Can't Beat A Dame

I went to watch "Breath of Life" in London today, the two person play that stars Dame Maggie Smith and Dame Judi Dench.

In a word, the the show was FANTASTIC! Dames Judi and Maggie were in top form. Their verbal jousting and sparring was a joy to watch and the acting was masterclass. It was simply amazing how they were able to hush the audience one moment and then make us burst out into laughter the next. Dame Judi's character, in particular, was really brought out by her body language- her ability to somehow project to us her emotions without speaking a word. In the first act she somehow seemed so tentative and unsure, and shrank back under Dame Maggie's verbal barrage, but as the play went on she became more confident and we were able to actually watch her character develop and get fleshed out before our eyes. I bought a copy of the play in the lobby for £2 and was surprised to find that there wasn't much in terms of direction in the play. It made their choices seem all the more interesting. Instead of making the ending of act 2 poignant, for instance, Dame Maggie made it casual and slightly humourous, undercutting Dame Judi's outburst just before it. It makes you really think.

The downside to my experience was my seat. I was in the last row, right at the back, and I couldn't see their facial expressions at all, and the sound, by the time it reached me, was slightly muffled. So when Dame Maggie exited stage right and talked from the 'next room', I could barely make out what she was saying because even though I could hear it, it was muffled. The seats were also small and hard- next to no leg room- but I wouldn't have minded if I could've heard everything. But then, I paid merely £9.50 to see two of the premier actresses in the world act together on stage in front of my very eyes. Can't beat that deal!

8 Years Ago Tonight

25 February 1995: At the age of 79, before a VIP invitation audience in Palm Springs, Frank performed at a party on the last day of the Frank Sinatra Desert Classic golf tournament. He sang "I've Got the World on a String", "You Make Me Feel So Young", "Fly Me To the Moon", "Where or When", "My Kind of Town" and finished, fittingly, with "The Best is Yet to Come".

The final show.

Don't Thimk, Drimk!

I didn't expect "Frank" to look or sound like Frank, but to my surprise, he did. I didn't expect Sammy to look or sound like Sammy, but to my surprise, he did. And although Dean had only a passing resemblance to Deano, and his voice higher than Dean's, he had talent in his own right. It was close enough. It was as if all my recordings of the Summit, live in concert, had come to life in front of my eyes, and even if the timing of the jokes was from time to time a beat off, even if the clowning was on occasion a tad forced, even if- once or twice- there was a moment which pulled you from the 50s and reminded you that you were in the new millennium, I had a blast. It was so much infectious fun, listening to my favourite songs done with my favourite arrangements, sung by a voice who was close enough to The Voice- it was one huge party from start to finish!

And there was a moment... just one moment... when "Frank" finished singing "My Way"... and the crowd was silent... and the lights went down... and the orchestra tailed off... and "Frank" bowed his head...

At the moment I felt as if I knew how it felt to be at a real Sinatra concert. I was there, listening to the Man Himself, experiencing the magic of Frank Sinatra live. And that moment, that one magic moment, made it all worthwhile.

Magic Moments

I know Mindy doesn't read my blog (or any blogs, for that matter) so I can tell this story with no fear of reprisals...

This morning, I was sitting in my room at around a quarter to eight, doing some reading on NATO and alliance theory, when the fire alarm went off. With a sigh of frustration, I picked myself up, pulled on my parka (I was already wearing sweats), and headed outside...

... to be greeted by the sight of Mindy wearing what looked like a robe, a huge sheet, a large towel in her hair, and slippers, all bundled up against the cold, and with an expression on her face that alternated between murderous rage, weary resignation and rueful amusement. Worse yet, she had been in the middle of shampooing her hair, and so there were suds trapped in the large towel turbaned and perched on top of her head.

You had to be there. It's an image I will never forget. I said as much to Rich, whose sleepiness disappeared at the shock of the image he beheld.

"I'm already trying to forget it!" he replied.

Weekend Warrior

Eventful weekend. Lots of sporting events, including my swim meet, the English FA Cup, the cricket World Cup, the America's Cup, and the Six Nations Rugby tournament, along with some major political events- Hans Blix' speech, followed by demonstrations in major capitals across the globe.

(Puzzingly, the Independent on Sunday reported that there was a demonstration in *Singapore*. I don't think so!)

Much kudos to Sarah Boyd, our swim team's Women's Captain, who managed to party like an animal on Thursday night in London, oversleep, and then wake up at 1130 to rush to catch a train back to Oxford to meet us to go to Sheffield for the meet. We had arranged to leave at 1300 to be at Sheffield in time for the warm-up; Waiting for Sarah, we ended up leaving at nearly 1400. After driving like mad, we still made it in time for some warm-up, and swam decently. However, Sarah wasn't done. The next morning, despite training less than any of the rest of us, she qualified third for the 50m Backstroke final (to our utter astonishment). She then topped that by winning the silver in the final, the only one of us to medal. Quite a phenomenal talent, although to be fair the field wasn't very strong. Still, it's quite an achievement and she should be congratulated. Now imagine if she had actually trained...

Speaking of which, looking back over the course of the season most of my swimming was done on the weekends, given that that was when the team had 3/4 of our training sessions, not surprising. I'd do most of my weights/gym work and running during the week. It's not a pattern conducive to improvement, because swimming requires a tactile feel for the water, an awareness, or muscle memory, that must be constantly worked on or lost, and lost very easily. Furthermore because your weight distribution is very different in a water environment, and your load bearing muscles are completely different from your land muscles, thus you need to actually swim to train for swimming. Hopefully next year we will be able to work out more regularly, and I can do more pool work over the week.

I'm excited about next year. We've got almost everyone coming back, and I feel I have a lot to contribute to this team in terms of my knowledge and experience. We're finally going to have our own pool and I think it will be a terrific year for Oxford swimming. I've got a lot of ideas and hopefully I can help everyone improve themselves.

For now, though, swimming season is over. What on earth will I do with myself?

Political Infection

An excerpt from my latest essay, discussing the flaws in the theory and practice of collective security arrangements:

A central assumption of collective security is that overwhelming force by all the other states is sufficient to deter an aggressor, a “diffusion of power among a number of major states so that no single state will control such a large fraction of the world’s power resources as to make the task of counter-balancing it inordinately difficult” (Claude 126). Collective security fails in the case whereby a superpower nation acquires military capability far exceeding that of all other states and thereby has the wherewithal to act unilaterally in pursuing or protecting its own interests. The modern day situation of the United States’ technological and military capabilities far outstripping that of any other nation, or even of many nations combined, makes success very unlikely for nations who wish counter the actions of the United States should it turn aggressive and for example, unilaterally act to attack a poor and isolated Middle-Eastern state even when there was no compelling evidence that this state possessed weapons of mass destruction that could threaten the global peace- not that this scenario is likely to happen, of course. Collective security is incapable of securing against great power aggression.

I think my political beliefs is beginning to infect my, well, politics classes. Is this a good thing or a bad? On the one hand, the whole point of my study of politics to to understand the world and to form opinions and to discuss the dealings of states. On the other hand, it would be preferable, in a scholarly realm, to be dispassionate when attempting to analyse and critique.

Still, if any of you are going to be in London, Rome, or whereever on February 15th and don't attend the anti-war rallies taking place, I'm not talking to you for two years. I regrettably have to go to Sheffield to swim in the British Student Nationals this weekend. However, I should be at the demonstration on the 23rd at the RAF base in Fairford. See you there?

Speaking of essays:

Oppose the war? Then email your essays to Tony Blair! (and forward this email)

It came to light on Thursday that the government is relying on
plagiarised post-graduate essays to bolster its case for war on Iraq.
Its "dossier" entitled "Iraq - its infrastructure of concealment,
deception and intimidation", was posted on the Number 10 website and
hailed by Colin Powell in his presentation to the United Nations on
Wednesday. It claimed to be based on up-to-date intelligence - but
turned out to have been nicked, typos and all, from 3 out-of-date
sources, including an essay by a graduate student in California.

We're obviously very excited that students' academic endeavours are
being taken so seriously, and think it's time for students to act to
ensure that war plans continue to be "intelligence led".

So, why not send Tony Blair some of your essays?

Tony Blair posted an essay by Ibrahim al-Marashi, a student in
Monterey, California, up on his web site. Maybe he'll do the same
for yours! Why not email the web master, and attach some of your
best scholarly efforts. Don't worry too much about the relevance of
the subject - Tony and his skilled advisers are on hand to subtly
distort your words to suit their war agenda. So, whether it's Proust
or particle analysis, Geography or History, attach a copy of your
essay and send it to Number 10!

Here's what we suggest you do:

* email your essays as attachments, to webmaster@pmo.gov.uk, as soon
as possible and definitely by next Tuesday, explaining why you are
sending it.

* or even better post your essays to '10 Downing Street, London SW1'
with a covering letter (we've copied one below, and it's online at
www.srcf.ucam.org/camsaw/covering letter.doc) in an envelope
titled 'Warning: Top Secret'

* email us at info@camsaw.org.uk telling us you've done it, so we
can let the press know what's happening (please don't send us your
essays though - we don't want them!)

Neat! A forum of my writing! No more will I write essays and think that no one apart from myself and my tutor will read them!

Another grassroots movement:

There is a grassroots campaign underway to protest war in lraq in a simple, but potentially powerful way. Place 1/2 cup uncooked rice in a small plastic bag. Squeeze out excess air and seal the bag. Wrap it in piece of paper on which you have written, "If your enemies are hungry, feed them. (Romans 12:20) Please send this rice to the people of Iraq; do not attack them." Place the paper and the bag of rice in a stamped envelope and address to: The Prime Minister Tony Blair MP 10 Downing St LONDON SW1 Post this TODAY.

Act NOW so that Tony Blair receives the rice before he makes his final decision.

Let's stop this senseless war from happening.

Designer Vaginas

Andrew and I were discussing role-playing games when the words "Now: Designer Vaginas" came up on BBC 4 on the TV.

"Does that say what I think it says?" I asked, staring at the screen.

He turned to look at the screen and read it out loud. "Designer vaginas."

And for the next fourty-five minutes, neither of us even thought about role-playing games. Instead, we absorbed much information about the pros and cons of vaginal reconstructive surgery. Apparently there are two kinds: Labiaplasty, which trims and reshapes the labia, and Vaginal Rejuvenation, which narrows the canal and tightens the muscles (As Erin pointed out, isn't that what kegle exercises are for?). Along the way, we met two blondes who looked great and were in great shape but insisted that their lives were terrible till they vaginal rejuvenation; a single mother from England who flew to (where else) Los Angeles, the only place in the world to offer this kind of surgery, to have vaginal surgery and left her baby for a week; David Matlock, MD, MBA, who runs the Laser Vaginal Rejuvenation Institute of Los Angeles and dresses like he's worth a million dollars (and probably is); A former porn star turned sex educator; A plastic surgeon who looked straight out of central casting (tall, tanned, middle aged, white, silver hair, glasses, impeccably groomed suit and so on); A Professor of urogynacology who had too much blue eyeliner and a collection of disturbing sculptures decorating her office along the wall behind her; A bikini waxer to the stars who claims to have seen more vaginas than any gynacologist; A black woman who had her surgery for entirely cosmetic reasons and claims that it changed her sex life for the better; and an extremely overweight lady who was the main focus of the show- they actually showed her before, after, and most significantly, had a close-up of her vagina during surgery, where Dr. Matlock pointed out how she had significant deficiencies, including collapsed muscles and hernias, poking, prodding and stretching with large instruments. We then saw brief shots of the surgery itself, with knives cutting and blood flowing. (Rich couldn't bear to look at this point and turned away from the TV).

It seems that there are certainly cases where such surgery will indeed help a woman and repair her body. However, for most of the women interviewed, I was left with the impression that the improvement in their lives is 95% mental- they described feelings of confidence, new-found assertiveness, and happiness and self-belief that they had lacked previously. Andrew argued that if they had been hypnotised into believing they had such surgery the effect would have been identical, and I agree. It appears that some people are so image obsessed that they will pursue the quest to have a perfect body to unreasonable lengths, even to areas where only they themselves see (Men don't count here. Trust me on this ladies, if a man gets that far, he is an imbecile if he starts criticising). These women brought in shots of Playboy models, an unreasonable standard of beauty if there is one (the pictures are all, for one thing, airbrushed).

What I do applaud is BBC's willingness to air a documentary such as this, which gives a decently balanced view of the pros and cons of vaginal reconstruction and is very frank about the matter. I came away from the show feeling like I had learned something not just about the subject, but about people, modern society, and a culture that worships perfection. It's no wonder that women in Britain, and in Europe, seem so much more comfortable and confident about their bodies and themselves if national media is not afriad to shirk from discussing it.

Gong Xi Fa Cai

Happy Chinese New Year everyone! I went to a big steamboat dinner at the West Oxford community centre hosted by the Asia-Pacific Society, Hong Kong Society, and Malaysia/Singapore Student Association, and brought along Rich and Mindy. Dinner was fun, and it was terrific seeing all the other Singaporeans.

The highlight of the evening was the raffle. I had bought no less than fifteen of the eighty-ought tickets sold (the last fifteen, numbers 152-166), and so I was statistically confident and winning something. Yet as time passed and the prizes were awarded, I had nothing. With two prizes to go, I was telling myself that the law of averages was working in my favour. I closed my eyes, crossed my fingers, and waited as they pulled the number of the second prize out of the bag...

...and at the first sound of "160" I leaped and screamed "YES!!!!" before running for the front of the room. I gleefully received my prize of champagne and truffles and returned to find Rich laughing at my overly emotional reaction. I suppose it's the athlete in me- when I get into something, I put my entire fibre of being into it.

The best was yet to come, however. The grand prize was a fifty pound voucher for dinner at the Mandarin Oriental, a five-star hotel in London. "95" came out of the bag and my first thought was, "95? Wait, that's-"

and I spun around to look at Mindy, who had a priceless expression on her face and was gasping for air and making little unintelligible noises.

As she went up to collect her prize, Rich and I looked at each other, and we had the same thought on our minds:

"Could we feed three people on fifty pounds?"

"I'm sure it's sufficient," I opined.

"Well," he reasoned, "Mindy's a slight girl... she could eat maybe ten pounds worth... so that leaves twenty pounds for two other people..."

Yes, we are two selfish gits. But we love Mindy, we do!