This is the tomato that we have grown in our own back garden. I personally had nothing to do with it, which may explain why Kimmy thought that it was the tastiest tomato she ever had.
Photography by Kimmy.
Reading up on the details of the McChrystal debacle and its implications to the Afghan war in The Economist, I had an often-recurring thought.
I did not reach the draft age until after the Soviet troops had exited Afghanistan in the 80′s. Despite that, I can count the generation of boys from all corners of the old USSR who served – and died – in Afghanistan during that cursed decade as my generation. It might be because of that that a movie such as 9th Company hits me and people from my generation harder than others.
I emigrated to America and eventually it became embroiled in its own unwinnable conflict in Afghanistan. I cannot that easily identify with American soldiers who are nowadays losing their lives in those same mountain passes, but I cannot help but think that, again, kids from my homeland are getting killed in Afghanistan.
Almost twenty years – that’s half of my life – have been colored by an Afghan war…
More than a week between posts is quickly becoming the norm, rather than exception, for me.
During this last week, I could have written about a number of subjects.
I could continue to opine on the World Cup – disallowed goals, inanity of soccer being the only sport where the referee is both allowed to “interpret” the rules and to avoid any accountability to the public for his bad decisions, unwarranted yellow cards that ruin the games, disappointing performances, maddening leave-it-until-late tendencies of the US team, the domination of South America, the comprehensive dud showing by African teams… But I recognize that most of my audience does not give a rat’s posterior about soccer – and an even-sided analysis would take too much effort to write up, in any case.
I could express my delight at learning that when Russian TV project called “National Treasure” (I once mentioned it here) concluded, the winning song was one that I would most likely call my personal top favorite. I long ago started to think that Russia and I have nothing in common anymore except the ability to converse in the language. Turns out, there is that small little bit where I can say Russia and I see eye-to-eye… But I already posted that song in the past (if you are interested, look for the last video in this post), and I did not want to go into a long rumination on why this song seems to appeal to people of diverging generations and walks of life.
I could reflect on the fact that my eldest child is now of an age where we not only let her travel to foreign destinations for holidays, but we even allow her to get on the plane all by herself (she was picked up immediately upon arrival by the lead of her study program, so in fact, she was only on her own between the time she boarded the plane and exited through the customs on the other end)… But that brings me too close to reflecting on my advancing age, and I am lately becoming a bit too sensitive about it, for reasons I cannot explain.
I could also express how it warms my heart that my children are keen on studying foreign cultures and languages, but I am pretty sure I already discussed that ad nauseam in years past.
I could even profess my envy that Becky is spending two weeks at my favorite place on Earth, but that would border on unseemly.
I could…
But I didn’t.
Doesn’t sound like you missed anything, anyway.
Either I am exceedingly lucky or I don’t understand at all complaints of other people about O’Hare airport. I flew there and back quite frequently in my pre-England years, and just made a second trip this year, and I don’t seem to ever get stuck going through O’Hare. Going in or coming back, flights depart on time and arrive on schedule (although, truth be told, we did wait almost half an hour for take-off on the way back – but, apparently, that is “built into the schedule”, according to our pilot). No long delays on my memory.
I suppose now I jinxed it. My next trip to Chicago will be nightmarish, no doubt.
Walking through the airport, I was momentarily surprised with seemingly overwhelming interest Americans pay to the soccer World Cup. Every TV in every O’Hare bar was tuned to the broadcast of the live game. The teams playing? South Africa versus Uruguay. Wow, I thought, if a game between those two opponents is being universally watched, then Americans must truly be soccer aficionados nowadays.
Then it hit me. The game was on ESPN. Likely, the default channel on in any bar.
I was overly cautious about the Chicago traffic and the ensuing security controls, and found myself at the gate with more than an hour to spare before boarding time. So instead, I went to one of the nearby eateries, procured a seat at the bar, and ordered a glass of wine. The bartender asked me for an ID. When I commented that I did not think I looked that young, my neighbor at the bar chuckled and explained that at this particular bar they seemed to be carding everyone. Over the next hour, quite a number of fellow passengers – almost invariably in their forties or beyond – stated their delight at being carded, only to have their joy deflated when someone would tell them they were not really special that way. Quite amusing.
I finished Kimmy’s birthday movie with over a week to spare. Go me! It turned out pretty good, if I say so myself, but I’ll be sure to post here the raving reviews I’m certain to receive after its premiere this coming weekend.
Of course, I spent so much time focusing on that one project over the last three months, that a ton of other projects piled up behind it.
And as if I needed any more things to distract me, something really important and non-negotiable in nature sneaked up on me – The World Cup.
I recognize that most of my readers have little care for The Beautiful Game – feel free to skip the rest of this entry. I’ve been so neglectful a blogger recently that I deserve to be ignored when I finally find something I deem worth spending time on writing up.
Actually, it is a bit too early for any strong impressions of this Cup – 12 of the 32 teams are yet to take field for their opening games. I have to say that I am slightly disappointed by the quality of football that I’ve seen so far, but no major surprised have occurred, a few title favorites that have already played confirmed their claims, a few weaker teams were exposed as prime candidates for group stage elimination.
What I am mostly incredulous about is the quality of commentary and analysis on ESPN/ABC. I suppose I should not be complaining overall, with every single game available on prime channels live in magnificent HD. Furthermore, with British Sky network apparently not getting any broadcast rights for the Cup, ESPN/ABC hired several Sky commentators and talking heads to spice up the proceedings. I happened to like a number of those guys while I was a Sky subscriber.
Here in the States, they show immediate signs of degradation. Led by ESPN anchors who are all in love with the sound of their voice and can never condone asking a question that does not have several sub-questions and not take three time as long to ask as to answer, all of these commentators slide into meaningless platitudes, cliches and occasional sweeping over-dramatizations. They spend more time reminding the viewer of the upcoming coverage (ending each such reminder with the inane tagline: “Remember, one game changes everything!” – WTF?) than actually commentating. They try to sensationalize things as much as they can at the expense of the game analysis.
And what about those slo-mo close-ups of footballers’ grimacing faces every couple of minutes? Must be the next bright idea someone had about making football more appealing to an average American viewer: Inject emotions into the broadcast! Hey, this is not golf. You want to fill the pause in proceedings, show me a replay of the last key moment in the game, rather than what the broadcast director feels is the example of the players “feeling it”.
And the information graphics that comes up on the screen a la baseball stats is sometimes simply laughable. Every other fact is bound to be incorrect, from Holland listed as getting 4th place as their best result to-date (in fact, it was a runner-up not once but twice) to the names of clubs to which players belong misspelled or probably invented (how one misspells “Alaniya” to get “Kublan” for one Nigerian midfielder who plies his trade in Russia is beyond me).
It all looks so amateurish it is not even funny.
Reminds me of the Soviet TV coverage of the 1990 World Cup. Then, as one star player from each country would give a short immediate postgame interview, somebody in the TV hierarchy decided that it would be a grand idea to include those interviews in the broadcasts. The interviews were conducted in each player’s native language. For whatever reason, nobody cared to actually hire proper interpreters. Instead, the live sound stream would be sufficiently diminished to make the actual words coming out in Spanish, Italian, German, French, Portuguese, etc, practically indecipherable, overlaid with a bright young voice sounding as if it was translating.
One small problem. Football players have a habit of exchanging jerseys after completion of important matches. Hygienic considerations notwithstanding, a fair number of players would put the opponent’s jersey on when exiting the pitch – I suppose they want to keep their hands free for whatever reasons. So, an Uruguayan player puts on a jersey he obtained from his Italian opponent before coming on for his interview. Italy won 2-0. The behind-the-screen “interpreter” works off the sight of an Italian jersey and proceeds to talk about “elation”, “hard-won battles”, “scoring when we needed to”, “giving credit to the tough Uruguayan team”, etc… But anyone who’s just seen the game knows that the player in front of the camera is actually Uruguayan, and he is probably talking about “disappointment”, “missed chances”, “mistakes in defense”, “bad refereeing decisions”, “giving credit to the deserving Italians”… It was such a blatant attempt to deceive the viewers, exposed in such a simple but spectacular fashion. Every time I see an attempt at broadcast sophistication where incompetence is brightly shining through, I think back to that.
Just as with the Olympics, I have little choice in the matter. I want to watch – I’ll have to do my best to tolerate.
Children of the age of technology acquire the weirdest mannerisms. Becky, for instance, has gotten into a habit of saying “LOL” when she is amused, rather than, you know, bursting out laughing.
I’m starting to call her Lola.
My other daughter, meanwhile, resides in pool heaven. She always has been very partial to water-based activities, and having a pool in her own backyard is a true boon to her.
She is now privately known as The Frog. Or The Duck. Or The Fish. Or whatever other water-dwelling member of the animal world comes to mind when we need to talk her into getting out of the pool.
I joined her on a couple of occasions over the weekend. I have to admit that was awfully pleasant. Even if the damn pool causes me more grief maintenance-wise than I ever expected…
Where do you think I’d go for my first real vacation since repatriating? Duh! Europe, of course!
We did not manage to visit Prague while we lived in Europe, even though it kept my designation of “The Most Beautiful City” bestowed upon it after our first visit there. We always wrapped that trip into some nonsense about it being a present to Becky on her 10th birthday (it was, in fact, her very first trip to Europe, but we went while she was still a few weeks short of the milestone, and Prague was at the top of our list of destinations, regardless of whether we could attach it to a momentous occasion). As my youngest also approached her 10th birthday, it felt appropriate – and very symmetrical – to use that as a pretext for a return trip to the Czech capital.
We had a marvelous time, did a fair share of sightseeing, went to a number of places that we did not manage to visit on our first journey, and mixed that up with periods of un-tourist-like idleness in parks or playgrounds. Prague remains as beautiful as I ever remembered, and what it may be lacking in terms of major museums, it compensates with its overall ambiance.
I don’t mean to imply that Prague is short on sightseeing attractions. Far from it. It has a splendid cathedral, a wealth of architectural gems, from the incomparable Charles Bridge to striking palaces of Bohemian nobility, an evocative compact circuit of synagogues, a number of pleasant parks, squares and gardens opening different perspectives on the town… It is a “walk-and-be-awed” type of city, and walk it we did.
Staying at a B&B literally 50 meters from the Charles Bridge put us within short distance of all major sights. It also provided me with an easy nightly diversion of lingering on the bridge after the children had gone to bed. I suspect I don’t know many other places in the world where I could linger every night for a couple of hours, doing nothing but people-watching and enjoying the surrounding vista.
Here is an 180-degree panoramic view of the bridge, looking towards the Old Town side. I did not have time or energy to edit out a couple of unfortunate stitching artifacts caused by my less-than-perfect photography, but I figured it was still a pretty nice picture. Click to embiggen.
Four days passed in a flash, and then we flew to London for a day, so that the kids could catch up with their old friends. Becky spent almost an entire day with half a dozen of her former classmates around Central London, while Kimmy met up with two of her own best pals on a Southbank playground. That last part of the trip was undoubtedly one both of my children desired the most, and they were suitably saddened when it ended. I had a chance to catch up with a couple of friends as well.
Back to the grind now. Next trip has not yet been planned, so far…
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