Freecycle and Freelance and Freaking Painful Pinky Finger

Does anyone else absolutely love Freecycle? I must admit to having furnished practically the entirety of my current flat with Free-cyclage. Our bed, bedside tables, sleeper sofa, butler's trolley, toaster, coffee machine, scanner, gawd, a number of things. Of course, I've fed back into the system, especially when I left the States last year and gave away my entire house, practically. Of course, every Freecycle has its own character, which I find amusing, to a certain extent. Reston Freecycle was well-organized and remarkably reliable. Only occasionally would you find the odd individual who didn't follow up with promises to appear or deliver. Oxford Freecycle is remarkably contentious- there's always people kicking up a public fuss (blatantly ignoring the discussion boards) and calling each other names because they don't agree whether animals should be free-cycled.

What's really irksome about Oxford is that people never tell you where they are located when they post... it's such a big group geographically that it really does matter when trying to decide if it's worth the schlep for that old pair of ice skates or whether it's actually feasible for someone without their own mode of transport.

My primary reasons for bringing up the topic of Freecycle, however, is a recent post on Freecycle Oxford that just needs to be publicized:

[OxfordFreecycle] Offered half dead child's bmx!!!
isisunicorngirl to OxfordFreecycle

What on earth does that mean? Is there a half dead child somewhere and they're giving away the poor thing's bike?

Somewhat related to the fact that all my furniture comes from Freecycle is that fact that I'm doing some freelancing for Oxfam Publications to bulk up my bank account (thanks be to Katie for getting me the initial gig...). This freelance work comes in the form of putting together Resources sections for books that Oxfam is publishing. The first one was Cities. It couldn't seem to figure out if it was meant to be academically informative or a rant. Alas. Next one up is a book on campaigning which will be a bit more research on my part familiarising myself with the field. Cities was a bit more straightforward since I'm still up on the literature.

Also occupying my time and sucking the hours from my weekend are events like the four hour berimbau workshop that I attended yesterday. My pinky is killing me. For those not in my capoeira world (what? is there a world outside capoeira?!?!) a berimbau is the main instrument in the roda (I'll explain the roda another time). It looks like a big bow with a gourd attached. You play it by hitting a wire with a stick and change notes by adjusting the tension on the wire by pressing it with a stone (or coin or whatever generally appropriate object is within arm's reach). It's not excessively complicated but you hold the whole instrument up with your pinky finger. Whose idea that was, I'm not sure, but I think there's probably another thirty folks 'round Oxford today nursing an aching pinky finger...


Related Links:
Freecycle
Oxfam Publishing
Berimbaus
What do you call a "pinky finger"?

Other People's Exciting Tales of Greeks and Favorite Jackets and Laying Eggs

So, while absolutely nothing amazing happened to me this week, some of my friends had some crazy sh*t happen to them and so I shall spin their tales rather than try to cleverly augment a pitifully dull story of my own.

The Tale of Boa Onda and the Shoe of Woe
Boa Onda was peddling home early Friday (round abouts 11:00PM) when, in the slipperiness that is Britain, her lovely shoe flew off her foot and bounded into the darkness (which is also Britain as they don't seem to have a procurement officer responsible for street lights). Unable to find the shoe in plain sight, Boa took the light off of her bike and shone it under a line of cars parked on the side of the road. Still no luck. Only one foot clad, she directed her attentions to a nearby house where a party was underway. Thinking that perhaps the cars belonged to the party participants, she forlornly banged on the door, hoping that they might a) help her look or b) move their cars or c) something, she's not sure what.

It turned out to be a birthday celebration thronged with Greeks, all very merry by that hour. As the birthday boy selflessly flung himself into the wet world to look for the shoe, Boa was dragged into the house and given ouzo and was well-lavished with attention by doting Greek gentlemen. Needless to say, she did not arrive home until after one thirty, still only bearing one shoe.

My question is, who on earth loses a shoe and ends up at a mad Greek party?

For those who may be concerned for the fate of the shoe, Boa found it the next day on her way to another party, very popular girl that she is.


The Tale of Michelle and the Khaki-green Jacket
Michelle has a khaki green jacket. It's old but it's comfy and lovely and quite suits her. On Saturday she left it in a field surrounded by dancer types and was unable to locate it at the end of the afternoon. Distressed, she drowned her sorrows in a few pints at the Angel and Greyhound, as you do.

Still bemoaning the loss, she went out in the evening (back to the A&G) where she met up with her friend Strelly. As they were sat outside, they were quite bundled up (it being freaking frigid in the UK in May) and Michelle was secretly admiring Strelly's coat which looked remarkably like the one she had lost earlier that day. Not wanting to be presumptuous, she dared mention that Strelly's coat was quite lovely and where had she gotten it...

Lo and behold! Strelly had purchased it that afternoon for £3.99 at a charity shop right next to the park where Michelle had lost her jacket. The hope almost too much to bear, Michelle asked Strelly if, perhaps, there might be gum in one of the pockets, gesturing to the place she had left her last stick of Trident Soft. And there was!

Ah, such a coincidence, that of all the people in Oxford, Strelly should have happened to buy the very jacket that Michelle had lost, and that they would have seen each other the same day. Very exciting. In the end, Michelle got her jacket back and Strelly was out £3.99 and her new cool purchase. Not fair, really, but that's fate for you...

The Tale of Wyatt and the Egg
This is a short and simple tale that will end soon. Wyatt, our boy bird, laid an egg yesterday. S/he has assumed the name Wyette. And poor Pete has lost the only other male in the house. A sad sad funny funny day.

Related Links
Age Concern
Perhaps Pete should have read this
Symposium?!

BBQs and Bluebells and Recycling comes to Cowley

This has been a bit of a slow week as far as anything newsworthy is concerned. We went on a tramp through the bluebells last Sunday... it was fabulous! There were bits of the woods where it seemed as though the trees were sprouting from a sea of flowers. It's easy to understand where stories of faeries comes from when wandering about in such a fantastical place.

This weekend, however, has been the weekend of birthdays. We had two birthdays on Saturday, one in the mad house of the Mexican mafia and another on the town with some mates. Sunday was the mad-cap BBQ antics of our flatmates Pete and Kate and slightly more than a dozen capoeiristas attempting to enjoy burnt meat in the wind and rain. Somehow the party managed to last from four in the afternoon 'til about two AM. No possibility of faulting our aging friends on their stamina.

And the best news of all is that Cowley (the neighborhood in which I live) has finally been integrated into the city's recycling scheme. So now our trash gets picked up every other week and only the trash that fits inside the city-provided bin, which I think is a good way to get people started in trying to reduce. At the same time, we have three different bins that we can use to recycle pretty much everything barring cling film. And a composter. It's a slow process, but bit by bit governments are mainstreaming recycling.

Related Links:
Oxford Recycles!