Magic Jewball

This picture makes me happy because there are just so many things I want to say about it. The fact that they’re all wearing blue. That they shrink in height as they go up in age but their hemlines are lengthier. And they’re dowdier. I wonder if they get along. I wonder if, a la the last post, they called each other that morning to say, “but what are YOU wearing?” Or maybe their ladies-in-waiting did. The mind boggles but in a kind of awesome way.

Oh, were you looking for a reason to be cheerful? You’re not spending the day shopping with your MIL. And her MIL. You’re welcome!

Another reason! Mo has joined me in blogging happy and will be doing so throughout the month of March (but not every day, because she’s not insane like some people *cough*). Check it out! PS, we will not be wearing matching outfits.

Photo from the London Daily Telegraph

Foreigner – Blue Morning, Blue Day

My parents visited England in 1981 just before the wedding of Charles and Diana, and as much as they always loved London (and Paris and Amsterdam and Zurich… my father had a lot of frequent flyer miles working for IBM), they especially got a kick out of being there for all the pre-event hoopla. They brought back several typical Royal Wedding souvenirs partially for the kitsch factor but also to remember a lovely trip, The one I remember most was a box of matches emblazoned with the standard portrait of the couple in an oval plus banner with the date of the wedding. And what I remember about it is that it lasted for years and years, even though we used matches every week to light the sabbath candles. That was my job, to set up the candles. I’d put the two big candlesticks in the middle of the dining room table, fill each cavity with just a bit of water to keep the melted candles from dripping down onto the tablecloth, and place the two white candles in. Occasionally… well, lots of times, if my mother was running late preparing for the sabbath, I’d light the candles for her and then she’d just have to say the blessing.

An aside about that. It’s a conundrum, saying the blessing over the candles before sabbath. In all of Judaism, you always say the blessing before doing the thing. The blessing for bread, then bread. The blessing for the wine, then the wine. But lighting candles involves starting a fire and you’re not allowed to do that on the sabbath. Once you say the blessing on the candles, the sabbath has started, and so then how are you supposed to light a fire? It’s like an Escher painting, when you try to think about it. So what you do is, you light the candles, then you cover your eyes so you can’t see them, and then you say the blessing, “Blessed are you, Lord our God, King of the universe, who has sanctified us with His commandments, and commanded us to kindle the light of the sabbath.” Then you uncover your eyes and suddenly, they’re lit. It’s like a miracle!

Anyway, since you can’t actually light the candles after sunset, sometimes I’d have to do that while my mother ran around (like a chicken with its head cut off, to use her expression) finishing cooking and cleaning and dressing, and then, just a bit late, she’d cover her eyes and say the blessing. But we almost never used the Charles & Di matches, even though they were on the top shelf of the cupboard. You’d use the red and blue safety matches, because, well, those didn’t symbolize a happy time in a country where everyone was excited. I wish the people in England a happy year of excitement and I wish William & Kate a happy marriage. May it last as long as the box of matches and then some.

The Doors – Light My Fire

This was supposed to be the picture of the day except the day is over. And it was the day before that, anyway. But the Queen of England was here today and I could not believe it, she wore long sleeves. This is to prove that nothing can ever be as much torture as having Fergie as a (former) daughter-in-law. It was 103 degrees here, convincing me to finally turn on the air conditioning. But I feel the Queen would not have done so. She is stoic.

But this is not the Queen in New York, this is Her Majesty at the RIM factory (that’s Research In Motion, aka the BlackBerry people) in the decidedly cooler climes of Canada. I’m posting this picture simply because they gave the Queen the same model as I just got! Thus proving that for the next 5-7 days, I own the most current and up to date model. And I am going to bust that thing out everywhere! Fuck your iPhone! The Queen and I are BlackBerry buddies!

And as soon as she gives me her PIN, I am going to totally message her that.

Title is a take-off of a DMX album title. And the temperature check at 2am? 83 degrees. I picked this particular track because it was produced by Swizz Beatz from whom I once received a group email that was both abusive and hilarious.
DMX – Ruff Ryders’ Anthem

While channel-surfing those morning shows I hate this a.m. in search of some real news, I chanced upon this teaser on CBS’ The Early Show: “After the break, Prince Harry reaches a milestone in his life.”

Was it to much to hope that it would be this?

Nope, it was his graduation from military academy. They did manage to get in a mention of the better story towards the end of the piece, though. After this earth-shattering lead item they got to the other, duller news.

I have been for a long time. Since childhood. I mean, when you’re Jewish and your ancestors each come from a different Slavic country, Brits just seem so exotic. Plus they have those fantastic accents where even their janitors seem smarter than you.

And then, of course, there was the music. I suppose if I had come of age in the grunge era I might worship Seattle or something. God knows, the way they have good coffee even at the gas station is worthy of great heaps of admiration. But as you have no doubt figured out, I was a teenager in the 80’s and Depeche Mode, the Cure, the Smiths, and New Order were my objects of affection. I figured any place that could breed these awesome bands had to be like a Promised Land of some sort. It didn’t occur to me that England might be a miserable place what with all the moaning and complaining. I guess the fact that they all made minor-chord music to commit suicide by should have clued me in.

But I loved it anyway. I took my first trip to London as a nearly 16 year old, with my father on a business trip (his, not mine, otherwise that’s kind of unlikely, right?). While he was at work, I was scouring record shops for obscure cassettes (we listened to cassettes back then, whippersnapper) and buying black clothing. Suddenly, all the bands that didn’t even warrant their own header cards at the local Sam Goody were huge! Frankie Goes to Hollywood had a billboard! It was tremendous.

I still love the UK. I’ve been back many times, to London and other cities, to Cornwall and to Wales. I meant to go to Manchester but I chickened out at the last minute with the thought that it might be something like being a tourist in Detroit. So I kept going and went to Scotland instead.

And I read their newspapers online every day. Their news just seems to be so much more fun than ours. Today, Prince Charles was featured in the Daily Telegraph wearing a lei. Then there was the “Talking parrot gives away girlfriend’s secret lover” story. Not that that was funny. No. Breakups due to avian issues are sad. Very sad. I’m so sad.

But people there use fun words like “chuffed” and “gobsmacked” and “telly.” Aren’t they adorable? Couldn’t you just pinch their cheeks? I think it’s their mysterious mixture of delightful fun and dark depression that has always attracted me. Or maybe I’m just confusing the United Kingdom with the Cure. Whatever.

By the way, should you be British and feel dismayed that I have used England and the UK interchangeably, please send your complaints to G.W. Bush, 1600 Pennsylvania Ave, Washington DC, 20500. I know they’ll get right on that.