Here are a few shots taken from around the place I grew up in Colorado. It’s been a long time since I lived here, but I have never forgotten just how arid and stark it can be. There is a beauty here, but it’s a harsh, unrelenting beauty. The plants are tortured and frail or designed to torture others. As are the animals. Behind everything is the backdrop of the mountains, from where our hope comes (here, in the form of water).
I hope you enjoy.
I’ve always found it difficult to blog about truly emotive things. I might get worked up over a technological failing or annoyed about a political situation, but these things are abstractions: I can hold them out and have a look at them. Something held close to my chest, though? Well, it’s too close for comfort—too close to see very well myself—and I feel a bit like I’ve let people down by not writing about them.
I also use this blog for a combination of personal publishing and work-scribbling. It’s been a place where I publish thoughts which aren’t quite right for a work post or for a mainstream article, but help me on my way toward either. This leaves me slightly divided as to what I’d include here. But, this is my place, and I feel like it should contain some of my recent thoughts. Besides, a wise friend once told me that life’s not really easily divided into groups, so why split up your own thoughts?
Back in February, I received a short message from my brother: “Call me, Grandpa’s not well.” What followed were dozens of difficult phone conversations with family over in Colorado as I patched together exactly what was going on. From what I worked out Grandpa had been helping a neighbour split wood for their fire when he collapsed and was taken to hospital. For a couple days, I was awake at odd hours working out what time I could phone without waking family in the middle of the night to find out more. The outlook wasn’t good, and a sort of pathetic play-by-play followed as the doctors’ diagnoses, plans, and prospects were relayed through three or four people before reaching me. Late one evening, I heard he hadn’t made it. He seemed to have had a good morning, for a Grandpa. He’d already had a breakfast party with his closest friends, driven out to his beloved house in the hills to wade through his collection of tools and his last conscious act on earth was helping his elderly neighbour.
As the patriarch of our huge family, the loss was stunning. Life has a Grandpa in it, and he lives in an amazing cabin in the hills. He cooks barbecues, and he threatens to cut your hair if you don’t behave. His bear-hugs are both welcome and terrifying, but he protects you from the real bears and I still can’t quite imagine a life without a Grandpa.
Last week, I received a short message: “Call me, it’s important.”
What followed was another surreal conversation, from which I learned that a good friend of mine would no longer be sharing banter about code and beer. A year ago, I’d met Leu when I sent out a call to any geeks and techies in Shropshire. Together we began the Shropshire Geek Society, which has been a monthly gathering at pubs to celebrate all things geeky. Many times, when stuck with a problem, Leu would have a solution or work-round for me before I’d even framed the question. He was a brilliant coder, and always good for an anecdote at geeky get-togethers. But more than that, Leu seemed to really get people. His concern was staggering, and I have rarely met a kinder person. After dropping him at his house after a particularly late geek night, he said: “Make sure you let me know when you get home [an hour away], I’ll be awake.”
It’s been a week since the phone call, and at least three times I’ve gone to share a story with Leu and stopped at the send button.
The thing Leu and my Grandpa had in common was a special heart.
Grandpa was always there, looking after me and my many cousins: compassionate and stern. Solid.
Leu was a fast and fierce friend, who—though I’d only known him for a year or so—felt like someone I’d grown up with.
A heart is something we don’t consider often, unless we’re reminded. From the top of the Shropshire hills, my own heart often reminds me it’s there. This year, it’s percussive reminder has taken on a special meaning.
As a child in Colorado, I have a distant memory of finding a nugget of pure gold, bigger than the tip of my thumb. I instantly became the richest kid in America! I thought I could buy a husky (with a sled) and a Tama Starclassic Birch studio set with a full range of Paiste cymbals, and maybe a house or three. I could move out on my own, I could—so many expectations; so many promises.
My dad took a quick look and said something like: “Wow, you’ve found iron pyrite. Fools Gold.”
The disappointment! All those things to which I was looking forward disappeared, and the lump of cold angles suddenly seemed a reminder of what could have been.
I have recently had a similar experience with some fools coffee.
About three weeks ago, a courier arrived as I sat working from my home office. He delivered a box big enough for a springer spaniel to sleep in, and heavy enough to make the manly nonchalance I affected while carrying it away from the door quite difficult indeed. Nonetheless, I left the box packaged and wrapped up in the hall until the evening, looking forward to the reward of an espresso or six after work.
As I worked my way through the layers of packaging, I gradually unveiled a stainless-steel, microwave-like appliance that dwarfed anything else my kitchen held, except—just—the oven. I scanned the quick-start guide and with a single word, my expectations instantly disappeared: “nespresso”. I lost the will even to unpack and set up this monstrously-large contraption.
Nonetheless, I did set it up, removing all of a counter-top from usable space. My disappointment, if anything, grew as I laboriously set up the menu through an achingly-complicated process involving the use of arrow buttons and “OK” to calibrate a dizzying array of possible settings. Throughout the next two hours, I played with settings, opened all the openable compartments and tried several of the coffee suppositories. My thoughts follow:
The Miele CVA3650 is a giant appliance which costs £1,000 (c. $1400). It looks impressive, with a stainless-steel finish and various accoutrements, including backlighting, obviously included as talking features. It would not feel out of place in a posh flat in Kensington—fitting in like an addition to a designed suite of expensive appliances. Indeed, the lasting impression is of a lifestyle rather than coffee. Browsing the Miele site, I found many photos of kitchens, appliances, and artfully-arranged mugs sometimes held by comfortable, rich-looking models. The only thing missing from these photos?
Coffee.
Nespresso tastes worse than I thought it actually could. I’m not saying that to be snobbish about my coffee, and I was genuinely curious to know what the little, coloured “pods” could produce. The result of every single “brew” was a flat, metallic, suspension of frankly disgusting, tepid liquid. Some aspect of the extraction produces an interestingly-contrived crema every single time, so the drink (I can’t call it coffee) certainly looks impressive. My wife recoiled after the first sip, and I left more than one completely untouched. The terrible “flavia” machine in my office makes better-tasting coffee than this!
The Miele machine is touch-button automation at it’s most falsely economic (time-wise). Sure, it’s convenient to press a button and have an espresso (ahem!) within 30 seconds, but that does not account for the half-hour (no joke) of programming every time the machine is re-plugged back in. I’m afraid I’m green-conscious enough to flip the switch at the wall after every brew, so this makes it ridiculous to use. The menuing system is cumbersome enough to make my eyes water. Two arrows, and “OK” to make every selection. It takes a huge amount of patience, and its… just… aweful! So many features, so few necessary or even useful. You can, for example, programme 9 different “user profiles”. Why? It’s a pod of shite coffee, which will taste EXACTLY the same, no matter which button you push. Why go through dozens and dozens of beeps in order to have a user-specific nescafe?
The only part of this machine which is convenient, is the actual making of a drink. For that, it is fast! It produces a coffee of your choice (out of 5 different capsules) very rapidly (provided it’s been programmed and has already been switched on, obviously.) It will then automatically rinse itself, and let you make another soil infusion very rapidly. You only have to remove the spent capsules periodically from a tub within the machine, and fill up a water reservoir whenever it’s low (though, this is fairly frequently, thanks to the rinsing).
I understand its premise of being a super-convenient means of having a sophisticated-looking hot beverage, but I much prefer my coffee to be tasty, regardless of time. And the amount of time spent scrolling endlessly through menus isn’t really conducive to suiting busy people like myself as a domestic coffee machine. [in reply to the statement that it might prove to be] I’d be much more likely to advise people invest in a cafetiere, grinder and decent beans. For the £1,000 they could have spent on this, they could have many scores of kilos of excellent, locally-roasted, hand-sourced beans, and enough left over to send a thank-you bottle of single malt to the coffee roaster.
Got one of those tagging tasks from Facebook. This is the first one I’ve done, and I thought it was interesting; so I thought’ I’d post it here. Feel free to do one of your own and ping back here:
To do this, go to “notes” under tabs on your profile page, paste these instructions in the body of the note, type your 25 random things, tag 25 people (in the right hand corner of the app) then click publish. You can also “save drafts” so you don’t have to work on this all in one sitting25 Random Things About Me
Rules: Once you’ve been tagged, you are supposed to write a note with 25 random things, facts, habits, or goals about you. At the end, choose 25 people to be tagged. You have to tag the person who tagged you. If I tagged you, it’s because I want to know more about you (no pressure, if you want to write one, write one, don’t do it cos this thing tells you to!).
Jacqui Smith’s New Immigration Measures are a pointless Gesture…
Blogging about politics can be a bit of a mixed bag, so we’ll see how it goes. I want to avoid polarising talk, tabloid tactics, and FUD (Fear, Uncertainty and Doubt). Instead, I’d like to discuss the latest raft of changes which seek to make immigrants ‘more British’ before offering them citizenship.
Personal Perspective
First, and as a matter of context: I am an immigrant. I was born and raised in Colorado, USA, and have lived in the UK for the last 5 years or so. My national identity, however, is a more complicated matter. I resonate politically better with Britain than the United States. I admire more British personages than American (probably due to the fact that the only great Americans I can think to name are either dead or long dead…). I laugh at British comedians, and listen to Radio 4. I queue. I share the occasional withering glance with my fellow public transport passengers whenever a tourist declares loudly that something is cute or quaint. I even say: "Oh, excuse me, sorry" when someone else runs into me at Sainsburys, and I say "Cheers" or "Ta" even when someone should be thanking me.
This has put me in an interesting position at times. I have been part of conversations when the other party doesn’t actually know, or momentarily forgets, that I grew up singing The Star-Spangled Banner before watching baseball.
"Well, I think Americans are rude and ignorant".
"Oh?" I say.
"Yes, they’re always going on about how small everything is and they don’t know where Somerset is."
"I know where Somerset is, and I have been asked where Shropshire is by Londoners," I reply.
"Oh, but you’re different. You’re not really American. You don’t have an accent… and you’re don’t think I’m cute.
"Quite"
Immigration in the UK
I get the feeling that many mainstream British ideas are fairly far removed from immigrants as people. There is a distinct themness about immigrants, and I think this notion is exploited by politicians and commentators who have to justify their cynical existences. Over the past five years, I have learned that immigration is ranked among education and health in the national psyche, and politicians who
wantneed to be seen doing something can easily turn to immigration policy for support. This national concern for immigration is baffling. According to the National Statistics Office, less than 10% of the UK population were foreign born in 2006. (In the US, for the same year the number was nearly 14%). So, less than one in ten people in the UK are foreign born, and even fewer of those have recourse to public funds, yet this ranks among Education and Health?I can see that there is cause for thought, cause for discussion, but not cause for concern. A study for the OECD stated: “the ratio of immigrants (no matter how defined) has grown steadily in all Western European countries considered, except Belgium.”1 So, immigration is definitely on the rise, and I don’t debate that. However, most of them have the sense not to move to Belgium so they can’t be all bad. The flip side of this is that immigration has actually increased the UK economic growth rate, according to the TUC. There is, I feel, cause for concern in that the general public does not understand immigration all that well as outlined by a brilliant article from the sometimes-inflammatory Independent: "Lies, Damned Lies and Immigration".
Now, what has really got me angry is the new scheme from Jacqui Smith, Home Secretary, that immigrants will have to work harder to "earn their right to become UK citizens". (Press Coverage: Telegraph, Guardian, Times and BBC) and it includes increasing the time before a migrant can be naturalised and an increased fee. Gordon Brown has also mentioned, according to Radio 4 reports and the Times (see link above) that immigrants should have to undertake community service to be introduced to the British Way of Life.
Let me explore that a bit:
Money
It costs a fortune to immigrate to the UK. I am American, and chose to move to the UK for love –my wife is British. I like it here, but it is an expensive place to live. Tax is high, services are expensive, and it is required of an Immigrant to pay large sums of money every few years. I should mention that I have been paying UK income tax and national insurance despite being unable to access public funds for some of my immigration journey and that I attended a UK university after marrying and immigrating, and paid full fees (during the time, around £9k/year) so none of my education was subsidised by any taxes I have paid.
The cost of visas and fees is high, indeed. There is a cost for the initial visiting Visa to get married (currently £500) which lets you stay here for 6 months, without recourse to public funds. You then must apply for temporary residency (£395) which lasts for a couple years. Then, if you want indefinite leave to remain (and if you don’t, you’ll need to sort out alternative accommodation fast) it will cost you £750. I’ve paid each of them, one after the other every few months or years. The total: £1645, and I’m still not a citizen. If I want to become one, I still have to pay £9.99 for a book on what it means to be British (Ha!), £34 to take a citizenship test (which most UK citizens can’t actually pass) and a massive £655 for the application. Then I’d be invited to attend a citizenship ceremony at which I will be required to pledge an oath, and I haven’t found out if that costs me more yet… new total? £2343.99, and Jacqui Smith wants more. I see this as a combination of four distinct ideas, blended in a dangerous cocktail:
British Way of Life
What, exactly did Gordon Brown mean when he said he was thinking of having immigrants doing more in the community? I am assuming he did not mean most of the plumbing, or supplementing the taxes for an aging population. For clarity, let me say that these proposed changes will have no effect on the most discussed group of migrants: Eastern Europeans. They already have access to the country through the EU and do not need to pay all the clearance fees. So, making all the non EU migrants do community service will help them to understand what it means to be British? I would have thought a crash-course in happy slapping or under-aged drinking would have been more apt. How many British people do you know who do community service?The most illuminating illustration I heard about the preposterousness of this was a commentator on Radio 4 who pointed out that Abu Hamza (hook-handed, one-eyed favourite of the Sun headlines and controversial fundamentalist cleric of Finsbury Park mosque) could have been said to have been active in his community, and undertook volunteer work. Gordon Brown’s government has already implemented a Britishness test (see link in previous paragraph) which is so patronising and oblique I don’t know what it is for. Some of the facts you are expected to know (Taken directly off the test site):
Finally, Timing
Is one extra year without citizenship going to make any difference to society? The people who want to become citizens have already been inundated with extortionate fees, made to feel unwelcome, and made to wait for more than 5 years for a passport and the right to vote. These people are already here, and cannot have broken any residence laws anyway. It will not effect illegal immigrants, assylum seekers, EU Immigrants, Non-doms (stupid name that sounds like condom every time a news-reader says it!) or terrorists. They will have been working and paying tax, and are likely to work in jobs not filled by Britain’s workforce anyway (According to TUC report). One more year without representation or a passport is an easy way for Jacqui Smith to appear tougher on immigration without changing the numbers at all. It is a meaningless gesture, which only benefits a small number of wealthy politicians seeking to look tough and adds months of difficulty for normal people.
1: "Labour market outcomes of natives and immigrants: Evidence from the European Community Household Panel", Franco Peracchi and Domenico Depalo, OECD, 2006, p1, Quoted from TUC paper on Immigration, see hyperlink within text.
Friday, February 22nd, 2008 Tags: BBC, Belgium, Britain, Colorado, commentator, Domenico Depalo, editorial, European Union, Finsbury Park mosque, Franco Peracchi, GBP, Gordon Brown, Gordon Brown's government, headlines and controversial fundamentalist cleric, Home Secretary, horrible, ideas, immigration, immigration services, Jacqui Smith, London, National Statistics Office, OECD, politics, Radio 4, tech, test site, The Star, the Times, United Kingdom, United States
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