sbukophile

A dog named Rooney

One of these days, we are going to get a dog (or two). After years of disagreement on what kind of dog we want, we saw a Rhodesian Ridgeback on the beach a few years ago and we both fell in love with the breed.

Over the years, we have been coming up with names for our future dogs. The top contender for what would be my dog whether male or female has been 'Rooney'.

Wayne Rooney is my favorite football player. He has been my favorite since early in his professional career when he was at Everton. I was thrilled when he was chosen as the youngest player ever to play on the England team. And just imagine my delight and relief when he was purchased by my husband's favorite team*, Manchester United! I no longer had to worry about discord in our marriage when Man Utd played against Everton!

During the 2006 World Cup, I was so disappointed when Rooney apparently stamped on a Portuguese player's nuts...

...he was not supposed to be that type of player. He's a good clean player with a lot of guts and can't be easily intimidated! And oh, can he read the game! He's just so intuitive. I love watching opposing players unsuccessfully try to intimidate or knock him down.

After seeing a lot of the replays and listening to the commentary though (as in the YouTube clip above), I now firmly believe that the ref let the Portuguese players double-team and foul Rooney for too long, he was frustrated, so he was kicking out to stay up, but he did not mean to stamp on the guy's nuts! I also blame Sven for putting him up front all by himself. Which he wouldn't have had to do if he had brought more strikers who would actually be good enough to play to THE. FUCKING. WORLD. CUP! I still don't excuse Rooney for what he did, but I do think it was unintentional. But I also HATE HATED Cristiano Ronaldo, a Man Utd teammate of Rooney's, for running to the ref and trying to get Rooney booked. And the wink (again, see the end of the YouTube video for that gem)! Ooooh, do did I hate Ronaldo (even though he's playing phenomenally well this season with Man U, he fucked with my boy)!

So, back to the point of my post. The other day we went down to the Press Room, which is the only English pub/bar in Santa Barbara. The owner, Raff, is from Manchester (from only a few villages away from the village my husband grew up in) and is of course a die-hard Man Utd fan too. Since we still refuse to subscribe to hundreds of crap channels/commercials (i.e. cable TV) just to be able to watch the football, this is where we have to go to watch any of the football live on TV Sometimes we go to our friend's house where we can watch it on the Spanish speaking channel though, but Raff subscribes to all the channels that have it, including the ones that have English commentators (there is nothing worse than listening to an American commentating on soccer--in fact, I can't stand listening to American sports commentators for ANY sport!)

So again, back to the story I really started... we walked in to watch Man Utd against Middlesborough, and there was a gorgeous dog, looked like a pit bull mixed with something else big. He was white with big ginger/brownish spots and coloring and he was so sweet and well-behaved. And then someone said his name to him, and I turned to my husband and with a pout, whispered, "I think his name is Rooney!" And there was no denying it, he really looked like Rooney.

A couple minutes later, as I was scratching around the cute dog's ears and chin, I surreptitiously looked at his ID tags, and to my utter dismay, it said 'ROONEY'.

My disappointment was huge! My husband tried to reassure me that we could still name our future dog Rooney. I was not convinced. My disappointment was almost as great as it was on that fateful day in 2006 when Rooney got sent off in the World Cup. Although we didn't know these particular people who owned this Rooney just yet, it was clear that he was a well-liked and regular visitor to the Press Room. Possibly a lot more regular than we have been. They would all think we were copying them if we named our future dog Rooney, and I would know there was another dog named Rooney before our Rooney.

It's like when George wants to name his first child Seven.

This left me disappointed the rest of the day, while my husband was upset that the score was 1-1 with fucking Middlesborough.

 

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* My husband grew up outside of the city of Manchester, and has been a Man U supporter since he was little, even having season tickets. He is NOT one of those fair weather supporters who jumps on the band wagon only after the team are successful and so well known all over the world.

The Naughties

This is one of those times where I wish that British English and American English matched. We were watching a UK TV show the other night on DVD, called My Family. One of the actors in it is Kris Marshall who is quite funny--and if you haven't seen the movie Love Actually, you really must see it (he's in it) (Love Actually and Princess Bride are my 2 all-time favorite movies).

In England, they use the word naught  or nought for zero in some situations (and sometimes nil is used for zero as well). But in one of the My Family episodes, the character Nick (played by Marshall) says something along the lines of, "after all, we are living in the Naughties". And oh, how I wished that would work here in this country. I mean, come on, it's just so much better than saying the "Two Thousands" or the "Double 0s" and other stupid, tongue twisting terms for the current decade.

So from now on, please refer to our decade as The Naughties.

Thank you.

Cousin Purdy

We received the following email from my father-in-law (affectionally called "FFIL" for "Favorite Father-in-Law". He in turn calls me "FDIL" and I'm his only daughter-in-law).  The subject line of the email was "from Perkins my cat to Jack and Niobe" [the FMIL and FFIL have a cat named Purdy who has a series of nicknames as most cats do, and one of his is "Perkins"]:

Caternal greetings from your English cousin who you never knew you had;

 

You have chosen a couple of excellent pets, now is the time to start where you mean to go, priority being to realise that they think that they are superior but in fact you are the bosses in that household.

 

For a start they can't lick their private parts like we can so waste no time in demonstrating this trick at every opportunity and don't forget their guests need similar entertaining too.  Then there is your bed which they will insist on sharing with you each night so make sure you are first onto it and stake your place.  They will fit round you.

 

If they try and give you pills hide them under the tongue until they have turned away then spit them into a corner.  Who ever heard of a siamese cat having worms anyway.

 

Make sure they give you a varied diet; If you don't like something refuse to eat it.  It will become a battle of wills but as we cats know, they will give in eventually and when the choice menu arrives eat every scrap.  Then to punish them wait until they have bought a carton of that particular food and refuse to eat it any more.  Oh how we laugh.

 

Remember they are lousy hunters so bring them a choice mouse or in your case a lizard.  They will be very touched and take it to their outside larder for eating in secret later but you will get some treats as a reward.

 

If you look around the house you will find that they have thoughtfully provided some nice rugs for claw sharpening purposes; one of my friends once had the wonderful moment of finding his pets car roof open and used his leather car seats for an extra keen sharpening of the nails so you might try that sometime.

 

I hope one day to meet you, my pets keep talking about how lovely California is although I saw the news last night and it appears to be on fire which isn't good.  I've been on my own today AGAIN while they went to something called a car boot sale with a load of things and came back very happy counting out that paper and metal stuff they carry around with them in their pockets, then my big pet went out and replaced the side door so there was sawdust everywhere which my other pet and me didn't like very much and how I laughed as she made him take all his clothes off to come indoors.  Always sad to see how little fur they have - and in places where we don't actually have any.....odd.

 

They are about to have their supper so I must go in and jump on my little pet's lap just before my big pet brings it in, that's always amusing.

 

Do write and let me know how you are getting on,

 

much purring from Purdy.

Answer to the weirdness with animals

Finally, I have a better image of what was going on with this guy--although "better" might not be the right word.  Maybe I missed the full details because I've cancelled my subscription to the Santa Barbara News-Press.  The "News-Press Mess" is constantly in the LA Times these days (here, here, here, etc.) and a frequent topic on Edhat and Craig Smith's blog. Craig certainly seems to have all the scoop on it!  One article that has me in utter disbelief is that Wendy McCaw's lawyers are telling Edhat to cease and desist linking to the free obituaries--and all without checking that the links were to a free section of their site!

Oh, and Vanity Fair even did an article on it this month--though it was the same issue as the Suri Cruise photos, which made it embarrassing for me when I purchased it because I didn't want people to think I was buying it because I HAD to see the photos of the little sprog (but of course that was the very next article I read after the one about the News-Press).  The booksellers at the register seemed to think that people were about evenly split on their reasons for buying that issue (I got the last issue in the Santa Barbara Borders!) 50-50 between Suri Cruise and the News-Press.

So, do me a favor, if you're living in or visiting Santa Barbara--PLEASE boycott the News-Press and do not buy it!  The owner is evil and I want the paper to fail if she is not willing to change the way things are being run.

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Changing topics again quite randomly, THIS is my all time favorite website to view (it's especially good if you are procrastinating).  I don't know WHY it's so fascinating to me.  I mean I've seen TV programs of wild animals.  But just the thought that the action is happening right now makes it so cool!  Last year I saw a lion on it.  Sometimes you just hear them roaring in the background.  It's kind of fun to have it on as background noise while you're working.

Then there are all the panda cub cams. The newest arrival is in Atlanta. The two cubs born last year are in D.C. and San Diego.  I was obsessed with them last year.

Saddam and no connection to 9/11

I commented on Citizen of the Month's blog yesterday about the photos he had posted, and feel I was taking up valuable space as a commenter, so should instead have a diatribe on my own blog.  I also don't think I did a very coherent job of explaining where I was coming from in my comment.  So here goes...

I can't stand Bush. I think he frenzied up and fear-mongered the U.S. and misled Tony Blair all for his personal gain and the financial gains/protection of his cronies.  I think there are so many other injustices and travesties in the world, why pick this one?  My theory is, because it suited Bush, not because it was the worst injustice at the time on our planet.

I like the images that Neil posted and think they were very poignant and was not trying to imply that the images did not work for me.  I was just commenting that I personally find it weird that a lot of people still equate 9/11 with the reason we invaded Iraq the second time.  It really was kind of non-sequitor to what Neil was posting. I wasn't finding it weird that Neil had put them up.  We did also invade Afghanistan after 9/11, and I think invading Iraq took resources away from Afghanistan (not military, but more humanitarian).  It was trying to do too much at once.  So, from the images Neil posted, I admit I was automatically assuming that he was equating 9/11 with Iraq, but I don't really know that for sure as we are still in BOTH Afghanistan and Iraq 5 years after 9/11.  I don't really know how I feel about the fact that we did invade Afghanistan after 9/11.  Part of me thinks that it's wrong to blame the country of Afghanistan for Al-Quaeda, and I don't know what the other part of me thinks--I'm not well-enough versed on the subject.

I mentioned a story on NPR that I heard, and then topically there was another one today that discussed how many Americans still think Saddam and 9/11 are connected.

And just to be clear again lest someone think I'm trying to minimize what happened during 9/11, I do think that 9/11 was an absolute tragedy.  I had family and friends living in NYC at the time, I was in Santa Barbara at the time, and had myself flown the very same flight from Boston to LAX quite a few times before the tragedy.  I count myself EXTREMELY lucky that nobody I knew personally was killed that day, because it was very likely.  I knew of plenty of cases of people missing or assumed dead that were only 1-degree of separation from me.  I was really shaken and emotional and stressed out for a while after 9/11.  It definitely affected my own psyche.  However, I only ever blamed the terrorists Al-Quaeda, and never the whole country of Afghanistan, and certainly never Saddam Hussein (even though I think he IS a despicable and evil human being) or the country of Iraq.

Another point I'd like to make, if anyone is wondering (and well, it's my blog so I can say whatever I want!) is that although I will not ever see the reason why the U.S. and UK went into Iraq and do not think war is ever the answer, I do believe that once we were/are there, we have to be supportive of the actual people there.  The Ruggedly Handsome Husband is after all an ex-Royal Naval officer!  I would NEVER want what happened to Vietnam Vets to happen to Iraq War vets--the blaming of the war on the poor puppets fighting it.

I moved to England in May 2002.  Ruggedly Handsome Husband was in the Royal Navy.  The Western world was still reeling from 9/11.  Fear mongering was rampant in the U.S. by both Bush and the press.  I felt the British press was much more balanced and not as sensationalized. But as an American living abroad, I had to endure what every American living abroad can relate to, that a lot of people think that because you are an American, you automatically support the views of your president and other politicians.

I endured many instances of people assuming first and me then explaining otherwise.  I endured all kinds of other stereotypes about Americans as well, that I had to dispel.  It was not always fun, and it was not always from the people I expected it to be from (some being quite well-educated and/or quite nice people).

I was with Ashbloem on the first anniversary of 9/11 when we went to a chapel in central London.  We also witnessed people blatently not observing the moment of silence on the streets of London.  Around those days, we also went to bookshops where we heard authors speak about "Why the World Hates America" and I was confused as to whether I was offended or not--because I wasn't sure if they were attacking Americans or just attacking the politics and actions of the country as a whole.  It was a weird time for my expat friends and me--sometimes needing to defend our Americanism, other times agreeing with the criticisms, other times not sure if the person was attacking us personally or not.

I think we need to have a plan for getting out, because frankly this is turning into another Vietnam and we should be learning from history.

Anyway, I hope that explains what I meant in yesterday's comment on Citizen of the Month, and I apologize to Neil if it came out differently than I intended!  Thanks for the topic, Neil!

Trying to be an enigma

Right, so forget trying to be an enigma.  Here's the deal... it's so hard these days to come up with a good blog/website/email username--a lot of the good ones are all taken--so I had to try something that was fun and meaningful.  I'm really jealous of my friend ashbloem as she has a really cool one.  I also should give credit to her, since really she's the only real person I know with a blog (that I know of), and well, I really like her blog!  She's one of the reasons I've started this blog.

Ok, I digress... so the reason I came up with sbukophile is that I live in Santa Barbara and have a thing for England and people/things English.  Well, mostly the people.  I can't say that I've always been this way about England.  In fact, after my second (and third) trip to England (in my late 20's), I was convinced I never needed to go back, and would certainly never have seen myself living there.

Lo and behold though, I had already dated an Englishman, had English friends, and really connected with English people and the sense of humo(u)r.  I guess that could be attributed to the fact that my parents had lived in England while my dad was in seminary at Oxford, and my brother was even born there.  I guess my dad's grandparents were also English born and raised, but moved to the states (in fact he can point out where his grandmother lived in Santa Barbara--and no, I did not grow up in Santa Barbara--I grew up in the Boston area--but both my parents are from SoCal originally).  I have always connected with the English sense of humor.  I guess growing up in New England also accounts for that sensibility too.

Perhaps on that second trip to England, I was possibly depressed and had a strange experience with an Irishman I was sort of seeing (and had met on my first trip ever to England)... and the third trip to England I had a really strange encounter with same Irishman--EVEN THOUGH I SAID I WOULDN'T TRY TO CONTACT HIM WHILE THERE!

Funny story to digress into--it really was a strange thing that happened--I was consciously making sure I did not contact him because it had been so weird the last time, and I was on one of the last trains one night with a group of friends (including ashbloem) where we'd been to a nice little pub in the suburbs, heading back into central London to our hotel, and I look up outside the train window as it had stopped, and there's The Irishman standing on the platform right outside the train!  I jump up from my seat and almost jump onto the platform, but he tells me "No! No--that guy in that seat has a postcard--get the postcard from that guy!" So, I run over to where some random guy was sitting (now, keep in mind, the group of friends I am with have NO idea what is going on at this point, and just see me frantically running around the train).  I go up to this stranger and I say, "Do you know [The Irishman]?"  The guy is just staring at me at this point.  I repeat myself, adding, "he said that you had a postcard for me!"  The guy is looking at me like I'm completely nuts and says, "I don't know who the fuck [The Irishman] is, but here, I found this on the seat when I sat down.  Here, you can have it!"

At this point I'm shaking. I sit down and try to explain to my friends what had happened.  The  postcard of something about Shakespeare just listed a mobile phone number (The Irishman at the time was a tour director, so would have been at some touristy spot recently).  When we got off the train just a couple stops later, I could hardly walk as my knees were all wobbly.  Everyone agreed that this had to be the strangest coincidence ever, considering my oath before and during the trip that I wouldn't contact him!

At our hotel, I call the number, to find the Irishman staying at a hotel nearby with a tour group.  We agree he should immediately take a taxi over to my hotel since this was so weird.  So of course I now have to scramble--to show you that I wasn't planning on seeing him--I had NOT shaved my legs.  It was winter and I was able to get away with it, but you see, I have very hairy legs--dark and all--I have a great full head of hair, but the curse is that it's not the only place I have a lot of hair!  Well, I guess since my relationship with The Irishman had never been anything more meaningful than shagging (and not very good at that), I guess I was kind of expecting it--although really saying to myself that I wasn't going to... but yet still knowing it was a possibility...

Of course, it didn't turn out as smooth as I had hoped (the encounter, not my legs).  You see, with my legs that unshaven, it was taking a really long time to shave them--believe me, that's longer than you think for those of you who aren't as hairy as I am--you really have no idea what I go through!).  The Irishman was knocking on my hotel room door as I was getting out of the shower.  So, instead of at least playing coy at first, I end up meeting him at the door, while I'm wearing a towel and still dripping wet!  No subtlety there--at least not in his mind!

I do manage to throw on my pajamas so he doesn't think we're just going to get right into it.  And we do talk for a while about the coincidence, etc, and how I had decided I wasn't going to contact him, and in fact didn't even know if he was in England at the time--he could've been in Ireland, on tour, travelling, etc....

What had transpired with the postcard in the train--he was really baked while he was on the train-- he had been in the SAME train car as me and my friends.  Because he was so baked, he didn't trust himself to say anything in front of my friends--he thought they'd think he was some freak and not understand what was going on.  I did not notice him at all until he had exited and was waving outside on the platform.  (In hindsight, this is a very weird explanation, but I suppose if he was that baked, he would not have been thinking rationally).

But what are the chances?  Of being on the same train in the same car in the same city at the same time, when neither of us lives or works in London?  And after I had vowed not to see him?

Thinking like that,  you have to imagine, I thought this must mean something BIG!  This just didn't happen.  Well, after our initial reacquaintance we were talking and talking, and I kept asking why this had happened.  His answers were all very relationship-avoidance type ones, and I was getting slightly hysterical thinking this had to be a sign.  I know I ended up in tears, with him hugging me and telling me everything was ok, and I was confessing that more than anything I wanted to be married with children, etc. etc.  I know that at this point we both understood that it was not with him.

However, the next day, or maybe a couple days later, I still couldn't believe the weirdness of it all, and was still trying to decipher what this sign from the universe was supposed to mean.  I wish I could tell you that I figured it out in the remaining days of my trip, but in reality what happened was very anticlimactic.  I ended up travelling on my own to Bath for a few days, and then also spending some time with some other friends who were stopping over in London and never talking to him again, not for lack of trying.  I think I tried to call him about a million times (to my embarrassment, I was staying in another friend's hotel room, and she had been helping me by saying "don't call him, it's not worth it, etc. etc" and I knew this was true, but just kept calling and calling.  The embarrassing part was she got the phone bill for the room, and I didn't know that local calls had a charge, so there was this list of 2 pages worth of phonecalls to the same number in 24 hours.)  I think at one point I did talk to him while I was in Bath, and he said something like, "What? You think this is all supposed to mean something, like we're supposed to get married or something?!"  I said no, but I still wanted to know why it happened.  He obviously didn't have the answer either.

It wasn't until maybe months later when I'd returned to Santa Barbara, that I think I realized that it was just meant to be my closure with him.  That he was not "the one" for me, and that it was because we hadn't had closure before that, and to see what an ass he really was (the whole pot-smoking thing always bothered me--he smoked multiple times per day).  But still, it wasn't like I had ever even considered him my "boyfriend" or anything like that!  When we were in the same country, we saw each other, and barely communicated in between those times.

I don't know if that satisfies me as to the whole reason for this serendipitous event--believe me, I'm 100% certain that he's not the one for me--in fact I believe I met my husband, who IS my soulmate (and I knew it almost instantly), only a few months after this happened.  No, I'm positive that it's not because I will ever want to be with The Irishman again, but writing about this story, does make me wonder, what the fuck was that all supposed to be about?  What kind of joke was the universe playing that day?  Just fucking with my mind I think--because it REALLY did!

Ok, end of digression now.  So I really had some fucked up experiences in England that kind of depressed me.  So, to meet my future husband here in Santa Barbara, and that he is a Brit--well, it was definitely ironic!  Although of course it was no surprise to all my friends around the world that it wasn't an American.  I had not dated an American in at least 10 years at that point (and never again of course, since I've married the wonderful man).

And then we even ended up living in England after we were married--again adding to the irony that I thought I'd never want to live there!  Ruggedly Handsome Husband was on his way to joining the military when we first met.  Throughout our relationship and subsequent engagement he was an officer in the Royal Navy.  After we got married, the plan was for me to move over there, and we'd live there for about 3 years while he did the minimum time.  As I mentioned, I had never planned on living in England, but figured I could handle 3 years (I had been back to England on subsequent visits to see the Future Ruggedly Handsome Husband and of course had enjoyed those trips much more than the first visits to England).

So by the time the day arrived that we were to move back to California as scheduled, it was ME who didn't want to leave England!  I had fallen in love with the country!  The current Iraq War had only just started, and I had no desire to be around anyone who seemed to support it, and I just wasn't ready!  I had gotten used to England, I had finally made English friends (not just other displaced American expats) and I loved the football and the pubs and the long country walks...

But we've been back in Santa Barbara for a few  years now.  It's great of course in a different way, but my husband and I both miss England a lot.  We make it back about once a year.  Whenever I'm asked what I miss about it, it's always the pubs and that culture, the sense of humor, the football, the people, the more realistic understated down-to-earthness of the people.

So, the ideal would be for us to make enough money so we could own homes in both Santa Barbara and England (and other places too of course), and so we could split our time.  Problem solved!