Friday 3 February 2012

EN GARDE!

My friend and I were talking the other night over dinner (a flash dinner as we call it, as we both had to return to sick children, which meant inhaling one’s dinner and trying not to develop indigestion) and we were discussing how great it would be to be able to dedicate one’s life to amassing as many skills as possible. And not just skills, but mastering a craft, spending real time on something that one has always desired to learn - one man’s neuroscience is obviously another man’s underwater basket weaving - be it the mundane or completely outlandish.

Granted this transient, yet intellectually stimulating approach to life would require a ton of time, money and energy – things that not everyone has; but it got me thinking about the things I’d love to learn before the grim reaper comes and taps me on my shoulder (give me time Mr. Reaper please, lots of time). There are of course items on the bucket list that although incredibly worthy, also seem to smack of cliché, you know the ones: learn a language, play an instrument, learn to fix a flat tire (Is that just me?). And there is certainly nothing wrong with that, learning a language is an extremely useful skill that most of my dear countrymen lack (obviously I’m disregarding all the Spanish speaking individuals residing in California. They’re doing just fine on the bi-lingual front).

But if one were to think outside the box in terms of acquiring new skills, just think of the possibilities. I could learn to fly a hot-air balloon (mmm, heights, not my thing), or weld (although that helmet looks claustrophobic), or fence (not very partial to knives), or lay bricks. I bet I’d be a damn good bricklayer considering it takes precision and a meticulous eye for detail. Then there are the skills that one would never dream about trying, but may just come in handy one day. Like, I don’t know, driving a bus - you never know if you were being chased by an axe murderer and saw an abandoned bus that you had to drive...Okay, I watch too much TV. I mean, how many times have your cursed the bus driver for running late, or being crazy on the accelerator, and then stopped and thought, holy hell, how does he navigate this thing through tiny English streets without taking out half the population. Well-done Mr. Bus Driver!

Then of course there are the things that I know I would just suck at and to be honest, I never want to try no matter how long I live. Like, climbing Mt. Kilimanjaro. I don’t like heights, the bitter cold, or coming down with altitude sickness, or of course losing my toes to frostbite; so that’s out. And adding to that, my claustrophobia prevents me from wanting to do things like scuba dive or go down into a coal mine. I mean, I’m sure the fish are beautiful down there, but I’ll take your word for it and watch Planet Earth a few more times on the Discovery channel. Not to mention, coal. So dirty.

So fine, the list may be narrowed down due to preferences and neuroses, but beyond this, I challenge you; pick one thing this year to try and master. Okay, forget master, let’s go easy on ourselves and just say attempt. Who knows, by the end of the year, I may be the fencing champion of the world...I dream big, what can I say.

Wednesday 1 February 2012

BEND OVER AND SHOW ME YOUR SHOVEL

I’ve decided that every week I shall focus on an unbelievable news story. ‘Disbelief Wednesday’ we shall call it…or maybe ‘Dubious Tuesday’….or ‘can you freaking believe this, Thursday’…the possibilities are endless. Anyway, the latest comes from my dear U.S of A – yes we rank up there as one of the producers of the unbelievable headline. Recently, two British tourists, a man and woman in their twenties, were barred from entering the United States after joking on Twitter that they were going to, and I quote, ‘destroy America’ and dig up the icon Marilyn Monroe.’

Before you ask if they were armed at the border with Grenades, a shovel and a manifesto about the evils of America, the answer is an emphatic no. They were your run of the mill young adults looking to get their party on during an American holiday. You see, the term ‘destroy’ in English (UK English that is) vernacular means to get trashed and party. And even when explaining to this to Homeland Security officials – whilst holding back their laughter – that this was just a manner of speech, they were both interrogated and then handcuffed and kept in holding cells with a group of Mexican drug dealers for 12 hours after landing in America. The woman was also questioned in regards to her tweet about digging up Marilyn Monroe, because who doesn't come to America to dig up famous corpses after going to the beach and knocking back a few cocktails; funny enough (at least to her) her tweet was a direct quote from an irreverent American comedy, ‘Family Guy.’ Apparently Homeland officials are not partial to this television program.

After searching each of their suitcases in pursuit of, yes, you guessed it, spades and shovels to dig with (I’m not joking), they did full body searches on them, because what better place is there to hide a shovel than up your rear end. What kind of shovel did they think one could carry on their person anyway?? Haven't they been to Home Depot lately? After twelve hours in custody where they were treated like terrorists, they were returned to the airport where they were told that they would be shipped back to the UK to prevent them from committing any violent acts on American soil.

Yes, this is what we spend our hard earned tax dollars on. This frighteningly short-sighted and literal thinking on the part of Homeland Security is what is enabling real terrorists, who vacation in Yemen, to sneak right by them wearing shoe bombs and board planes during the Christmas season. Not to mention this fabulous system they have in place to flag words in emails/twitter/Facebook and the like, that include such terms as: 'outbreak, drill, strain, collapse, recovery, and Trojan' (really, Trojan??). This system is really going to catch...well just about everyone in the general public from the looks of it.

So, for example, if I were to type the following sentence in my twitter, apparently I’d be in a heap of trouble… ‘A nasty outbreak of this flu strain that the King so kindly passed onto me is drilling my brain and I think I’m going to collapse like a broken down Trojan horse.’ I’m thinking a number of flags just shot up on the Homeland Security’s computer system about one big bad dangerous Mother sitting over here in Britain planning to come and wreak havoc in America with her 18 month old toddler. Oh, by the way, Homeland Security, you have NO idea what a toddler could do to your neat and tidy interrogation offices. The King also packs a mean spade. Lookout!

Monday 30 January 2012

GAME, SET, WOULD YOU STOP GRUNTING PLEASE!

I have a real bone to pick with the state of professional women’s tennis (WTA, Are you listening)? Might as well jump right into the things that annoy me on a Monday morning (and if this is a subject in which you have no interest, I won’t feel hurt if you excuse yourself). Those of you that follow my blog know that I am a tennis fan…sorry, absolute fanatic. So, I feel like I am obliged to b*tch about the sport that I have supported for most of my life; of course I will also freely admit that my passion is more for the men’s game opposed to the women’s. But this is for a few well-founded reasons.

I was watching the final of the Australian Open (not sure if you saw it), and it was such a lopsided whitewash that it was downright infuriating. Not to take away from the winner of the match, she put in an amazing performance and will probably have an illustrious career. But the other player, who is a top five player and one of the strongest on the tour, basically did not show up to play. Figuratively of course, not literally. She essentially imploded right before our very eyes, something she often does once she reaches the final of a tournament.

My gripes don’t stop there, so buckle in, it’s going to get bumpy. Secondly, the final I was watching went two sets long. Two sets. I think it was over in just over an hour (the men's final, in contrast, took six hours and set a new record). The King takes longer to eat breakfast. In this day and age, it's far time women should be playing 3 out of 5 sets. You want the same prize money, you want the same interest from the audience, stop lollygagging around with your two sets nonsense and start playing like the athletes that you supposedly are. [Sorry, too harsh for a Monday?] If Martha and Susie at the club (hypothetically of course) can only muster two sets; I get it, this is their hobby. Give them an ice tea and let’s call it a day. But if you’re ranked number one in the world and you can’t go five sets on the world stage, Houston we have a problem.

More importantly, half of the women's tour looks like they need to hit the gym, for a looooong time. AGAIN, you’re athletes - professional athletes to be exact, which means it’s your profession – your JOB – to be in shape and more importantly, to look in shape. You train every single day with the top trainers in the world at the best facilities; if you’re not looking fit and ready to face your opponent, then what hope is there for the rest of us? Not to mention, people like me tune into tennis want to watch players that can actually run around a court without looking like they’re going to pass out. I get it, it’s very hard work, the tour is excruciatingly long, but you’re not sitting behind a desk popping bon-bons into your mouths (or are you?). So if you’re going to wear hot shorts on the court, please do us a favor and look good in them.

Furthermore, if women players can come out of retirement, go back on the tour and end up winning a Grand Slam months after coming back (Kim Clijsters), the rest of the WTA has a serious problem. In short, Ladies on the tour, you better hit the practice court and figure out what you’re doing wrong. And finally, and most importantly, STOP grunting. You sound like stuck pigs being dragged to your slaughter and it’s incredibly annoying to listen to. The men don’t grunt like you do and they put ten times the power behind the ball (this isn’t an exact statistic of course, but they are stronger, barring the Williams sisters. Those two could out arm-wrestle Madonna). Is it not possible to hit the ball without screaming like you're being murdered?

All this said - and fine, brutally so, but I've had a long weekend - there are some unbelievable athletes on the tour and my love for the game is unwavering. I can confidently say that I will be a fan for life. But everyone's a critic, now aren't they, especially on a Monday.

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