Tuesday, 29 July 2014

Work in progress

This was going to be a present for a baby, but I was making it and I found myself fighting it. It has rather spooky, foreboding spirit. I wouldn't say an evil spirit, but not a protective spirit. I couldn't give it to a baby - I think it wants to be for someone else.

So I had to stop and make something else for the baby. I'll show you that later. (Luckily I found an idea in a yarn shop in Lillehammer, Norway).

There's some rather subtle non-symmetrical shaping going on here and it's not absolutely perfect, but I'm quite pleased with it. With sock wool it does feel right to use more detail. This is the back:

And this is the front:

It's going to need legs, and a tail. Now that I'm not fighting it any more I think I know how they need to be.

In my open-plan office

… two of my colleagues have been arguing quietly about technical subjects all day.

They are both very bright people, very nice people. At least one of them is very well informed about the subject, and the other one has some intelligent questions. But both are profoundly incapable, in totally different ways, of giving a clear, sequential, brief and comprehensible account of anything at all. Their minds simply do not work that way.

One just starts a lot of half-sentences in the right general direction and apparently hopes that one of them will land on the target. It drives me completely crazy. The other (better-informed) one has something I don't know what to call, but I think of it as verbal dyslexia; mixing up words, answering the wrong question, getting the right answer precisely backwards. It's okay if you're used to it and you know enough to catch it.

It's like two earphone leads trying to have a fight.

Saturday, 21 June 2014

The sun lingers

The day when the Sun lingers longest to gaze on the green woods and fields of the temperate North - and my pretty Chinese parasol.

Saturday, 31 May 2014

Quiet Hedgehog looking up

Dear readers, I haven't gone away, but I have taken on a very difficult extended project this year that is taking up a lot of my time and energy. One of the reasons for doing it was to get out of my comfort zone and do various kinds of work I'm not used to, and I'm certainly getting that from it. But I don't have the quiet internet time that I used to have. Hopefully the project should be more or less wrapped up by mid-October. At which point I may just go and lie on a beach and look at stars.

It's my birthday today :)

In 1996, they pointed the Hubble Space telescope at a tiny patch of sky - the size of a grain of sand held out at arm's length - in which no-one had ever managed to see anything at all. Over several sessions, they collected photons, practically one by one, for a total of ten days. Measured them, mapped them, noted their colour, to build a picture.

In the picture were some very faint stars that no-one had ever seen before - and three thousand galaxies.

Wednesday, 21 May 2014

Will someone please

Will someone please arrange, perform, and record a cover of Pharell Williams' "Happy", as a milonga?

There's quite a bit of live tango music about, but my experience with it has been that either the forces are simply too weak, or the band are just not at the level that makes it come together and sound good, or the band is good but they are either too classical (and just don't make me want to dance at all) or concentrate on rhythm at the expense of melody to such a degree that the heart of tango music is lost. This last one is less of a problem in milonga and vals, which is why I like Sexteto Milonguero's milonga much more than their tango.

I adore the best stuff of Orquesta Típica Victor. Yes, it's a house band. But I'm a dancer, not a musician. It's deeply professional dance music; great tunes arranged and played with a purpose - for dancers.

There is no reason why someone couldn't arrange a good song as a tango, milonga, or vals criollo right now. There are loads of people who'd like to dance to it. Maybe start with milonga and vals.

Three illustrations.

Postmodern Jukebox performing their leader's own arrangement of "Careless Whisper".



Come on!

Monday, 21 April 2014

Tourist Tat

I like to wear little things that remind me of things. They don't have to be valuable. I've never seen the attraction of diamonds. My jewellery is mostly about love and memory and particular places. So why not have a little heart of "inca rose" on a little chain? I chose it very carefully from all the very similar ones on offer, and decided that I wanted a heart rather than an oval. Because, why not. We can't always be loved back.

Rhodochrosite Heart from the tourist market in Recoleta
 These cloths came in many colours, and I deliberated long before choosing the brightest. It makes a warm scarf, or a very cheerful, very "South American" tablecloth.

Woven cloth from the other market in San Telmo
Also near the market in San Telmo was a Free Hugs guy. A fine looking tall young black man with a friendly face and a sign saying "Abrazos gratis". I hugged him with pleasure. He said "Oooooo, como abrazás!". Which was nice.

There is a tremendous amount of directly tango-themed tourist tat in Buenos Aires, much of it vaguely representational of couples allegedly dancing. Most of it is quite repellent. But I loved these. They have the painter's name on the back - rather hard to read, but I think it is Alicia Corrarin. She was a very sweet, friendly lady, selling her work in the market, and when I looked at her miniature paintings I felt that she really understands that people dance tango with each other because it makes them happy. One of them kind of reminds me of me, and another one kind of reminded me of a friend, except not now because she's got thinner.

Fridge magnet paintings from the market in Recoleta.
Every time I see them on my fridge, they make me smile. Tourist tat is not pointless.

(On the other hand, while we're on shopping, the cash economy was, to me, the number one most tedious thing about Buenos Aires. Of course, I got used to it very quickly and practically forgot about it: but it does the place a lot of damage.  I probably spent roughly half, perhaps even as little as a third, of what I *would* have spent in the local economy on top of accommodation, if the gap between the official and the actual market exchange rate hadn't been so large, and I had therefore been able to buy shoes and whatnot without having to travel across the city carrying large wads of cash. Impulse buys just don't happen. In fact, I would have spent substantially more if I'd been able to buy basically *anything* without carefully hoarding minuscule sums of cash I wouldn't have thought about for a second about back home. How hard is it really to just issue enough physical currency in small denominations, so that people who have the power to earn it and the desire to exchange it for goods and services, can physically do so as often as they want? One of the most basic  tasks of government? A question that must surely have been studied, I know not where. I know it can't be altogether simple - it took Isaac Newton to suss it out in Britain - in 1699).

Saturday, 19 April 2014

"From" is a big word

"From" is a big word. People ask where a person is "from", expecting that there is a simple, truthful answer which they can use to understand something about you. Or, less charitably, which they can use to look up in their heads what polite or impolite prejudice to apply. One of the nice things about living in London is that rather few people make that mistake; and one of the nice things about tangoing abroad is that "London" or even "England" will do as an answer.

I had a very curious conversation once in which someone concluded "... Oxford, but I'm not from there any more". The sentence struck me as extraordinarily odd; almost ungrammatical: who would ever say such a thing? The state of being "from" somewhere is permanent. That's the whole point. You can't "not be" "from" somewhere "any more" - that's just not what it means. If you ever were, you still are. Or you are not.

I nodded politely. I suspected it might have had to do with the university, and it might well have been meant as an invitation to ask about that, but as a Balliol woman I had no intention of indulging any such nonsense.

A week or two ago I had dinner with someone I've seen twice in the last three months, and before that, hadn't seen for thirty years. She is the only person in my life - apart from my parents, and I'm not sure about them - who already knows where I am "from". It doesn't matter where I was born, how long I lived where, what accent I speak with. She knows where I am "from" because she is too, and she remembers me. And no other information can remove that knowledge. And somehow, inexplicably, we were on the same page.

It was a very unfamiliar feeling for me, and it took me a while to understand what it was. I didn't know what it felt like, to be from somewhere.