Wander between the embassies, discover breakfasts around the world.
I’m fairly resistant to breakfast, usually — unless it’s made for me and ready when I shuffle out of the bedroom or the bath with pupils like pinheads and a neverending supply of grumpiness at my disposal. Breakfast in Bed is ideal, cooking breakfast for people I love is an acceptable substitute. Brunch is ideal.
Plus, I’m picky about what’s for breakfast. Muesli is disappointing. Grapefruit is too difficult. Jam is usually too sweet, and I think coffee is the right choice for breakfast, not tea (tea is for having a nice sit down in the afternoon). Salt and fat are fine in some things, completely wrong in others. Give me uncomplicated nibbles in the right combination and I’m sold; still, how often does that happen? Bread rolls and jam or beans on toast aren’t really my thing, and the occasions when I can get hot coffee and bread rolls with smoked salmon, butter and horseradish are rare indeed (but cherished even more when they happen).
So maybe, just maybe, I will uncover the joys of a completely different breakfast alien to Western Europe. I suspect Jamaica or Cyprus might win me over — but then I already know that I like salty things with coffee (Cyprus) as well as some of the Jamaican ingredients like ackee, saltfish, fruit and chicolate (no, that’s not a misspelling — it’s a kind of chocolate tea).
If not, well, at least it should be fun, and it will make the so-called “most important meal of the day”* last all day.
*acutely aware that this is bullshit, thankyouverymuch
A sad occurence after all the dirt I’ve shoved it through, but more or less inevitable.
So what does a proper geek girl do? Yeah, I went slightly overboard (fortunately, I could afford it) and came home with a Roomba. No, wait, hear me out.
I’ve been fascinated with Robots as long as I can remember, and couldn’t wait for the day when we’d all have our own personal live-in robotic domestics. Asimov fan? You bet.
So, I’d have jumped at the chance anyway — and the fact that I can now schedule my Roomba to automatically go through my apartment and keep the level of cat hair and dust bunnies at acceptable levels is a huge incentive to me; I’m not a huge fan of hoovering. Plus, the little guy gets into places I simply wouldn’t bother with, zooming excitedly under my sofa and my wardrobes and minimizing the ick factor next time I have to move stuff around.
What a week. I’m on painkillers and antibiotics because of what seems to be a physical reaction to very real grief and/or stress. I managed to break into tears in front of my driving instructor, who surely thinks that I was reacting to his criticism — more so now that I cancelled the subsequent lesson because I was hopped up on goofballs on pretty strong medication and still in pain. I call at 9 am, he calls me at 2 pm and asks where the hell I am and that he got no message.
Sigh.
What makes me smile a little amid the pill-swallowing are things like this:
That is a production of Die Fledermaus from Covent Garden which I like very much; note the appearance of Hinge & Bracket as Prince Orlofsky’s guests. So many wonderful things about this particular production (and this particular performance took place on New Year’s Eve): Plácido Domingo Conducted, Kiri Te Kanawa, Hermann Prey, Benjamin Luxon are in the cast… it rocks. If you can get your hands on this performance, do so.
For me, it’s currently stopping me from overdosing (calm down, not threatening anything here).
