January 2004 Archives
The other day an elderly relative asked me:
"Do you know how to set up an e-mail address?"
I looked at him. I chewed my lip. I considered the time it would take to explain how things work in simple terms. And I said:
"No."
And I did not feel guilty about lying. I felt relief.
American citizen Katrina Leung (code name "Parlor Maid") was born in China but moved to New York (via Hong Kong) when she was 15. She was first recruited by the FBI in the late 70s and became one their top counterintelligence assets.
In 2003 Katrina was charged with being a double agent for China. Her FBI handler J.J. Smith was accused of helping her. Nobody knew they were lovers for 20 years.
One of the bureau's top Chinese counterintelligence agents, William Cleveland, was assigned to travel to China. It turns out the Chinese are aware of his visit. Cleveland had been betrayed by Parlor Maid. What the FBI didn't know was that Cleveland too had been her lover for three years.
Even after discovering Parlor Maid was a double agent, both FBI men continued to share classified information with her.
Frontline producer Michael Kirk says: "This film illustrates the lack of management controls, the failure of safeguards, the 'old boy network' and the complexities of the relationship between sources and agents that is at the heart of what the FBI does."
Frontline/PBS documentary: "From China with Love"
"No. Yes. It gets easier."
... stereotypes.
8 pm in central Amsterdam.
It isn't exotic at all these days, but for a Cold War baby like myself there's still a ring of clandestine about meeting a couple of Russians underneath the monument on Dam square. Especially since I'm exchanging goods for money and I get paid in American dollars.
It's dark, it's raining. I've put my hoodie up for good measure. I approach, we shake hands and decide to go for a drink.
They look American. Shorter than the average Dutch male, the two Moscovites wear puffy jackets, baseball caps and trainers. Only K. has 'typical' Slavic features, but there is nothing stealthy about the bright yellow colour of his jacket.
He doesn't say much, but L. has good English and is very similar to the only other Russian I've met. Is it a Russian thing, a Moscovite thing to talk and ask, but not listen?
What do I know about Russians? No more than I've read in trashy spy novels, like Gorky Park: they are prone to melancholy, say 'Fuck your mother' and they drink a lot.
L. and K. do very little to dispel this notion. They're a bit short with the waiter who is really quite friendly for a Dutchman, letting them taste the local beer before ordering. 'Pint or regular.' he asks. 'A pint, of course,' they say.
Of course.
They tell me about their flight, the purpose of their visit and complain about getting served milk for lunch, instead of alcohol. L. explains he must have alcohol before going in to work. I laugh when he shows me the Dutch clogs he bought for his girlfriend.
Just before we part they ask me where they can buy a bottle of vodka. I leave them as they turn into the late night supermarket.
Fifty dollars in my pocket, enough for some cheese and tulips.
John Perry Barlow, a friend of author Spalding Gray (missing and apparently presumed dead), has written some wonderful posts about him.
Via Tom, who equates the quote with weblogging.
My angle would be performance. This quote says something about what an artist can give to his audience. I've probably mentioned before that I'm interested in the psychology of performance, but I want to know more about what drives an artist to get up on a stage.
I'm always interested in reading material about this subject, links to relevant articles are very welcome.
Ever since I got a bigger telly and find myself with a little more time to spare, I've been spending more time on the couch, rediscovering TV.
Most of my TV intake is very deliberate. I have a few series I watch religiously. I stick to the USA schedule, download the episodes and watch them either on the computer or (after burning a VCD) on TV. But lately I have been enjoying documentaries on the box. I stumble upon them while channel surfing.
My WhedonWiki was abused for the first time since I set it up. The front page was replaced with lots of links to she-male sites.
Wiki's are easily restored. If you know how they work you can still see the offending links. I hope it's a one-off, but chances are it'll happen again.
Comment-spam I know, but Wiki-spam I'd not heard of before. You?
Stranger: "Nice to see you after so many years."
// I have no idea who you are... //
Me: "Hi, nice to see you."
Stranger: "And how's your mother doing?"
// Gah! //
Me: "My mother is, um, dead. She, um, died, you know in '75"
Stranger: "I didn't know that. How could I not know that?"
// I don't really care. //
Me: "..."
(An hour and a half later.)
Stranger: "Well, I'll be off soon. Gotta pick up my daughter."
// ... not really interested in your kid... //
Me: " ... "
Stranger: "Do you have kids?"
// Ugh. //
Me: "No."
Stranger: "Do you have a man?"
// Aaargh. //
Me: "No."
Stranger: "Huh, why not? Such a beautiful, strong, independent woman."
// Eh? //
Me: "..."
Stranger: "Probably too independent. They don't like that."
// OK, now you're making sense. //
Me: "True."
Stranger: "You really have character. And J. was so glad you came today."
// Huh. //
Stranger: "Bye!"
Me: "Bye."
"I'm inviting you to my vaudeville
"oui encore" you say, "and on with the show"
ladies, gentlemen, before I sing to you
the light that shines twice as bright,
burns half as long."
My uncle R. passed away on Saturday.
I hope he found peace.
Stuart Maconie on 'The Eighties' in the February issue of 'Word' magazine.
She came in last, after her friends had taken up the seats opposite me. A big woman, tall and ski jacket bulky, every inch of her very Dutch and 30-something.
I had my nose stuck in my Word magazine, spelling out the articles and reviews -- trying to keep the world out. It's been one of those weeks. I really haven't recovered from that flu yet and a run in with a courier company had frayed the edges of my nerves. I wanted home, a cuppa, and I wanted it now.
"Flower, July 8, 2003"
From Eric Meyer and Tantek Çelik comes XFN - XHTML Friends Network: "...a simple way to represent human relationships using hyperlinks. XFN enables web authors to indicate their relationship(s) to the people in their blogrolls..."
At Juicy Studio I read an interesting critique + comments on this new standards compliant link-loving: "It's probably a cultural difference, but the usefulness of XFN relationships is lost on me" says Juicy Studio and "Agreed the importance is probably cultural. Without intending to make sweeping statements, Americans do tend to place emphasis on people they know, and how well they know them," says 'Will' in the comments.
I do not want to make this a USA vs Europe debate, but I find the cultural angle fascinating. More so than the semantic or technical discussion. It cleared up a sense of unease I've felt over the years concerning the act of name-dropping.
I've noticed how 'who you know, how well you know them' has always been of importance to the Indonesian side of my family. Name-dropping isn't frowned upon, it's encouraged. Knowing the right person commands respect. Even now my uncle asks me whether I've met 'important' people in broadcasting.
It annoys me when my relatives do this, although I'm not entirely immune to it myself. But in Dutch culture, name-dropping does not impress too many people. Far more worth is placed on your own achievements and even these should not be emphasized. Everyone's 'equal'. ( Consequently, no one has or gets any respect at all. )
Moving between worlds (Dutch, Indonesian, English-speaking) I've felt culture clash of this sort on many -- sometimes embarrassing -- occasions. In real life and on line. But in future I will tell myself it's alright, it's just a 'cultural difference'.
What is important in your culture: who you know, or what you've achieved?
Back in... 1999 over a pint in a pub in Dublin, Derek told me enthousiastically about this domain he had, ephemera.org, but didn't know what to do with yet. Looks like he's put it to good use now: Ephemera: Photos by Derek Powazek. Check out the comment pop-ups, they're pretty.
I am redesigning. Let me re-phrase that. I am re-ordering and (hopefully) improving the current design. Don't be surprised if stuff stops working or looks funny around here over the next few days. Individual entries currently look like arse. So far I've merged four separate weblogs for ease of use and am now trying to find out why the image map doesn't work in Firebird (solved). I don't know about this XHTML strict, it's hard work.
Fascinating and funny interview with (Lord) Chistopher (Haden) Guest (Film maker and Spinal Tap's 'Nigel Tufnel', husband of Jamie Lee Curtis): ""In real life, people fumble their words," says Guest. "They repeat themselves and stare blankly off into space and don't listen properly to what other people are saying. I find that kind of speech fascinating but screenwriters never write dialogue like that because it doesn't look good on the page. It looks like they don't know how to write dialogue."
The sound of fireworks is fizzling out only thirty minutes into the new year.
Bye bye 2003, I hardly knew ye. I'd do a best of list if I could, because I did see films and I did read stuff and I did hear music, but I really don't remember much other than that there never seemed to be enough time to enjoy anything.
I won't remember 2003, the year I turned 40, for much else than the fact that I turned 40, that I did it in London and that I was surrounded by good people. Everything else is a blur.
My temp job lasted and still lasts, though probably not for very much longer. It's been mostly good - it covered the bills (but not much more), but there was always the pressure of budget cuts and reorganisation, of being understaffed and overworked.
Apart from the full time job I wrote two books for Omnibus Press in the evenings and on weekends. I have no idea how I did that. The first one nearly killed me. The second one I would have killed not to do.
Somehow I managed to run my websites as well. Whedonesque.com thrived despite my involvement, U2log.com survived by some clever hiring of staff.
In the second half of the year most of my energy went into 'supporting the arts', playing personal googlist and -- I believe it's called -- confidante to an entertainer. Of all the work I do, this is the closest to my heart. It's also the most draining. The judges are still out on whether it's the most satisfying or frustrating.
So I worked. I worked. And I worked some more. Yet I feel as if I accomplished nothing. I'm tired of tying up the loose ends of other people's lives. I'm just tired.
If I believed in New Year's resolutions I would promise to live more and work less. As unemployment is a very real possibility this year, that doesn't seem too much of a challenge.