Saturday, October 6, 2012

The Con


It's Saturday night and my vocal chords have been shredded to terrycloth by three days of shouting affectionately (sometimes adverbs do clarify) at people in crowded, deafeningly loud hotel ballrooms and corridors.

I've had the time of my life, and so have a hundred or more other writers and about 1500 amazingly sweet and patient fans.

Yes, this is Bouchercon, the annual gathering that brings together the blood- and ink-stained wretches who produce the annual reams of crime fiction, literally hundreds of thousands of copies' worth, and the brave souls who read it.  And if this is 2012, this must be Cleveland.

What happens in Cleveland, as they say, stays in Cleveland.  So I have no real photos to share with you.  Michael Sears took a zillion at Leighton's orders during the Murder Is Everywhere panel, and I'm sure he'll be putting them up.

So what happens at Bouchercon?

Fans meet writers.  Writers meet fans.  Writers become fans when meeting certain other writers. In addition to the MIE writers, all of whom I admire, I met half a dozen people whose work turns me to soup and many others whom I deeply enjoy.  And I had the uniquely writerly thrill of learning that writers whose books I've devoured have also devoured mine.  Two or three exchanges like this are enough to have me walking on air.

I had two fans seek me out just to tell me that my books had meant something special to them as they navigated the treacherous shoals of raising adopted children.  Hearing this particular sentiment is like being microwaved gently until I am perfectly done.  Never having raised a child, adopted or otherwise, this just boggles my mind.

It was a good conference for all the MIE writers who attended.  Stan and Michael won the Barry for Death of the Mantis and were also nominated for the Anthony.  Here they are with their richly deserved swag.


Yrsa told us officially that she's a best-seller -- the top-selling writer in Iceland at the moment, and burning up the charts in other countries, too.  Jeffrey got a chance to talk about his phenomenal sales in Greece (and in Greek translation, too), which is a unique distinction for a non-Greek writer who's writing about Greece.

My wonderful publishers at Soho Crime had plastered the place with a little red book called THE JUNIOR BENDER READER containing the first three chapters of the first three Junior Bender books.  Here's a shot of one of the stacks.  (There were thousands of these things.)


Cara, sadly, had a death in her family and had to cancel at the last moment, and Leighton had business elsewhere, although that didn't keep him from cracking the whip.  One of the most frequently-heard sentence-openers among us was, "Leighton says that . . ."

The Murder Is Everywhere panel, masterfully moderated by Peter Rozovsky of Detectives Without Borders, was an apparent success, by which I mean it did not seem to last several lifetimes, there were more questions than there was time for, the answers were thoughtful, and there were a lot of laughs.  Some of them came from Stan and Jeffrey and Lisa Brackmann, sitting in for Cara, but Yrsa got the biggest laugh when she explained that crime fiction came a bit late to Iceland because Iceland doesn't have any crime.  Last year there were exactly two murders.  Things have changed, though, she says.  Iceland now has its own Hell's Angels. There are three of them and they're presently in jail for pulling out someone's hair extensions.

Mean streets indeed.

My Soho colleagues were here in force: Stuart Neville, whose new novel, RATLINES, was a focus of the convention; Martin Limon; and James Benn; plus publisher Bronwyn Hruska, chief ediitor Juliet Grames, communications/marketing maven Paul Oliver, and marketing associate Rudy Martinez..

After three days packed into rooms with mystery writers, publishers, editors, and fans, I can say with total confidence that murder and mayhem attract some of the biggest-hearted people in the world.

So.  A great time, and congratulations to all my friends who won awards: Stan and Michael, Jeffrey Cohen, Thomas Perry, and the others.  I can't wait until next year.

Tim -- Sunday

Bouchercon Hiatus #4: The Greek Gods Redux


During Bouchercon week we’re picking to post from among our favorite blogs of the past. I’m taking the easy way out and going with what MIE visitors continue to favor more than any other of my posts.  It’s one from January 28, 2012, titled “The Gods Will Be Back.”  I’ve no idea why it continues to draw such attention, unless of course the gods themselves are tuning in from across the ether for this mortal’s take on their family tree. 

BUT WAIT, as a special Bouchercon week offer to the first zillion readers of this column, I’m tossing in absolutely free a second Golden Oldie post. This one appeared on February 25, 2012, titled “A Visit With The Gods.”   

And for those of you lucky enough to be in the Cleveland area on this glorious Saturday morning, five of us will be speaking at Bouchercon at 10:10AM in Grand Ballroom A of the Renaissance Hotel on a panel appropriately named, “Murder is Everywhere.”  Stop by if you can, as who knows what mysterious gods might suddenly appear.  

So, here’s “The God’s Will Be Back” followed by “A Visit With The Gods.”

I long for the day when the mention of Greece will once again first bring to mind ancient gods, epic tales, and a land and sea infused at every inch with the seminal essence of western civilization.   Someday that will happen, for financial crises are transient and gods are immortal, though not eternal—after all, they do need nectar and ambrosia to sustain them.

Ahh, yes, the good old days of true Greek gods quick and strong, knowing all things, capable of miraculous achievements.

It’s been a long while since I’ve read up on the ancient gods, and I must admit to often getting them mixed up, but I’ve just learned that my confusion puts me in illustrious company. 

Socrates (469-399 B.C.E.)
According to Alexander S. Murray’s Who’s Who in Mythology, even Socrates was confused by the varying number of seemingly same gods (one Aphrodite or two?) and multiple names for one god (Zeus in summer was called Zeus Meilichios, the friendly god, and in winter Zeus Maemaktes, the angry god).

Some think that’s attributable to disparate early Greek tribes who even after coalescing as a single race kept the original names for their separate gods despite obvious similarities to each other (Dione, Hera, Gaea, and Demeter). 

But call them what you wish, the essential purpose of the Greek gods was the same: their existence and interactions explained to mortals the natural order of things, e.g., the earth, the sun, the moon, the stars, the clouds, lightning, thunder, earthquakes, storms, waves, and on and on as needed.  

What made Greek gods so significant was that the essentially human form of the Twelve Olympian Deities of Mount Olympus and of the lesser gods living in other environs gave to those who worshipped them the sense that their deities could understand and relate to a mortal’s needs and fears. 

The mythological explanations offered by the carryings on of the gods largely centered upon the three supreme rulers of the world: Uranos, Kronos, and Zeus. 

The first to rule was Uranos.  He represented the heavens and, as the husband of Earth, brought forth life and everything on our planet. 
Uranos with Earth

His son, Kronos, ruled next as god of the harvest, ripening and maturing the forms of life brought forth by his father. 
Kronos and Rhea

And, lastly, ruled Zeus, bringing order and wisdom to the universe. 
Zeus overthrows Kronos (Van Haarlem 1588)

I think it’s safe to say that Zeus hasn’t been around for a while.  Or has he? 

Whatever, all of this impresses me, as it should every writer, artist, and musician who freely borrows from the tales of the gods in their own creations, albeit sometimes consciously oblivious to the source of their inspiration.  So much of what we think unique to modern culture is simply a new way of retelling of what ancient Greeks witnessed in their deities. 

I wish I had time now to say more.  But there will be later.  One must always make time for the gods.

***

Zeus
I’ve often wished there were a way to journey back to the heyday of the ancient Greek gods.  Just to drop in, say “Hi,” and ask what they think of our current times.  These days I’d likely have to make the trip alone, because my Greek buddies—make that all of Greece’s eleven million souls—have more than enough all-knowing, all-powerful forces to contend with in the form of the EU-IMF-ECB troika, plus a hundred-fold that number of homegrown politicians governing their country as if immor(t)als.

This, though, isn’t about current events; it’s about my interest in visiting Olympian deities and, in particular, one called “father of gods and men, ruler and preserver of the world, and everlasting god.”  In other words (courtesy of Alexander S. Murray’s Who’s Who in Mythology), I’m talking about the boss man himself: Zeus. 

But before I wave goodbye and click those ruby slippers together (couldn’t find a reasonably priced pair of Hermes sandals), let me share a little background on how Zeus got to be Numero Uno.  And for you Wizard of Oz aficionados out there, don’t worry about Dorothy’s shoes whisking me off to Kansas instead.  I have it on the highest authority they’ve been re-programmed to route me to the otherwise inaccessible, cloud-shrouded Olympos of Thessaly.

Zeus’ upbringing certainly wasn’t what most normal folk would call traditional, unless of course you happen to be a fan of the Dr. Phil sort of stuff inhabiting weekday afternoon American TV. 

To begin with, his daddy (Kronos) and mommy (Rhea) were brother and sister.  But since his grandparents were the original paired begator (Uranos) and begatee (Gaea) of what love, via Eros (Cupid), had fashioned out of Chaos (the great shapeless mass at the beginning of the world) to prepare the world to receive mankind—that might be considered an extenuating circumstance under modern consanguinity laws. 
Eros and Chaos (by Treijim)

Besides, it was a substantial improvement over his grandparents’ marital arrangement.  Uranos, the husband of Gaea, was not her brother.  He was her son.  And when Uranos “mistreated” their children, Gaea sided with her son/grandson (Kronos) to destroy her husband/son (Uranos).  Got that?

But it gets better.  Zeus’ father (Kronos), alert to how children could treat their fathers, swallowed his first five children as they were born.  Zeus, the sixth child, only escaped because his mother (Rhea) deceived her husband/brother (Kronos) into thinking Zeus, too, had been swallowed. 

Kronos (Saturn) by Francisco De Goya
When Zeus reached manhood he enlisted the aid of his grandmother (Gaea) to convince his father (Gaea’s son/grandson) to yield up Zeus’ siblings, which Kronos did.  One was Zeus’ sister, Hera (Juno), the love of Zeus’ life … and later his wife.  Like father like son, I suppose.

Zeus had many affairs and fathered many children, at times in rather unorthodox fashion, but Hera was his only wife, as was the way in Greece.  Some say Zeus didn’t gallivant around as much as people liked to think, but gained his reputation innocently through an historical accommodation.  When the disparate tribes of Greece came together as one race, each brought with them their own Zeus stories, and all those separate tales were incorporated into one mythology that multiplied Zeus’ fathering experiences far beyond what any individual tribe had believed on its own.

If Zeus got Hera to buy that story, it’s good enough for me.  

Hera with Zeus
By the way, let’s not forget that all this played out for Zeus against the time of man on earth. 

At the beginning of Zeus’ rule it was the Silver Age of the human race.  Men were rich, but grew overbearing, were never satisfied, and in their arrogance forgot the source to which their prosperity was owed.  As punishment, Zeus swept the offenders away to live as demons beneath the earth.

Then came the Bronze Age, one of quarreling and violence, where might made right, and cultivated lands and peaceful occupations faded away.  Ultimately even the all-powerful grew tired of it all and disappeared without a trace.

The Iron Age followed with a weakened and downtrodden mankind using their bare hands to toil for food, thinking all the while only of themselves, and dealing unscrupulously with each other. 

Zeus had seen enough.

He brought on a flood that destroyed all but two members of the human race.  A husband, Deukalion, and his wife, Pyrrha, were spared and commanded by the gods to propagate a new human race upon the earth. 

Pyrrha and Deukalion by Andrea di Mariotto del Minga
That, folks, is supposed to be us. 

If I recall correctly, Zeus didn’t think much more of the new batch than he did of the ones he’d wiped off the face of the earth. 

But this is 2012, and the human race is so much different now than it was in Zeus’ day that we have absolutely nothing to fear from the big guy for the way we live our lives today. 

Right? 

Hmmm.  I really can’t wait to get going.  Honest.  But time travel these days isn’t as predictable as it once was (what with all those amateurs clogging up the astral planes) and I’d sure hate to pop in on Zeus on a bad day.  God(s) knows where/how I’d end up. 

On reflection, I think I’ll put those slippers away for now—at least until after the elections. Which elections, you ask?  Good question.  I’ll wait for a sign from the gods on high and let you know.

Jeff—Saturday

Friday, October 5, 2012

Bouchercon Hiatus #3 - The Outcast Dead





Each year most of your Murder is Everywhere bloggers head off to Bouchercon - the largest mystery reader/writer conference.  This year it is to be held in Cleveland, Ohio, from Thursday October 4 to Sunday October 7.  It is certainly worth a visit, if you have the chance.

Because we are busy most of the conference - if not on a panel, at least meeting friends in the bar - we always take a break from our normal blog activities.  So what we do is replay a blog that we like, which appeared sometime in the past. 


I'm not at Bouchercon, sadly, though I am about to head to France for something rather exciting which I'll tell you about next week. In the meantime here's one of my oddest posts, but also one of my favourites, from November 2010. 

Oh and congrats to Michael and Stan for winning the Barry!!!!!!!!!!!!!!




Back to the topic of London. Back to the topic of its dead. The two, of course, are inextricably linked, in this city full of ghosts. Despite those ghosts, and the ever present weight of the past, we don't go a bundle for Halloween. Or at least we didn't when I was a kid. In recent years, it has become more popular, importing from the US the idea of trick or treat and kids bagging a swag of sweets. Harmless fun I suppose. I remember trying it once when I was young, and being greeted with a stern lecture on the iniquity of demanding money with menaces.

A few places enter into the true spirit of Halloween and invoke the dead. One being the wonderfully named Cross Bones Cemetery in Bankside, London, just behind Borough High Street. The picture above is taken at Halloween after a procession has made its way to the graveyard gates - the cemetery closed in the 1850s - and a ribbon tied in memory of those buried, or once buried there, The Outcast Dead as they have become known

It is a wonderful story. The age of the graveyard is unknown, but the place was first recorded in the 16th century as a last resting place for 'single women', an Elizabethan euphemism for prostitutes, whose sinful ways precluded them from a Christian burial in consecrated ground. The Bishop of Winchester allowed them to ply their trade because the area was under his jurisdiction and not London's, and the permissive area he controlled was known as the Liberty of the Clink, given its name by the notorious medieval prison ('Clink' is still used as a euphemism for jail over here). He licensed the brothels, and so the women became known as 'Winchester Geese.' When they died, some of sexually transmitted diseases, others of smallpox, turbercolosis and other common maladies of the time, they were buried in Cross Bones. As time passed, it wasn't just 'fallen' women who were buried there, but also paupers unable to afford a Christian burial. It was closed in 1853 after becoming 'completely overcharged with the dead' and then forgotten.

Excavations for the Jubilee line in the 1990s unearthed the cemetery and its inhabitants. Many were stillborn babies, or ones that had failed to live a week, while many more were infants under a year. Of the adult bodies the vast majority were women estimated to be 36 or over. Since the excavation, a local chronicler, John Constable and a team of fellow devotees have celebrated the graveyard and its denizens, the site of which remains unbuilt on, in writings and performances. Each Halloween they perform to an audience a mystery based on the life of Winchester Goose, followed by a walk to the memorial gates, which are then decorated with hundreds of ribbons and other garlands.

A celebration of the outcast in a city that was built and shaped by them.

There's a great audio slideshow here.

cheers

Dan - Friday

Thursday, October 4, 2012

BOUCHERCON HIATUS #2 - LOVE TO FLY

Each year most of your Murder is Everywhere bloggers head off to Bouchercon - the largest mystery reader/writer conference.  This year it is to be held in Cleveland, Ohio, from Thursday October 4 to Sunday October 7.  It is certainly worth a visit, if you have the chance.

Because we are busy most of the conference - if not on a panel, at least meeting friends in the bar - we always take a break from our normal blog activities.  So what we do is replay a blog that we like, which appeared sometime in the past.

Michael and I are honored to be nominated for a Barry - to be announced on Thursday at the Opening reception - and an Anthony - to be announced on Saturday evening.  

We are also both involved in panels.

Michael joins Dave Magayna (Moderator), Robin Burcell, Karin Slaughter, Reed Farrel Coleman, and Ben Coes in how to keep your protagonist appealing over many books.   Saturday Oct 6 @09:00-10:50 AM: The Pleasures and Perils of Series Sleuths Panel in Grand Ballroom A.

Then directly after Michael's panel, most of your Murder is Everywhere crew (Yrsa, Cara, Tim, and Jeffrey, and me) meet for a panel moderated by Peter Rozovsky.  Saturday Oct 6 @10:15-11:05 AM in Grand Ballroom A.

You can see more details of Bouchercon at http://bouchercon2012.com/.


Since over the past week or so, there has been some criticism in this blog of (mainly) American airlines (not necessarily American Airlines), plus a taut word or two about other carriers, I thought I would replay a blog I wrote on August 19, 2010.  It is about one airline's attempt to make flying fun again!

______________________

LOVE TO FLY

Since I left South Africa for the United States in 1970, I have flown a great deal - probably close to 3 million miles.  Other than being addicted to airline food, I have had nothing bad happen to me. Touch wood!

However flying has become very stressful, particularly since 9/11.  The hassles of security and associated delays have taken most of the fun out of flying, even if you are not strip-searched and your hand luggage scattered over the airport floor by surly TSA (the US Transportation Security Administration) personnel.  Planes are fuller than ever, seats narrower and closer together, and the person sitting next to you always seems to overflow the real estate he or she rented for the duration of the flight.

One no-frills South African Airline, Kulula, has decided to reverse the trend.  Somewhat in the style of the US Southwest Airlines, it tries to make flights more entertaining.  Not only is the crew more relaxed about the in-flight announcements, but even the maintenance personnel have joined the party by repainting the aircraft so that each flight could be a learning experience.

Here are photos of a Kulula plane.

As I mentioned, Kulula staff also try to make the atmosphere during a flight more relaxed and enjoyable.  Here are examples of what has been heard on Kulula flights:
On a flight with a very "senior" flight attendant crew, the pilot said, "Ladies and gentlemen, we've reached cruising altitude and will be turning down the cabin lights. This is for your comfort and to enhance the appearance of your flight attendants."
----o0o---
On landing, a female flight attendant said, "Please be sure to take all of your belongings.  If you're going to leave anything, please make sure it's something we'd like to have."
----o0o---
"There may be 50 ways to leave your lover, but there are only 4 ways out of this airplane."
----o0o---
"Thank you for flying Kulula.  We hope you enjoyed giving us the business, as much as we enjoyed taking you for a ride."
----o0o---
As the plane landed and was coming to a stop at Durban Airport, a lone voice came over the loudspeaker: "Whoa, big fella.  WHOA!"
----o0o---
After a particularly rough landing during thunderstorms in the Karoo, a flight attendant announced, "Please take care when opening the overhead compartments because, after a landing like that, sure as hell everything has shifted."
----o0o---
From a Kulula employee: " Welcome aboard Kulula 271 to Port Elizabeth .  To operate your seat belt, insert the metal tab into the buckle and pull tight.  It works just like every other seat belt; and if you don't know how to operate one, you probably shouldn't be out in public unsupervised."
----o0o---
"In the event of a sudden loss of cabin pressure, masks will descend from the ceiling.  Stop screaming, grab the mask, and pull it over your face.  If you have a small child travelling with you, secure your mask before assisting with theirs.  If you are travelling with more than one small child, pick your favourite."
----o0o---
“Weather at our destination is 50 degrees with some broken clouds, but we'll try to have them fixed before we arrive.  Thank you, and remember, nobody loves you, or your money, more than Kulula Airlines."
----o0o---
"Your seats cushions can be used for flotation; and in the event of an emergency water landing, please paddle to shore and take them with our compliments."
----o0o---
"As you exit the plane, make sure to gather all of your belongings.  Anything left behind will be distributed evenly among the flight attendants.  Please do not leave children or spouses."
----o0o---
And from the pilot during his welcome message: "Kulula Airlines is pleased to announce that we have some of the best flight attendants in the industry.  Unfortunately, none of them are on this flight!"
----o0o---
After Kulula 255 had a very hard landing in Cape Town, the flight attendant came on the intercom and said, "That was quite a bump, and I know what you all are thinking.  I'm here to tell you it wasn't the airline's fault, it wasn't the pilot's fault, it wasn't the flight attendant's fault, it was the asphalt."
----o0o---
On a Kulula flight into Cape Town on a particularly windy and bumpy day, the Captain really had to fight it during the final approach.  After an extremely hard landing, the flight attendant said, "Ladies and Gentlemen, welcome to The Mother City.  Please remain in your seats with your seat belts fastened while the Captain taxis what's left of our airplane to the gate!"
----o0o---
Another flight attendant's comment on a less than perfect landing: "We ask you to please remain seated as Captain Kangaroo bounces us to the terminal."
----o0o---
An airline pilot wrote that on this particular flight he had hammered his plane into the runway really hard.  The airline had a policy which required the first officer to stand at the door while the passengers exited, smile, and give them a "Thanks for flying our airline.”  He said that, in light of his bad landing, he had a hard time looking the passengers in the eye, thinking that someone would have a smart comment.  Finally everyone had gotten off except for a little old lady walking with a cane.  She said, "Sir, do you mind if I ask you a question?"  "Why, no Ma'am," said the pilot.  "What is it?"  The little old lady said, "Did we land, or were we shot down?"
----o0o---
After a real crusher of a landing in Johannesburg , the attendant came on with, "Ladies and Gentlemen, please remain in your seats until Captain Crash and the Crew have brought the aircraft to a screeching halt against the gate. And, once the tire smoke has cleared and the warning bells are silenced, we will open the door and you can pick your way through the wreckage to the terminal."
----o0o---
Part of a flight attendant's arrival announcement: "We'd like to thank you folks for flying with us today.  And, the next time you get the insane urge to go blasting through the skies in a pressurized metal tube, we hope you'll think of Kulula Airways."
----o0o---
Heard on a Kulula flight. "Ladies and gentlemen, if you wish to smoke, the smoking section on this airplane is on the wing.  If you can light 'em, you can smoke 'em."
----o0o---
A plane was taking off from Durban Airport . After it reached a comfortable cruising altitude, the captain made an announcement over the intercom, "Ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain speaking.  Welcome to Flight Number 293, non-stop from Durban to Cape Town , The weather ahead is good and, therefore, we should have a smooth and uneventful flight.. Now sit back and relax... OH, MY GOODNESS!"  Silence followed, and after a few minutes, the captain came back on the intercom and said, "Ladies and Gentlemen, I am so sorry if I scared you earlier. While I was talking to you, the flight attendant accidentally spilled a cup of hot coffee in my lap. You should see the front of my pants!"   A passenger then yelled, "That's nothing.  You should see the back of mine!"
 
I hope to see you all in South Africa sometime soon.  I think you will enjoy the scenery, the food and wine, and the South African sense of humour.
Stan - Thursday

Wednesday, October 3, 2012

Bouchercon Hiatus # 1 - Time

Ah the wonders of technology. I am now on a plane headed for the States where I will be attending Bouchercon. This is my sixth or seventh consecutive year of attendance and by now I can even spell the name of the festival without having to google it. No small feat that for an Icelander. Anyway, I have set this to post to publish without me - let's see what happens. The below is a re-hash from a post of two years ago, written a day after my birthday. At this point in time my house was being refurbished and my family and I were sort of on the street. Felt a bit strange to recall it now, bad memories have a way of becoming vague with time.  

As previously posted on 25th August 2010:

Time 

Yesterday was my birthday. The less than sparkling festivities were marked by the fact that our house is at the stage of refurbishment where it seems near demolished – a strong shove or a loud sneeze is all that seems needed at the moment to send it crumbling down. Obviously we cannot stay there any longer. The day before my big day the plumber phoned, urgently requiring information regarding one of the toilets to be installed, preferring to have the actual fixture itself so that he could place pipes in the correct manner into a floor that is being concreted. I immediately realized what I would get for my birthday from my family.

Because I did not have any party to arrange or presents to unpack (a toilet requires too much wrapping and the shape is a dead giveaway making it pointless anyway) I instead used the time to think about birthdays and wonder when they became a day to celebrate. This train of thought took various twists and turns, one of the more interesting ones involving who in the way-old days kept track of time. I can understand Romans doing it, they each probably had a calendar slave to keep the tab, but what about the less domesticated people living off the land somewhere in the woods? Did they count days or even realize there was a system more complex than the seasons or the recurring swings of nature? Did pregnant women count down the days until birth or did they just look down and use how much of their toes they saw to gauge how close the happy event was? I think they did. I certainly would not have counted days and if I had I would have messed it up. Having attempted to count the number of stairs leading down a hill in Sorrento Italy and reaching the bottom with the figure 376 +/- 12, I know for a fact I cannot count with any assurance figures over about 150, which approximately marks the step where I began to become vague as to the previous number. There is no way I would remember to count once every day for 365 days and keep this figure in check, at least not without the aid of a calendar or a computer. I also believe if I were living off the land in some woods there would be more burning things on my mind other than: “Do you know what day it is?”

My daughter is born in 1996 which is a bit of a worry to me as it is so close to the year 2000. Can you imagine how much this will add to her age when she becomes middle aged? I remember finding anyone born in the 1800s completely prehistoric when I was a child, while someone born 1901 was old, but not likely to have had dinner in a pyramid following a day of hearding dinosaurs.

When the year 2000 came along there was a big fuss here in the media at the end of 1999, about whether this was the turn of the millennium or if the following New Year's eve 2000/2001 was the proper big night. At first it seemed ridiculous until one realized that the Gregorian calendar which bases itself on the birth of Jesus, allotted the year of his birth Year 1, not Year 0. Maybe the pope or his advisors thought zero to be a lackluster number to mark this occasion but still – there was only under a week to go until it became Year 1. The system I prefer (Jesus born in the year 0) is much more elegant and it would also have been really useful for him as he would not have had to do much calculating when being asked how old he was. Example: asked about his age in 25 AD Jesus replies: “I will be twenty five in December”. Ask anyone born in 2000 if they don’t find it convenient, I am sure they will agree.

Regarding the argument about the exact turn of the millennium I find the obvious point to celebrate like crazy was on New Year's 1999/2000. It looks sleeker and requires less explaining to young children for one. My main reason for not finding the 2000/2001 turn very impressive, was however more of a record keeping thing. You see, what are the chances that in 1000 years of tracking time at least one year wasn’t forgotten or misplaced somehow? What occured of mention in the year 313 for example? Remember also that over this period they kept changing calendars and conducting variable calendar reforms to make up for their not so perfect handling of leap years. This is not to mention the mix-up in Europe where all sort of local versions of calendars existed all through the middle ages. So who is to say that the year 2000 wasn’t actually 2001? Or 2005 even.
 
My forefathers probably had a lesser clue than others regarding what year it was. Their system was simple – it was winter and if it was not winter it was summer. It did not really matter to them how many winters or summers had passed before.

In Japan they have three systems running, one where start anew with the inauguration of a new Emperor meaning it is now year Heisei 24. I will suggest to my daughter that she move there soon after 2050. There when asked for her year of birth she can say Heisei 8 which will be guaranteed to sound better at that time than 1996.
Remarkably few people seem to have been born on by birthday, August 24th, at least few famous ones. Reading through the names of note-worthies with this birthday on Wikipedia left me with this impression. To give you an idea of how little is required to get on this list there is a guy named Dragutin Lerman (1863-1918) who is said to have been a Croatian explorer. Now I may seem harsh but I cannot imagine there was much left to explore in his heyday, let alone if he is not an explorer from Croatia but an explorer specialized in exploring Croatia. Another guy who made the grade is Hideo Kojima, Japanese video game director (born in Shōwa 37) – I did not even know there was such a profession as video game director. Maybe he directs Grey DeLisle, also born on August 24th, titled voice actress. A number of relatives and the like are dragged into the light as filling material, I share a birthday with the mother of Napoleon and the brother-in-law of Custer. Oh yes and Duke Kahanamoku, Hawaiian swimmer and surfer born in 1890. I wonder if he considered moving to Japan in the 1950s to come across as younger. The list is so unimpressive that I feel I should be on it. Yrsa Sigurdardottir, Icelandic homeless person.
 
But none of this really matters any more than the number of winters or summers that have passed. What matters to me now is if I should bake a cake or not for a friend of mine that has announced a visit on Sunday. She had heard that I got a toilet for my birthday from my husband and wants to drop by with a present of her own. She could not keep the contents of the package a secret and has giddily told me what to expect. She is bringing me a toilet brush.

Yrsa - Wednesday

Tuesday, October 2, 2012

No more naughty words in the Paris classroom

 My friend Benoit teaches junior high in the Place des Vosges at a public school, un collĆØge secondaire, nestled under the arcades of the 17th century square.
The school's recess area is part of what was once Victor Hugo's garden and rear courtyard.  His collĆØge secondaire students often go to a vocational school or into the Police Academy afterwards. Jean-Claude MulĆ©s, the retired Brigade Criminelle Inspector, who has helped me with research works with Benoit's students as well.
On the other side of the school, which you wouldn't notice unless you are looking for it, is a Synagogue. Two years ago Benoit and Jean-Claude took the students on a school trip to Auschwitz.  For his junior high students from working class backgrounds he said this was an eye-opening experience.
Benoit faces a classroom issue he says has become rampant. His students swear and use sexist words. So he showed me what he'd decided to give out to the students titled - Ne soyons pas sexiste - We won't be sexist.
Here's the list of the alternatives he gave them to use instead of the usual expletive
'Putain' - Slut

(these are rough translations)
Zut! - Heck or Shoot
Flƻte - darn it
Bigre - my goodness
PurƩe - heck or how you make mashed potatoes
Sapristi - heavens
Mince - darn it or blast
Fichtre - goodness me
Diantre - good heavens
Boudiou - Slang for Bon Dieu  Good God
Peuchère - Provençal for Poor thing
But the two prettiest words he suggests are:
Cornegidouille - no clue it's a mouthful
Saperlipopette - ProvenƧal for goodness me

I really like the last one - it's sweet, hard to get the tongue around and puckers your lips but by the time you get out all those consonants your irritation disappears.
In November I'll check with Benoit for a progress report.

Cara - Tuesday


Monday, October 1, 2012

Murder in Brazil #4


This was the wealthy SĆ£o Paulo industrialist, Marcos Matsunaga, a man with a passion for firearms.



These are the weapons removed from his apartment after his death.
All except for one, the semi-automatic pistol his wife used to shoot him with.



On the left is the lady in the case, a photograph of the happy couple taken on the day of their wedding.
Her name is Elize.


And this is a shot of the same lady taken shortly before she and her future husband met.
Back then, she called herself Kelly and was working as a prostitute.

Matsunaga was a working girl’s dream, the one classy hookers always hope to meet, but seldom do, a really rich dude who swept her off her feet, fell in love and “took her away from all that”.
They settled down into a few months of blissful existence.
They had a baby together.
And he taught her how to shoot. (In retrospect, perhaps not such a good idea.)

But then she sensed his ardor cooling.
She hired a private detective to track his movements.
The private detective came up with a video showing Marcos leaving a fancy restaurant in downtown SĆ£o Paulo while Elize and ther child, were off visiting her mother in ParanĆ”.
And, in the video, Marcos was accompanied by another call girl.

Elize, when she got the private detective's report, and saw what he'd recorded, went ballistic.
They argued.
Marcos slapped her.
She ran into their bedroom, came back with one of his pistols and shot him with it.


Confronted the with problem of disposing of his corpse, she elected to cut him into pieces, put the pieces into trash bags, stuff the bags into suitcases and dump them in a vacant lot outside of town.

But it was the next revelation that definitively transformed her crime into the stuff of graphic novels and horror films.



This chap is Doctor Jorge Pereira de Oliveira, the medical examiner who autopsied what was left of Marcos.


He discovered that the sweet young thing, pictured above, actually decapitated her husband while he was still alive.

And, he says, she would definitely have known she was doing it, because of the amount and nature of the bleeding it would have entailed.

Hell hath no fury, etc.

Leighton – Monday