Shameless Plug Part Ducks

(For SPP1 see Habibi's blog!)

I haven't blogged lately because 1: I'm job-hunting, 2: The Novel is beginning to show signs of possibly maybe almost starting to come together, 3: kinda busy with work, and 4: Romeo and Juliet is on this weekend, so evenings are far too busy and interesting to leave any time for actually writing about them. (Isn't it a pain when real life interferes with the really important stuff?)

So, here's some gen on the DDG production of R&J, from an Emirates Today interview with Jordan Baker (Romeo) & Saskia O'Neill (Juliet) -

Valentine’s Day is only just over. But romance is still in the air. And what better way for all you die-hard lovers to keep that fire alive than treating your partner to one of Shakespeare’s most famous love stories.
Following the successful productions of Run For Your Wife and Treasure Island, The Dubai Drama Group is back in what is set to be its most exciting production yet: Romeo & Juliet.
Ever since auditions for the first production of 2007 ended in November last year, the cast, as well as the rest of the crew, have been busy preparing for the show, which will take place tomorrow and Saturday.
And after being treated to a sneak preview of the show, it was obvious the group has definitely made an effort to create an entertaining play – not an easy feat, considering they all have to juggle full-time jobs or school.
Romeo & Juliet is a tragedy concerning the fate of two young “star-crossed lovers” and it should be familiar, let’s face it, everybody has seen at least five minutes of the Leonardo DiCaprio and Claire Danes blockbuster.
In this production, the starcrossed lovers are played by Saskia O’Neil and Jordan Baker, and despite quite a significant age difference between the two – Saskia is 16, while Jordan is 26 – their professionalism shines through during rehearsals.
So what made them decide to go for the parts?
“Well, I saw the advert for auditions at my school, and I decided it would be fun to join,” says Sasskia.
“However, I guess I was more interested doing backstage work as I didn’t think I’d be ready to take on a full-on role.
“My teacher convinced me to go for it – I auditioned and I got the part. She is also in our group – she plays the nurse in Romeo & Juliet.”

Meanwhile, Jordan points out that being new to Dubai, acting was a fun way for him to meet new people.
“Three years ago, I moved to Dubai from the United States, and the last time I travelled around, I found that one of the best ways of meeting new and different people would be through community theatre,” says Jordan, who works as a mechanical engineer in the emirate.
“I love theatre, and it was fantastic to be given the part of Romeo – rehearsals have been fun.” What is quite special about the Dubai Drama Group’s production is that it is not your typical “drag along for six hours” Romeo & Juliet.
“We don’t want to bore the audience – we want to entertain,” Jordan laughs.
“Basically, it is a condensed version of the play, and it’s not your typical version.
“You’ve got your traditional play with the Shakespearean English, and then there is the version that starred Leonardo DiCaprio and Claire Danes – we’re performing a version that uses both traditional and modern elements, making it fun for everyone.” It is definitely an entertaining production, and indeed suitable for everyone. You’ll laugh, you’ll cry and then you’ll laugh a bit more. And Jordan agrees.
“It’s a nice cultural change, and we have an international cast – I think we’re 12 nationalities in all,” he explains.
“Plus, there’s good music and a great cast.You won’t be disappointed.”

The Gulf News did an entertaining feature after one of our Friday rehearsals in Safa Park.

There are four shows: Friday and Saturday, 3pm and 7pm. You can buy tickets (50Dhs) at the DUCTAC box office or through Time Out.

Now I must get to bed. Big day tomorrow, forsooth.

An Experiment in Fluid Dynamics, or, How Not to Open a 4L Winebox

1. Place 4L box of wine, preferably, red, on top shelf of open kitchen shelving.

Note: While the shelf unit may be free-standing and empty, a richer experience may be anticipated if the unit is in a corner close to walls and a door, perhaps next to a worktop surmounted by a microwave oven or similar; and the lower shelves of the unit filled to capacity with crockery (bowls are particularly effective) , storage jars, and smaller kitchen appliances.

2. Raise arms above head, and remove cardboard seal from front fascia of winebox, creating an opening.

3. Insert fingers into opening and locate circular plastic valve unit set into foil winebag.

4. Grasping valve securely, pull through opening in front fascia.

5. When valve becomes jammed behind cardboard, pull firmly.

6. When button on front valve gets stuck on corner of cardboard, thus releasing a narrow but powerful stream of red wine over your upturned face, gasp in manner reminiscent of asphyxiating fish, and lower head to enable wine to pour over back of shirt. Do not release grip on valve.

Note: Shirt, though absorbent, will not measurably protect floor, but may be neatly wrung out later, or used in creative tie-dye experiment. (This is particularly effective, if you have had the forethought to choose a shirt of aesthetically pleasing hue, known to tone or contrast well with red wine stains.)

7. With head thus lowered and both arms still raised, use one hand to balance winebox and other to further manoeuvre valve, in order to fully pull it through the opening in the fascia, thus releasing button and stopping flow.

8. When flow unaccountably increases, vocalise loudly, taking care to keep head lowered as in #6. Vocalisation may take whatever form deemed appropriate to the situation: grunts and whoops may serve; shrieks are perhaps more appropriate for freshly chilled white wine, but research in this field is limited, and findings remain inconclusive; profanity may seem appealing, but in this writer’s view has no place in the realm of Science; clear enunciation of the name of a companion within auditory range is perhaps most practical, particularly as #10-12 require the services of an assistant.

Note: Gasping, or the involuntary and abrupt intake of air, is not recommended, due to the potential for an involuntary intake of wine into the trachea, with results which must necessarily be a distraction in the subsequent critical stages of the experiment. The spectacle, familiar in various wine-producing cultures, of the waiter imbibing a stream of the local elixir from a bottle or carafe raised high at arm’s length, requires rather more rehearsal and control than can be claimed in this early experiment.

9. At this point, take note of the fact that the valve is now in one hand, the winebox in the other, and the entire contents of the internal winebag, responding to gravity and atmospheric pressure, are now cascading over the shelf unit and your now dripping form, and bouncing exuberantly in all directions. This indicates the unlooked for separation of valve from bag, and the need for the services of the above-mentioned research assistant. Continuing to employ selected vocalisation technique, until you have elicited a proactive response from said assistant, (See #8) take a firm grasp on the winebox with both hands, and in an instinctive bacchanalian sequence of movement, transfer it first toward, and then away from, you, to end with the box resting on its back on one outstretched hand.

10.At the completion of this manoeuvre, atmospheric pressure will continue to drive the remaining liquid from the winebag, but the earth’s gravitational pull will initially cause it to be contained inside the winebox. However, as the perhaps misleadingly titled ‘winebox’ is not, in fact, designed to contain liquid unassisted, the continuing play of the previously cited forces will fairly rapidly generate a minor vinous fantasia from the now compromised seams and edges of said winebox. If you have continued vocalising through #8-9, your research assistant should now be on hand to observe and assess the situation, in preparation for practical engagement.

Note: Since this is your first foray into applied fluid dynamics (outside the environs of the shower or swimming pool), it is important to remind yourself that there is no right or wrong way to respond. Be spontaneous! Exercise the mysterious creative power of human ingenuity, a power which has engendered some of the most felicitous scientific discoveries, and wonders of civil engineering, even as it continues to baffle scientists!

In consideration of likely feelings of physical fatigue, or the onset of temporary hysteria engendered by the excitement of scientific enquiry compounded by the exercise of an unfamiliar breathing technique, you should now delegate management of the winebox, indeed, of the remaining stages of the experiment, to your research assistant.

11. Having assumed this responsibility, your assistant may elect to adopt a supine position directly beneath the flow, in a manner reminiscent of the waiters cited in #8. As the stream widens and diverges, you may perhaps choose to do the same.

Note: Disregard anxieties that your action might compromise your findings, as there are a number of features of your laboratory space, and, indeed, of this experiment, which may already have invalidated it for the purposes of publication in scientific journals. You can address these when evaluating this important initial work, and preparing your grant application.

Alternatively, your research assistant might choose to transfer the winebox to a large, liquid-proof vessel, and/or attempt to reinsert the errant valve. While this course has much to recommend it, it would be advisable to ensure that the winebox remains on its back.

12. Once you are both satisfied that all is complete, you have a number of options:

• Ignoring the drips and streams of claret on every surface, pour yourself a glass of wine and retire to another room to write up your notes.
  
• Ignoring the drips and streams of claret on every surface, pour yourself a glass of wine and retire to another room to watch the DVD you set up twenty minutes ago .
  
• Get out the cleaning materials: it’s going to be a long night.

Egrets in Dubai?

On several mornings now, at about seven o'clock, I've seen between two and ten white birds at the Emirates Mall interchange, on the grassed part inside the loop, where the road from Jebel Ali turns up and over the Sheikh Zayed Road, heading fro the Police Academy.

I thought they might be egrets, but here's a picture of a Little Egret from Kenya, and I think they were smaller. Plus, this is the distribution: Widely distributed including Southern Europe, much of Asia, North and East Africa, Australia and New Zealand. (i.e. everywhere except the Middle East!)

Has anyone else seen them, and can identify them? They're delicate, snowy white, and quite beautiful.

Femmes (et hommes) d'un certain âge..... plus plus!

For a school project I have been looking for representations of life in old age in mainstream films. We all know that in a predominantly visual medium dominated by Hollywood box-office values, middle-aged female characters generally function as background or minor counterpoint to male protagonists. And if you're an actor over sixty it seems to me that you have two character options, picturesque or grotesque - either in a rocker or off it - arf!.......sorry........
Oh, and there are always deathbed scenes.

There are honourable exceptions in the middle years: contemporaries of Kathy Bates, Meryl Streep, Susan Sarandon and Diane Keaton have enjoyed these women's screenwork for decades, and will always want more. English stage actresses Helen Mirren and Judi Dench have broken through good and proper, and Maggie Smith's up there having a great deal of fun, I think. Jessica Tandy - very talented - became everyone's favourite little old lady in Batteries Not Included, Fried Green Tomatoes at the Whistle Stop Cafe, and Driving Miss Daisy. I can't remember, but I would imagine she was in Cocoon, too, with husband Hume Cronin. Hopefully, the Talk-To-The-Hand generation will get over Lindsay Lohan and the vacuous Hollywood Teen Diet and find their own A-List to grow up with.

Still, but, however, (second cup of coffee, here!) I wish that those of us who can't get to her stagework could see more of Judi Dench's phenomenal range. Unfortunately, casting directors seem to have filed her under T (Terrifying) subset steel magnolia/rose/gardenia, bitch-queen, bitch-goddess. Yes I know she does them so well, but, Newsflash: Judi Dench can do sexy, sparkling, vulnerable and very funny as well as formidable and ferocious; more people should get to see that! It was such a treat to see her and Maggie Smith in Tea With Mussolini, and Ladies in Lavender.

I was struck by a newspaper feature describing this as the Silver Foxes' Oscar season because Helen Mirren, Judi Dench and Meryl Streep are all up for honours. An industry commentator cautioned against seeing this as reflecting a more inclusive attitude within Hollywood, because affluent teens and twenty-somethings remain the target market. More telling is the increasing DVD market: apparently, we creakies would rather stay in than go out, and, being blessed with the patience, wisdom and home theatre systems that come with advancing years, are content to wait for movies to come out on DVD. In fact, it appears that distributors are now trying to take two bites of the apple at once. There have been rows in Germany and the UK recently, with cinema chains withdrawing films because of near simultaneous DVD releases which disregard an unofficial convention of a four-month gap between cinema and DVD release. Good grief, could we grown-ups count for something in big 'ol forever young Califo'nia?

Anyway, I have been trying to find a copy of On Golden Pond (a film I have avoided since its release) for its portrayal of relationships across generations, or Divine Secrets of the Ya Ya Sisterhood, or Grumpy Old Men, for their inversion of ideas of what it means to be old. (I don't think they're quite ready for Diane Keaton and Jack Nicholson in Something's Gotta Give, or Barbra Streisand's 'relationship counselling' sessions in Meet the Fockers. Plus, getting fired won't look so good on my CV.) No joy.

For those of you who have never had the pleasure of working with 11-14 year-olds, it makes no difference that their actual grandparents are educated professionals with driving licences and laptops, or practise yoga, or come with them on family skiing holidays; nor that they have full use of all limbs, teeth and faculties, and a sense of humour to boot. Oh no. Say 'old man' or 'old woman' to a twelve year-old, and s/he immediately doubles over, clutches an imaginary walking stick, and commences shuffling and hacking round the room, glaring through narrowed eyes at everyone else; the epitome of the Old Man in the fairy story:

(This is actually the commedia dell'arte character Pantalone, the 16th Century stereotype of the grumpy old man!)
















...or the Old Crone of the fairy story.


(This painting is by Atanur Dogan)
















Perhaps I should add that this is an age group for whom Keanu Reeves is old, and who respond to the pop music music of two years ago with rolling eyes and gasps of disbelief - of course, they may have a point about that........ ;)

Anyway, I resorted to the 2003 Disney movie Secondhand Lions, which stars Robert Duvall, Haley Joel Osment and Michael Caine, and which I'd heard good things about but never actually seen.

(spoiler alert!) It turned out to be

..........an engaging redemption movie
in which a rootless boy finds
a family and a sense of himself,
and the old man finds a new
reason to live............

Ok, you can look now!




















Living in the middle east, I had mixed feelings about the content of the story-telling sequences, but given their tongue in cheek Boys' Own Hero style, I decided to run with it. All things considered, this an upbeat and entertaining family film with warmth and humour, and the storyline is bolted together pretty well!
If the core is somewhat hackneyed, Robert Duvall invested it with something more in his role as Uncle Hub. (He made his screen debut as Boo Radley in the 1963 movie To Kill a Mockingbird, which I watched just two nights later. I must find what else he's done.)
I noted, but didn't watch, a feature on HJO (playing Walter) entitled An Actor Comes of Age. I hope that this is the case, and that now that he's older, he will be allowed to break the typecasting and extend his range.
Michael Caine had a pretty good grip on the accent, and a very nice handle on the character of Uncle Garth. I really enjoy his work, from the classic Get Carter to Little Voice to Miss Congeniality, and now this. Lovely. (BTW, if you saw Stallone's Get Carter, forget it. A travesty. No comparison. Michael Caine gives the performance of his career inthe 1971 Get Carter. Go get Get Carter!)

I did find a sequence I could use, so I'm happy.

And finally, girls, look to the future with optimism, and never underestimate the appeal of the older man......

To Kill a Mockingbird

I love the novel.














Last night I watched the film.













Classics, both.

Dal'ouna in Dubai & Abu Dhabi

This is Ramzi Aburedwan, who grew up in Al Amari refugee camp in Ramallah, and won a music scholarship to study the viola in France, where he and fellow students created Dal'ouna in 2002. In concert, as in this photo, he plays the bouzouki.

Last night, Dal'ouna played a wonderful two hour set at Dubai Community Theatre & Arts Centre (It's a mouthful, but the alternative is DUCTAC. Oh, puhlease...) up at the top of Emirates Mall*.

None of these pictures are from that concert, but whether they're playing in Dubai, Jerusalem, Angers or Abu Dhabi, you get an ensemble of fine musicians and singers, and an evening of delightful Palestinian music, from soulful ballads, to traditional folk songs, to contemporary jazz fusion.



























You can find the Dal'ouna French language website here.
And here's a translation from the programme:

Dal'ouna's music is ......... a confluence between Palestine and France and a fusion between purely traditional singing from the Middle East and jazzy melting compositions played with classical western instruments (viola, clarinet, flute, guitar, piano) and... traditional Arabic instruments (bouzouki, oud, derbouka, bendir....). The work is not frozen in either traditionalism or classicism: it is on the contrary open to outside influences.

[Since 2000, the group has played in Palestine, or for Palestine in France, Belgium and England.] Most of the concerts take place in Palestine, where, twice a year through Al Kamandjâti (The Violinist) Association, Dal'ouna and other musicians crisscross Palestinian refugee camps, villages and cities. They bring music to children, through music-training workshops and concerts.

If you live in Abu Dhabi, grab the chance to listen to Dal'ouna. This visit has been organised by the Friends of Bethlehem University.

Last night's concert was so good! Dal'ouna's line-up varies from tour to tour, but on this one there's Ramzi Aburedwan himself, Tareq Rantissi on derbouka (an hourglass-waisted drum that you tuck under your arm and rest on your thigh) and other percussion instruments, Ziad Benyoussef on the oud (Arab lute - and if you've never heard jazz lute, here's your chance!), Mohammed Najem on clarinet (and a flute that looks like little more than a length of cane) Mohammed Al Quttati on accordion, and singers Ouday Khatib and Noura Madi.

Highlights - too numerous to list - but musicianship - oh yeah.
The percussionist was amazing. Very serious too. He never left the stage, played a variety of instruments, and played the most extraordinary array of rhythms and sounds throughout the concert.
The clarinettist - well, I've never heard Arab-style clarinet, before, but this instrument was made for those slow low melancholy swoops, and long high notes. If you've heard Fairouz (or if not, Cleo Laine), and you've heard clarinet (Mozart, Weber, Acker Bilk playing Stranger on the Shore), play them in your head, and you'll hear what I mean.
I'm not a fan of the accordion, but in concert with the strings, or playing musical tag with the drums and clarinet, this works: there's a long piece about the sea, in which the accordion trots out the central phrase; reduces it to a dropping pattern of only two notes, to accent a long improvisation, at least an octave below, on the oud; and then picks up again. Some of the pieces are plain old jamming sessions!
Of the two singers, Nour had a strong clear voice which really had the range for these apparently straightforward songs where the chorus routinely highjumps an octave from the verse, and she sang with great simplicity, allowing the songs to shine. She began her first song unaccompanied, and I should have liked to hear more.
Listening to her, I was humming choruses (with the people around me) discovering that these Arab folksongs have melody patterns remarkably similar to their European cousins (as I now recognise them), but with distinctive Arab characteristics in the trills, slides and those jumps. Lastly, Ouday, who was perhaps fourteen or fifteen, with his strong boy's voice as yet unbroken, came on to sing a long, long song of such power and delicacy that it seemed beyond the scope of anyone his age, but with such clarity and integrity that we were all mesmerised.
The singers came and went throughout the set, as did the accordionist and the clarinettist, and the evening rolled on in a finely blended programme of solos, duets, and ensemble pieces.

All in all, though I did not understand the words of the songs, or indeed of Ramzi Aburedwan's introductions to the songs, I had a very good evening out! Just one thing, when I mentioned the two hour set, that's what it was: they played without a break. Take your water bottle in with you if you go tomorrow!

Dal'ouna is on at Abu Dhabi Cultural Foundation on WEDNESDAY FEBRUARY 7th!

I'd post a link, but the main Time Out ticket page is down, but so you'd better contact the venue direct:

The Abu Dhabi Cultural Foundation, Old Airport Rd (02 6215300 cultural@emirates.org.ae)

Situated beside Qasr al-Hosn, the foundation is housed in a delightful modern building of Islamic design with arching white colonnades, cool courtyards and restful gardens. The Cultural Foundation has an important library, theatre, cinema, lecture rooms, meeting rooms, an exhibition centre and coffee shop. The centre hosts numerous cultural events, including concerts with international and local artists, classic film festivals, art exhibitions and workshops throughout the year. Open 8 a.m. to 2 p.m. and 5 p.m. to 8 p.m.

So now you know!

Such talent. Such music. Such an important cause. Just go!

*DUCTAC: Great arts centre, very poorly signposted. The entrance is from the top T-Z carpark or escalator, directly opposite the top entrance to Magic Planet, almost completely hidden by an escalator and a fire exit sign................. Here's the Dubai Community Theatre and Arts Centre webpage. I'm good to you!

High Flight

Today I came across this poem in a thread elsewhere.

High Flight

Oh! I have slipped the surly bonds of Earth

And danced the skies on laughter-silvered wings;

Sunward I’ve climbed, and joined the tumbling mirth

of sun-split clouds, —and done a hundred things

You have not dreamed of—wheeled and soared and swung

High in the sunlit silence. Hov’ring there,

I’ve chased the shouting wind along, and flung

My eager craft through footless halls of air....

Up, up the long, delirious, burning blue

I’ve topped the wind-swept heights with easy grace

Where never lark nor even eagle flew—

And, while with silent lifting mind I’ve trod

The high untrespassed sanctity of space,

Put out my hand, and touched the face of God.

I have read it several times over the years, and flown on the back of its absolute joy, that sense of being alive that we experience sometimes, but which I for one can't describe without suffocating it in words. (If you've been here before, you know this!) John Magee caught it perfectly.

However, reading down the thread, to discover that this pilot was only nineteen when he died (in a training accident), shocked me; cutting through all the insulation I have assembled to deal with the realities of the nightly news. I sat here with tears streaming.

Perhaps we're never so consciously alive, with our future at our feet, as when we're eighteen or nineteen. Not since we cut our first tooth, said our first word, took our first step, have we so encapsulated the hopes, dreams and pride of those who love us.

Gone in a minute.

John Magee's poem took me to John Magee's parents, holding their boy's poem written on the back of an envelope, knowing there would never be another one; and to all the other parents I've seen crying on the nightly news, whether howling in agony outside a mortuary, quietly accepting their country's flag, or staring blankly into the camera in what's left of a wherever they used to live.

It's a shame the human race has such a powerful urge to kill for what it wants. And such a readiness to die for its beliefs. I wish I had a magical solution to offer as a coda to this sad entry, but as far as I can see, it's often the magical solutions (Let's do it My Way!) that lead to the worst bloodshed.

Instead, here's John Magee's sonnet on the burial of Rupert Brooke, in 1915.

We laid him in a cool and shadowed grove
One evening in the dreamy scent of thyme
Where leaves were green, and whispered high above —
A grave as humble as it was sublime;
There, dreaming in the fading deeps of light —
The hands that thrilled to touch a woman's hair;
Brown eyes, that loved the Day, and looked on Night,
A soul that found at last its answered Prayer...
There daylight, as a dust, slips through the trees.
And drifting, gilds the fern around his grave —
Where even now, perhaps, the evening breeze
Steals shyly past the tomb of him who gave
New sight to blinded eyes; who sometimes wept —
A short time dearly loved; and after, — slept.

Sunny Spain

Don't talk to Cave Renovator about Global Warming.

Brrrrr!

Sigh Baby Bunting

Twelve year old Dakota Fanning's new film Hounddog is causing controversy, not because it contains a rape scene, but because it is Lewellen, Dakota's character, who is raped. The little girl out of Charlotte's Web!

Either she is too young to be able to handle such material, or she isn't.

Either she should never have signed up for this project, and her family and agent have failed to protect this child from commercial exploitation, emotional trauma and moral corruption, and are guilty of setting an arbitrary closing date to her childhood; or she is perfectly able to deal with this material, and her family and agent have thoughtfully and courageously given her the opportunity and support to do work of this nature and standard.

Just as Venus and Serena Williams' father recognised and coached their talent.
And Wolfie Mozart's supported his.

If you have an extraordinary talent amounting to a vocation, an unquenchable desire to play tennis or the violin, to act, swim, compose, paint or write for hours and hours, day after day, for years, because that is when you are most alive, then perhaps you would find what the rest of us think of as a normal childhood confining, frustrating and unnatural?

Is Dakota simply exceptionally gifted, a very young and dedicated actress, with a wisdom beyond her years? Or is she an exceptionally gifted young actress who has been fast-tracked out of childhood by the projects she has been allowed to take on? And if the latter, is this good, bad, or just another variation on real life, so if she's fine, then the rest of us should get off her case?..!

One of her previous directors described Dakota Fanning as 'seven going on forty'. Hounddog director Deborah Kampmeier, whose personal history forms the basis of this film, calls her an 'old soul'. I am almost persuaded that she is indeed just fine with this project. What kind of reaction she may face from her peers remains to be seen. And the press are all over her, with judgements and headlines about her family and her agent.

Other girls have been here before. Eleven-year-old Brooke Shields played a child living in a brothel in Louis Malle's Pretty Baby. At fourteen, Jodie Foster was nominated for an Oscar for her role as a pre-pubescent prostitute in Taxi Driver. Both coped with their roles and the fall-out therefrom, and have grown into well-balanced, creative professionals. Dakota's parents seem very caring and careful of both of their daughters - though I imagine many people will revise that opinion now. Fingers crossed for this extraordinary young actress who comes across in interviews as a wise child, a real professional, and a lovely kid.

This article in Slate raises some questions beyond the immediate 'Should she/they or shouldn't she/they?

How about this: But the truth, as anyone who has recently been to the cinema knows, is that Dakota Fanning has been making dark and creepy movies for years. Over her seven-year career, she has become a small, blond embodiment of America's fond hope that scarred children can be restored to childish innocence. It was only a matter of time before the trauma she faced would be rape.

.,...... In the intensely violent Man on Fire (2004), she is a neglected, love-starved child who is kidnapped for ransom money, and watches her beloved bodyguard (and only true friend) get brutally shot in front of her as she cries his name. She is later rescued, but he dies for her. In Hide and Seek (2005) she plays a troubled 9-year-old whose mother has recently died; terrible things happen, but in the end, she appears to find some relief from her emotional suffering. ... In The War of the Worlds (2005), she watches as aliens destroy her world, transforming it into a landscape literally flowing with blood, and her father kills a man in order to save her life, while she sits nearby. She is brutalized and subdued, but by the film's end—when she reaches the cozy brownstone where her mother is—she appears ready to be absorbed again by the consoling rhythms of domesticity; one feels that even her toys are intact.

Of course, she's also done Dreamer and Charlotte's Web.

However, watching Man on Fire, I could not separate my response to the trauma faced by the character Pita, from my awareness of the 10 year-old handling those scenes, that dialogue. Whenever I see a film, or an episode in a drama series, where child actors are involved in scenes of great violence, cruelty or distress, it troubles me. Occasionally there will be a baby crying in its cot, scarlet and tear-streaked: how do they film this? Who explains motivation to a six-month-old? Is colic a useful quality in the neo-natal actor?

Do parents simply stand back until the shot has been completed satisfactorily, before giving baby a cuddle and singing him a lullaby about his college fund?

What about the toddler standing crying its heart out? Or standing there on the verge of tears. An eighteen-month-old faking heartbreak to order? (Not to be confused with emotional blackmail which is a learnt skill!)











Just one more thing. Remember when Haley Joel Osment cornered the market in the melancholy and the downright miserable (Sixth Sense, AI, Pay It Forward)? In addition to wondering how he coped and, after a while, anticipating the likely mood of any film he appeared in, I remember thinking that he had been cast as much for his vulnerable look as anything else.

I have since become convinced that for a child actor to have a megabucks Hollywood career, as opposed to being cast as Lost Boy 3 or Bad News Bear 17, it helps to have a particular face shape - heartshaped, or with a fine jaw/pointy chin; pale, pale skin; and almost preternaturally wide-spaced eyes. Fey. Elfin. Vulnerable. The sort of face that conveys desolation, fear, pain and grief well, i.e. truthfully (cos the kid does have talent) and attractively, i.e. without doing anything unappealing like turning scarlet and producing noxous fluids from various orifices.

Because Dakota Fanning is not the only child working with dark material: children's movies inhabit a safe world, but in many adult films, children are victims, part of the 'everything' which has to be destroyed so that Hero will take on Villain in a good old-fashioned 97 minute orgy of bullets, car/helicopter/motorbike/roller skate chases and explosions. Our modern fairy tales.

I had a little gallery by way of illustration, but it seems to have e-vaporated. The faces belonged to Dakota Fanning, Haley Joel Osment, Elijah Wood, Christina Ricci and Winona Ryder. Some of them could be siblings, depending on the angle of the photo. I don't mean that the children themselves are gloomy and prone to depression. There are plenty of happy smiling pics. In fact, Dakota Fanning gets my award for World's Best Smile. She's absolutely beaming in most photographs.




















But - if it's ok for these children to play roles in films about domestic abuse, violent crime, cruelty and ignorance, how can we draw the line at sexual violence? Surely, to return to Dakota Fanning's latest film, it's a little late to start worrying about the erosion of her childhood innocence?

To be honest, I'm more concerned with the implications of the Vanity Fair (March 06) Tom Ford photograph of the then 12-year-old in Chanel frock, styled in glam-grunge with those direct, worldly-wise eyes. (Pity Scarlett Johannsson & Keira Knightly, who probably wish they hadn't done that cover!)

This is the age of Manga, and the big-eyed innocent adult child. Of androgynously alluring 'ageless' fairy art. Of three, four and six year-old girls in scaled down adult fashions, with bare shoulders and belly buttons; and teenage girls and young women attempting to live on 3 calories a day to achieve a boyish - androgynous - Size 00. Of children in First World countries being surrounded by images of sexuality, and being sexualised younger and younger, while Third World countries are fighting to eradicate child marriage and enforce a minimum age of consent. Of international paedophile rings and Internet porn, anxiety in the vestry, and front page 'candid' tabloid photographs of knickers straining over celebrity crotches on the lowest shelf at the newsagent's, next to the children's comics. It all adds up to a dangerous blurring of the border territory between childhood and adulthood.

People have always been fascinated by sex. Of course! Sex is a natural part of life, no more nor less, but it has become a dominant, perhaps the dominant cultural theme in the west. Between consenting adults please. There have always been teenage preganancies, often the result of consensual sex, despite minimum legal ages and statutory rape laws. Rates have been falling, as a result of better sex-education and realistic public health attitudes to contraception. Nowadays, though, our healthy, well-nourished children reach puberty younger and younger, with 9 year-olds sprouting in all directions. But they're still children. Mentally and emotionally.

However, with this blurring - insidious and blatant at the same time - of what constitutes childhood, childlike behaviour, interests and activities; and what is unmistakeably the preserve of the adult, we put our children in danger. If magazines, films and fashion houses are making children sexually self-aware earlier and earlier, some of our sprouting nine-year-olds may find themselves in very dangerous territory by the time they are eleven. And it may only be a matter of time before some cretin stands up in court and says of his young victim, 'She asked for it.' and genuinely thinks he has a case, because she walked the walk, and talked the talk. Never mind that she was just copying behaviour she'd seen in a film, or in her big sister.

Never mind that she was at least five years away from the age of consent.

Jobs in Dubai article

Extracts from an interview with the owner of JobsinDubai.com, part of an ITP article. Interesting reading for those aiming to make an informed decision on using an online recruitment agency to find work in Dubai. Follow the link to the original article.

Windows: We spoke to Mike, a graphic designer, who in the three-month period he was signed-up with you heard nothing at all.
Nofel Izz: “Whichever employer gets in touch with you, they'll directly contact you because they have all the information. People don't have the concept… Monster.com and Hot Jobs - everything is automated, the employers get in touch with you directly. It's strange that people here don't have the concept of an online recruitment company.”

............................................................

Windows: In terms of what people expect from Jobs in Dubai, do you think it's worth trying to reduce the number of dissatisfied customers - whatever that is - by changing or amending the site to help them regard you as similar to Monster?
Nofel Izz: “First of all, the first thing we tell people is, it's not a guaranteed service. There's no guarantee you're going to get a job. You can always get your money back.”

Monster

Hot Jobs

Jobs in Dubai

Buyer compare.

One for Dad

Happy Burns Night-as-was!

Up yer kilt!

















............though with Glasgow at -8 today, I expect they were all wearing their thermals last night!

An apple for the student

Today I had a bad case of blinkered teacher.

It's the second semester, and final year students face coursework deadlines in all subjects. This means that they absolutely must manage their time so that they can work towards these deadlines, while at the same time keeping up with daily classwork and homework assignments. It takes tremendous organisation and discipline.

One student is currently doing two major coursework assignments under my supervision: a 3500 word Research Commission for IB Theatre Arts; and a 4500 word Extended Essay, a compulsory extra-curricular assignment designed as a bridge to undergraduate work, which she has also chosen to do in my field. She researched both during her summer vacation last year, gave me a first draft of the Extended Essay last term, and yesterday presented me with a restructured Extended Essay, plus half a Research Commission, with evidence of considerable fresh research, all done over the winter 'break'. I duly went through both, pencilling comments and questions in the margins, noting errors in spelling and syntax; and saw her at lunchtime today for a twenty minute tutorial.

I realise now although I went through both pieces with her, noting good points, and pointing out shortcomings and areas which require more thought, more work, more more more, I completely failed to recognise and acknowledge all the effort, enthusiasm and dedication that this eighteen year old has put into these assignments in order to get them to this point; the fact that she has done this during a so-called vacation after a very demanding autumn semester; and the evidence of how diligently she is working to meet all the requirements of six subjects plus plus.

I was so busy looking at where the exam candidate was supposed to be going that I overlooked how far the teenager had come, and what an achievement that was. Of course, she came for guidance, but some appreciation would have been nice. No wonder she looked subdued by the time I was done.

I don't care what anyone says about the good old days, the continuing decline in academic standards, and so forth, most of these students work their tails off to meet one requirement after another, and often several at once.



















Praise where praise is due.

Olive

While I was trying to enlarge this small image, stolen from Muriel, it pixelated all over the place. So I'm doing it again, to demonstrate: instant cross-stitch pattern!

It takes a bit of fiddling with, but it works. Must try low-resolution colour images next.

Burj Al Arabiheeheeheehee!

!!





OK, I admit it, I nicked this image from Adventures in Dubai, and he nicked it from someone else, but the reason I've nicked it is to direct you to Moryarti's post on the subject of Burj al Expati al Arabi. Burj Raju Al-Aghati, Burj al Boris Evanonovi, Burj Al Dubai Taxi & Transporti, and Burj al Constructor al Alabori.








As I said before,

Wonderful Dollmakers' Site

I haven't found a dollmaking magazine that I like, but I found the Dollmaker's Journey website for cloth doll patterns and supplies. (No-one makes mere ragdolls anymore!). Out of dozens of designers providing patterns at an average US$10 each, here are just five.



Breadline, by Mary Ann Hull

















La Femme, by Arley Berryhill













Grace, by Delys Brady















Angel in a Wreath, by Jane Coughlan


















PopTops, by Julie McCullough, one of my favourite designers.

















On my wish list, Susanna Oroyan's Anatomy of a Doll: the Fabric Sculptor's Handbook; and one day, when I've worked my way through that, Designing the Doll:from Concept to Construction. I shall look in the library for Patti Medaris Culea's Creative Cloth Doll Faces, which looks like great fun. Patti Culea's doll patterns, and mouthwatering 'stitchery tome' - a 3D sampler course - are also at Dollmaker's Journey.

Techie

This vacation, I've been trying out software and online services.

As I reported earlier, I've found Picasa useful and straightforward for improve and resizing digital images.

My new external DVD writer remains a source of anxiety: Habibi managed to convert one of my mini DV tapes to DVD without too much trouble. I also managed one, but not before wanting to scream and cry and throw everything out the window in the face of my apparent stupidity. Sigh. I shall try it again soon, because I still have six summer tapes, all last year's kabuki, and some entertaining Merry Wives backstage material to convert, and there will be more to come in our last months here. So I will learn how to do this calmly and efficiently.

A friend invited me to join Facebook, where we have a common interest group. I'm disinclined to launch personal info into cyberspace (says the blogger!) but I did my homework on Facebook's history and practices, and I'm happy to use it for sharing photos of groups and events with the other people involved. Previously I was emailing massive files that took time to go, and then might be rejected if sent to a work email account with an upper limit on file sizes. Useful. But I'm not going down the news and chat route.

I belong to a large family but you know what it's like when everyone's scattered all over the planet and busy with day-to-day life; and this year Mrs Organised here did not actually get around to posting all those really nice local Christmas cards she had written by December 5th to be sure of them getting to Europe by the 25th. Oh help. So I went looking for one of those private network websites I'd heard about, and found MyFamily.com the most appealing. I've taken advantage of the month's free trial to gauge interest, but in the meantime I've gone ahead and uploaded pics from family holidays and get-togethers over the past few years. I didn't resize them, so they've taken up a great deal of the allotted storage space, but this way I thought that everyone could download print quality files of their favourites, and then I'd have a cull in a few months, and resize the ones I leave up. That way there's plenty of room for everyone else's!

So far only one of my brothers has posted photos, but my sister and one of my sisters-in-law are up for it, and I'm hoping my dad's going to post some of his cache of black and whites and sepias. (Dad! Hint!) Mother has still not been persuaded to log on to my blog (or anything else) at the library, but I've sent her a MyFamily invite, and one of my brothers is going up for a visit this month, so you never know!

By the way, Google offers its own version of the family site, with the advantage of a direct link with Picasa so you can upload directly, but with my blog on Google's Blogger, and the fact that when I moved from the Beta version they made my Gmail account log-in my blog log-in, plus the appearance of sidebar links relating to the content of my gmails, I'm beginning to feel a bit antsy about Google. It's everywhere. Big Google is Watching Me.

Of course, with Armageddon and the End of Oil approaching, this will all soon be academic, so maybe I'd better just Print Everything, or else burn CD back-ups of everything, in the hope that, with the combined efforts of our future goat, house cow, chickens and ducks, and possibly pig, plus a little ingenuity, we can learn to run a computer on methane.












Oh yes, and I have sent my first e-cards. I used to think they were a feeble substitute for 'real' cards, until my friend Cathy started sending me totally wack singing ecards for my birthday and at Christmas. I just love them! I play them over and over! So I thought I'd try to make up for my Christmas card failure with some New Year e-cards. An 'ecard' search took me to the Cirque du Soleil website, of all places. They're here this month, doing Quidam, which I've seen on video, so I was curious. Fab. The only possible hitch is that they might not get past some spam filters. Hey ho, what to do?

More of the below: 3 self and selves

Blogging. Telling it how it is. Oh absolutely!

How interesting to be invisible in public.

Who shall I be today?

There’s some kind of public self: a compound (stable but not fully fixed) of nature and nurture overlaid with subjective experience; unconconsciously filtered through personality; consciously filtered through personal morality, consideration for others, and an instinct for social survival and preservation of the core self.

By the way, how much of that gets filtered out of the blog version? What gets, um, enhanced? Arguably, you can’t fake intelligence, humour, culture, etc., though some may try. All blogs, to some degree, represent personas.

Assuming a straightforward relationship with one’s immediate colleagues, readers, whatever, there’s the other person’s – subjective - perception of ‘me’.
Friend, do you recognise and accept, or recognise and ignore, my less appealing qualities?
Foe, how does that question apply to my finer qualities?
Both, do you agree on which are which?

The public self: perhaps a matter of perception, perhaps only measurable by what it does, and how it does it.

And by way of illustration, here are one blogger’s impression of other bloggers she reads.

The family self: subject to closer and more frequent observation, and in a wider variety of situations; especially if some of the observers are children. Children are, after all, the most dispassionate of observers in many ways: while they may not immediately recognise the significance of an action or word, it takes its place in their expanding sense of the world in which they live, perhaps only to be examined years later; whereas partners, on the whole, come under the category of friends - friends, moreover, who have chosen us, which introduces a few more quirky variables to the equation.

The real self: possibly darker or more vulnerable than either of the above; certainly more complex. Who sees it? Perhaps everyone, including me, is aware of part of the whole, but probably no-one, not even me, gets it all. Certainly no-one, not even me, can predict with complete confidence what I will do in any particular circumstances. Variables again.

Nor would I want to be 100% predictable. To even want to know oneself so well suggests a worrying degree of self-absorption, and detachment from the curious business of living. This does not of course apply to me, because I’m a pre-menopausal woman and I’m supposed to think about stuff like this!

To want to know someone else to that degree suggests other problems, at least to me!

On the whole, it seems to me that the person I am now is fundamentally the person I was at birth. Had I been part of a cloning experiment, and the collection immediately dispersed throughout the world, then even allowing for some of us being placed with families of different races, or not even with conventional families, if those who survived to adulthood were brought together, I suspect that we would find we shared many common threads of experience – had made similar choices - because our different upbringings and environments would have worked on a common genetic, physiological inheritance, and the undefined, and undefinable elements that make me - me. Arguably, if our collective nerve held, we would discover as many differences and similarities amongst ourselves as exist between brothers and sisters in a single family, who share common genes and upbringing, in addition to the elements that mark them as distinct from each other.

At the same time, however, there must surely be significant differences, because our different upbringings and experiences would have encouraged or discouraged, perhaps even suppressed, specific aspects of the original me.

As a teenager, I was interested in ESP for a while, and worked my way through the local library's collection of books on mind and spirit. This brought me to Sybil, a fictionalised account of living with Multiple Personality Disorder, which was made into a miniseries in 1976, though I haven't seen it. I didn't see the 1957 film The Three Faces of Eve until years later. Such is the depth of my research.

As I understand it, multiple-personality disorder arises when a child experiences something so far beyond what its complete self can cope with, that a facet of its personality, its strength unalloyed by other, less forceful facets, assumes control for as long as necessary. However, if this happens once, it can happen again, with other difficult challenges triggering the emergence of other one-dimensional independent selves. If enough such selves emerge, or if those selves who do have sufficient strength to come through frequently, the 'original' adult experiences the loss of days and weeks. The novels and films - with different degrees of integrity - are based on doctors' documentation of the condition, and the process of therapy and eventual recovery.

Much more common, I guess, is schizophrenia, including the type that involves hearing voices which harangue the victim to do things that are utterly contrary to his or her wishes and values. The only schizophrenic I ever met was an old lady who lived alone in a flat, with a daughter who never visited, and upstairs neighbours who tormented her by playing 'Three Blind Mice' over and over on their stereo. In fact, the daughter visited frequently, only to be accused and abused; and the nursery rhyme only played in the old lady's head. Maybe it wasn't even schizophrenia, but a hideous form of senility; I never found out.

But when it comes to the voices version of schizophrenia, where do those unacceptable urgings come from?Returning to the bounds of the normal, we have play, fantasy, make-believe, theatre and cinema, and also role-play as used in training (as well as therapy). Dolphins, cats and chimpanzees may play, but only humans play-act, which requires not only imagination, but spontaneous creativity, and the ability to willingly (and temporarily) suspend disbelief.

Konstantin Stanislavski, from his base at the Moscow Art Theatre, devoted his life to developing and refining his System of actor training, which would enable his actors to play the new realistic dramas becoming popular in northern Europe at the turn of the 20th Century. The flamboyant skills required for melodrama and variety shows did not serve actors trying to portray the nuances of individual experience in Ibsen's 'A Doll's House' or Chekhov's 'The Three Sisters', or the works of Shaw in England, and O'Neill in the States. and later.

Lee Strasberg went on to develop the more famous Method, or 'method acting', on the back of Stanislavski's work. Associated with Marlon Brando, The Method is the foundation of realistic acting, and the central plank for actor training in the US, whose popular culture favours naturalism over symbolism or stylisation on stage and in movie-making.

Among the techniques Stanislavski developed at the Moscow Art Theatre, was 'The Magic If', a rehearsal tool that could enable an actor to get 'inside' the character s/he was playing. Actors would work through a series of questions 'as if' they were their character, questions such as 'Who am I?', and 'What do I want?', to establish an alternative reality to inhabit in the play. Emotional Memory is another technique, to be used with training and understanding, which can channel the actor's memory of an emotional experience into his playing of a role. At no point should the actor 'lose' himself in the role, but just as an audience suspends disbelief during a play, the Method actor can be said to inhabit a role.

Stanislavski and Strasberg are now so mainstream that schoolchildren and amateurs of all ages, without ever having heard their names, use elements and developments of their techniques. A piece of advice often given to actors is that, whoever you're playing, you need to have some sympathy with your character.

This is fine as long as your character is the good guy; rather unnerving if it's Hannibal Lecter or the Marquis de Sade. How do you have sympathy, or any kind of common ground with such a character? What does that say about you?

Then again, how do you play a fully rounded 'realistic' character while disapproving of him?

Just as most children demonstrate an instinctive aversion to playing the bad guy in games, and to investing baddie role play with any depth, we need to reassure ourselves that it's only pretend, and maintain the distance between our wholesome selves, and the depraved 'fantastic part' we're playing. However, the process of opening up a connection between the two is unsettling, because if we have a shameful memory of a petty cruel or dishonest action that gave us a buzz of illicit pleasure at the time, then drawing on that to play a part raises personal moral questions.

There are a number of actors I admire, among them Denzel Washington. In the DVD bonus material for 'Man on Fire', Tony Scott describes how, when Denzel Washington comes out of his trailer, he's in role as Creasy, a man whose entire way of life hinges on being a loner. He (Tony Scott) was worried that Dakota Fanning, who plays nine-year-old Pita Ramos, would be upset by her co-star's touch-me-not coldness, but she knew enough to recognise his particular approach to a role.

More worrying are stories of actors who deliberately stay in role, on- and off-set, for the duration of shooting. No wonder Hollywood marriages strain!

It may be the party animals who get the headlines, but most of the finest actors are remarkable only for their ordinariness in day to day life. They must be tapping into something when they're on stage or on set, but they can leave it behind when they leave the theatre or lot. Benign sybils.

Final thought: the Sybil was a medium. Cinema and theatre are media through which we are transported, without leaving our plush seats and popcorn, into another experience, another view. Doesn’t this endow live performance with an element of shaman ritual, with the actors as shamans?

As for cinema, you could say they’re our link to the bigger picture, especially if they’re on IMAX. ;)

More of the big stuff: 2 - religion and faith

Anyway, back to me!

and an element I can identify - Religion

The Roman Catholicism which was a central plank of my childhood gave me a sense of wonder about creation, and creativity; a fund of stories about human goodness, kindness and courage; a system of values; and a sense of common experience with everyone who has ever lived in belief in the divine - in whatever framework – but also a disturbing knowledge of what people will do to themselves and each other in 'defence' of that framework.

It predisposed me to be on the one hand optimistic and proactive, and on the other to view the human race as deeply flawed and very very dangerous. That old good and evil thing. God and the Devil. The conflict that sits at the core of every one of us that makes sleep, gin, ganja, shopping, squash, sex, mindless TV and sitting cross-legged on a hillside contemplating our inner glow (Oh! Religion again!) so very appealing.

However flawed my particular framework might have been; however much I chafed at the restrictions and responsibilities it required; and however spurious its core might be (Dang!); it was a framework, and, as such, as much support as cage. When I rejected both Holy Church (religion) and – no half-measures here – God Himself (faith), it therefore left a large void in my life. Not just about what to do on Sunday mornings, and what to say when I dropped something big and heavy on my big toe, but about what it was all for. Existential angst is putting it too strongly, but Christianity, so central to western thinking, is essentially linear. A quick review of the first part of the catechism, by way of illustration:

Q. Who made you?
A. God made me.

Q. Why did God make you?
A. God made me to know him, love him and serve him in this world, and be happy with him forever in the next.

There! In two sentences, we cover the two biggies: who we are, and why we’re here. An ample and familiar lap to climb into with your blanket, and fall asleep in with your thumb in your mouth. It’s a good thing. The opiate of the masses………. Oh no!

Actually, oh no. As with most of history’s more resonant soundbites, it only tells half the story – but does it blindingly well. Marx had an agenda, after all, not that one could blame him.
Interestingly, Orthodox Christianity, particularly Russian Orthodox, is very much about stoic submission (Though I think Sto himself was a Greek.) , which raises the question, how far did Russian Orthodox Christianity shape the Russian character, and how far was it shaped by it? China and Russia, the two cultures where the centrally controlled, monolithic version of Communism took hold, were both part of the Mongol Empire for a large portion of its two hundred year history, and it was not the Mongol way to woo or cultivate local talent in any field: exclusion was presumably simpler than integration.

"The Mongol Empire (1206-1405) was the largest contiguous land empire in history, covering over 33 million km² at its peak, with an estimated population of over 100 million people….and at its height, it encompassed the majority of the territories from southeast Asia to central Europe.
One of the more successful tactics employed by the Mongols was to wipe out urban populations that had refused to surrender; in the invasion of Kievan Rus, almost all major cities were destroyed; but if they chose to submit, the people were spared and treated leniently. ………………………The Mongol Empire had a lasting impact, unifying large regions, some of which (such as eastern and western Russia and the western parts of China) remain unified today, albeit under different rulership."

Thereafter, these ‘unified’ regions continued to be highly centralised under their Tsars and the Emperors. Nature or nurture (if that’s the appropriate word)? Anyway, the Russian Orthodox Church (which was itself oppressed) preached submission (in common with Confucianism): persevere through earthly trials without complaint, and be with God in the next.

The Roman Catholic Church preached much the same thing but to the comparatively individualistic peoples of western Europe, who had their fair share of invaders, shifting borders and alliances, but did not, even though the Mongol Empire extended a finger as far as west as Venice, share the subjection of their neighbours to the east. I get the impression that the heart of Latin American Catholicism, imposed with fire and the sword (the original market forces) by Isabella's conquistadors and priests is closer in quality to Orthodox.

So yeah, to return from this dizzying digression, and facetiousness aside, RC is big on rights and responsibilities, yin and yan for Christians. (Oops! Facetious again!) The point is, if you're brought up Christian (whatever the specifics of title and tradition), you know where you are: you know there’s a master plan, and a Master Planner; you know that there was a Beginning, that there will one day be an End, and in the meantime, you’ve got comprehensive navigation tips, in handy user-friendly story format, to help you navigate the tricky bit in the middle. Sometimes it will be tough (disease, war, famine), but there’ll be fun stuff too (weddings, birthdays, children, friends) and the important thing to remember, what makes it all worth while, is that God loves you, and one day it will all be ……… heavenly.

And if you chuck all that, and embark on a new, officially Godless life, all that God-given purpose and direction has to go too, and it’s down to you, the Self-Help section in the bookshop, and your ‘Friends’ DVD collection. The whole of western culture is essentially linear: littered with terms like ‘the dawn of history’ and ‘the end of time’. (We’ve also got ‘the four corners of the globe’ but that is definitely beside the point.). We’ve had revolutions in the name of progress, of building a better future. All our fairy tales end Happily Ever After.

So then what?

The whole of Europe went through this once upon a time. They called it the Renaissance, the triumph of Humanism. I learnt that in History. Sorted.

O brave new world that has such people in it!

By the way, here's a map of the world's religions at the time of writing.

Identity, philosophy, popular psychology, religion, stuff like that: 1 - psychology & philosophy

I am curious about the complexities of who we are, and how we integrate the different, often contradictory aspects of ourselves.

Like most people I know the names of Jung and Freud, and that apparently everything is my mother's fault. Actually I thought that this was the central tenet of adolescence, but that, like acne, you grow out of it, but of course, these were men.....

PhilipLarkin famously blamed both parents, though his second verse might be about Jung and Freud. How come the happy people don't get famous? Imagine the million dollar best-seller, I have a great life! My parents taught me all I know, God bless'em! (Oh go on, let me miss the point if it amuses me. I don't get to do smug very often.)

From Oprah, Frasier and The Simpsons, I have learnt that families are important in determining who we are.

So I've got the main psychological theories covered.

Thanks to Monty Python I can list lots of philosophers too, and thanks to Sophie's World, I even know some of what they had to say when they'd sobered up. Actually, I must confess that I didn't finish Sophie's World. This might be the time to get it back from whoever I lent it to, or take a stroll down to House of Prose. (I obviously don't have anything else to do, with a new term starting next week!)

Yet dilutions of all of these theories have become part of how we westerners see ourselves and our world, even though most of us have probably never done our homework.

Incidentally, while Psychology is a Humanities option in the International Baccalaureate programme, all Diploma students study Theory of Knowledge: "The course discusses how the student is able to know something. The student is described as a "knower" who attempts to find knowledge, where knowledge, as defined by Plato, is 'justified true belief'.................................... The course is formulated and centered around one main question: How do you know?" Interesting, hm? A good subject for an International School, where every class contains intelligent, articulate people of several nationalities, cultures and religions; some of whom may be in positions of public influence in later life.

Today's Walk

We went for a walk with our cameras.
















The sun was out, and so were the little boys,
















and the big boys,















under a blissful sky.
















And we saw......


DUCKS!














Down at Jebel Ali Village Pond.

If we had this kind of weather all year round, no-one would ever leave.

And furthermore.....
















I

From troubles of the world I turn to ducks,
Beautiful comical things
Sleeping or curled
Their heads beneath white wings
By water cool,
Or finding curious things
To eat in various mucks
Beneath the pool,
Tails uppermost, or waddling
Sailor-like on the shores
Of ponds, or paddling
- Left! Right! - with fanlike feet
Which are for steady oars
When they (white galleys) float
Each bird a boat
Rippling at will the sweet
Wide waterway ...
When night is fallen you creep
Upstairs, but drakes and dillies
Nest with pale water-stars.
Moonbeams and shadow bars,
And water-lilies:
Fearful too much to sleep
Since they've no locks
To click against the teeth
Of weasel and fox.
And warm beneath
Are eggs of cloudy green
Whence hungry rats and lean
Would stealthily suck
New life, but for the mien
The bold ferocious mien
Of the mother-duck.















II

Yes, ducks are valiant things
On nests of twigs and straws,
And ducks are soothy things
And lovely on the lake
When that the sunlight draws
Thereon their pictures dim
In colours cool.
And when beneath the pool
They dabble, and when they swim
And make their rippling rings,
O ducks are beautiful things!
But ducks are comical things:-
As comical as you.
Quack!
They waddle round, they do.
They eat all sorts of things,
And then they quack.
By barn and stable and stack
They wander at their will,
But if you go too near
They look at you through black
Small topaz-tinted eyes
And wish you ill.
Triangular and clear
They leave their curious track
In mud at the water's edge,
And there amid the sedge
And slime they gobble and peer
Saying 'Quack! quack!'
















III

When God had finished the stars and whirl of coloured suns
He turned His mind from big things to fashion little ones;
Beautiful tiny things (like daisies)
He made, and then
He made the comical ones in case the minds of men
Should stiffen and become
Dull, humourless and glum,
And so forgetful of their Maker be
As to take even themselves - quite seriously.
Caterpillars and cats are lively and excellent puns:
All God's jokes are good - even the practical ones!
And as for the duck, I think God must have smiled a bit
Seeing those bright eyes blink on the day He fashioned it.
And he's probably laughing still at the sound that came out of its bill!















Frederick William Harvey, 1919