They're onto Me

The subject line of a piece of spam I just received:

Have you brushed your hair this morning?

It's almost like they are watching me. Regularly. And certainly this morning.

Back to Where You (Sort of) Came From

My father is going back to Germany this week for the first time in 25 years or so. Seriously. He hasn't been back to Germany since there were two; since before the Wall fell. Yet he is (rustily) fluent in German, taught German, and lived there at various times in the 1960s and 1970s. I think it's going to be a strange, strange thing for him. Because where you live does infect you, become part of you. So it must be a strange trip up ahead, if wonderful, given the glorious things I've heard about Berlin.

But I thought about this, and it occurred to me how easy it has been to be a white person who moves around where she or he wants. When I lived in Barcelona, I just had to get a piece of paper filed with the police, then I had my numero de extranjeros and that was that - medical bills, no probs, taxes paid properly, bank account got. Of course, the little tarjeta that made me official took forever to come, but still - all relatively straightforward. And then I remember all the people who told me they hated immigrants, but that - after I pointed out little old me - I was "different." And so it probably was for my father in Germany, in a way it really would have been more difficult to do so if not white.

I'm not sure I would have taken this path of thought if it were not thanks to various pieces of anti-non-white things that have happened of late - Pat Buchanan's crazy rants about how white people's culture is under threat, Nick (shudder) Griffin on Question Time at home talking about how London isn't really British because so many non-white people are there. So I've been thinking a lot about this sort of thing. And I am grateful that Boris Johnson and Andrew Sullivan represent conservative thinking that stands up to this nonsense about how the English and Americans are so flipping "white," when, really, that doesn't mean anything given our nations' histories.

A Deeply Personal Relationship

Melissa Harris Lacewell shares her Reflections on Marriage. The comments vary in quality/craziness, but Harris Lacewell's reflections echo some of my reticence to claim that gay marriage won't change anything; I hope it will, and for the better of all of us, but particularly women.

Typically advocates of marriage equality try to reassure the voting public the same-sex marriage will not change the institution itself. "Don't worry," we say, "allowing gay men and lesbians to marry will not threaten the established norms; it will simply assimilate new groups into old practices."

This is a pragmatic, political strategy, but I hope it is not true. I hope same-sex marriage changes marriage itself. I hope it changes marriage the way that no-fault divorce changed it. I hope it changes marriage the way that allowing women to own their own property and seek their own credit changed marriage. I hope it changes marriage the way laws against spousal abuse and child neglect changed marriage. I hope marriage equality results more equal marriages. I also hope it offers more opportunities for building meaningful adult lives outside of marriage.

Relativity

Occasionally, I really do think I am a bad person. I will feel terrible about some horrendous thing I've said or done that has hurt people in some way. Often, those people are the ones I love dearly, as I have a tremendous propensity for lashing out.

And then, someone like Jan Moir comes along. And I realise that, in the grand scheme of things, I'm not that bad. Because I would never, ever sink so despicably low. Or, indeed, so pathetic as to deny that any of her drivel/bile was based on stereotypical assumptions about homosexuality or gay people. I often despair of the world, and this level of meanness and callousness is quite remarkable.

On the other hand, this mock up is excellent.

Diminishing Returns

I have just read a jolly romp, The Magicians, by Lev Grossman. It was sort of a grown-up Harry Potter (they go to magic university, rather than secondary school), but had much more of the texture of Jonathan Strange and Mr. Norrell (which I utterly loved, although I know my mother did not). To me, coming out of JS & Mr. N was like coming out of a haze into a cold world that was too sharp, without the weight of magic everywhere. Clarke created a world that was soft and heavy with the magic and wonders of her world, and The Magicians had something of that feel.

Nonetheless, the book suffered from what so many books suffer from: the rubbish denouement. Lots of books I really love for building up and building up a great head of steam, and then in the last third things go bonkers / off-kilter, and the ending is never as good as it should be. The Secret History is a killer for that - given how spectacular the first 3/4 of it is, it's just a bit of a letdown. Books do avoid it - by either being pants or by being amazing all the way through. But it's interesting how even very good writers somehow, truly, lose the plot.

I recommend it, though. Lots of good, dirty and unhealthy-alcoholic- fun.