You know the old saying, you can't go home again. And in fact, for most of my life I've actively avoided doing just that: When a chapter closes, I move on. No looking back, no regrets. I'm not saying it was easy, but I knew trying to recapture something I had lost would only blind me to new experiences.
I violated that rule this week...twice. And I'm looking to do it again.
First, I bought a fish tank. As you may know, I got my first tank when I was 21, and three years later I had eleven tanks going, which was ridiculous in a 1-bed apartment! (In fact, my first blog was about my fish, which pre-dated the World Wide Web by about 3 years!) 15 years later, when I moved to Pennsylvania, I broke down all my tanks and sold everything, and decided as much as I enjoyed it, I would not keep fish again.
But when I moved into my flat in Reading, I immediately knew I wanted another tank. I couldn't say why; perhaps I was lonely, perhaps it was too quiet, or perhaps it was because I had just come back from LA, where fish had been a big part of my life. Whatever the reason, I looked at the online classifieds, found someone who was moving and couldn't take the fish with her, and ended up with a 40 gallon tank with five angelfish, a red-tailed shark, a couple of plecos, and an improbably large catfish. (The catfish has to go and I plan to introduce some schooling fish, probably neon tetras.)
Also in 2005, I had to give up playing contract bridge. Similiar to keeping fish, I couldn't explain why I found it so satisfying, but I really enjoyed it. However, I couldn't find anyone who even knew how to play bridge -- nevermind three -- and so I eventually gave up. However, in looking around at things to do, I found the Reading bridge club, and signed up. Yesterday I went to my first class, and it all came back to me. (Which was actually a bit of a problem, because English conventions are slightly different than American ones, so my partner was quite confused!) However, I loved it, and plan to go regularly.
For my next trick, I'm going to take up tennis again, although that isn't something I ever gave up, I just haven't been able to find the time or a partner. i also want to start going to yoga classes again--also not something I gave up on, just haven't been able to do for the past two years.
In addition to putting some structure around my life, these things will also keep me sane, help me integrate into my new community, and hopefully lead to some good friendships. So really I'm not trying to go home again, but making this my new home.
Wednesday, July 27, 2011
Saturday, July 23, 2011
The remains of the trip
My manic trip in LA was unbelievably depressing. It started as the plane landed, with a tight feeling in my gut that stayed with me all weekend. As I saw my old friends, my old home, my old haunts, my old stretch of beach, it just got tighter. Don't get me wrong, I loved seeing everyone, and only wish I'd more time to spend with them. But as I bid goodbye, with vague promises of coming again soon -- and petulant demands they come to London -- a sense of loss flooded over me. It had been a good time in my life, a stable and comfortable time, and I missed it.
With 11 moves in 5 years, I realized I had no idea what "home" felt like any more.
Sunday, I drove from Los Angeles to San Diego, then flew to Sacramento, where my sister-in-law picked me up. Even though it was 9pm and I was exhausted, she wanted to go to a karaoke bar to play pool. Fortunately I convinced her to take me to dinner instead.
In the morning, my mother woke me complaining about the "clutter" I left on the coffee table. I pointed out I left the clutter there because I was sleeping on the sofa. I was sleeping on the sofa because my sister was sleeping in the guest bed. She had moved in a year ago after losing her job, which I could understand. That she had moved her boyfriend in, as well, I was having a little trouble with. That they were both now working but hadn't moved out, weren't paying rent, and weren't helping around the house was also a little frustrating.
After I made breakfast, my mother pointed to a large inflatable pool she had bought and gave me a small hand air pump. "You're taking the piss," I said, forgetting that was a rather rude (and incomprehensible) thing to say in the States. All week I found myself mentally translating from English to American, which was a funny feeling after spending so much time translating the other way. Fortunately, her neighbor had a compressor.
I didn't actually spend much time with my mother -- after all, she was coming to London a week after I returned. The timing was kind of odd; I had been planning on visting in May, for my nieces' birthdays, but work had postponed that trip. With my breakup from Jess, she was kind enough to let me fly on her concessions one last time -- so this trip cost me US $300, and my next trip will probably cost me over US $1000.
But I did spend as much time with my nieces as possible, and they were wonderful. They laughed, they cried, they screamed, they got mad at me, they forgave me, they drove me to the edge, and I loved it. i can't possibly explain why, no matter how annoying they are, you love them anyway. Actually, i feel that way about my entire family.
And I suppose they feel the same way about me. Coming and going like a whirlwind, reorganizing my mother's house every time i'm there, winding everyone up and then disappearing for months on end. They deal with my mood swings, and aren't surprised when they're the last ones to find out something about me. And I know no matter what happens, they still love me.
So i left California even more depressed than I started, but resigned to my life in London. After all, I had a job, and two more years to go before I qualified for 'indefinite leave to remain' -- if I left England now, I woudn't be able to move back. And besides, while I was in the States, my offer on the flat in Reading was accepted, and I wa able to move in the next day. But that's another story...
With 11 moves in 5 years, I realized I had no idea what "home" felt like any more.
Sunday, I drove from Los Angeles to San Diego, then flew to Sacramento, where my sister-in-law picked me up. Even though it was 9pm and I was exhausted, she wanted to go to a karaoke bar to play pool. Fortunately I convinced her to take me to dinner instead.
In the morning, my mother woke me complaining about the "clutter" I left on the coffee table. I pointed out I left the clutter there because I was sleeping on the sofa. I was sleeping on the sofa because my sister was sleeping in the guest bed. She had moved in a year ago after losing her job, which I could understand. That she had moved her boyfriend in, as well, I was having a little trouble with. That they were both now working but hadn't moved out, weren't paying rent, and weren't helping around the house was also a little frustrating.
After I made breakfast, my mother pointed to a large inflatable pool she had bought and gave me a small hand air pump. "You're taking the piss," I said, forgetting that was a rather rude (and incomprehensible) thing to say in the States. All week I found myself mentally translating from English to American, which was a funny feeling after spending so much time translating the other way. Fortunately, her neighbor had a compressor.
I didn't actually spend much time with my mother -- after all, she was coming to London a week after I returned. The timing was kind of odd; I had been planning on visting in May, for my nieces' birthdays, but work had postponed that trip. With my breakup from Jess, she was kind enough to let me fly on her concessions one last time -- so this trip cost me US $300, and my next trip will probably cost me over US $1000.
But I did spend as much time with my nieces as possible, and they were wonderful. They laughed, they cried, they screamed, they got mad at me, they forgave me, they drove me to the edge, and I loved it. i can't possibly explain why, no matter how annoying they are, you love them anyway. Actually, i feel that way about my entire family.
And I suppose they feel the same way about me. Coming and going like a whirlwind, reorganizing my mother's house every time i'm there, winding everyone up and then disappearing for months on end. They deal with my mood swings, and aren't surprised when they're the last ones to find out something about me. And I know no matter what happens, they still love me.
So i left California even more depressed than I started, but resigned to my life in London. After all, I had a job, and two more years to go before I qualified for 'indefinite leave to remain' -- if I left England now, I woudn't be able to move back. And besides, while I was in the States, my offer on the flat in Reading was accepted, and I wa able to move in the next day. But that's another story...
My trip so far
I arrived Saturday night at 9pm as planned, to find all lights off and everyone asleep. I let myself in (they don't lock the doors and the dog is worthless), brushed my teeth, and went to bed. 5 minutes later, Barbara comes into the room, yells at me that I was early, then yells at me that I'm in the wrong bedroom. After telling her several times I was fine, I finally gave in and moved to the other bedroom.
George woke me at 6am in the morning by yelling in my ear, "Are you awake?" I got up and listened to them both tell me how they get up every 2 hours because they are insomniacs, so they have a cup of coffee and go back to bed. I wrote "decaf coffee" on the shopping list.
They spent the entire morning telling my how the neighbor, Karen, keeps coming over and drinking 4 or 5 cans of beer, and how much this upsets them. I tell them they just have to say no. In the afternoon. the neighbor, Karen, comes over and asks for a beer, and Barbara tells her "no." I think everything is fine and then George says, "Come on, just one beer." Karen proceeds to help herself to four beers in an hour, and staggers home. That evening, she calls to see if she can come over, and Barbara tells her "no." Karen proceeds to come over anyway, and Barbara tells us not to answer the door. This seems childish but I agree, and Karen proceeds to ring the doorbell about 10 times before George answers the door and invites her to sleep on the sofa. Fortunately, her partner came and got her. I find out later the only reason she was over at George and Barbara's is because the shops aren't allowed to sell alcohol on Sundays; otherwise she would have walked to the gas station. (She can't drive; she has two DUIs and they took away her license.)
Sunday is 94 degrees. So are Monday and Tuesday. It's absolutely miserable, and they don't have air conditioning. That's not entirely true--they had central air but that broke down four years ago, so they installed window air conditioners in two bedrooms, but one of those was taken out by an electrical surge last September, literally the day after my last visit. ( It also destroyed the oven, the microwave, the dishwasher, two televisions, one phone, a clock, and the computer. Needless to say, the power company said they weren't responsible, and the insurance company said they weren't covered.)
The remaining air conditioner was in the third bedroom -- the one I was ordered to sleep in -- but I refused to turn it on, just to see how hard it was to sleep at night. It turned out to be impossible, and I'm 41 -- my uncle is 85. I begged them to let me move the air conditioner into their room, but they insisted they have air conditioning for guests, of which they get about two per year, and it's usually me. So I bought a new air conditioner, and installed it in their bedroom. For some reason, they were okay with that. Mostly they're happy because the dog -- a large black lab -- doesn't like the heat.
A friend had fixed the computer a few months ago but George hadn't used it because he couldn't remember how to turn it on, even though I had left very clear instructions, and I mailed him a copy of the instructions, both of which I found sitting next to the computer. I wanted to get him used to using the computer again, so I called my mom and scheduled an online Scrabble match for Monday morning. George was quite excited, so it was really hard to tell him when my mom didn't show up. Tuesday she was busy, Wednesday we were busy, so maybe we'll have one match on Thursday. Hopefully that will be enough.
On Monday evening, Bobby from the Appliance Repair Center came by to look at the stove and dishwasher. The stove had been fried -- pardon the pun -- and replacing the controller board would cost almost as much as a new stove, so there wasn't much point there. The dishwasher, however, was working fine, it just wasn't draining. When Bobby cleared the drain, he found shards of glass which had destroyed the impeller, and replacing that cost $245! I went ahead and paid, not because they need the convenience of a dishwasher, but because the previous day I had watched my uncle finish a bowl of cereal, rinse it, and then put it back in the cupboard, declaring it clean. It still had bits of cereal and milk in it.
The next day, I also saw my aunt throw away a glass that had cracked, and my uncle fetched it out of the trash and tried to put it in the dishwasher. My aunt stopped him this time, but I suspect it won't be long before the dishwasher needs a new impeller.
For the stove, I took them to the Discount Appliance Outlet, which sells refurbished appliances However, Barbara wasn't interested in the stove at all, but was eyeballing a refrigerator because, even though her current one works fine. she hates having a side-by-side, and the seal is a bit tattered which is allowing mildew to grow along the edge. I thought, that's crazy to spend $187 on a fridge, and asked how much a new seal would be. They said $70 plus installation. Per door. Suddenly $187 doesn't sound so bad! I'm still thinking about it.
Tuesday afternoon, Jim stopped by. He delivers meals to George and Barbara every other week, for his church, and on one of these visits George apparently complained to him about the state of the den. George complained to me as well, but I ignored it because they never use the den. It's a converted garage, it's not comfortable, there is nothing in it besides a sofa and an ironing board, and the only reason they go in it at all is to leave via the side door, because if they use the front door the dog pushes his way past and escapes. The side door, however, is exposed to the elements, and some water leaked through and discolored the paint. When the neighbor took off the door trim to repaint, he found evidence of termites, and so he left the door trim off until the termites were dealt with. That was two years ago.
So Jim, being an unnaturally nice person (and I've met quite a few in this area), came by and spackled the wall, repainted the door, and replaced the molding (no easy feat considering the original molding had long been lost). He also repaired the soffits, cleaned the exterior wood, and even dusted all the cobwebs. (Did I mention they never use the den?) He worked for 3 hours in the 94 degree heat, and his shirt was soaked through. My aunt and uncle didn't thank him, because they thought I had hired him.
I also met Jim's partner, Linda, who is starting a new business called "helping hands" or "extra hands" or "extra helping hands" -- I don't really know. Barbara was complaining earlier that day that she couldn't mop the floors because it hurt her back, and so I was talking to Linda about coming once a month to help Barbara do what she couldn't. Linda was really sweet and I thought everything was fine; we just needed to pick a day, but by then Barbara had locked herself in the bedroom. Linda said she'd call to schedule it, but that nightI heard Barbara yelling at George that she kept the house clean and didn't need any help. George told her that when Linda called, he would thank her and let her know they didn't need any help. I'm sure they were trying to be clever and sneaky, but when one of them is deaf and they have to yell at each other, it doesn't always work. I haven't figured out how to handle it yet. You would think they would be grateful for my help, but they fight me every step of the way.
For example, the Barrow County Senior Center. It's an ambulatory day care facility which is funded entirely by the state, and they provide transportation, lunch, a pool table, exercise classes, etc. for free to anyone over the age of 60. It's a nice, quiet, air conditioned place to socialize for four hours, whenever they want. I discovered this on my last visit, but I needed to make an appointment to register, and they couldn't do it until the day after I left. Their friend Paul offered to drive George over but when he arrived that morning, George refused to go.
I don't take no so readily, so on Wednesday I got George signed up, but he is already telling me he won't go, because he doesn't' like talking to strangers. Which is odd, because whenever we go someplace he will spend hours talking to strangers. He is absolutely starved for contact, but at 85 doesn't really see himself fitting in with "those old farts," even though his favorite topic are his medical conditions.
His second favorite topic at the moment is "Law and Order," the TV series. That's because the USA channel plays it 24 hours a day, and they watch is 24 hours a day, although lately they've been watching the live "Casey Anthony" murder trial, as well. After the third time he tried to engage me in a serious discussion about the acting talents of one of the lead characters, I yelled at him that I didn't care about Law and Order. I must have hurt his feelings, because he's only brought it up twice since.
We also went to see the doctor, who is on a first name basis with George. It was the typical affair -- had an appointment for 11am, waited in the lobby until 12:30, saw the doctor for 10 minutes, and left with a prescription for three medications, on top of of the nine George is already taking. George, who had been complaining of his prostate for three days, suddenly became very sheepish in front of the doctor, and what had been "hurting like hell" was now "a little bothersome." The doctor was suprised to find George was no longer taking the prescription for his prostate he had previously given, and gave him another one. I suspect this is very common, as George is seeing three specialists for various problems, and no one coordinates anything. It does make you wonder how other seniors are coping.
In the evening, I took George and Barbara to celebrate their 45th wedding anniversary. We went to "Fatz Cafe," which seems unfortunately named--or possibly appropriately named--in the south, where most of the people are on the "plus" side of the scale. The very far side. I have to say, having lived in London for three years, I've really started hating coming back to America -- as soon as the plane lands, the aisles are full of loud, fat, annoying people. And the roads are full of ridiculously large vehicles either travelling at 90mph in the slow lane, or 50mph in the fast lane. And everything is a drive-through: Food, ATMs, prescriptions. Why do they still have six-acre parking lots when most people won't even get out of their car?
So that is my vacation so far. Tomorrow I have to run down to Home Depot to get some pink paint to finish the den, get back in time to set up the scrabble game, pack, go to the post office to mail a 6 oz tube of cream to my mother so I don't have to check my bag at the airport (which would cost $25!), call someone about steam cleaning their upholstery so it doesn't smell like the black lab, leave for the airport by 3 and pray I don't get stuck in traffic.
Then I've got three manic days in LA before I go to Sacramento to see my family, and it's supposed to be 97 degrees there.
George woke me at 6am in the morning by yelling in my ear, "Are you awake?" I got up and listened to them both tell me how they get up every 2 hours because they are insomniacs, so they have a cup of coffee and go back to bed. I wrote "decaf coffee" on the shopping list.
They spent the entire morning telling my how the neighbor, Karen, keeps coming over and drinking 4 or 5 cans of beer, and how much this upsets them. I tell them they just have to say no. In the afternoon. the neighbor, Karen, comes over and asks for a beer, and Barbara tells her "no." I think everything is fine and then George says, "Come on, just one beer." Karen proceeds to help herself to four beers in an hour, and staggers home. That evening, she calls to see if she can come over, and Barbara tells her "no." Karen proceeds to come over anyway, and Barbara tells us not to answer the door. This seems childish but I agree, and Karen proceeds to ring the doorbell about 10 times before George answers the door and invites her to sleep on the sofa. Fortunately, her partner came and got her. I find out later the only reason she was over at George and Barbara's is because the shops aren't allowed to sell alcohol on Sundays; otherwise she would have walked to the gas station. (She can't drive; she has two DUIs and they took away her license.)
Sunday is 94 degrees. So are Monday and Tuesday. It's absolutely miserable, and they don't have air conditioning. That's not entirely true--they had central air but that broke down four years ago, so they installed window air conditioners in two bedrooms, but one of those was taken out by an electrical surge last September, literally the day after my last visit. ( It also destroyed the oven, the microwave, the dishwasher, two televisions, one phone, a clock, and the computer. Needless to say, the power company said they weren't responsible, and the insurance company said they weren't covered.)
The remaining air conditioner was in the third bedroom -- the one I was ordered to sleep in -- but I refused to turn it on, just to see how hard it was to sleep at night. It turned out to be impossible, and I'm 41 -- my uncle is 85. I begged them to let me move the air conditioner into their room, but they insisted they have air conditioning for guests, of which they get about two per year, and it's usually me. So I bought a new air conditioner, and installed it in their bedroom. For some reason, they were okay with that. Mostly they're happy because the dog -- a large black lab -- doesn't like the heat.
A friend had fixed the computer a few months ago but George hadn't used it because he couldn't remember how to turn it on, even though I had left very clear instructions, and I mailed him a copy of the instructions, both of which I found sitting next to the computer. I wanted to get him used to using the computer again, so I called my mom and scheduled an online Scrabble match for Monday morning. George was quite excited, so it was really hard to tell him when my mom didn't show up. Tuesday she was busy, Wednesday we were busy, so maybe we'll have one match on Thursday. Hopefully that will be enough.
On Monday evening, Bobby from the Appliance Repair Center came by to look at the stove and dishwasher. The stove had been fried -- pardon the pun -- and replacing the controller board would cost almost as much as a new stove, so there wasn't much point there. The dishwasher, however, was working fine, it just wasn't draining. When Bobby cleared the drain, he found shards of glass which had destroyed the impeller, and replacing that cost $245! I went ahead and paid, not because they need the convenience of a dishwasher, but because the previous day I had watched my uncle finish a bowl of cereal, rinse it, and then put it back in the cupboard, declaring it clean. It still had bits of cereal and milk in it.
The next day, I also saw my aunt throw away a glass that had cracked, and my uncle fetched it out of the trash and tried to put it in the dishwasher. My aunt stopped him this time, but I suspect it won't be long before the dishwasher needs a new impeller.
For the stove, I took them to the Discount Appliance Outlet, which sells refurbished appliances However, Barbara wasn't interested in the stove at all, but was eyeballing a refrigerator because, even though her current one works fine. she hates having a side-by-side, and the seal is a bit tattered which is allowing mildew to grow along the edge. I thought, that's crazy to spend $187 on a fridge, and asked how much a new seal would be. They said $70 plus installation. Per door. Suddenly $187 doesn't sound so bad! I'm still thinking about it.
Tuesday afternoon, Jim stopped by. He delivers meals to George and Barbara every other week, for his church, and on one of these visits George apparently complained to him about the state of the den. George complained to me as well, but I ignored it because they never use the den. It's a converted garage, it's not comfortable, there is nothing in it besides a sofa and an ironing board, and the only reason they go in it at all is to leave via the side door, because if they use the front door the dog pushes his way past and escapes. The side door, however, is exposed to the elements, and some water leaked through and discolored the paint. When the neighbor took off the door trim to repaint, he found evidence of termites, and so he left the door trim off until the termites were dealt with. That was two years ago.
So Jim, being an unnaturally nice person (and I've met quite a few in this area), came by and spackled the wall, repainted the door, and replaced the molding (no easy feat considering the original molding had long been lost). He also repaired the soffits, cleaned the exterior wood, and even dusted all the cobwebs. (Did I mention they never use the den?) He worked for 3 hours in the 94 degree heat, and his shirt was soaked through. My aunt and uncle didn't thank him, because they thought I had hired him.
I also met Jim's partner, Linda, who is starting a new business called "helping hands" or "extra hands" or "extra helping hands" -- I don't really know. Barbara was complaining earlier that day that she couldn't mop the floors because it hurt her back, and so I was talking to Linda about coming once a month to help Barbara do what she couldn't. Linda was really sweet and I thought everything was fine; we just needed to pick a day, but by then Barbara had locked herself in the bedroom. Linda said she'd call to schedule it, but that nightI heard Barbara yelling at George that she kept the house clean and didn't need any help. George told her that when Linda called, he would thank her and let her know they didn't need any help. I'm sure they were trying to be clever and sneaky, but when one of them is deaf and they have to yell at each other, it doesn't always work. I haven't figured out how to handle it yet. You would think they would be grateful for my help, but they fight me every step of the way.
For example, the Barrow County Senior Center. It's an ambulatory day care facility which is funded entirely by the state, and they provide transportation, lunch, a pool table, exercise classes, etc. for free to anyone over the age of 60. It's a nice, quiet, air conditioned place to socialize for four hours, whenever they want. I discovered this on my last visit, but I needed to make an appointment to register, and they couldn't do it until the day after I left. Their friend Paul offered to drive George over but when he arrived that morning, George refused to go.
I don't take no so readily, so on Wednesday I got George signed up, but he is already telling me he won't go, because he doesn't' like talking to strangers. Which is odd, because whenever we go someplace he will spend hours talking to strangers. He is absolutely starved for contact, but at 85 doesn't really see himself fitting in with "those old farts," even though his favorite topic are his medical conditions.
His second favorite topic at the moment is "Law and Order," the TV series. That's because the USA channel plays it 24 hours a day, and they watch is 24 hours a day, although lately they've been watching the live "Casey Anthony" murder trial, as well. After the third time he tried to engage me in a serious discussion about the acting talents of one of the lead characters, I yelled at him that I didn't care about Law and Order. I must have hurt his feelings, because he's only brought it up twice since.
We also went to see the doctor, who is on a first name basis with George. It was the typical affair -- had an appointment for 11am, waited in the lobby until 12:30, saw the doctor for 10 minutes, and left with a prescription for three medications, on top of of the nine George is already taking. George, who had been complaining of his prostate for three days, suddenly became very sheepish in front of the doctor, and what had been "hurting like hell" was now "a little bothersome." The doctor was suprised to find George was no longer taking the prescription for his prostate he had previously given, and gave him another one. I suspect this is very common, as George is seeing three specialists for various problems, and no one coordinates anything. It does make you wonder how other seniors are coping.
In the evening, I took George and Barbara to celebrate their 45th wedding anniversary. We went to "Fatz Cafe," which seems unfortunately named--or possibly appropriately named--in the south, where most of the people are on the "plus" side of the scale. The very far side. I have to say, having lived in London for three years, I've really started hating coming back to America -- as soon as the plane lands, the aisles are full of loud, fat, annoying people. And the roads are full of ridiculously large vehicles either travelling at 90mph in the slow lane, or 50mph in the fast lane. And everything is a drive-through: Food, ATMs, prescriptions. Why do they still have six-acre parking lots when most people won't even get out of their car?
So that is my vacation so far. Tomorrow I have to run down to Home Depot to get some pink paint to finish the den, get back in time to set up the scrabble game, pack, go to the post office to mail a 6 oz tube of cream to my mother so I don't have to check my bag at the airport (which would cost $25!), call someone about steam cleaning their upholstery so it doesn't smell like the black lab, leave for the airport by 3 and pray I don't get stuck in traffic.
Then I've got three manic days in LA before I go to Sacramento to see my family, and it's supposed to be 97 degrees there.
Thursday, July 21, 2011
News of the World
I'm not sure how much coverage this is getting in the States, but it's been pretty riveting over here. News of the World is the UK equivalent of the National Enquirer, except that it has been published weekly for 168 years (!) and has a circulation of nearly 3 million copies, over three times higher than the National Enquirer. (Not bad for a country with one-fifth the population.) In fact, it was the biggest selling English language newspaper in the world. And I stress "was" because it ceased publication on July 10.
The scandal that caused its downfall started in November 2005 with a fairly innocuous story about a knee injury suffered by Prince William (he who was recently married). However, the Royals soon realized the details of that story could only have been gotten by listening to William's private voice mails on his cell phone. (They refer to it as 'phone hacking' here, but given how few people change their default voice mail password, I question how much 'hacking' was actually done.) After a year-long police inquiry, in which it was determined hundreds of people had been affected, two people were jailed and the editor resigned. That should have been the end of the story.
Except David Cameron, then opposition leader, hired the disgraced editor as his PR chief. And even after the sentencing, more people came forward, alleging their voice mails were accessed as well. The story flared up every few months, but the Met (the London police department, affectionately known as Scotland Yard) decided not to re-open the inquiry, and nothing much happened until May of this year, when four people (including two members of Parliament) won a high court bid for a judicial review.
In separate news, Rupert Murdoch, the Australian media magnate who owns News of The World also owns The Sun (the largest daily paper in the UK), 20th Century Fox and the Fox broadcasting network, and 40% of Sky broadcasting, the major satellite TV provider in the UK. Since last October, he had been negotiating to purchase the remaining 60% of Sky, valued at around £13 billion (US $20 billion). It had been a rough battle because the MP charged with reviewing the merger believed it consolidated too much of the UK media in one company. However, last December, two reporters for the London Telegraph posed undercover as constituents and secretly taped a conversation with the MP on a number of topics, the most controversial one being that the MP "had declared war on Rupert Murdoch."
David Cameron, now Prime Minister, censured the MP and stripped him of responsibility, appointing another MP who promptly approved the deal in March. It had only to go through Parliamentary approval, which was scheduled for July 19.
Also in separate news, in June Levi Bellfield was tried (and convicted) for the kidnap and murder of Milly Dowler, a 13-year-old girl, in 2002. As part of that case, however, it was discovered that News of the World reporters had not only accessed voice mails for Milly Dowler after she went missing, but had actually deleted some of the voice mails to make room for more! This misled police and her family into believing Milly Dowler was still alive -- and accessing her voice mail -- when she was in fact already dead. This lead to a public outcry against the newspaper, and the government had to respond.
Except, of course, now David Cameron was Prime Minister and the former editor was one of his cabinet members. The editor resigned and the Prime Minister has tried to distance himself as much as possible, Parliament also scuttled the Sky broadcasting merger, leading to egg on everyon's face. But then it got more interesting.
As part of the judicial review started in May, investigators found over 300 emails indicating News of the World routinely paid police officers for information. And that's illegal. Journalists also found that senior members of the police force often have lunch with journalists, and that politicians do as well.
Now, in the past four days, the former editor and CEO of News International (the parent company in the UK) has been arrested, the senior Met Police Commissioner has resigned , the assistant Commissioner who decided not to reopen the inquiry in 2009 also resigned, Rupert Murdoch and his son James have both been called to give testimony before Parliament, and the FBI are investigating whether News of the World hacked the phones of 9/11 victims! The UK government has also launched separate inquiries to define new rules for media ownership and influence, and in the allegations of police being paid for information.
By the beginning of July, advertisers began pulling ads in News of the World, and by July 7 Rupert Murdoch announced it would cease publication. News Corp share price fell 16% between June 17 and July 18. And with a story that makes new revelations daily, I'm sure this isn't over yet.
The irony, of course, is that this is exactly the sort of story you would read in News of the World...if it were still in business.
The scandal that caused its downfall started in November 2005 with a fairly innocuous story about a knee injury suffered by Prince William (he who was recently married). However, the Royals soon realized the details of that story could only have been gotten by listening to William's private voice mails on his cell phone. (They refer to it as 'phone hacking' here, but given how few people change their default voice mail password, I question how much 'hacking' was actually done.) After a year-long police inquiry, in which it was determined hundreds of people had been affected, two people were jailed and the editor resigned. That should have been the end of the story.
Except David Cameron, then opposition leader, hired the disgraced editor as his PR chief. And even after the sentencing, more people came forward, alleging their voice mails were accessed as well. The story flared up every few months, but the Met (the London police department, affectionately known as Scotland Yard) decided not to re-open the inquiry, and nothing much happened until May of this year, when four people (including two members of Parliament) won a high court bid for a judicial review.
In separate news, Rupert Murdoch, the Australian media magnate who owns News of The World also owns The Sun (the largest daily paper in the UK), 20th Century Fox and the Fox broadcasting network, and 40% of Sky broadcasting, the major satellite TV provider in the UK. Since last October, he had been negotiating to purchase the remaining 60% of Sky, valued at around £13 billion (US $20 billion). It had been a rough battle because the MP charged with reviewing the merger believed it consolidated too much of the UK media in one company. However, last December, two reporters for the London Telegraph posed undercover as constituents and secretly taped a conversation with the MP on a number of topics, the most controversial one being that the MP "had declared war on Rupert Murdoch."
David Cameron, now Prime Minister, censured the MP and stripped him of responsibility, appointing another MP who promptly approved the deal in March. It had only to go through Parliamentary approval, which was scheduled for July 19.
Also in separate news, in June Levi Bellfield was tried (and convicted) for the kidnap and murder of Milly Dowler, a 13-year-old girl, in 2002. As part of that case, however, it was discovered that News of the World reporters had not only accessed voice mails for Milly Dowler after she went missing, but had actually deleted some of the voice mails to make room for more! This misled police and her family into believing Milly Dowler was still alive -- and accessing her voice mail -- when she was in fact already dead. This lead to a public outcry against the newspaper, and the government had to respond.
Except, of course, now David Cameron was Prime Minister and the former editor was one of his cabinet members. The editor resigned and the Prime Minister has tried to distance himself as much as possible, Parliament also scuttled the Sky broadcasting merger, leading to egg on everyon's face. But then it got more interesting.
As part of the judicial review started in May, investigators found over 300 emails indicating News of the World routinely paid police officers for information. And that's illegal. Journalists also found that senior members of the police force often have lunch with journalists, and that politicians do as well.
Now, in the past four days, the former editor and CEO of News International (the parent company in the UK) has been arrested, the senior Met Police Commissioner has resigned , the assistant Commissioner who decided not to reopen the inquiry in 2009 also resigned, Rupert Murdoch and his son James have both been called to give testimony before Parliament, and the FBI are investigating whether News of the World hacked the phones of 9/11 victims! The UK government has also launched separate inquiries to define new rules for media ownership and influence, and in the allegations of police being paid for information.
By the beginning of July, advertisers began pulling ads in News of the World, and by July 7 Rupert Murdoch announced it would cease publication. News Corp share price fell 16% between June 17 and July 18. And with a story that makes new revelations daily, I'm sure this isn't over yet.
The irony, of course, is that this is exactly the sort of story you would read in News of the World...if it were still in business.
Tuesday, July 19, 2011
Calamities
I don't know anyone in Reading, but I lined up three events this weekend to make sure I wouldn't be lonely:
- On Saturday morning, I was going to services at the local synagogue for the first time, which is actually not so local -- about a 25 minute drive. I left 15 minutes early but between the heavy rain and my GPS losing signal twice -- both at rather important times -- I got there right at 10:30...but I couldn't find the building! Turns out there's a little unmarked sidestreet that you have to turn into, and go through a gate, to get to the parking lot. Unfortunately, by the time I found it, I was already 10 minutes late and so I went home.
- Sunday morning I was going to London for a tour of the British Museum with my rabbi, but as I went to leave the house, the key in the deadbolt started spinning, and the deadbolt wouldn't open! I was trapped in my own apartment, on the third floor! And unlike in the States where you can disassemble a lock from the inside, the entire lock mechanism was inside the door and I had to call a locksmith to drill it out! Needless to say, that took 90 minutes and I missed the tour.
- And then Monday night, I was going to attend a bridge class at the local club. It was less than 10 minutes away but I left almost half an hour early because I wasn't sure about parking. I got in my car and the battery was dead. %^&! I called the local auto club and they came out in 20 minutes (!) and it turned out the terminal was just loose -- I could have fixed that myself, had I thought to look. So I raced down there and found the building, but never did find the parking. (The street parking was all "permit only" and the place they told me to park didn't exist.) So finally I just gave up.
So much for my social life. Tomorrow night I'm going to check out the Caversham Tennis Club, as they have an open session Tuesdays at 6pm. Wish me luck...
- On Saturday morning, I was going to services at the local synagogue for the first time, which is actually not so local -- about a 25 minute drive. I left 15 minutes early but between the heavy rain and my GPS losing signal twice -- both at rather important times -- I got there right at 10:30...but I couldn't find the building! Turns out there's a little unmarked sidestreet that you have to turn into, and go through a gate, to get to the parking lot. Unfortunately, by the time I found it, I was already 10 minutes late and so I went home.
- Sunday morning I was going to London for a tour of the British Museum with my rabbi, but as I went to leave the house, the key in the deadbolt started spinning, and the deadbolt wouldn't open! I was trapped in my own apartment, on the third floor! And unlike in the States where you can disassemble a lock from the inside, the entire lock mechanism was inside the door and I had to call a locksmith to drill it out! Needless to say, that took 90 minutes and I missed the tour.
- And then Monday night, I was going to attend a bridge class at the local club. It was less than 10 minutes away but I left almost half an hour early because I wasn't sure about parking. I got in my car and the battery was dead. %^&! I called the local auto club and they came out in 20 minutes (!) and it turned out the terminal was just loose -- I could have fixed that myself, had I thought to look. So I raced down there and found the building, but never did find the parking. (The street parking was all "permit only" and the place they told me to park didn't exist.) So finally I just gave up.
So much for my social life. Tomorrow night I'm going to check out the Caversham Tennis Club, as they have an open session Tuesdays at 6pm. Wish me luck...
Monday, July 18, 2011
New address
OK, this is getting embarassing, but I now have my 11th permanent change of address in 5 years. (I've lost track of the temporary moves...)
73 Elliots Way
Reading, Berkshire
RG4 8BW
UK
So, you might ask, what happened? And honestly, I couldn't tell you. I want to say it was a culmination of many issues, but I think it's more accurate to say it was the recognition that the issues were getting worse, not better. The problem, as I see it, is Jess has never been in a 'real' relationship before, and so didn't appreciate that you have to behave slightly differently in a long-term relationship than in a short-term one. Unfortunately, my efforts to help her understand that fell on deaf ears, and so I patiently waited for her to figure it out on her own. After three years, I guess my patience finally ran out.
I think the 'final straw' speaks volumes. After all we'd been through remodeling the house, we finally moved at the end of April, and it should have been one of excitement and celebration. However, during the move we put a lot of boxes in the spare bedroom (as one does), and while Jess was out of town for business, I sorted through them. Keep in mind, this was not personal stuff; this was books and linens and kitchen utensils. And it wasn't organized; when you move, everything gets thrown in helter-skelter, so all I did was organize it -- put the linens together on the bed, the books together in the corner, the bathroom stuff together under the sink, etc. I left it to Jess to actually put everything away, so it was the way she wanted it and she knew where everything was.
Jess was upset beyond words. To hear her tell it, I should have asked permission first, that I shouldn't have touched her things, and that I didn't organize anything, I just took a controlled mess (the boxes in one room) and made a larger mess (piles throughout the house). And the fact is, I knew she would feel that way--when she agreed to let me move in to her flat, her one requirement was "don't touch anything." Hardly a warm, loving welcome, but I recognized that controlling part of her personality--which is why I didn't actual put anything way, but left it for her.
In addition, I knew that left to her own devices, Jess would never unpack the boxes--as long as they were out of sight, that was good enough for her. However, I don't work that way, and having a room full of boxes would have grated on me every day. So unpacking everything served two purposes--one, it forced us to put things away (and get rid of what we didn't need), and two, it was my way of saying this is our house; we share it and have to deal with it together.
Jess couldn't deal with it. But what was worse than her yelling at me -- which I expected -- was that she then proceeded to ignore me for two weeks. Two weeks! I couldn't talk to her, couldn't touch her, couldn't do anything with her. I kept thinking, this is so ridiculous, how much longer can she keep this up? Well, I don't actually know how much longer she could have gone, because two weeks was my limit, and I blew up. In a big way.
Two and a half years of being patient, of waiting for her to commit, to acknowledge and respect me, to feel like I was actually in a relationship--all of that came pouring forth in heated rhetoric that could not have possibly had any aim other than the total destruction of the relationship. And that's not uncommon for me--I am not a man of halves, and if I can't have it all, I'd rather not have it at all. And that is exactly what I ended up with, nothing at all.
If I expected Jess to fight for the relationship, I was sadly mistaken. She did at one point make an appointment with a relationship counselor, but then immediately started asking me if it was worthwhile. I said "yes" the first three times, but the fourth time she asked, I told her if the £50 fee was more important to her than saving our relationship, then she should cancel it. And she did. So I moved out.
I moved back into the hotel from whence I started, and spent a few weeks assessing my life. I decided to move out of London, but not too far, and Reading was the obvious choice -- not only were there frequent, high-speed trains into central London, but my company had an office there was well. It had also recently undergone a bit of a renewal and the town centre was thriving, with a huge new open-air mall. It had a much lower cost of living, and I was able to find a two-bed flat that overlooked a park and the Thames river for less than I was paying for my one-bed flat in Ealing! And because the rail station is within walking distance, it takes me about the same amount of time -- 45 minutes -- to get into central London as it did from Ealing!
So I'm quite content here, although I have lots of stories from the past week: getting locked in, buying a fish tank, etc. I've also come to grips with the fact that the things I wanted with Jess, I still want -- I just have to find it with someone else. Someone who, hopefully, will appreciate the relationship.
I will certainly miss Jess--she was smart and funny, I thought she was absolutely gorgeous, she could be loving and compassionate, and her gentlest touch always went right through me. However, I won't miss feeling like a constant disappointment, being pushed away, and being completely ignored for weeks on end. Plus, while I hate to sleep alone, I prefer it to sleeping with someone who prefers to sleep alone, if that makes any sense.
73 Elliots Way
Reading, Berkshire
RG4 8BW
UK
So, you might ask, what happened? And honestly, I couldn't tell you. I want to say it was a culmination of many issues, but I think it's more accurate to say it was the recognition that the issues were getting worse, not better. The problem, as I see it, is Jess has never been in a 'real' relationship before, and so didn't appreciate that you have to behave slightly differently in a long-term relationship than in a short-term one. Unfortunately, my efforts to help her understand that fell on deaf ears, and so I patiently waited for her to figure it out on her own. After three years, I guess my patience finally ran out.
I think the 'final straw' speaks volumes. After all we'd been through remodeling the house, we finally moved at the end of April, and it should have been one of excitement and celebration. However, during the move we put a lot of boxes in the spare bedroom (as one does), and while Jess was out of town for business, I sorted through them. Keep in mind, this was not personal stuff; this was books and linens and kitchen utensils. And it wasn't organized; when you move, everything gets thrown in helter-skelter, so all I did was organize it -- put the linens together on the bed, the books together in the corner, the bathroom stuff together under the sink, etc. I left it to Jess to actually put everything away, so it was the way she wanted it and she knew where everything was.
Jess was upset beyond words. To hear her tell it, I should have asked permission first, that I shouldn't have touched her things, and that I didn't organize anything, I just took a controlled mess (the boxes in one room) and made a larger mess (piles throughout the house). And the fact is, I knew she would feel that way--when she agreed to let me move in to her flat, her one requirement was "don't touch anything." Hardly a warm, loving welcome, but I recognized that controlling part of her personality--which is why I didn't actual put anything way, but left it for her.
In addition, I knew that left to her own devices, Jess would never unpack the boxes--as long as they were out of sight, that was good enough for her. However, I don't work that way, and having a room full of boxes would have grated on me every day. So unpacking everything served two purposes--one, it forced us to put things away (and get rid of what we didn't need), and two, it was my way of saying this is our house; we share it and have to deal with it together.
Jess couldn't deal with it. But what was worse than her yelling at me -- which I expected -- was that she then proceeded to ignore me for two weeks. Two weeks! I couldn't talk to her, couldn't touch her, couldn't do anything with her. I kept thinking, this is so ridiculous, how much longer can she keep this up? Well, I don't actually know how much longer she could have gone, because two weeks was my limit, and I blew up. In a big way.
Two and a half years of being patient, of waiting for her to commit, to acknowledge and respect me, to feel like I was actually in a relationship--all of that came pouring forth in heated rhetoric that could not have possibly had any aim other than the total destruction of the relationship. And that's not uncommon for me--I am not a man of halves, and if I can't have it all, I'd rather not have it at all. And that is exactly what I ended up with, nothing at all.
If I expected Jess to fight for the relationship, I was sadly mistaken. She did at one point make an appointment with a relationship counselor, but then immediately started asking me if it was worthwhile. I said "yes" the first three times, but the fourth time she asked, I told her if the £50 fee was more important to her than saving our relationship, then she should cancel it. And she did. So I moved out.
I moved back into the hotel from whence I started, and spent a few weeks assessing my life. I decided to move out of London, but not too far, and Reading was the obvious choice -- not only were there frequent, high-speed trains into central London, but my company had an office there was well. It had also recently undergone a bit of a renewal and the town centre was thriving, with a huge new open-air mall. It had a much lower cost of living, and I was able to find a two-bed flat that overlooked a park and the Thames river for less than I was paying for my one-bed flat in Ealing! And because the rail station is within walking distance, it takes me about the same amount of time -- 45 minutes -- to get into central London as it did from Ealing!
So I'm quite content here, although I have lots of stories from the past week: getting locked in, buying a fish tank, etc. I've also come to grips with the fact that the things I wanted with Jess, I still want -- I just have to find it with someone else. Someone who, hopefully, will appreciate the relationship.
I will certainly miss Jess--she was smart and funny, I thought she was absolutely gorgeous, she could be loving and compassionate, and her gentlest touch always went right through me. However, I won't miss feeling like a constant disappointment, being pushed away, and being completely ignored for weeks on end. Plus, while I hate to sleep alone, I prefer it to sleeping with someone who prefers to sleep alone, if that makes any sense.
This should have been a fantastic relationship, and there was really no reason it couldn't have been, but if nothing else, it was good for me to know that, after my divorce, I could still love so deeply, and I know I'll be able to recover from this as well. Although I'm pretty depressed at the moment, I'm actually very optimistic about the future. I'm grateful I have my job, and I still love England, and life goes on.
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