In some ways, Dublin freaks me out like America does with people being friendly. My cab driver last night started polite conversation by asking where I flew in from.

“London.”

“That’s not where you are from though!”

I laughed, “No, that is not where I am from.”

I went into my usual tap dance and finished with I am thinking of becoming a British citizen in a year.

“Don’t be doing that. You’re selling your soul to the devil!”

I laughed.

I discovered that he is afraid of flying and his girlfriend is afraid of water which is a pain when you live on an island.

Really nice guy. He added the big tip I gave him for being a nice guy to the printed receipt so I expense the whole thing.

Everywhere people are friendly. I’m sure when I wander away from the hotel I will find some unfriendly Irish, but I have a feeling it will be harder than it is in London.

*Gaelic for “The weather was wet and windy this morning.” Which it was. Crazy winds and rain a few hours ago. Now it is just cold and wet and I am not looking forward to facing it out there.

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Click Here to listen to Mr. Johnson.

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There aren’t many films that I see that I think, “Damn. I wish I had written that.” The Savages is one of them.

Great acting, great script, simply shot. Gold.

This years Oscar for original screenplay is going to be anyones guess as they are all fantastic. (Juno, Lars and the Real Girl, Michael Clayton, Ratatouille, and The Savages.)

There is something going on with movies right now. Is it just me or does it feel like there is more good ones than usual? Is the ratio of good to soul destroying shit changing?

It feels sort of like the 70’s. Except. You know different.

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It is not often that reading an article in the NY Times makes you burst out loud laughing. The first few paragraphs aren’t what tickled my funny bone: 

LONDON — It was a lofty idea: formulate a British “statement of values” defining what it means to be British, much the way a document like the Declaration of Independence sets out the ideals that help explain what it means to be American.

Because of the peculiarities of its long history, Britain has in modern times never felt the need for such a statement. But in an era of decentralized government and citizens who tend to define themselves less by their similarities than by differences of region, ethnicity or religion, the government felt that the time was ripe for one.

The proposal, part of a package of British-pride-bolstering measures announced by Prime Minister Gordon Brown’s new government over the summer, raised a host of tricky questions. What does it mean to be British? How do you express it in a country that believes self-promotion to be embarrassing? And how do you deal with a defining trait of the people you are trying to define: their habit of making fun of worthy government proposals?

Detractors spread the rumor that the government was looking not for a considered statement, but for a snappy, pithy “liberté, égalité, fraternité”-style slogan that it could plaster across government buildings in a kind of branding exercise.

But this did. . .

Nor did it help when The Times of London cynically sponsored a British motto-writing contest for its readers.

The readers’ suggestions included “Dipso, Fatso, Bingo, Asbo, Tesco” (Asbo stands for “anti-social behavior order,” a law-enforcement tool, while Tesco is a ubiquitous supermarket chain); “Once Mighty Empire, Slightly Used”; “At Least We’re Not French”; and “We Apologize for the Inconvenience.” The winner, favored by 20.9 percent of the readers, was “No Motto Please, We’re British.”

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I love this show. LOOOOOOOOVE IT. It is a thing of beauty. Crazy, nutty beauty.

“What are you going to do if I ask you about 08?” 

“Well. Of course I want Hillary to be the first woman President.”

“Arugh. No. Obama. You support Barrack Obama. Remember? You like those pictures of him at the beach?”

“Oh. . . right. Obama. What is he? Hispanic?”

“No, he’s black.”

“And he’s running for President??? Good luck!”

— Another favorite. ” Lemon. What happened in your childhood to make you think people are good?”

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I was surfing around on the Internet as you do when you are ‘working from home’ and you are avoiding doing a load of laundry or taking down the Christmas tree and I saw an ABC video blurb called ‘Where is Monica Lewinsky Now’ or something like that. 

I must admit I clicked because I am curious. I had heard that she got her Masters in London and I have sometimes wondered what she is up to and if her life got back on track after the train wreck of ten years ago.

It couldn’t have been more of a fluff piece than if they had all the baby ducks and chickens in China. Pissed me off actually.

I did a quick search and I found an excellent article published a year ago by Richard Cohen in the Washington Post.

It would be nice, too, and fair, also, if Lewinsky were treated by the media as it would treat a man. What’s astounding is the level of sexism applied to her, as if the wave of the women’s movement broke over a new generation of journalists and not a drop fell on any of them. Where, pray tell, is the man who is remembered just for sex? Where is the guy who is the constant joke for something he did in his sexually wanton youth? Maybe here and there some preacher, but in those cases the real subject matter is not sex but hypocrisy. Other than those, no names come to mind.

Well said. And there ain’t no way in hell I would want the dumb things I did in my twenties bandied about for public consumption. Hell, I wouldn’t want to talk about last week.

I hope as we approach Clinton.2 that these inevitable stories manage to avoid the easy punch line and attempt some fairness.

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Want to share a really lovely article written by A. O. Scott in the NY Times about Heath Ledger and his work.

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Al is an insomniac and in desperation he went to our health clinic thingy here at the office. Probably because he was sleep deprived they up-sold him into having a fifty quid hypnotherapy session.

“How did it go?”

“Rubbish.”

“Why?”

“So I’m sitting there. And she tells me to feel my energy centres. Feel my energy centres. My instinct is to think of my penis. Obviously.”

“Obviously.”

“So I’m trying to not think of my penis and she’s going on about a blue light radiating out of my trunk. I shouldn’t have told her I’ve had insomnia since I was 14 because she wanted to talk about my childhood. So I thought, ‘Oh great, so now it’s my parent’s fault.’ A lot of things are my parents fault, but not sleeping is not one of them.”

“So it didn’t go well.”

“No. It most certainly did not go well. And she kept going on about Adult Al should give my inner child a hug and tell him it was ok. That he can sleep. A hug is so not what my inner child wants.”

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Last night I learned that saying, “I was just going to blow him off” means something entirely different in the UK than in America.

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Yeah, yeah yeah.

I KNOW this hasn’t been the most interesting reading of late. But gather round the campfire tonight and I should have some amusing tales to to tell. Stories involving the meeting of random strangers.

There is something in the air recently and I have been forced into making nice with people I don’t know. There is something nice and yet somewhat annoying about that as I really don’t like people very much.

I’ll give you a teaser. One story will involve two Americans that Stuart met in the loo and kept trying to come back to our place. 

He really needs to learn what that sounds like to people. . .  

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