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"?
Friday, May 18, 2007
Tuesday, May 15, 2007
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?!
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?!
Monday, May 07, 2007
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!
Sunday, April 29, 2007
Trips to Ireland and Mortgages and Phone Upgrades
As Sinead's entire family is falling ill, we went to Ireland to keep an eye on them. Ciaran is doing fine, three rounds (out of 12) of chemo later. His hair is starting to come out, but he still has enough energy to pull a few shifts at the local pub and to do a great deal of going out, despite various protestations (generally when he wants something like another pint) that "My cancer hurts"...
Sinead's dad is still in hospital, but he's coherent, lucid, and actually has a chance of going home in the next month. We spent the visiting hours wrapped in plastic, half-bathing in anti-bacterial gel, having decent chats and betting on the horses.
When not in hospital, we had some lovely dinners with Sinead's mum and brother and one night on the town in a pub called Slainte: Traditional Irish Pub. Isn't that like going to China and seeing advertisements for Chinese Food? Seems rather naff if they have to say that they're an Irish pub when, blatantly, they're a pub in Ireland...
As for Mortgages, Sinead and I have decided that we might try our hand at the housing market again, despite the fact that we're currently in mediation for one housing dispute (previous landlords) and are starting the process for the most recent mortgage advisor (only registered communication has been exchanged, nothing filed in the courts yet). Rather than Buy-to-Let, we've been talking about getting a group mortgage with Pete and Kate, our flatmates. We had a lovely shiny unaffiliated mortgage advisor come by the house (getting white hair all over his pristine suit in the process) and almost laugh when he heard our four salaries combined. He's making some phone calls though, we'll see how it pans out. Fun to have it in the works though; it's something else to keep my mind off my career or lack thereof.
The most exciting news of all is that I made it through all 18 months of my phone contract and qualified for an upgrade!!!! I now have an awesome phone with a 3.2 mp camera which is also capable of video calling so I can have a video call with anyone who also has 3G service, as far as I can understand how it works... hooray! It also has radio reception, mp3 capabilities, and came with an iPod shuffle... my life is complete (I mean, you know, Sinead and an iPod shuffle, what more could any girl ask for?)
Related Links:
Ipod Shuffle
Sinead's dad is still in hospital, but he's coherent, lucid, and actually has a chance of going home in the next month. We spent the visiting hours wrapped in plastic, half-bathing in anti-bacterial gel, having decent chats and betting on the horses.
When not in hospital, we had some lovely dinners with Sinead's mum and brother and one night on the town in a pub called Slainte: Traditional Irish Pub. Isn't that like going to China and seeing advertisements for Chinese Food? Seems rather naff if they have to say that they're an Irish pub when, blatantly, they're a pub in Ireland...
As for Mortgages, Sinead and I have decided that we might try our hand at the housing market again, despite the fact that we're currently in mediation for one housing dispute (previous landlords) and are starting the process for the most recent mortgage advisor (only registered communication has been exchanged, nothing filed in the courts yet). Rather than Buy-to-Let, we've been talking about getting a group mortgage with Pete and Kate, our flatmates. We had a lovely shiny unaffiliated mortgage advisor come by the house (getting white hair all over his pristine suit in the process) and almost laugh when he heard our four salaries combined. He's making some phone calls though, we'll see how it pans out. Fun to have it in the works though; it's something else to keep my mind off my career or lack thereof.
The most exciting news of all is that I made it through all 18 months of my phone contract and qualified for an upgrade!!!! I now have an awesome phone with a 3.2 mp camera which is also capable of video calling so I can have a video call with anyone who also has 3G service, as far as I can understand how it works... hooray! It also has radio reception, mp3 capabilities, and came with an iPod shuffle... my life is complete (I mean, you know, Sinead and an iPod shuffle, what more could any girl ask for?)
Related Links:
Ipod Shuffle
Monday, April 16, 2007
Beer Gardens and Country Walks and Sunshine(2)
It's been abso-effing-lutely goi-geous here for the past week... sunshine! That being said, we're expecting frost this week, but I'm not as bothered as I might have been as we've have a full week and two weekends of nothing but sunshine (and I even have a little color in my cheeks! oh miracle of miracles!)
As it's been so nice, we've gone on two lovely country walks, Jibril in tow (well, actually, running madly in front of us). We've meandered past a tithe barn, two water mills, a wind mill, and numerous country homes that I would give my eyeteeth to own. We lingered by a pond smothered in frog spunk that Jibril, silly bugger, fell into repeatedly... not the brightest fluffy white beast in the house...
What I, as a die hard American (I got me a gun to protect my property!) about the UK is the concept of the public right of way. There are paths, some used frequently, some never used, some in the middle of nowhere, some cutting through people's private property and all these paths, due to the fact that they have been historically public, remain public and will, for all intents and purposes, always be public.
There are times when people aren't too keen on this and some are less keen than others. We went through a farm where they posted "Beware of Bull" on the fence that we had to cross over to continue on the path. It is, however, illegal to put a bull in a field through which a public footpath crosses, so we just ignored it and kept walking. But at the next fence, there wasn't a stile and we had to crawl under the bottom rung of the fence to get into a field full of horses (which Jibril was less than thrilled about).
At any rate, all country walks, fraught with obstacles or no, end at the pub, in the beer garden, sun on your face and a pint of ale in your hand... There really is nothing that beats that feeling of utter, nigh-comatose, relaxation in the sunshine, surrounded by fairly well-behaved, football kit clad children drinking lemonade out of newly-awarded trophies.
Related Links:
Public Rights of Way - UK
As it's been so nice, we've gone on two lovely country walks, Jibril in tow (well, actually, running madly in front of us). We've meandered past a tithe barn, two water mills, a wind mill, and numerous country homes that I would give my eyeteeth to own. We lingered by a pond smothered in frog spunk that Jibril, silly bugger, fell into repeatedly... not the brightest fluffy white beast in the house...
What I, as a die hard American (I got me a gun to protect my property!) about the UK is the concept of the public right of way. There are paths, some used frequently, some never used, some in the middle of nowhere, some cutting through people's private property and all these paths, due to the fact that they have been historically public, remain public and will, for all intents and purposes, always be public.
There are times when people aren't too keen on this and some are less keen than others. We went through a farm where they posted "Beware of Bull" on the fence that we had to cross over to continue on the path. It is, however, illegal to put a bull in a field through which a public footpath crosses, so we just ignored it and kept walking. But at the next fence, there wasn't a stile and we had to crawl under the bottom rung of the fence to get into a field full of horses (which Jibril was less than thrilled about).
At any rate, all country walks, fraught with obstacles or no, end at the pub, in the beer garden, sun on your face and a pint of ale in your hand... There really is nothing that beats that feeling of utter, nigh-comatose, relaxation in the sunshine, surrounded by fairly well-behaved, football kit clad children drinking lemonade out of newly-awarded trophies.
Related Links:
Public Rights of Way - UK
Friday, April 06, 2007
Sunshine and Haircuts and Bank Holidays
There are many annoying things about living in the UK, the lack of Goldfish crackers and DSWs, for example. One very non-annoying thing is the surplus of bank holidays, especially in the Spring-turns-Summer time of the year. Such good planning on the part of the British government has resulted in time of work on generally very sunny days. Such is the case today and (fingers crossed) Monday as well. The Brits get two official days off for Easter! How brilliant is that?
Of course, the bank holidays in the UK have caused me a great deal of stress in that I never assume that there will be a day off around a Christian holiday, completely forget that it's a Christian holiday, and then send out big steers with required submission dates on said Christian holiday. The recipients of said steers are in two minds of how to deal with such terrible oversights. Most feel that I'm a bit silly and just assume that the deadline is the following day. The others feel the need to phone me up, state explicitly that I have, yet again, scheduled something on a holiday, and then ask me if I really expect them to work over the holiday weekend. To which I generally grit my teeth and let them know very sweetly that early submissions are most welcome, thus negating the need to think about a project over the weekend.
At any rate, silly Brits aside, my plans for the bank holiday weekend are few and far between. I shall be getting my haircut today. Not as exciting as it could be as all I'm going in for is to clean up the current disaster taking residence on my scalp while I continue to try and grow it out. There may be a 10 mile walk on the horizon, should it still be sunny and should Sinead allow me to drag her a** out of bed at a decent time (*tangent: The Brit's *bleep* out the word a** in That Seventies Show) . That's about it for the plans. The household is having some folk 'round on Monday night and I am secretly endeavoring to get them all to play Cranium, which Sinead got for Christmas and has never opened.
Happy Easter - enjoy all the resultant chocolate. (*another sidenote- the UK concept of Easter eggs and Easter chocolate is randomly really different from ours... Rather than rattan baskets filled with Easter grass, jelly beans, and those awful marshmallow chicks, kids in the UK wake up to a big box with an egg (and occasionally a mug, or an egg cup, or some other Easter-related paraphernalia). Is it me or is that crap and unexciting? On the other hand, whenever I try to give Sinead an American-style Easter basket, I end up eating all the candy and cleaning up the Easter grass, so I'm going minimalist this year. The Easter Bunny has brought her a box with a chocolate egg and a Simpson's mug).
Related Links:
British Bank Holildays
Walk in the Cotswolds
Other place to find me:
Couchsurfing
Of course, the bank holidays in the UK have caused me a great deal of stress in that I never assume that there will be a day off around a Christian holiday, completely forget that it's a Christian holiday, and then send out big steers with required submission dates on said Christian holiday. The recipients of said steers are in two minds of how to deal with such terrible oversights. Most feel that I'm a bit silly and just assume that the deadline is the following day. The others feel the need to phone me up, state explicitly that I have, yet again, scheduled something on a holiday, and then ask me if I really expect them to work over the holiday weekend. To which I generally grit my teeth and let them know very sweetly that early submissions are most welcome, thus negating the need to think about a project over the weekend.
At any rate, silly Brits aside, my plans for the bank holiday weekend are few and far between. I shall be getting my haircut today. Not as exciting as it could be as all I'm going in for is to clean up the current disaster taking residence on my scalp while I continue to try and grow it out. There may be a 10 mile walk on the horizon, should it still be sunny and should Sinead allow me to drag her a** out of bed at a decent time (*tangent: The Brit's *bleep* out the word a** in That Seventies Show) . That's about it for the plans. The household is having some folk 'round on Monday night and I am secretly endeavoring to get them all to play Cranium, which Sinead got for Christmas and has never opened.
Happy Easter - enjoy all the resultant chocolate. (*another sidenote- the UK concept of Easter eggs and Easter chocolate is randomly really different from ours... Rather than rattan baskets filled with Easter grass, jelly beans, and those awful marshmallow chicks, kids in the UK wake up to a big box with an egg (and occasionally a mug, or an egg cup, or some other Easter-related paraphernalia). Is it me or is that crap and unexciting? On the other hand, whenever I try to give Sinead an American-style Easter basket, I end up eating all the candy and cleaning up the Easter grass, so I'm going minimalist this year. The Easter Bunny has brought her a box with a chocolate egg and a Simpson's mug).
Related Links:
British Bank Holildays
Walk in the Cotswolds
Other place to find me:
Couchsurfing
Sunday, April 01, 2007
Anniversaries and Carrot Muffins and Opposites Attract
Two years today. Gracious!
We have no real plans because Sinead's week has been pretty insanely awful, father in hospital and brother starting his radio-therapy. She got home last night after one, having had to drive all the way home from Stansted Airport which is a bit of a schlep. Poor wudgy.
I wanted to plan something quite special and extravagant and really spoil her today, but a) we have no money and b) what she really wants to do is sleep past noon and sit on her bottom and just not think.
So, I made her favorite carrot muffins and I'll bring her a cuppa and a muffin round abouts 11:30. And I'll do my best not to say "Seen this one" when she turned the Simpsons on. Might be the best anniversary gift I could offer actually.
One thing that I've realized this anniversary is how different Sinead and I really are. I guess that I always knew that, but it was really brought home when I got into an (admittedly tipsy) discussion last night about what I should do for her this anniversary. All the suggestions of cheap/romantic options were things that I would absolutely love but, upon reflection determine that Sinead would actually not only not love them, but really really be resentful if I suggested them (get up and watch the sunrise together, case in point). I think it's good to have lives independent of each other, but where's the point of too much diversion?
Other places you can find me:
Multiply
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