I've been watching lots of the new series of Dr Who at last recently. I've been itching to get my hands on it for years, and now I just watched the first three seasons back to back. First of all, am I the only one who's noticed that if you consider all the doctors, all eleven incarnations, that the Doctor seems to age backwards like the myth of Merlin? I'm fairly certain this is coincidence, a side effect of the producers choosing a more active Doctor after the first couple and then jazzing the Doctor up for the new look of the show from 2005. Though, coincidence or not, I wonder if they'll capitalize on it at some point...though I have some vague recollection of the Doctor being identified with Merlin already.
Anyway, I have to say, I think the show is brilliant. I've actually cried repeatedly as well as laughing out loud and grinning outlandishly. It's had me grabbing my chair knuckle-white with tension. But yeah I have to come back to the crying. I mean, I claim not to like heart wrenching stories, but they really do draw you in, don't they? How Dr Who manages to do that and still stay so often light-hearted I have no idea. The season finales are particular kickers now. (Oh and I'll warn anyone else whose a compulsive watcher of "to be continued" that the finale of season three is three episodes long, not two! So beware when you start that third-to-last episode.)
To avoid spoilers, I suppose I should resist specifics...but wow. Ok, so I still have to go "la la la!" to a lot of the science. But as a drama with sci fi flavor, it's brilliant.
Which brings me to the fact that I'm missing watching Heroes, also a brilliant show that I've shouted out loud at and laughed and cried at (though I usually stare in mute shock or yell rather than crying with Heroes for whatever reasons). The way the heroes and villains, your favorite and most hated characters flip and flip again is agonizing and breathtaking. As with Dr Who I have to go "la la la!" to the problems and paradoxes inherent in practically any plotlines dependent on time travel, let alone repeated time travel, but once again it's a great drama nevertheless.
And since this post has clearly become a TV review, I'll give an honorable mention to True Blood, the first season of which was highly addictive. Vampires in the deep South, a lot of it rather gritty and sordid, but with a handful of highly compelling characters to bring you through it. Though I warn you, they kill off likable characters almost as badly as Heroes (considering there's only been one Season so far).
Well, that's the end of the Soaked Kittens reviews of contemporary supernatural fiction TV shows with the finishing comment that: they've got a Dr Who spinoff show and I want to find it!! (Actually they've got two, but I'm more interested in Torchwood than the kids show the Sarah Jane Adventures even if I did quite like Sarah Jane Smith and even K9).
Friday 20 March 2009
Monday 16 March 2009
YAY!!!
We got the visa! Yay!!!!!
*Bounces off humming "We're coming to America" filking the words in her head*
*Bounces off humming "We're coming to America" filking the words in her head*
Friday 6 March 2009
A Change of Key and Tempo
I went back to rehearsal with the Madrigirls last night. I hadn't been efficient enough to email them so I just turned up out of the blue and everyone was happy but surprised to see me.
I realized as we began rehearsing that I'd become rather sloppy in my singing in the last couple months. Music has become an act of desperation with the baby involved. Lyrics didn't matter much, even hitting the right notes didn't matter as much as singing them low loud and continuously till she decided to be lulled out of screaming. Oh, we managed to be pretty sometimes too, usually once she had stopped screaming and we were allowed to back down from utter desperation to just the nervous desire to keep her entertained and distracted. But music has definitely lacked precision for a while now.
Still, it was great to be back and I hope I'll be around long enough to perform with them. Looks like I won't be around long enough to make the next CD though, alas.
Immigration Update:
The latest packet of material has been couriered off to the embassy. They claimed there should be only about a week's turn around on this. Fingers crossed everyone. This could be it, God willing (and bureaucrats willing).
By the way, for any strays out there that may have noticed my piecing together of US and UK visiting and immigration policies in trying to figure things out themselves (bewildering, isn't it?), I will note that this latest border guard told me that I had misunderstood the visitor's visa rules (I spent days researching it! arg!) and that it is in fact limited to six months out of any given twelve on a rolling year (kicks off with your first visitor's visa) and that hop to Europe and back did absolutely nothing in her opinion. Which raises the question of why the border control coming back from Sweeden had let me back in with a new stamp as I'd planned and expected...I must say I'm not entirely convinced that they're all on the same page with this. She claimed that everyone working for them whether for five years or five minutes knew it was 6 months out of 12, but I'm quite certain that's not the answer I've recieved from everyone because I was specifically worried that might be the way it worked and so I looked into it until reassured that it was only six months in one trip. Regardless, she was rather understanding and ended up letting me in but with a different stamp that will raise questions the next few times I enter, so I'll have to stay out for a good long while once I leave from this trip (at least four, maybe six months minimum, depending when I leave this time) or else apply for a spouse visa after all.
I have to say I was rather terrified (and all on top of sleep deprivation from a trans-Atlantic red-eye). I've tried so hard to do everything by the book, and there I was being told I'd grossly broken the rules. Thankfully she was convinced I'd been operating in good faith and she and her boss let me more or less slide through for now. Still, terrifying.
So, yet more reason to hope this latest immigration step is the last. Hopefully the next trip to Britain can really be a quick visit to see friends and castles.
I realized as we began rehearsing that I'd become rather sloppy in my singing in the last couple months. Music has become an act of desperation with the baby involved. Lyrics didn't matter much, even hitting the right notes didn't matter as much as singing them low loud and continuously till she decided to be lulled out of screaming. Oh, we managed to be pretty sometimes too, usually once she had stopped screaming and we were allowed to back down from utter desperation to just the nervous desire to keep her entertained and distracted. But music has definitely lacked precision for a while now.
Still, it was great to be back and I hope I'll be around long enough to perform with them. Looks like I won't be around long enough to make the next CD though, alas.
Immigration Update:
The latest packet of material has been couriered off to the embassy. They claimed there should be only about a week's turn around on this. Fingers crossed everyone. This could be it, God willing (and bureaucrats willing).
By the way, for any strays out there that may have noticed my piecing together of US and UK visiting and immigration policies in trying to figure things out themselves (bewildering, isn't it?), I will note that this latest border guard told me that I had misunderstood the visitor's visa rules (I spent days researching it! arg!) and that it is in fact limited to six months out of any given twelve on a rolling year (kicks off with your first visitor's visa) and that hop to Europe and back did absolutely nothing in her opinion. Which raises the question of why the border control coming back from Sweeden had let me back in with a new stamp as I'd planned and expected...I must say I'm not entirely convinced that they're all on the same page with this. She claimed that everyone working for them whether for five years or five minutes knew it was 6 months out of 12, but I'm quite certain that's not the answer I've recieved from everyone because I was specifically worried that might be the way it worked and so I looked into it until reassured that it was only six months in one trip. Regardless, she was rather understanding and ended up letting me in but with a different stamp that will raise questions the next few times I enter, so I'll have to stay out for a good long while once I leave from this trip (at least four, maybe six months minimum, depending when I leave this time) or else apply for a spouse visa after all.
I have to say I was rather terrified (and all on top of sleep deprivation from a trans-Atlantic red-eye). I've tried so hard to do everything by the book, and there I was being told I'd grossly broken the rules. Thankfully she was convinced I'd been operating in good faith and she and her boss let me more or less slide through for now. Still, terrifying.
So, yet more reason to hope this latest immigration step is the last. Hopefully the next trip to Britain can really be a quick visit to see friends and castles.
Tuesday 3 March 2009
Passages of Life and Death
I can't tell you how many times I've composed things in my head to post on this blog in the last two months. Lying awake at night (or whenever I was sleeping) or pinned under a baby who'd fallen asleep at last or staring out the passenger window watching familiar Californian scenery go by.
A lot has happened to me, to my family, to my friends.
In December, shortly before I got to California, one of my best friends in the world had her first baby. I was coming to stay with them supposedly to help prepare for the baby and to help through the first month or so...since the little girl beat me there I instead was around for her first two months. I've had my hair pulled by teeny tiny fingers, been screamed at till I thought I'd go deaf or mad and had less mentionable things befall me and my dignity. But the moments I'll really remember are the times when she was a little splat fast asleep on my chest or helping her squiggle and squirm her way through attempts at proto-crawling or seeing her get better at meeting my eyes and then finally meeting my eyes and smiling even I was left with the suspicion that gas might have more to do with the smile than me at this stage.
I'm really not sure how two parents alone manage, and I am filled with awe and respect for single parents muddling along on their own. I'm really convinced now that it takes a village to raise a child and at times our unusually large "village" of people at Red House seemed too small to handle the job.
While looking the challenges in the face has to some degree soothed my terrors of motherhood, I find myself, on balance, left with more resolve than ever not to enter into those challenges (and terrors) without a good "village" surrounding me.
Just as I was being exposed to the mystery of new life, a few days after getting to California, I was faced with death as well. My Grandpa, my father's father, died not long after Christmas. I am sorry I didn't get a chance to see him again, very sorry. But I am also immeasurably glad that I was able to go to the funeral. For one thing it was simply important to be with the rest of my family at the time--for me and for them I expect. But the service was beautiful and a good way to say goodbye. And best of all, before, during and after the service people spoke about him, giving me insights into his life I hadn't had before.
I'd always seen my Grandpa as my Grandpa: sometimes gruff, always generous, usually to be found either working away at his extensive garden (once upon a time I used to pick the strawberries for him where they grew up behind bushes in hard to reach places) or else fooling around on his computer (he introduced me to solitaire, real and computerized, to tetris, to more transitory games now long gone). He and my Grandma travelled all over the place and would send me postcards from all over the world.
But people came from all over California and from other states as well to speak at his funeral. And his own kids dug through his stuff and found awards and metals we hadn't been fully aware of. A picture emerged of my Grandpa as a pilot and a hero, flying rescue missions and the like in Vietnam. A story of him flying with a baby on his lap rather than leave it behind because the plane was full of evacuees and there was no more room. A funny story about him telling one of the "damn second leutenants" to sit on his flack jacket rather than wearing it because the sides of the plane were armored and any shooting would come from below and what parts of him were more important for him to keep anyway? Stories from the medal certificates of making three tries at a night landing with no lights, under fire, to evacuate people there. Little stories and big.
It's hard to believe he's gone sometimes. I can picture him so vividly, his laugh, his walk. I can hear the intonations in his voice as he speaks. I've long known that I was very priveledged to have such a wealth of grandparents. I had all four growing up, all four till now, and I even aquired some step-grandparents along the way through the remarriages of both my parents, though they are by and large more distant figures (with the possible exception of Grams who adopted me as a grandkid on sight). I've had a wealth of grandparents. But it's still hard to say goodby to one, perhaps all the more so because I knew him so well. It's definately a price worth paying though.
Grandpa, my most loyal reader, I'll miss you.
Yes, these two months have definately been a time for a lot of emotional upheaval, a lot of thoughts and contemplations. Now I'm back in Britain--I'll skim past the adventures of achieving that. Why I shouldn't be able to post about all this till I'd left again, I'm not sure. Maybe it was just the demands of baby duty; I wasn't online much at all with all the daily demands of life there. But maybe I needed a bit of distance as well before I could distill this to a simple post.
A lot has happened to me, to my family, to my friends.
In December, shortly before I got to California, one of my best friends in the world had her first baby. I was coming to stay with them supposedly to help prepare for the baby and to help through the first month or so...since the little girl beat me there I instead was around for her first two months. I've had my hair pulled by teeny tiny fingers, been screamed at till I thought I'd go deaf or mad and had less mentionable things befall me and my dignity. But the moments I'll really remember are the times when she was a little splat fast asleep on my chest or helping her squiggle and squirm her way through attempts at proto-crawling or seeing her get better at meeting my eyes and then finally meeting my eyes and smiling even I was left with the suspicion that gas might have more to do with the smile than me at this stage.
I'm really not sure how two parents alone manage, and I am filled with awe and respect for single parents muddling along on their own. I'm really convinced now that it takes a village to raise a child and at times our unusually large "village" of people at Red House seemed too small to handle the job.
While looking the challenges in the face has to some degree soothed my terrors of motherhood, I find myself, on balance, left with more resolve than ever not to enter into those challenges (and terrors) without a good "village" surrounding me.
Just as I was being exposed to the mystery of new life, a few days after getting to California, I was faced with death as well. My Grandpa, my father's father, died not long after Christmas. I am sorry I didn't get a chance to see him again, very sorry. But I am also immeasurably glad that I was able to go to the funeral. For one thing it was simply important to be with the rest of my family at the time--for me and for them I expect. But the service was beautiful and a good way to say goodbye. And best of all, before, during and after the service people spoke about him, giving me insights into his life I hadn't had before.
I'd always seen my Grandpa as my Grandpa: sometimes gruff, always generous, usually to be found either working away at his extensive garden (once upon a time I used to pick the strawberries for him where they grew up behind bushes in hard to reach places) or else fooling around on his computer (he introduced me to solitaire, real and computerized, to tetris, to more transitory games now long gone). He and my Grandma travelled all over the place and would send me postcards from all over the world.
But people came from all over California and from other states as well to speak at his funeral. And his own kids dug through his stuff and found awards and metals we hadn't been fully aware of. A picture emerged of my Grandpa as a pilot and a hero, flying rescue missions and the like in Vietnam. A story of him flying with a baby on his lap rather than leave it behind because the plane was full of evacuees and there was no more room. A funny story about him telling one of the "damn second leutenants" to sit on his flack jacket rather than wearing it because the sides of the plane were armored and any shooting would come from below and what parts of him were more important for him to keep anyway? Stories from the medal certificates of making three tries at a night landing with no lights, under fire, to evacuate people there. Little stories and big.
It's hard to believe he's gone sometimes. I can picture him so vividly, his laugh, his walk. I can hear the intonations in his voice as he speaks. I've long known that I was very priveledged to have such a wealth of grandparents. I had all four growing up, all four till now, and I even aquired some step-grandparents along the way through the remarriages of both my parents, though they are by and large more distant figures (with the possible exception of Grams who adopted me as a grandkid on sight). I've had a wealth of grandparents. But it's still hard to say goodby to one, perhaps all the more so because I knew him so well. It's definately a price worth paying though.
Grandpa, my most loyal reader, I'll miss you.
Yes, these two months have definately been a time for a lot of emotional upheaval, a lot of thoughts and contemplations. Now I'm back in Britain--I'll skim past the adventures of achieving that. Why I shouldn't be able to post about all this till I'd left again, I'm not sure. Maybe it was just the demands of baby duty; I wasn't online much at all with all the daily demands of life there. But maybe I needed a bit of distance as well before I could distill this to a simple post.
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