Fortune's Pawn

I was just walking back to the office from lunch when I saw some college age kids getting microphones and such hooked up, ahead of me on the corner.  As I approached the intersection a young man with a microphone reached it out towards me, his colleague holding up a small video camera.

“Excuse me sir, could you spare a moment for an interview?”

“About what?” I inquired.

“Ephemeral.  It’s for a class.”

“Sure.” I said.

There was a brief pause as the young man with the microphone looked at me expectantly.  A young woman in a yellow and orange striped shirt looked on, equally expectantly.  The man with the microphone had an oddly shaped head, quite asymmetrical.

“Do you know what it means?” he finally asked.

Of course I know what ephemeral means.  Right? For a moment my mind raced.  I do know what it means, don’t I? Or is it one of those words I only think I know, something I have always only defined by context?  This brief moment of confusion was put down when I confidently said, “Fleeting, not permanent.”

“Thank you,” said the microphone man, and stepped back.  I continued on my way, my ephemeral contribution to their student film now complete.

Lunch at the Chinese buffet around the corner, seated next to two men from India and one from Australia.  They are all co-workers, just getting to know each other.  One of the Indian men has a much thinker accent and the other one seems to be trying to help him with cultural acclimation.

One thing they have in common, aside from all being Unix geeks to one degree or another, is cricket.  The bulk of their table chatter was about the superiority of one or another team or captain or manager.

At the end of the meal the waitress brings fortune cookies.  The more seasoned Indian gentleman helpfully clues the other into the old trick, “When you read your fortune cookie you have to add ‘in bed’ to the end of whatever it says.”

The Aussie pipes up,  “The Austrailian National Team will best India in their next test match…in bed!”

After a round of chuckles the younger Indian reads his, “You can make that special someone happy with a gift of flowers…in bed.”

They leave, and I read my own fortune, “Your lucky number for this week is the number five…in bed.”

Overheard in London:

I dare anybody who is getting on the tube to talk to each other!

Man who was “in his cups” getting onto eastbound Victoria line at Kings Cross – St. Pancras station.

And then this:

It’s the first time I’ve got cast with my original accent.  I’ll have to remember how I talk!

Actor in lobby of Pleasance Theatre, North Road, wating for seating for Dying For It.

Ta!

The Collaborator of Bethlehem by Matt Beynon Rees

My review

rating: 4 of 5 stars
I heard an interview with Matt Beynon Rees on NPR the other day and I am intrigued by his Palestinian detective, Omar Yussef. I like to read well written books about places I may never see. The Yacobian Building was a favorite of mine (and a fave film, too). I look forward to getting to this book and the sequels.

I have just finished the book and I must say I liked it a lot. Rees paints a lush and detailed canvas of Palestine. Bleak yet captivating. His character development is spot-on and his attention to detail is fantastic.

Matt Beynon Rees is the former Jerusalem bureau chief for Time magazine and it shows in his detailed perspective on the political realities of the Middle East. His prose range from the protean to the stunning. Here is a favorite passage of mine:

Yet the gunmen thrived, they whose accomplishments and talents were of the basest nature, they who would have been obliterated had there been law and order and honor in the town. Perhaps Bethlehem was there town after all, and it was Omar Yussef who was the outlaw interloper here, peddling contraband decency and running a clandestine trade in morality.

If you are at all interested in this part of the world, then this book should be on your list.
View all my reviews.

Pawn had dinner tonight with sister HG and an unexpectedly large number of book titles were spontaneously birthed as a result.  Here are three of them (copyright © 2008, all rights reserved):

Luminary Misfits

A Nasty Tussle in June

Jesus Has Two Mommies

I won’t go into all of the back stories or plot lines of these titles.  But there you have it.

Just read this in Gail Collin’s column over at The Gray Lady and thought it precious. In regards to the “scandal” of Jim Johnson, and the vetting of vetters:

When Johnson quit on Wednesday, the McCain headquarters issued a statement saying that the fact that he had been selected in the first place raised “serious questions about Barack Obama’s judgment.” This does not seem like a great avenue of attack for a campaign in which a large chunk of the top staff was recently dismissed for being lobbyists.

Perhaps in an attempt to differentiate the cases, the McCain spokesman said: “America can’t afford a president who flip-flops on key questions in the course of 24 hours.” Under a McCain presidency, the bleeding would presumably go on for weeks and weeks before the inevitable occurred.

Although McCain has, so far, not demonstrated that he can manage anything more challenging than a backyard barbecue, that still does not make the Johnson story look any better.
Op-Ed Columnist – Gail Collins – Barack’s Bad Day – Op-Ed – NYTimes.com

“If he had been any prettier we would have to call it Florence of Arabia”

Noël Coward referring to Peter O’Toole — As recalled by Peter O’Toole on Charlie Rose, 24 March 2008

After the theatre (more on that later) I went down to Windsor Palace for a spot.  The 6 Nation’s match was on, England vs France.  You can only imagine what this meant for pubs across the great country who had the foresight to invest in HDTV!

In the Windsor Palace I found a plush leather seat in the corner with no view whatsoever of the telly.  It isn’t that I didn’t want to watch, I gladly would have.  My father played rugby, and I can figure it out within a minute or two of watching, generally.

Suddenly, after much cheering, the crowd dissipated, and I got a seat at the bar.  I captured the night’s scores in the margins of my Telegraph: England 24 – France 13.  Wales 40 – Italy 8, Ireland 34 – Scotland 13.  So, other than Scotland’s ignominious defeat, Great Britain had a damn good day.  This was not lost on the 16 year old French bartendress at the Windsor Palace.  She cursed under her breath and kept slinging ale at the sotted masses.

It’s no good there being queues for toilet!

-lad in queue for toilet, Victoria Station