The So-Called War on Terror

Reading and watching the news lately, it's easy to forget that we're still waging a war in Iraq and Afghanistan (well, of course, it's only a "war" when that's convenient for the Bush administration).

If you care to be reminded of what we're doing and why we should stop, you can always count on Amy Goodman. Unfortunately, you have to go seek out that reminder. It's all too easy to live in blissful ignorance.

It's depressing to know that our past war crimes have never been punished and that our current leaders will surely enjoy the same immunity for their flouting of the Geneva conventions, international law and the U.S. constitution.

BBC China

Lately I've been listening to these audio stories on BBC China, trying to understand whatever I can. They speak too quickly, and I definitely don't know all the words and I don't pay close attention, but usually I can at least get a basic idea of what they're talking about and pick out some phrases and words that I understand. It's good listening comprehension practice.

Today I was listening and heard a clip of a young male voice saying (in English, before it faded into a translation) something about having two injured guys on the plane back with him and then I heard "Taliban", so I knew it was something about Afghanistan. Then I kept hearing 王 ("wáng"), which is a Chinese surname, but also means king. I eventually realized that it was always being paired with 子 ("zǐ"), i.e., 王子 ("wáng zǐ"), which means prince and then it immediately dawned on me that this was always preceded by "hā lǐ" (哈里) — they were talking about Prince Harry! Of course!

哈 = hā = laughter; yawn
里 = lǐ = inside; internal; interior
里 = lǐ = lining of clothing; within; inside
里 = lǐ = li, a Chinese unit of length = one-half kilometer; neighborhood; hometown

Moving

Two or three weeks ago, I read Jeanette Winterson's "Weight: The Myth of Atlas and Heracles". An excerpt:

Atlas let his hands go from the sides of the world. Nothing happened.
     Atlas put his hands down in front of him on the floor of the universe or the ceiling of stars, I don't know which, and then he stretched out his left leg so that he was kneeling on all fours, the Kosmos balanced on his back. Laika was running in and out of his spread fingers. She had never seen her master move.
     Atlas crawled forward and then suddenly fell flat on his face with hands over his ears and the dog clinging on to his thumb. Atlas waited, rigid with doom. The dog waited, her nose in her paws.
     Nothing happened.
     Write it more substantially — NOTHING.
     Atlas raised his head, turned over, stood up, stepped back. The dog's nose lifted. Atlas looked back at his burden. There was no burden. There was only the diamond-blue earth gardened in a wilderness of space.

I'm moving to a new flat tomorrow. It's a small studio, but it's all my own and I like the space. Plus there's a rather large patio/garden type area out back.

It's a bit further from my office than my current place, so I'll no longer be walking to work. The tube is absurdly expensive, not necessarily reliable and probably regular use of it is, to your lungs, the equivalent of a pack-a-day cigarette addiction. So I will not be taking the tube. Instead, I bought a (second hand) Brompton. It is a beautiful machine. I absolutely adore it.

My walking pace around London (I walk fast) seemed perfectly sufficient to me. But now that I'm back on a bike, walking seems so terribly slow. It's lovely to be cycling again and feeling the pleasant stretch of forgotten muscles.