Archives for "Colloquialisms of Ben"
Specious meanderings
Well now, it’s been a long long time since I sat down to write something here. I suppose it would be de rigeur to fill in the blanks – though not too much obviously as this is less a letter to Granny, and more the specious cognitive meanderings of someone who would be a simpleton if only he were a little dimmer – ‘tis my curse to always be clever and talented enough that I can’t be content with “normality”, whatever that may be, yet still not clever or talented enough to be exceptional – at least not without some kind of application on my part and that just seems like a lot of effort.
Actually, I’m not going to write anything about me – whilst I strike myself as being fantastically interesting, I’ve met many people who share said delusion (only substituting themselves for me) and they have invariably been very very boring people (…probably because they made the silly mistake of substituting themselves for me).
A recurring itch my mind has been suffering from recently is this: How does one claim a new word for themselves?
How does one say that my meaning of this word is the true one? An example – a while ago a friend and I were working hard at doing very little when one of us coined a term of such magnificence that we both immediately latched upon it as that most wonderful of things – an original word that summed up a concept that had never really been done justice before. After bandying the little bugger around for a week or two (though never gratuitously) I thought I might Google it, just to be on the safe side. Lo and behold, if some bastard hadn’t got there first and applied a meaning that just didn’t do it justice, but which yielded sufficient hits on various sites that I realized we’d missed our window of opportunity and our word would never live to see the light of day. I was so disheartened by this that I guess I’ve tried to blank it out because I can’t for the life of me remember what the word was anymore.
Anyways, the reason why this has been praying on my mind of late is the fact that I did it again recently. I was trying to describe my philosophy of business to a client. Essentially it is a combination of elements of hippy doctrine (by which I mean an aversion to mainstream thinking/beliefs/values) and capitalism (private ownership, free market). I termed myself a “hipitalist” – one who operates in a capitalist world, yet holds an alternative value system. This musn’t be confused with the great many good people working in “Third Sector” companies – I, myself, have been involved with not-for-profit companies, charities and worker’s co-operatives of various descriptions, but that’s not quite the same. A hipitalist is still a private owner. They operate without subsidy or public/private donation. They make a profit. They simply run their company in a cool way – making money nicely. Having concern for their fellow man and the environment. They actually contribute to society rather than leech off it (one day I really will get round to writing about ecological economics as an alternative global model).
I could go on but I won’t. Suffice it to say that I only found 1 result on Google and that was from 1992. It was also quite long and (apologies to the authors) quite boring so whilst I tried faithfully to read it all through to see if they had a definition there, I must admit to glazing over so I may have missed it.
Therefore – if Google be law (which it kind of is – Wikipedia had nothing), so far Hipitalist has one entry dating from an obscure academic exchange in 1992. I have now brought it back into living language and provided an approximate definition. By publishing this, that should bring the Google score up to 1:1. If I do that a few more times, can I claim this word…?
np: Daria from the album “Fashion Nugget” by Cake
Natural design
I’d like to take a couple of minutes to talk about biomimetics. “?” some of you may be asking right now. For those of you not familiar with the term, this is design that has been inspired by nature – for example, how many of you knew that Velcro was inspired by the burr on a dog’s fur?
To borrow a phrase from an acquaintance of mine, I like to think of myself as a business-savvy treehugger. One of the things I love about the application of biomimetics is the fact that it is an ethos that encapsulates a love and respect for nature without losing sight of things such as globalised society, business and the economic bottom-line (a sin too many hippies have committed – they have amazing ideas but no grasp on reality, more’s the pity). I’ve just been watching a really interesting documentary that was dealing with biomimetics as they relate to architecture. Specifically, they were talking about glass in building design (pretty much a ubiquitous element) and the fact that the cost of window cleaning in the UK for business alone amounts to approximately 850 million pounds a year. Now, some groovy German academic type has been researching something called the Lotus effect ever since he first noticed it in the 70s – basically it’s to do with the self-cleaning properties of materials. There are a huge number of practical applications here from the sublime to the ridiculous. The one he demonstrated in this documentary was a self-cleaning plastic spoon – he showed how honey just flowed off it rather than sticking. However, there was the point made that no-one would want to eat using a spoon with the texture of sandpaper… They did also show a type of glass that is in the prototype stages which would basically render window-cleaners obsolete as this material never truly gets dirty. Obviously, you have to factor in the cost of replacing all the glass in the UK but the long-term benefits far outweigh the short-term cost.
Nature has more to do with us than simply providing an inspiration for new building materials however. When a building is designed with a true understanding of nature and our relationship with it then great things can happen. A case in point is the Commerzbank Tower in Frankfurt. Standing at a smidgen over 300 metres, this is one of Europe’s tallest buildings. It is also a building that we should all wish we worked in, even if it is a bank. Approximately one third of the internal space of the building is given over to gardens. Why? Well, there are a number of reasons but leaving the hippy shit aside, from a mercenary point of view, here are two very good reasons. Firstly, this quantity of plants results in enriched, oxygenated air which directly improves the productivity of your workers (and I know – I used to work in a godawful 1970s glass skyscraper where you couldn’t open any of the windows and the aircon was fucked – it was there that I first learnt of the term sick-building syndrome) Also, the gardens serve as a focal point for improved internal communication with the obvious commercial benefit this brings (take heed any Latvian business owners reading this – internal communication, not just within management but at all levels, is a GOOD thing you fucks)
Lastly, building design has a clear influence on stress level and the incidence of anti-social attitudes/behaviours. It is astonishing how many buildings (particularly schools and universities for some reason) seem to have been built without any thought of the volume of human traffic passing through them. You bottleneck a couple of hundred people (at least) in a 10 metre wide corridor 2 or 3 times a day with the resulting continuous and unavoidable invasion of people’s personal space and see what happens.
I wanted to talk as well about eco-clusters and industrial symbiosis (and probably ecological economics as well) but I guess I’ll leave these for another time.
Suffice to say for now, taking inspiration from and incorporating nature into our design and planning not only improves quality of life but also productivity, sustainability and long-term profitability. Hardly surprising when you remember we’re all a part of nature, no matter how hard some of us try to ignore it.
np: Scots on the Rocks from the album “Croftwork” by The Peatbog Faeries
Spy jobs
In a moment of idle banter with Markus recently the new Bond film came up. We agreed it will, in all likelihood, both blow and suck. However this did lead us into a conversation about spies. He remarked that one as short as I wouldn’t pass muster. In a roundabout fashion I retorted that one as freakishly large as he would be equally unsuitable. This coupled with the fact that later that very same day I was teaching someone how to apply for jobs in English and the example I used happened to be a post with the Australian Secret Intelligence Service (who would have thought they’d be advertising in the Economist…), meant that I paused a while to ponder the criteria by which a good spy is made.
Having Googled a little, the results are disappointing. It really is all about being able to memorise things, manipulate relationships and “go grey” – blend in and remain unremarkable. Nowhere does anyone mention killing silently using just a spoon, or hacking into government level security systems in a matter of minutes whilst on the pretence of using the bathroom at an embassy shindig.
For those of you who are truly interested in the boring life of a secret bureaucrat (a profession which also incidentally holds one of the highest divorce rates), you can apply to MI5 here, MI6 (UK secret intelligence service) here and the CIA here…
You can even take a CIA personality quiz…apparently I’m an innovative pioneer (it is only 5 questions long though…and total balls)
Sun’s just come out so I’m going to play with my new boomerang some more 
np: Glory & Consequence from the album “The Will to Live” by Ben Harper
Bad Apple
Only a couple of points to mention quickly (I’ve been pretty slack about writing for the last couple of weeks but I have my reasons) The first point is for those of you who haven’t come across him before, you should religiously follow the writings of a certain Dr. Ben Goldacre (self-described serious fuck-off academic ninja). He writes a column in the Guardian entitled Bad Science and has a blog of the same name. An incredibly intelligent man with a wonderful sense of humour who delights in highlighting…wait for it…bad science wherever he comes across it. Here is a recent example.
My second point is simply this – I can’t let Markus’ Greener Apple post pass without comment. In fact, I give warning, I haven’t thought what I’m going to write yet but it may well degenerate into a rant. Firstly, generally I praise Apple for everything they do – whilst not a Mac user myself I still push them into the face of every student I teach regarding pretty much any aspect of business. They rule. BUT and this is a big BUT, being a flagship example of business practice, being a truly inspirational force within the market, consistently providing products that exceed consumer expectations does not excuse you from wider responsibilities. Markus’ post reads to me a little like the kind of knee jerk reaction one might display if someone questions the masculinity of your choice of beverage in front of everyone in a particularly hard pub. Yes, Apple are great but that doesn’t mean they are blameless. Every manufacturer has a duty to consider the full lifecycle of their products. I know many wonderfully aromatic Greenpeace types and I would say that it’s not a case of Apple bashing per se. If you check organizations such as Ethical Consumer you will find that it’s a case of people considering their social responsibilities and ecological footprints and simply trying to exert some pressure on companies to do the same. Oh, and the comment regarding the efficacy of petitioning…Amnesty International, amongst many others, seem to be able to make use of them… I could go on, but I won’t.
Suffice to say Proctor and Gamble is a great company barring the continued animal testing on cosmetic and household products. Nestle is a great company barring their irresponsible marketing that has been linked to infant mortality in Africa since the mid-70s. Coca-cola is a great company barring the trade union repression in Columbia and depletion of ground water resources in India. Apple is a great company with some improvements to make – no need to issue a call to arms to defend their honour, just accept that our heroes are rarely perfect when we look a little closer.
np: Wine from the album “Amethyst Rock Star” by Saul Williams
Pain
It’s that time of year – much like the negative image of a dog I tend to grow my hair in the summer and shed it in the winter. There is method behind this madness and it comes down to one simple fact, and one that underpins so much of male dress sense (at least where I come from) - practicality. Winter is a time of hat wearing – therefore a grade 2/3 buzzcut is eminently practical when you consider preparation time in the morning – I’m one of those people who is willing to make trade-offs like skipping breakfast in order to have another 15 minutes in bed in the morning (though I should qualify this by saying I tend to work long days and sleep short nights as it is). Also, I like to arrive at work and begin to work…I’m like that. I’m not the kind of guy who can sit and read the newspaper and drink 2 cups of coffee before even looking at their in-tray, and I haven’t been since my days working for the civil service in the UK (an incredibly cushy number – anyone complaining about their job there on grounds other than boredom either has never experienced the true private sector rat race or is just a bit mental). This work ethic means longer, styled hair and a hat are entirely incompatible – maybe if I were to wear a British policeman’s helmet or for Scrubs fans among you, something akin to JD’s “hairmet” there wouldn’t be an issue, but I’m a simple sort. I’m happy with a beannie and that kind of headhugging fit doesn’t gel with gel.
So there we go – I have validated my decision to lose my flowing locks. Next comes the method. Visits to the hairdressers, to me, carry the same erotic frisson as libraries or public transport (…perhaps I’m alone in this, I’ll explain another time). Therefore it’s still a mystery to me as to why I did this but I allowed, nay asked, my wife to attack my head with some very old clippers of unknown provenance. This was a mistake. When cutting my own hair with clippers I could do this cut in around 7 minutes (including detail work). With her (though to be fair, I should say with these clippers) it took about 30 minutes. It felt like 3 hours. It felt like she was attempting to tattoo a faithful recreation of the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel onto my skull in full colour in one sitting. What I’m trying to say is it hurt. A lot. That was all I wanted to say really.
Oh, and to answer Markus’ grievous misreading of my position (some might almost say deliberate), I was talking about sustainability – I have no problem whatsoever with porn of any kind as long as any pain it causes is consensual. If the UK government were to start following my advice, they’d begin by legalising weed, radically overhauling the civil service and issuing an official apology and recognition of Cornwall‘s true political position (followed swiftly by a load more apologies to pretty much every country they’ve ever had dealings with, damned colonialists).
One more thing – Steve Irwin, some conservationists were critical of his approach and “hands-on” approach to his subject but it can’t be denied he did a lot to raise awareness of important issues and for that he will be sorely missed.
np: Bombtrack from the album “rage against the machine” by Rage Against The Machine
Activism, action and you.
Afternoon all, as Markus mentioned I have indeed been spending every available minute in the forest since the sun came out in May. It’s pretty much gone again now though so all things being well, I will become semi-regular once again.
I’ve just had a few friends staying with me for the last couple of weeks also. Eclectic mix – one happy-go-lucky motorbike racing, hovercraft building Welshman, one borderline manic-depressive Latvian and one grassroots direct action with a brain English type. It is he, or rather the project he is currently engaged in that I wanted to flag up today.
Do any of you Europeans know about the Millenium Development Goals (MDGs)?
…
I’ll take that as a no. (if you did answer yes, pat yourself on the back because you are one of the happy 12 (count them, 12) percent who do. And if you do know about them, let me ask you – do you actively do anything to further these goals?
…
I’m guessing that’s also a no for around 90% of that 12% (and I’m being generous here).
Basically, the MDGs are a set of targets to make the world a better place by 2015 by amongst other things, reducing world hunger, breaking the poverty cycle and building environmental sustainability – for the full set, read this. They have been adopted by something like 189 countries, yet as always the targets set are looking increasingly unrealistic.
My friend Markus (another one) is the co-ordinator for something called the Eurizons project. They aim to promote the MDGs as a common European responsibility and to involve young Europeans in a dialogue about global development and to encourage their engagement. They are doing this in a variety of unconventional ways as they hitchhike through 8 European countries (started in Riga earlier this week), ending at the European parliament where they will lobby MEPs to take a stronger position and create real actions that will enable us to meet these goals.
You may question the efficacy of their actions. I do myself, but then I have protested enough to allow myself the luxury of cynicism, happy with the knowledge that I am taking action myself in so many ways to redress the balance. All I will say for now is it takes less than 10 minutes to familiarise yourself with these goals. Some of them may seem a little grand, and you may ask yourself what you can do to make a difference.
Because I’m keeping this short, all I’ll say for now is how can you ask such a ridiculous question. Christ! It’s easy to make a difference. Here’s one – turn the tap off while you’re brushing your teeth. Here’s another – don’t leave your TV/Hifi/whatever on standby – switch it off at the mains. Here’s another – THINK before you speak. I could go on (and I will in the future) but for now, I’ll simply say:
Read the MDGs. Tell your friends/families/colleagues. Do something. If you’re so lazy/stupid/conservative that you can’t tolerate the prospect of making even a tiny change in your life. Try this – next time someone asks you to sign a petition, do it. Next time you get a card through the door with a generic message, postage paid, asking you to sign your name and post it to your political representative, do it. Stop being so fucking smug and lazy in your comfortable bland life and take 30 seconds out so someone who does care enough to do something has the proof that they are not really all alone in being the only sentient life on this earth.
Sorry…got a little carried away at the end. Still, I stand by it and damn you all (except the nice ones)
np: Everyone’s a loser from the album “Neveroddoreven” by I Monster
A few words about Markus
What ho! Just a quicky to assuage my guilt at failing to deliver a speech at Markus’ wedding last weekend (which was splendid btw) To give the backstory I agreed a while ago to say a few words but I have a history with weddings. Despite generally being one of the best public speakers in this hemisphere (in my humble opinion), there is something about weddings that interferes with my mojo. Therefore, even though I had thought through a few things to say, when the opportunity arose I behaved despicably and bottled out.
So…how to begin (gushingly sentimental praise is not my forte unless its for myself), for those of you who aren’t fortunate enough to know him personally, he is a wonderful human being – bright, witty, insightful and freakishly large. We first met through an online business networking group (I never thought I’d arrange to meet a stranger in a bar over the internet but there you go), discovered we had the same tastes in ale, cigarettes, whiskeys and people and that was that. Even though I’ve known him only a relatively short time, I can honestly say he is one of my favourite people in this world.
I don’t know his wife, Tanja, so well, having only met her a couple of times, but what I can say is that she is also a great person (also bright, witty, creative and not at all freakishly large) and they are quite clearly in love. I remember him regaling me with the tale of their affection very soon after meeting. I thought at the time that it’s a good thing I rarely get shocked because the openness and sincerity of his tale would have put your regular British type into quite a kerfuffle (its not the done thing for men to talk about their feelings this frankly unless very very drunk – stiff upper lip and all that). Being a natural cynic (and a natural optimist – can cause quite the turmoil internally I can tell you), I find it hard to gush for too long. Markus knows how good he is. Tanja knows how good she is. They both know how good each other are. Everyone knows how good I am. They’re married now and it is a good thing. If you were a roomful of people I would ask you now to charge your glasses and make a toast to their eternal happiness and world domination. As you are not, I shall instead drink by myself. However, the next time you raise a glass, spare a thought for those happy Finns – even if you’re the other side of the world and have no idea who I’m talking about, I’m enough of a hippy to believe that the positive energy created will do some good somewhere in this world.
Peace out.
np: Tryptych from the album “Nervous Cabaret” by Nervous Cabaret
Quasi-ritualistic clutching at ethereal validation
Why do we constantly seek context? Whenever I sit to compose myself and let spill a little of my essence (textually speaking) I always find myself beginning “I write this…” or “I’m sitting here…” I suppose it comes from reading/seeing/listening to too many travelogues – I have a kind of literary dysfunction – I tend to fall into the cliché of whichever style I am writing – If contributing to a magazine I write like a broadsheet columnist, if a report is required I am the driest and most analytical reporter you could wish for, if writing corporate material I can bullshit with the best of them. I’m still struggling to adjust to blogging – is it a journal? Is it a tool for self-branding? Is it some quasi-ritualistic clutching at ethereal validation (I know somebody somewhere is reading this and enjoying it…even if it is only one person…) I wonder…if Sartre or Camus were alive today, would they blog?
Anyhoo, now that I’ve successfully opened this entry with sufficient piffle I can give some context. I am currently somewhere between Estonia and Finland on my way for a short respite in Helsinki before my main man Markus’ wedding next weekend. I’ve just come from the Viljandi festival in the South of Estonia and very nice it was too. There’s something about sitting in the dirt with a load of wasters listening to a mixture of improvised didg, throat singing, djembe and some kind of keyed, bowed fiddle type thing whilst drinking tasty brews (I never rated Estonian beer until this weekend – Saku to me is no different to the Latvian Aldaris…a generic lager type drink that is refreshing when served cold but has no real character). I may have a lot of issues with the English (stealing our land and money, culturally oppressing us, and so on and so on) but they do make some excellent ales (anyone with the opportunity, seek out Badger Champion, Old Speckled Hen, St. Peter’s Golden Ale or leaving the English behind, if you’re in Wales, go for the gravity-poured Felinfoel Double Dragon straight from the keg. In fact if you can, go to the Black Horse in a little village called Meinciau not far from Carmarthen – it looks just like somebody’s house except it has Cwrw (welsh for beer) written on the wall outside. Inside you’ll find 2 kegs of ale, a row of single malt whiskies and 2 old ladies that look like your grandmother behind the bar. Not to everyone’s tastes but an experience that must be tried at least once). Before I lose myself in digression – the Estonian beer is called Saaremaa – a light, crisp lager flavoured with juniper berries. I was dubious but on a hot day its just the ticket, trust me.
As always I had so many things to say and when I come to sit and write I find myself devoid of worthy material. Instead, seeing as I’m confined with a boatload of Finns, I’ll talk about drunks. I love drinking. Not to excess (very often) but there’s something oh so lovely about beer, wine, whiskey et al. However, one of the very few things that makes me truly angry is a drunk (along with cruelty to animals, needless bureaucracy and English people who even after being shown the facts continue to say “Yeah, but it’s all just England though, isn’t it. Why are you making such a fuss?”). I should qualify this – its not drunks per se that make me angry. A happy drunk can be great fun, an argumentative drunk can pass the time, a dancing drunk can truly be a sight to behold. What I have a real problem with is drunks who have lost control. The loud, stumbling drunk who thinks they’re funny. The belligerent drunk who wants to fight the wall. The stinking, slurring drunk who thinks they have the charm of Oscar Wilde – these are the objects of my ire. I know many people can tolerate them. I recognize this may be a failing on my part but I cannot. I can’t help but always, when approached, give the witty response of “Fuck off!” Maybe it’s because I grew up, in part, with an alcoholic. Maybe it’s because I’m a closet control freak and can’t help but feel contempt for those who can’t control themselves (It was funny to say “I have no idea what I did last night” when you are 14. When you’re 30, 40, 50something – you have a problem my friend.) I have to say, the British have a reputation for misbehaving abroad. This is true. They are an embarrassment. They drink too much. They have no cultural sensitivity. They are unquestionably boorish, but at least when at home they generally have the decency to keep it confined to the pub or at home. The impression I have gained, certainly in Latvia, but also in Estonia and Finland is that the drunks are everywhere – in the street, in the shops, in the parks and especially wherever I am. Alcohol can be a wonderful social drug, loosening inhibition and stimulating conversation. I can’t understand how bad people’s lives must be for them to rush to oblivion at every opportunity. If anyone out there can enlighten me as to how this is pleasurable, please let me know. If I don’t hear anything I’ll just assume I’m right and everyone else is wrong (for a change).
np: Valley of the Sausages from the album “Trouser Jazz” by Mr. Scruff
Shiny things and urban life – Part 1 of why I don’t like them very much
I’m sitting, as I write this, in the middle of the Latvian countryside, miles away from anywhere, and I love it. I haven’t seen or heard a car or another person for 2 days and I couldn’t be happier. I come from a small village (more a hamlet) in Cornwall a few miles from Land’s End – if you look at a map of the UK it’s the far South Western tip (an Englishman would tell you it’s the South Western tip of England…I disagree and if they knew their own history and legal system they’d know I was right). I thought that was as remote as you could get in the modern world until I came to Latvia. We bought another place here last Autumn and we’ve just started fixing it up. Right now, I have a short respite due to a delay in the delivery of some roofing materials, and since I’m having a healthy detox weekend – no booze, no smoking – I need to do something to fill the void, hence this
Despite having lived in cities for the last 10 years of my life, I still constantly feel them to be unhealthy, unnatural places and I’m not alone in considering many of society’s ills to stem directly from the disjointed urban lifestyle. I wondered last night, as I wandered through my woodland in the crepuscular light. (For a moment I consider writing this whole piece in rhyming couplets…then I remember just how lazy I am) Having served my time in society, I’m very close to buying myself out of it and returning to real life, albeit in Latvia (to get anything approaching the rural idyll we’ve bought here in the UK would require the kind of cash reserved for royalty and professional footballers). I grew up with the smell of the sea and the sound of cows. Now I’m trading it for the smell of pine and barley and the sound of birds. People often recoil in disbelief when I tell them I plan to retire before 30 and that I am not a millionaire. It’s simply a question of values – what do you want to be happy (and it is want, not need – everyone could cover the basics if they tried but most would be utterly miserable…myself included)
I find myself more and more frequently reflecting on materialism – when I was a serious weed-smoking, dole-scum, drop-out back in the day, I viewed materialism with utter contempt (very easy to do when one has nothing – kind of a knee-jerk Epicurean reaction with buckets of adolescent vitriol to boot. Epicurus was aiming for happiness – most teenagers are aiming for angst-ridden cynicism and bitterness, mistaking this for maturity…I know I did). Later, when I was a successful businessman, I tried to keep true to my earlier ideals but its difficult when you can actually afford the shiny things you always scoffed at before (for the armchair sociologists amongst you, it’s axiomatic that Merton’s paradigm shift doesn’t apply when there is no status frustration). I gradually fell into the materialist trap of having to have everything everyone else had…and not just that – mine had to be better…not always more expensive necessarily – just more exclusive, more stylish – you know, the “wow” factor that makes grown men weep into their pillow because they want what you’ve got but know they will never, no matter how hard they try.
Now I’m somewhere in-between the two. I still smoke the herb, though not nearly as much. I still work, though I try to keep it to a minimum. I do have materialist tendencies (noticeably increased since moving to Riga – when you are surrounded by the shiniest of toys and many of your clients are in that bracket of wealth that raises them above mere mortals, it’s hard not to sometimes want a bit of it for yourself. This is tempered however by the grinding poverty and shitty wage levels of the rest of the country. I’m still amazed that I earn more working part-time and without trying then my wife’s friend does who works as a human rights lawyer representing the Latvian government in the European courts and who works harder then I ever have). The main thing I think is still the “wow” factor – it’s an ego thing, pure and simple. I am a God amongst men and sometimes they need reminding. However now I can do it in my own way. I don’t need a fucking big Bentley and a yacht. I am simply close to achieving a happy balance. Materially speaking I suppose I’ve got it pretty easy – I own my own house (and woodland), I dictate my own hours at work and take at least a couple of months off every year and most importantly I have no debts. 90% of those with the shiny toys are stressed like you wouldn’t believe. Either they are in debt up to the eyeballs or they have to work every waking moment to pay for their lifestyles.
Borrowing money is something that has come relatively recently to Latvia, but they are trying as hard as they can to catch up with the likes of the US or UK. They want it all and they want it now. This is dangerous – no matter what your risk tolerance I would argue security is a basic requirement of long-term happiness – Debt is the antithesis of security yet people keep on borrowing thinking therein lies the route to everything they need to be happy.
I could go on, but I hear the rumble of approaching roofing. Time to return to making the shiniest and most exclusive farmhouse in Latvia 
np: Slow Numbers from the album “The Night” by Morphine.
Pillows of safety
It’s been an eventful couple of weeks with definite highs and lows. The highs have been a couple of really good party weekends – my wife and I have birthdays 6 days apart so we celebrated this year with a 3 day party at our place in the countryside (a pet project – renovating a 100 year old traditional wooden farmhouse using a mix of traditional and new eco-friendly building techniques) and obviously for anyone familiar with Latvian tradition, last weekend was the Ligo/Jani celebration (summer solstice for the rest of us). What this means to the modern Latvian is an opportunity to get out into the countryside, drink copious amounts of beer round a big fire, sing songs and eat cheese – there is more to it than that but if you ask most of them, they wouldn’t be able to tell you. It’s a truism but visitors do know your own place better than you generally. I’ve shamed many a local with my knowledge of their history and culture. In turn, despite knowing my own history and culture better than most of my compatriots, I have still often been schooled in my own roots by those from other parts of the world.
On the low front, our son was taken into hospital for a few days with a combination of bronchial asthma and some virus (Latvian doctors still have a lot of the Soviet mentality – they know best and you’re not qualified to even be informed as to what is going on, even when you are the patient, or in this case your very young child.) I used to get very angry about this, but actually the level of healthcare in the hospitals to date has been excellent. Remember I come from the UK – we’re always quick to brag of the National Health Service to those from countries where they have to pay for their healthcare, but we generally forget to mention the level of service given doesn’t always square with what you’d like. This is not the fault of those who work there – by and large they are committed professionals doing the best they can in a system so bureaucratic it would make Kafka weep. Anyhoo, he’s been back home for a week or so now and is completely back to his old self which is cool.
I have started writing many things in the last fortnight, only to be interrupted by all manner of concerns ranging from the sublime to the ridiculous. I have a feeling another of these is imminent (it is a rare event when I can have more than 15 minutes at home without some demand upon my time and/or attention).
Therefore, I’ll leave you with one of my favourite examples of just how bad translation in Latvia can be (for those of you who haven’t read it – I recommend Umberto Eco’s Mouse or Rat: Translation as Negotiation). I was checking out a couple of websites earlier whilst ruminating on whether or not to buy an old Soviet-era prestige car to restore along with my house – I’m really getting into that whole manly/dad thing of fixing stuff – not just stuff that you need that has broken but actually seeking out things that I could tinker with for hours before retiring to sup ale and smoke a pipe with a self-satisfied air. Two points which gave me pause whilst looking: forget airbags – in Latvia cars contain “pillows of safety” and I’m sure many in the west would feel unmanned by their puny power steering. Here you get an “amplifier of a rudder”…and people actually get paid to come up with this…incredible…
np: Oh Shit from the album “Bizarre ride II the Pharcyde” by the Pharcyde
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