Porcupine's Wisdom

Holiday from Hell

noreply@blogger.com (Ekaterina) — Sat, 23 Jul 2011 19:04:00 +0000

My boyfriend, me and our fifteen months old decided to go on holiday to the Canaries, Fuerteventura for one week. We were looking forward to a nice relaxing holiday, taking turns to look after our boy and enjoying nice cocktails in the evenings, as well as nice meals.
The fact that with a fifteen months old you can’t have a relaxing holiday struck as already at Novotel hotel in Birmingham the night before our flight was due. He was so excited by the change of surroundings and some kind of adventure that he kept us half a night awake. He refused to go to sleep, repeating for hours the words he can speak: ‘come, come, gone, gone, mama, papa and Russian ‘poka’ (bye). Normally I am experiencing enormous joy when I hear the little voice of my angel, but not when it’s three o’clock in the morning and you have a plane to catch at seven am.
Anyway, you probably got the picture that travelling with a small baby is hard work. Add to this four hours on the plane, and you probably can imagine that by the end of our flight and the end of our drive to the hotel we were exhausted (all three of us, I might add).
So, we were looking towards having some rest at the hotel before going to the beach. We were also prepared to the fact that the hotel wasn’t that you might call luxurious. We were on the budget, - all our money is tied towards buying a house and all the things which come with the move (such as furniture and the like). So, we booked Las Olas Club I and II, a three star hotel, apparently at a good location but with some bad reviews. We read the reviews before the holiday but decided to go there nevertheless, as common logic told us that you can’t go really that wrong with a three star hotel.
And well, welcome to Las Asshole-Las Club I and II. Hotel from hell.
The fact that our holiday was turning into something else entirely came down to us already at the reception of the so called three star hotel.
“Your room is not ready,” told us (not so kindly) the receptionist.
Right, the boy needed changing and we wanted showers but without any alternative we went down for lunch. We booked all inclusive holiday. Bad mistake as we discovered later.
The selection of food looked all right until we tasted the food. All meat was undercooked and when we saw that it was a barbecue night in the making (proudly announced at the entrance of the canteen, - can’t call it a restaurant, as it looked more like a school canteen), we decided to go out for our evening meal. So, you see, our budget holiday was already becoming not so budget at all.
Anyway, we got finally our room two hours later (which looked all right at a first glance) and went to the beach, which turned out to be a bad idea as our boy hated the wind. So far for the beach holiday.
Okay, skip the beach, let’s have baths instead, - we decided with my boyfriend, as taking baths and reading is our favourite pass-time.
No such luck, as the bath in our room didn’t have the plug.
Right, we take showers instead, - we were not complaining at this point. We just wanted to wash ourselves and wash our baby boy.
The shower didn’t have any hot water.
We went down to the reception, complaining this time. I can have a cold shower, my fifteen months old can’t.
The maintenance man came with a drill to the room, did something to the boiler and finally we could take showers.
We had a meal out and then returned to the hotel to have a nice relaxing drink at the terrace. While I put our son to bed my boyfriend went to the bar to get us drinks.
He came back five minutes later with just one drink.
“They serve only one drink per person”, he explained on his return.
Anyway, once I got my drink we passed a pleasant evening before going to bed.
Surprise, surprise, there was someone else already there. An enormous cockroach greeted us from the middle of the bed.
We managed to chase him out, but the night was obviously spoiled. Half of it I spent on fearing that another cockroach would sneak into our bed, while the other half we spent listening to very loud music coming from the bar (thanks god, the rest of the nights it was more or less quiet).
Anyway, I won’t elaborate further on the hotel, apart from adding that the hot water broke down again on the next day, and the next day and every single day till the rest of our staying, we ate out every single evening (despite paying all inclusive) and had to go in turns to the bar to get our drinks.
But despite being quite a holiday from hell, we did enjoy it. Relaxing it was not (that, with a fifteen months old), but funny (because of the hotel) and sunny.
Only, if you want to book a budget holiday in Fuerteventura, avoid Club Las Olas. Or if you go there, go self-catering, as the location is indeed excellent, - the only positive thing about the hotel.

What happened to my brain?

noreply@blogger.com (Ekaterina) — Tue, 05 Jul 2011 20:32:00 +0000

Almost every evening my boyfriend and I watch a movie to relax with our dinner. We put our boy to bed and then have ‘our’ time, usually two, max three hours, before we both retire to bed.
The other evening when selecting the movie my boyfriend asked me, in rather subdued and slightly irritated tone, ‘romantic comedy, I suppose?’
‘What do you mean?’ I asked.
“Well, you prefer a romantic comedy, right? He answered.
“Not necessary,” I replied while realising that lately, like for a year or so, I have been suffering from what I call a ‘maternity’ brain.
Let me explain. There is such a fact as pregnancy brain, apparently not proven scientifically, but which inflicts, nevertheless, the majority of pregnant women. On my seventh month of pregnancy I realised to my horror that I didn’t care anymore about my PhD.
Now, more than fifteen months after giving birth you would think that the amnesia associated with pregnancy brain would disappear.
And well, the amnesia perhaps does disappear but in return, you get something else. In fact, I often wonder recently, what happened to my brain! The joke my boyfriend makes about my attempts to reread ‘Anna Karenina’ for the last sixth months only testifies about my predicament.
“Are you still planning to read it?” he asks me every time he comes to the living room pointing to the thick book on the display at our coffee table while I am engrossed in the latest chick-lit.
The thing is, yes, I really do plan to reread ‘Anna Karenina’, especially that half way through the book it does become a very interesting read (it’s what at least I remember from my classes at school), but then you have a toddler at home, your intellectual ambitions usually go into the bin.
That’s not true actually, as after giving birth, my capacity to do my PhD as well as desire to do it, returned and quite in force, thank you very much. It’s my capacity to do anything intellectual besides my PhD which has been stuck in the recovery centre.
Let me give you an example. In the past ten months I read almost all magazines for women (such as She, Marie Claire, Cosmopolitan and Prima) and read all books of Sophie Kinsella. She is an amazing writer, but hardly that you can call ‘intellectual’.
I told myself that I haven’t yet gone as low as start watching every episode of Eastenders or reading the celebrities’ magazines, until one evening I found myself watching the last episode of ‘Keeping up with the Kardashians.’
Yuk.
The thing is, once you have a baby and also a job you want to unwind every moment you can. Also when your baby watches a cartoon or is busy with his toys, you can’t start reading something like ‘Anna Karenina’, because your brain is programmed to watch for what your baby is doing and be alert. So, an easy read or watching a soap opera while you are with your toddler (when he is busy, of course, with something else) or when he is napping, is the only thing one part of your brain can manage.
I guess, I have to wait for quite a long time before I reread ‘Anna Karenina’.
Meanwhile, I can't wait for my latest romantic comedy!

What Facebook is for?

noreply@blogger.com (Ekaterina) — Thu, 30 Jun 2011 14:21:00 +0000

Anya is having a fantastic holiday in Spain, Peter is getting married, Samanta is having a cup of tea.
These, as you've probably guessed, are the status updates from my friends on Facebook. As millions of other people I check Facebook every day to see what my friends are up to, I also update my Facebook profile every two moths by usually uploading a flattering picture of myself.
I am not alone, as many people exaggerate their lives on Facebook or portray themselves in the best possible light.
Facebook as never before provides a perfect stage for dramatic performance for its participants, and relates perfectly well to the observation of Goffman that "the world, in truth, is a wedding".
People mainly 'front on Facebook', - they intentionally try to create a certain impression through their pictures, statuses updates, comments, etc. Facebook provides a perfect stage for instant validation, where members have an immediate access to audience for their performance.
It is not unusual for participants on Facebook to exaggerate their lives, make it more sensational and more interesting. Many put only their best pictures on Facebook, put statuses updates about beach holidays, parties and other events that could make one's life more appealing.
Thus, Rob Long in an article in The National (2011) describes his conversation with a Hollywood writer who put in his statuses updates that he was having a sensational and interesting life. One moment he was in a chic restaurant, another moment he was drinking champagne and the next moment he was enjoying his life in LA. When confronted by the author of the article about the fact that many of his statuses updates were an exaggeration, he admitted that he was just performing for an audience, providing content for his friends.
This sensationalization on Facebook reflects in general the culture which "privileges the momentary, the visual and the sensational over the enduring, the written, and the rational." (Turner G., 2004, p. 4). In my thesis about Facebook I draw a parallel between the reality tv and Facebook. Facebook, in my opinion, reflects the tendency in our society to be obsessed with the celebrity culture.
Facebook provides both social contact and relaxation and corresponds to our desire for the sensational. Here, our own lives can become sensational and we become the image makers of our own life. Not only we watch the lives of our friends, which relates to our innate desire for gossip, but we can also present our lives as we see it fit.
Here we can remember what Debord said about our society, it a society where "life is presented as an immense accumulation of spectacles. Everything that was directly lived has receded into a representation." (Debord G., 1967, p. 7) The spectacle for Debord "is a social relation between people that is mediated by images." (p. 7)
For Debord the authentic life has been replaced by representation. "Everything that was directly lived has receded into a representation." (p. 7)
For Debord the importance of life has been reduced into having, - we are driven by consumption and accumulation, and having has receded into merely appearing. Happiness can be achieved through a new car, a new house or fashion, but this is not true happiness, it is just an illusion of happiness. The current life has become the pursuit of commodities where "people's activity becomes less and less active and more and more contemplative." (p. 34)
For Debord people became passive viewers of life instead of its active makers and mass media is to blame for it. We are dominated by contemplation of useless programs about celebrities, where fame or pursuit of fame or having a new gadget has become the main goal of lives for many people. Genuine relationships have been replaced by consumption of friendship where meeting with friends is accompanied by shopping or consumption. Instead of doing sport we watch sport on the TV, where sport itself became the commodity, with sport stars becoming celebrities and new idols. Instead of singing for pleasure, singing has become the pursuit of fame and fortune as demonstrated by popularity of such programs as X-Factor and American Idol. Instead of living actively our lives and allowing for critical thought, we simply spectate.
In this respect Facebook can be seen as another spectacle. On Facebook we 'spectate' our friends instead of meeting them in real life. We are bombarded with advertisements linked to our profiles and posts, and here our life is becoming a mere commodity, where even in profiles we are driven to fill them in according to capitalist logic. Our profiles are dominated by the things we consume, watch and buy.
Is Facebook a new spectacle, a new commodity in the capitalistic society and what will it do to genuine friendship formation?

Creams!

noreply@blogger.com (Ekaterina) — Fri, 24 Jun 2011 15:09:00 +0000

Ah, I love creams! I love in general all kind of pampering products. I constantly buy candles, soaps and the like. And the amount of face and body creams in my bathroom is one of unpleasant topics of discussion with my boyfriend. Actually, it's one of the reasons we still can't buy a house, - I need a big bathroom as well as an additional bedroom to serve as my wardrobe. Yes, not only do I collect creams I also collect clothes, as well as books. Only last month I spent around two hundred pounds mostly on creams.

Two hundred pounds! I mean, how stupid one has to be in order to spend such an amount on face-creams? Let's say that I can afford it, but even in this case, I consider it to be outrageous. Send me to a shop to buy bread and I will come back with a new body cream and ten different candles.

Anyway, even if I've always spent a lot of money on pampering products, I decided to end it. I reckon that I don't need that many face and body creams and I reckon that with a small baby at home, I could spend my money much wiser, like putting these two hundred pounds into his fund.

I've also read somewhere that more expensive face creams don't guarantee a better result. I learned only last month that mascaras are definitely not worse if they cost less. I bought a new l'Oreal mascara to try instead of my usual Dior one and it is the same if not better.

So, I also decided to try L'Oreal creams. I used to buy Dior and Origins creams which cost around forty pounds a bottle. L'Oreal ones cost only around fifteen pounds.
But I still have to try them. Meanwhile, anyone can recommend good inexpensive creams?

Domestic Goddess? Rather not

noreply@blogger.com (Ekaterina) — Wed, 08 Jun 2011 15:20:00 +0000

I am totally not a domestic goddess.
Actually I tried. For the first months after the birth of my son I even considered stopping working and become a full-time mom. I could clearly imagine myself cleaning during the day and baking cakes in the evening.
However, this blissful thinking stayed in the domain of my imagination only. Five months into my maternity leave I could not wait to go back to work. And once I came back to work it became a place of rest. True, for my work I have to read Marx and Weber (which can become sometimes a rather painful process), but then I do like reading Marx and I do prefer it to cleaning the house.

And then I have a serious competition. At home I have a domestic god.
My partner when I first met him didn't know how to make an omelette. However, already on our second date he attempted a seriously complicated dinner which he cooked himself. And this was the beginning of uncovering the talents of which none of us would have a slightest guess.

My partner does everything better than I do. He is a better cook, a better cleaner and a better shopper. Usually all my girlfriends complain about the fact that they can't send their boyfriends for groceries because they always end up with totally different items than what is on the list.

When I hear these stories, I catch myself blushing. In our family, it's the other way around. Send me to the shop and I will return with a bill fifty pounds higher and dozens of pampering products (I am an addict to creams and the like). My boyfriend stopped taking me to the shop with him. Which I don't mind as I hate shopping when I can't buy creams.

Then, he also became a better cook. On Sundays he labours for hours in the kitchen to make a perfect roast, and then I say perfect, I mean it. Take me to the kitchen, and you will be lucky to have burgers and fried potatoes and that, when I am in a good mood.

The same with budgeting. I can't budget and don't do it, but with my boyfriend I could finally start saving and also realized that I probably don't need ten kinds of face creams.

Anyway, my boyfriend is also a better worker. When he does something, he really does it and does it well. Watch me at work and you will see me procrastinating for a couple of hours during coffee breaks before I finally write a page for my thesis.

And this leads me to the following. It is often assumed that women are better at household tasks and should stay at home with children rather than men.
I claim the opposite. Some men are better at being domestic gods and clearly enjoy it more (like is the case with my partner).
But the real conclusion of the story is that I am so lucky to have met my boyfriend.

Tv is the best babysitter in the world!

noreply@blogger.com (Ekaterina) — Wed, 12 Jan 2011 15:32:00 +0000

Ahh, I really don't want my child to watch too much television. In fact, I don't want him to watch television at all! When he is ten I want him to start his day with a book rather than with a switch of TV control. I was brought up like this: television was restricted at home, and when I grew older I lived for years without any TV. In fact, I hate TV. Apart from a few programs, I find that the current TV is mostly made out of trash. I mean, what kind of life fulfilment or educational value can you derive from something like: 'I am a celebrity, get me out of here?'
But since my baby son was born, television is, to my greatest shame, is almost constantly on. I don't watch it, but my baby does. And frankly when I have to choose between chasing him at different dangerous corners of the room, where at the end I feel like I have run a marathon, I rather prefer to stare into the show of Waybuloo and have a moment of peace. True, the show is quite bizarre: some piplings (an exotic name for a hybrid between cats, rabbits and butterflies) are doing yoga. I can't image a nine-month old baby (or any other baby of child for that matter) doing any yoga, but it seems to have a calming effect on my child (and on me as well, since when he watches the programme I can relax for a few minutes). Another favourite of my baby is the song called 'In Happiness' sung by Alexis Jordan. I don't particularly agree with his taste of music, but I am seriously considering buying a DVD of the song to put it on every time my baby is naughty or annoyed. In fact, I have to admit that apart from my husband, television is the best babysitter in the world.
Should I worry that we have so much television at home? I don't think so. I think that everything depends on the attitude of the parents. Together with my husband we have a restricted use of the TV. It is never used as a background, we never watch it during the day or in the evenings and watch only pre-recorded, selected programs. We also read a lot and I make sure that I read to my son as well already now. I hope that my son will pick up our habits and understand that books are way more fulfilling than some trash on tv.
But for now, Waybuloo, here we go!

Are men simply lazy?

noreply@blogger.com (Ekaterina) — Wed, 27 Oct 2010 11:29:00 +0000

My dad was always a perfect example to me about what to look in a man. He knows how to cook, how to change nappies and how to clean a house. In fact, as long as I’ve known him he was always participating in household tasks.
Therefore, I would never settle with a man who would expect that it’s up to a woman to do the majority of household tasks.
However, the reality shows that in majority of cases, women are still responsible for most of cleaning, cooking and children care. Even when they work alongside with their partners.
And, in my opinion, women only are to blame for this reality.
Take one of my cousins as an example. He partner works and so does she. However, she makes a fuss around her partner when he is back from work, as if he is more tired than her and can’t lift his finger to do a simple dinner. Honestly, when feminists fought for equal rights, did they fight for extra work, along with keeping all household tasks on their shoulders? I don’t think so.
When I met my current partner, he was used to being lazy, as perhaps are the majority of men. He didn’t know how to cook and apparently never really cleaned a house.
But already on our second date he made a rely fantastic dinner.
At first I thought, that he did it only in order to impress me, but later it appeared that he actually loves cooking and doesn’t mind cleaning, and also taking care of our child, including changing nappies. In fact, for a moment or so, I even thought that maybe I should work and he could fulfil a role that usually women are entitled to: staying at home to take care of the children. But since we decided that we both actually enjoy our careers, we decided to share everything in the house, with my partner still doing most of household shores while I work on my PhD.
Really, ladies, don’t let your partners escape from household tasks! You are entitled equally to rest alongside with your partners. And if your partner says that he can’t do it, it means that he is simply lazy. Maybe, the next thing feminists should fight for are equal rights to rest and fun.

New stage in life

noreply@blogger.com (Ekaterina) — Tue, 05 Oct 2010 10:57:00 +0000

Well, a baby really changes everything! It is the most joyful experience but also life-changing and sometimes, quite tiring. We are very lucky that our boy is a really very easy one. He hardly ever cries, sleeps through the night since he is two months old, eats well, and smiles and laughs a lot. Actually, I start worrying that he smiles too much at total strangers, but well, he is such a good-natured chap. I am also very lucky with my partner, who does everything at the house, does most of the cooking and absolutely adores our boy. In fact, the boy adores him back senseless, which is fun to see.
I finally got my energy back but am stuck at balancing more towards size 12, which is a slight problem as almost all my clothes are size ten or eight. On the other hand, I feel good and still have time to loose my weight to my old size.
I finally finished writing my book and things look promising at this moment, but more on this when I have something more concrete. On the other hand, I am stuck with my PhD for which I have to write 80,000 words! If not for this I have the best job ever, - relatively well-paid and with an absolutely free schedule, which is heaven when you have a small baby. I also might go back to interpreting, which is more of a hobby than a job, as I love it.
So, I am back, but at a slower pace, as my PhD is a priority at this moment, so that in a couple of years we might try for another baby.
Picture taken from http://www.publicdomainpictures.net/view-image.php?image=3858&picture=bored-woman-studying

The birth of my son and the joys of labour

noreply@blogger.com (Ekaterina) — Fri, 09 Apr 2010 05:10:00 +0000

I suspected right from the start that my boyfriend has psychic abilities. He predicted the exact day when I would go into labour. Doctors can say whatever they want but they can’t defy the nature. My boyfriend had his own calculations in his head (you see, - our baby was definitely planned), and even if officially I was five days overdue, on the second of April (the calculated due date of my sweetheart), right after the clock turned twelve at night, my labour began.
Now, if you are terrified about hearing anything about labour, I would advise you to skip this tiny bit and go right to the paragraph where I talk about our baby. But if you are interested in some funny side of women in labour, - read on.
And well, maybe my labour did start on its due unofficial date, but it certainly didn’t end there.
I was in labour for the whole bloody two days. And that, after I was hoping that my labour would be painless and fast.
It was definitely not fast and it was absolutely painful. And it really wasn’t that I planned.
According to my wishful thinking, I would deliver our baby at home. Without any pain relief. As a tough Russian woman, coming from a family on my farther side where women can sacrifice their lives and follow their sweethearts to Siberia, to raise kids and battle with communists trying to take off their lands, I hoped that I would be the same. After all, women started to have any pain relief only in the second half of the last century.
At the end the pain relief was forced on me.
My labour did start in fact quite peacefully at home. It was going on fine, until a day later my midwife and I came to realization that it was progressing too slowly and we decided to transfer me to the hospital so that at least I could get some natural pain relief and rest. I did get that, but then labour continued for another day, and by the end of the third of April we were all bloody exhausted, my boyfriend, my mom, my midwife and I.
At some point I actually got a glimpse of sanity in my head and almost asked for epidural. You see, my baby was taking his time to get out. The pain was in fact quite bearable (not that I was enjoying it), but going for two days without sleep can drive anyone slightly crazy. Especially when you are in labour.
Anyway, the single sane thought (asking for epidural) didn’t last for long and I continued to appear tough. I mean, doctors invented this thing ( epidural) for some reason. It does help in labour. But being Russian and being Cossack, I went on with my stubbornness to accept any pain relief and suffer as a result.
Ad well, since the baby was still stuck inside and apparently not bothering at all that four people were waiting for him in the room, I got a drip into my vein to accelerate the labour.
And then, I was in agony.
It was a shock for all, as I think that at some point I passed out, and the next moment the crash team was there rushing me into the theatre. And I ended up with the whole spinal. Quite a difference from natural home birth.
Anyway, the effect of the spinal was total bliss (and if I decide to ever repeat the same thing I will certainly go for epidural) and even more bliss was the arrival of my baby.
He was crying like mad, weighted around 3 kilos, is absolutely gorgeous, cute and handsome, and got the Argall scale of 9,5 (the highest rate).
Now, before you start laughing about the fact that I don’t tell you his exact weight, wait for a moment.
What difference does it make what is the exact weight of your baby at birth, provided that it is within the norm and the baby is very healthy?
You see my point?
But anyway, even if my baby, when he was born was a tiny little bit, since then he breastfeeds me non-stop, has a very placid and lovely character, and a matching name for his size.
In fact he got the name of the size of a skyscraper in New York city.
How about that for a very lucky little boy?

To shave or not to shave….

noreply@blogger.com (Ekaterina) — Sun, 14 Mar 2010 13:26:00 +0000

What do you think is the major concern of women when they are in labour?
The most logical thought would be that the major concern is whether everything is fine with your baby who is going to be born…After all, this is the purpose of labour: to get a healthy and happy baby into this world.
However, this logical thought doesn’t reflect the reality, apparently.
The major concern of the majority of women when they are in labour is whether they had time to shave their legs.
No, seriously. I am not joking. It’s what I learned at midwives’ gathering the other day.
Actually I had quite a laugh. As a woman who is due to go into labour any moment, I am worried about a few things. My major concern is the baby, that together with the pain. I am mostly scared about the pain which comes before the greatest joy comes into this world. A friend of mine asked me the other day: when the delivery is due? You can conclude that she never had children herself…after all babies are not delivered by post in a special package. But with my big day approaching and fast, I wouldn’t mind that it’s the bird from the childhood stories which brings me my baby, -safe, happy and healthy without the labour pain in between.
But while my biggest worry is the pain, at the meeting of midwifes I learned that it’s not what preoccupies most of women when they are giving birth.
Some women worry that they didn’t have time to eat all the food they made just before going into labour. Others are preoccupied with the dress they are wearing.
But the major concern apparently is whether a woman in labour has shaved her legs.
One of the midwives told quite a funny story. She had a Romanian woman who was in labour and although she couldn’t speak very good English, the midwife could still understand that the woman was very unhappy that her legs were not shaved.
You must think that it is just one of the examples. And no, other midwives confirmed this obsession of many women, and after having checked the internet for additional information, I came to the conclusion that whether your legs are shaved or not- is indeed a big issue on the agenda of women in labour.
You would think that in labour a woman shouldn’t worry about such things. You are indeed at your most vulnerable and painful state, and how do your legs look or in which state is your hair should perhaps be the last thing on your mind. And well, no…women still care about how they look, and surprisingly, they care not about how they look in front of their partners (in case, they are present during labour), - they are worried about what midwives might think of them.
Personally, I am quite sad after having heard and read such stories. It seems that the pressure of the society to look and behave in a certain way even reaches its influence in a labour room. And it’s not the midwifes who are responsible, - trust me, - they really don’t care about the state of your legs. It’s us, individual women, who remain victims of the mainstream even when we should forget all about society and looks and focus on the most wonderful thing in the world. Your baby.
And it is simply amazing how far this indoctrination can go.
I told this story of shaved legs to a friend of mine who is also pregnant and who is a very intelligent woman. She laughed with me about this phenomenon, but added, nevertheless, at the end of our conversation.
“Actually, it’s good that you told me! I just remembered that I haven’t shaved my legs for two weeks. I don’t want to be unshaved during labour.”
What can I say?
I think that when I have my normal brain back in order (after pregnancy) I will seriously think of becoming a feminist.

Some reflexions on the interview with Paulo Coelho

noreply@blogger.com (Ekaterina) — Sun, 07 Mar 2010 21:59:00 +0000

Two days ago the Financial Times published an interview with Paulo Coelho.
I found it interesting, because, first of all, I do like Paulo Coelho and, second, I liked that the writer chose Facebook as a platform to discuss the interview. And as a researcher doing research on Facebook, I like that Paulo Coelho uses it often and also tries to provoke an occasional debate on it.
The interview in itself wasn’t that I would expect when someone interviews Paulo Coelho, but maybe this is exactly the reason why it turned out to be so interesting.
I disagreed with the interviewer on a number of points. I am not convinced that the central message of Paulo Coelho’s books is that we all can change our lives, but more that we should follow our dreams (which means that sometimes we don’t have to change anything), and I would definitely try to explore more as to how Paulo Coelho lives his life on a daily basis. Also I didn’t like the emphasis of the journalist on sex and religion during the interview.
But the interview aside, one quite disturbing thing which really emerges from the interview is that Paulo eats a boiled egg for lunch in a five-star restaurant (where the interview took place).
Apart from the obvious hint for all future journalists who want to interview Paulo and want to eat while doing it is that they should book him for breakfast or dinner (apparently it’s when the writer does eat), what struck me after having read the interview but also after having read the debate on Facebook is the current phenomenon to make a rock star out of writers.
And it’s perhaps one of the things I did like in the interview, - that the interviewer didn’t portray himself as a devoted fan but hinted at some ‘human’ aspects of the bestseller writer.
The phenomenon of Paulo Coelho could potentially be actually frightening, if indeed, Paulo Ceolho failed to remain so human.
The fan community on Facebook devoted to Paulo is actually of the same (if not more!) size and devotion as the fan community of Robbie Williams (which I also follow rather closely).
But there is a difference, however, between, being a rock star and a writer. Isn't?
The dangerous thing with a fan community is that you are considered as an outcast or are excluded from the community if you allow yourself some sort of criticism of the star you admire.
I like both Robbie Williams and Paulo Coelho, but it doesn’t mean that I like all their songs or books or embrace all aspects of their personality.
Isn’t that we should still try to achieve? Some form of critical thinking?
Otherwise, being ‘blindly’ a fan can lead sometimes to disastrous results, as history perhaps shows.
Paulo Coelho is a force to be reckoned with. He writes well, he writes easy, he appeals to the hearts of people. With so many admirers he can do quite a lot of things.
And he does. And thanks god that he does it in a good way.
He attracts attention to political causes and humanitarian issues, he does have his own charity and from my own experience I even happen to know that he replies to his fans when they write him personal emails (and sometimes, even angry ones).
And he does eat a boiled egg for lunch and goes for a run afterwards.
If anything, I like Paulo Coelho even more after the interview.
But still…aren’t we pushing too far when we try to make out of writers some sort of rock stars?

P.S. Picture taken from the cover of the interview with Paulo Coelho in Financial Times by James Ferguson, which can be found on http://www.ft.com/cms/s/2/7c4d8928-27e0-11df-9598-00144feabdc0.html

Never go shopping with your boyfriend. Never…

noreply@blogger.com (Ekaterina) — Sat, 06 Mar 2010 19:20:00 +0000

Women and shopping…well, you know… I don’t have to elaborate on this issue. Not really.
Women love shopping. We all know it.
Of course, this addiction comes in different shapes and preferences. We all have different budgets, different time schedules and different circumstances. But as a general rule, - give to any woman a credit card with unlimited spending power and some free time, - and you will transform a nun into a shopaholic.
I have my own shopping routine. I really can’t stand big shopping trips. I prefer to go to shops only occasionally, for small things, and then have a lunch and a nap afterwards. But since I always end up buying at least something, my weekly escapades to shops do end up by the end of the month as one big shopping trip.
But one thing I really dislike is shopping with a boyfriend.
Let me elaborate on it by giving you an example.
Like today.
My boyfriend and I went to Oxfam shop. It’s a charity shop, and therefore, relatively cheap and I do feel less guilty when I spend my money in it.
So, once in the shop I don’t hesitate in selecting the stuff that I want. Quite a few things as it turns out. I want some books, I want some candles, I want some baskets.
“Are you sure that we need anymore of these?” My boyfriend points out to my baskets when he sees them. He hasn’t yet spotted another basket, filled with candles and books…and more candles.
Now, how to explain to a man that when it comes to buying stuff it’s not always what you need, but what you want and fancy? He doesn’t like my addiction to plants either…he thinks that they simply take too much space. Weird, isn’t?
“Well…” I try to explain, “I need baskets to put stuff in them.”
“Which stuff?”
I push another basket (filled with stuff) behind the bookshelf. I have to forget about it now…
“Well, like my creams…”
He sighs…
“I don’t understand…you have ten baskets in the attic, thousands of them in the bathroom, how more do you need?”
How to explain the obvious to a man? You always need additional baskets, or creams, or candles to that matter.
But then, in order to understand such things, you probably need to be a female.
Anyway, we did buy the baskets at the end. But not the candles. I decided not to show them to my boyfriend. The shop assistant will probably be surprised when he finds a basket full of stuff behind a bookshelf. On the other hand, if it’s a female shop assistant, she is probably used to it by now.
As to my shopping experience…well, it is indeed much more efficient, cheaper and quicker when you shop with a boyfriend.
But in order to have fun (and cry at the end of the month when I get my credit card bills) I will go back to Oxfam on Monday, have a lunch afterwards and a nap.
Yep, sounds like a nice idea.

American Idol, Simon Cowell and TV Licence

noreply@blogger.com (Ekaterina) — Tue, 23 Feb 2010 11:43:00 +0000

Gosh. Not only did I end up watching the TV, but I also ended up watching the American Idol.
Not that it was a conscious decision on my part…
True, I have to admit that I was slightly curious about certain things happening on the TV. While living in the current culture, you can’t really escape all the talk about celebrities, what Katie did next, Big Brother and the like. Though more I heard, less I wanted to ever have the TV in my house, especially after having met the TV licence in the UK and dealing with their constant harassment letters.
My decision not to watch any TV was at first political. After the start of the war in Iraq I took my TV into the basement and told myself that I wouldn’t allow any propaganda into my house. The thing with capitalistic propaganda is that it is so subtle and outrageously biased that I couldn’t even laugh anymore, - especially while watching innocent people dying and such a great culture destroyed (I mean Iraq). At least under communist propaganda, there was some space to giggle about the whole thing. We would constantly hear something like: “Soviet Union is the best nation in the world,” which would send everyone into laughing hysterics (even if confided to the kitchen space), but at least wouldn’t stay on your mind for any long time. People still lived their own lives, without being too much obsessed with what was portrayed by the media (in most cases, - just lies…but at least we knew that they were lies).
Later, the decision not to watch any TV stopped being political and more a practical one. I noticed that I didn’t miss any TV. Actually I started to enjoy the sudden calmness and quietness and non-intervention into my home from any media outlet (apart from some short spells on the Internet). I read books instead and invited friends for dinners.
When I moved to the UK, the decision not to watch any TV became again rather political, as I really disliked the attitude of the TV licence, which couldn’t come round (and accept) the fact, that some people are really not interested in watching any TV.
But then came the New Year and my mom gave me a present: a subscription to the TV licence. Even though we are related by genes, sometimes it seems that we come from two different planets. My mom is a fan of Strictly Come Dancing, constantly records some movies and currently even watches the Olympics. She could never understand the fact that her own daughter prefers a good book to a good movie.
But anyway, getting the TV licence is quite an expensive present. Especially that I still had an old TV box. And once you have something in the house, - you tend to use it.
At first I just started to have a short sneak as to what was on TV (my boyfriend, on the other hand, immediately released his passion to watch constantly football). There wasn’t much of interest, until by accident I came across the American Idol, - one of the programmes I really never thought I would ever watch or enjoy. After all as a sociologist, studying media culture, I knew that this TV show was made based purely on commercial calculations: to attract viewers, sell commercials and force people into text messaging by phone companies.
But who would expect that I would have a crush on Simon Cowell?
But it’s what happened. When I saw the British judge with his blatant comments on the show, the one who was described by The Times as “heartless, thoughtless and superficial – the flotsam and jetsam of the polluted seas of celebrity that is likely to sink without trace into toxic foam", I found him irresistibly charming. And now I am hooked on watching every single episode of American Idol week after week.
I suppose, we all have our weak points…

Why is it hard to be a man nowadays

noreply@blogger.com (Ekaterina) — Fri, 12 Feb 2010 10:54:00 +0000

Trust me, I wouldn’t like to be a man nowadays.
It’s hard enough to be a woman (see my previous post), that, with the constant pressure to be perfect in all aspects of one’s life, but my sincere suspicion is that it is even harder to be a man.
Think for a moment. If women live nowadays under the slogan: you can have it all, men, on the other hand, live (or are forced to live) under the slogan, - you should do it all.
In fact, with the configuration of the current society and the way family and all other traditional values are evolving, - it is very confusing to be a man.
Men of today are under pressure to try to achieve something, for which biologically (and historically) they are not really prepared to be. Yes, - they still have this pressure to be a provider (nothing wrong with it in fact, - that provided that you don’t add to it all the additional crap), but also have an athletic body, learn how to cook, clean the house, learn how to deal with their feelings and with the feelings of everyone else.
In fact, men of today are forced to become a hybrid between a man and a woman.
Trust me, men DON’T like to wash dishes or clean the house (with some exceptions, of course). In case they do cook, they usually cook better than women, - but here again, - it is a matter of individual choice.
Biologically, men are more into assuming a role of a protector, while women are more into taking care of the house and providing the emotional support.
However, nowadays, men have to know how to do it all.
Take for instance the G-spot.
I am sorry, it’s already confusing for me as a woman, - all this talk about the G-spot. I might have one, - but I really don’t want my man to explore its location and see him being frustrated if he can’t find one. In my bedroom I just want to relax.
Yes, we did take sexual power into our own hands (we, - women), but looking at the history of evolution, - men and women could always find the way as to how to pleasure each other in bed, without all the technicalities, with which we are bombarded from all corners in our lives.
Or think about emotions.
Traditionally, it’s up to a woman to talk and think in terms of emotions. A man just wants to come home, feel welcomed there, relax for a bit in front of a television while watching some football, eat, - and then, he will be all yours.
But no, today they have to learn how to talk about their feelings and emotions instead of going for a usual relaxation routine (that, - watching football, - or hunting, but I assume that it’s not politically correct to even mention this activity here) and just take it easy.
No, our society makes it hard to take it easy on both men and women.
Men can’t be men anymore, and women are transforming themselves into men.
And I would add to it quite a scary thought, - it looks quite dangerous for men in terms of their evolution.
I’ve read this research recently, that scientists were able to impregnate a woman without the help of a male sperm.
Looks like we don’t need men anymore.
To be totally honest with you, - if I were a man, I would seriously freak out.
And if we believe the theory of Darwin, it looks like the next species which face eminent extinction, - are male species indeed.
Now…the picture might look more cheerful for women, but I don’t want to be a woman here without men.

More on feminism, or how women of today got themselves into big trouble

noreply@blogger.com (Ekaterina) — Thu, 11 Feb 2010 12:17:00 +0000

Right, I will go straight to the point: it’s much easier to be a woman in Russia.
How to put it?
First of all, thanks to communism (yes, communism) women have had equal rights in my native country already for a while. So, if you wanted to be a doctor or a lawyer or simply work, - no one could stop you.
Secondly, equal rights didn’t transform themselves into all aspects (thanks god), like women becoming men or men becoming women.
And thirdly, women in Russia somehow managed to keep this quite cheerful idea that it’s up to a man to support the woman as well as the family.
I don’t really believe in all this biological stuff or the argument that men come from Mars while women come from Venus, but I do believe that men and women are different from each other and that it’s in the nature of things to feel different as well.
Women have different hormones, they have different bodies (at least for now), they are more inclined to take care of the house, clean better the house and arrange it in a more appealing way.
Men are more into football, procrastinating on the sofa and leaving women to deal with the house, as somehow, this feeling of cosiness is missing in their brains.
Therefore, women in Russia can be envied in fact. Not only can they work if they want to, but they also usually get the support from their men, are still being pampered, offered flowers and flirted with (no one in their right mind is going to sue you for sexual harassment in case you compliment your female colleague on her gorgeous look).
But what women did manage to achieve here, may I ask?
Okay, the idea of feminist movement in the fifties-sixties did have its point. After all, anyone can go mad if you have to stay the whole day in the house and take care of the kids. Everyone should have the right to express herself in a creative way or work if there is this urge. Though, on the way of aiming for equal rights, we somehow forgot that it wasn’t the work which really mattered, - but the opportunity to find the job where one could feel really happy. In other words, it’s expressing oneself creatively which matters, not work itself.
However, nowadays, women, in my opinion, really suffer, at least here in the West.
What did they end up with?
Work, still taking care of the house and the kids, as well as with the pressure to stay gorgeous, athletic and slim.
As one of my favourite columnist, Christine Garvin, writes on her site (Living Holistically with a sense of humour), - instead of urging us to do more, “shouldn’t there also be voices calling for us simply to do less?” (http://www.holisticwithhumor.com/sleep-aint-just-for-suckas-anymore-2)
Oh I can’t agree more with what she is saying. Instead of striving to perfection and trying to resemble Madonna or a female CEO, we should try to take things easier and urge our men to do more, - otherwise, soon, we will end up doing everything, including hard physical labour (though come to think of it, - it's what some of us are doing already).
Just like Christine, I feel that I need a nap just after having written this and reflecting on feminism.
Yes, it’s what I am going to do, right now. Have a nap.

How much are you ready to invest into your hair?

noreply@blogger.com (Ekaterina) — Mon, 08 Feb 2010 22:03:00 +0000

Women and their hair…a book can be written about this particular relationship.
There are hair dressing salons, there are good and bad hair days, there are billions of different kinds of hair beauty products (as well as face products, but this needs a separate post, if not an entire novel), different styles of hair, different looks and different shampoos.
Since I don’t have time for a book on women and hair I will limit myself to shampoos.
If you belong to those lucky women who have found their ‘good’ shampoo already ages ago, stick to it and don’t spend on it a fortune (but then, you still probably spend a fortune on either hairdressing salons or hair dying products, - that, if you are typical woman), you must possess an incredible intelligence or avoided the consumerism boom with the help of your (or your wallet’s) protective angel.
My case is slightly different as I did spend a fortune on all kinds of shampoos and conditioners until I came to a simple conclusion that the cheapest and oldest brand is after all the best (which doesn’t apply to face products for some reason, but more on it in a different post) and most economical.
But why is it that it takes such a long time to face the obvious? You DON’T need the most expensive shampoo in order to have beautiful hair.
First of all, the quality of hair doesn’t depend on the shampoo only. It’s your genes which play a role, the lifestyle, the diet and the stress level. But still, like maniacs, we are ready to spend a crazy amount of time (and money) on all kinds of different shampoos, conditioners, serums, hair masks (and the stuff which keeps on being invented on a daily basis to keep us coming back to shops) just to end up feeling frustrated when we don’t achieve the result that we want. So, most of us rush to hair dressing salons or feel depressed because of a bad hair day…I know a woman who goes first to one hairdresser to wash it and brush it and then immediately rushes to another hairdresser for a blow dry. And she does it on a weekly basis and it takes her four hours all together.
I never went to such extremes but I did experiment with all kinds of shampoos and conditioners. I tried all kinds of brands and spent quite a lot of money at the end, as I assumed that the more expensive is the better, especially when hair is concerned. I mean, isn’t that markets try to make us believe and for that we fall day after day?
I don’t know what was exactly the turning point in my case, that apart from a guess that when you expect a baby, you DO revise your life priorities and consequently, your budget, but I decided to try the cheapest and the oldest brand, - Head and Shoulders (and no, they don’t pay me or provide me with their testing products, - not that I would mind) and was amazed by the results. Yes, this product does indeed do to your hair that it promises, - something that my dad was telling me for ages and something which I was too stubborn to believe, - and I have been happy with it ever since (mhh, a month, perhaps?).
But this weekend my sister came over to visit and she said that she uses Pantene Pro V shampoo already for a year and it does miracles to her hair (and since my sister is only eighteen years old, - I can only assume that she is much smarter than me), - so I simply might give it a try.
Thanks god that at least it’s also in the cheapest range, but when women are concerned, - it does end up as the most expensive item on this planet, and capitalist markets go straight after it.

Live apart or live together? The feminist perspective

noreply@blogger.com (Ekaterina) — Mon, 08 Feb 2010 19:29:00 +0000

Some of my friends often ask me as to why my boyfriend and I have decided to live separately and have an arrangement to spend only some nights together. I am even asked whether I am not a feminist or something, as after all, we are also waiting for a baby, and we are in love.
My first reaction to the feminist question is an angry one since I am not a feminist. In fact, my native country, -Russia, is one of the examples where the feminist movement failed and badly.
Russian women can’t be feminists, simply because they already hold the reins and don’t have to prove anything to anyone, and especially to men. But we also still like the old nice traditions, like being offered flowers, being pampered, flirted with (at work and outside work), - etc, etc. In fact, we really love to remain women.
But though in my particular case my decision had nothing to do with feminism or independence (and more with the fact that I didn’t want to bring the negative energy of some people from my boyfriend’s past into my house), I did think for a while as to advantages and disadvantages when you decide to live separately even if you are in a loving relationship.
For a start, you have more nights of rest. Snoring as we know is a major sleep disturber (I won’t elaborate as to who snores more, but with an intelligent deduction, it’s easy to guess).
Then, you have more space for yourself. As a woman, I do need lots of space. For my plants, clothes, books, candles, etc, etc, something which men can live easily without, but women can’t be kept apart from. And I still do end up with socks of my boyfriend around the house…
Also you don’t need to hide what you buy. I don’t know why but even if you buy the stuff (I mean bags and clothes, obviously) on your hard-earned salary, you still don’t reveal all your purchases to you second half. I don’t know what it is (guilt, perhaps? Desire to keep secrets? Fear to reveal as to how much you are actually spending on yourself? A guess that the boyfriend won’t consider Dior face creams and four new dresses as an absolute necessity?), but trust me, while living on my own I can wait for packages with my orders online in peace.
Then you avoid the cost of emotional labour. For those who do live with men, you probably know, - they ask for the same energy, time and affection as babies. Yep, - tiring and exhausting, especially when you happen to raise your own babies at the same time.
You keep your house clean and tidy exactly as you want and plan and for as long as you consider it necessary. So, you also save on physical labour.
Having said all this, there are, of course, disadvantages as well. When you love someone, it doesn’t really matter whether this person snores, farts or asks for lots of attention. You want to spend as much time as possible with this person.
So, I would say, that when you are really in love, you do manage to live together and quite nicely, I must add. And in my case, as I’ve already said, living apart is mostly due to circumstances and nothing else.

Saint Valentine…oh no, not again, please!

noreply@blogger.com (Ekaterina) — Sat, 30 Jan 2010 20:42:00 +0000

The 14th of February, the most romantic (apparently) day during the year is looming.
Or, it’s what we are made to believe.
Saint Valentine’s day and preparations for it make me laugh (or rather cry, but more on it later), in the same way as the sudden resurrection of faith in my native country Russia. I mean, for decades there was no god and no religion, then all of a sudden everyone rushes to churches to get baptised and Christmas becomes an official holiday (forbidden before then, without that it actually bothered anyone that much, as far as I reckon).
The hilarity of Saint Valentine, however, is something which makes me wonder as to why people make so much fuss about it. If you love your partner, you should be able to express your love on some other days, not necessary on the 14th of February…Or buy gifts to your mother not on a specially designated day, or even better, buy flowers to all women you know not necessary on the 8th of March (the official day of women in Russia).
The fact that all these festivities are nothing more than a carefully thought market strategy to boost sales for companies and attract couples to restaurants, seldom crosses our minds, however.
Think for a moment, - you don’t really want to be left behind…If you are alone on that day, or didn’t get a present from your loved one, or at least, have not received a card, - you might start getting this annoying feeling that something must be wrong with you, or in your relationship, or in your life in general.
There is nothing wrong with you and trust me, almost all couples suffer on that particular day.
First of all, you need to find a venue where to celebrate. This is perhaps the biggest nightmare of the whole day, as restaurants are overbooked, and those which are not booked are simply awful. If you are a millionaire, at least you might get some good food, as well as good service, but for the rest of us, I am afraid, this might turn into quite an unpleasant experience and even an upset stomach…as happened to me last year.
Second, you need to buy a present. For a man, it’s easier. Women after all, are much less complicated creatures. Buy us some chocolate, a scarf, a perfume, a cream, or anything of the kind, - and we are happy.
But if you are a woman buying a present for a man, you know what I am talking about. Buying a present for a man is one of the most difficult things in life.
What on earth can you buy them?
Just have a look around the shops prior to the Saint Valentine’s day. None of them has any presents for men. They are overloaded with everything pink and glossy…the female stuff.
If your man has a hobby, yes, you can buy him a present. But there is a limit as to how much can you buy of the same thing. My boyfriend got books from me on his birthday, on Christmas day, on our anniversary…or, and on last Saint Valentine’s day, of course.
You can buy clothes…but men are actually much trickier than women in this field. A tee-shirt has to show muscles, or be of black colour, or whatever, but trust me, - in this department, men are better to be left alone to make their own choice.
Since both me and my boyfriend agree on the hilarity of Saint Valentine’s day, this year we decided to stay at home. We cook better than that we ate last year in a 'fancy' reastaurant, and it is much cosier. Or, and cheaper, of course.
But we still need to exchange presents.
I am a woman, so for my boyfriend it’s dead easy. But I still need to buy him a present.
Any ideas, ladies?

Is butter a new killing device?

noreply@blogger.com (Ekaterina) — Fri, 22 Jan 2010 19:15:00 +0000

All lovers of butter beware! That you are eating and probably enjoying a lot, might kill you and fast!
That, if you believe a new research and a leading surgeon who called for butter to be banned.
Butter is bad. Butter is loaded with saturated fat. It should be replaced with a low-fat spread. It can potentially provoke a heart disease, kill you, destroy your life…It’s what the research says apparently.
Now, that’s quite a devastating piece of news for some of us. I love butter myself, though I could probably live without it (unlike my cigarettes). My mom, on the other hand, would perhaps be the first to leave the country and move somewhere where butter won’t be banned (in case it is banned in the UK). Butter is her biggest eating addiction. More than once I caught her eating butter during the night!
But the sadness of this new research is not only about my mom (even if her life would become certainly miserable as a result), the sadness of this discovery lies in the direction where our obsession with all things being healthy currently leads us.
Butter is next on the list of things NOT to do, like:
Smoking (actually, by how things look at this moment, I won’t be surprised if smoking will soon be considered as a criminal offence)
Drinking alcohol
Eating sweets
Drinking soft drinks
Procrastinating on your sofa with a book or just doing nothing, instead of running around and achieving things in life
Enjoying your life in general

Now, if you don’t do anything of the above, go regularly to the gym, meditate, eat only healthy food and put a smile on your face like a robot (apparently, it’s what they advise so that you can be happy, - or pretend to be happy, as sounds more plausible to me), - your life probably needs some radical revision. That, apart if all of the things you do come naturally, and are not forced upon like some kind of torture because it’s a new fashionable thing.

After all, life is all about balance. If you smoke and enjoy smoking, repeat with each cigarette that every time you smoke , it will increase your life by ten years. If you love drinking wine or indulge occasionally in a soft drink or a hamburger, - try to remind yourself that you are not a machine programmed to do certain things, in certain amounts and at certain times. You are a human being who has the right to enjoy his or her life.
And butter? Well, until it is banned, I would strongly advise you to enjoy it while it’s still here, or as my mom, - start planning a move to a country where they manage to live holistically but without a stick over your head.
But most importantly, TRY not to believe all the ‘healthy’ research which comes your way.

The perfect way to a perfect diet. Porcupine’s dilemma

noreply@blogger.com (Ekaterina) — Sun, 17 Jan 2010 12:44:00 +0000

Ektie, the small porcupine was in deep thinking mode.
An annoying dilemma has been bothering him already for quite some time.
Ektie was trying to loose weight.
Not that he actually wanted it in the first place. Secretly Ektie was convinced that he possessed rather a gorgeous body, and most importantly, he was feeling comfortable in it.
But something strange was happening in the animal kingdom. It’s like all animals became obsessed with being slim overnight.
Apparently, nowadays, one had to be slim, toned, muscled and firm. Animals were rushing into gyms and all kinds of diets.
Ektie hated both the gym and the diets. He had already tried several of them.
Without any visible result…. as Ektie could witness, - that apart from feeling much more frustrated and even unhappy.
For a week or so he tried eating the cabbage soap. Yes, he did loose some weight, but also his sleep and his radiant appearance. Not only he started to hate the cabbage (his suspicion was that it was for the rest of his life), but he also developed some serious stomach problems.
Then he also tried what they call low-carb diet, all sorts of pills and meal substitutes.
But it simply wasn’t working!
Ektie took a bite from his chocolate bar (with a feeling of guilt) and sighed. Why life was so unfair?
Only recently the animal kingdom was having fun. No one was assessing each other in terms of looks, status and size.
But it seemed that everything started to change. If one wanted to have some sort of recognition and respect, it was necessary to have a size zero figure, have a recent brand of a car and a new plasma tv.
Gone were the days when everyone was judged according to one’s personality.
Take for example, the pig Spike, - one of the best friends of Ektie. He was fun, joyful, great friend, loyal and smart.
And well, because of the recent weight loosing mania, Spike wasn’t daring to leave his house anymore! And Ektie even suspected that Spike was depressed.
Unheard of! Being a pig and being depressed!
If only, the Eagle, the animals’ guardian would soon reappear! If only…
But no one has heard of him already for ages.
Meanwhile, all directions as to how to rule the animal kingdom were coming from the magical raven, who was stuck in Amsterdam visiting coffee shops and smoking marihuana.
The world was going mad….

Please, speak clearly after each question

noreply@blogger.com (Ekaterina) — Fri, 08 Jan 2010 19:57:00 +0000

One of the biggest nightmares I am facing in the UK is the automatic phone service. Or automated response service, as they name it. You usually end up with this service when you call to pay a bill, or any other public service which is after your money.
I suppose that this phenomenon is due to outsourcing and saving money on the personnel. Instead of talking directly to a person you are first being ‘tortured’ (in my case at least) by a voice (usually female) who persistently wants to hear your personal details, after which you usually still end up with a personal advisor.
In the Netherlands I was usually being transferred to the personal advisor right from the start. It was rare that I could even understand the question being asked.
Here in the UK I try my best. After all, I am supposed to speak fluent English.
And well, not according to the high-pitched irritating female acting as the automated response service.
I do feel like I am passing a school exam. Mind you, the experience is already quite unpleasant even before I start speaking, since usually I call these kind of services in order to pay a bill.
But then it becomes even less pleasant, once I start answering the questions of the female voice.
“Please, tell us if you are the person holding the account number.”
“Yes,” I answer, trying to mimic the accent of the female, which in some cases can be quite Scottish and quite difficult to grasp.
“Please, tell us if you are willing to pay your last bill.”
Of course, I don’t, but I answer ‘Yes’.
So far so good. The problem starts when I have to say more complicated things, like the name of my street or my street number. In general I pass the questions of the street and post code on the second attempt, but the real stumbling block is the street number.
“Please, tell us your street number.”
“108.” I answer. In my opinion, it is an easy number to grasp.
“Did I understand your correctly, you said 188.”
“No,” I answer, “108”
“Did I understand you correctly, you said 18.”
“No,” I answer, “108”
“Did I understand you correctly, you said 188.”
By that time I start to swear on the phone and I do hope that it is indeed recorded as promised in the beginning of the conversation with the machine. My sincere desire is that whoever invented this piece of bullshit does indeed study the customer response service.
“One hundred and eight!” I shout into the phone.
“Sorry, I couldn’t understand what you were saying, I am transferring you to one of our personal advisors.”
By the time I am being transferred to a personal advisor I want to strangle the woman behind the automatic voice (even with the knowledge that it’s really not her fault) and I want to strangle the personal advisor himself.
I really don’t understand how these things are being made.
First of all, yes, I do have an accent. I am Russian after all. But when I hear some Yorkshire accent I am even more puzzled as to how the automatic machine can decipher that. But no, apparently, the system doesn’t have any problems with that, as I asked my boyfriend several times to speak with a Yorkshire accent to the female voice, and she didn’t have any problems to proceed to the next question after 108.
Which leaves me with the following conclusion. Outsourcing and saving on personnel is perhaps a new fashionable thing, but managers behind this thinking should perhaps first realize that we live in a globalized world. In the UK alone there are too many foreigners who call these companies to pay their bills.
Why not to start the questioning thing with a simple enough question: “Please, tell us if English is your native language, yes or no.”
That would definitely save some money, nerves and most importantly, time.

Christmas period and funny British traditions

noreply@blogger.com (Ekaterina) — Mon, 28 Dec 2009 19:43:00 +0000

This was my first real British Christmas. Although I have been living in the UK for two years already and spent many Christmases in this country before, - celebrating this event at my mom's house, who is Russian, while her husband is Dutch, is not the same thing as celebrating it in the company of Brits.
This year was my first year when I would spend Christmas period in a really British way. My boyfriend is British, and his family kindly invited us to spend Christmas day with them.
The fact that Brits can be hilariously funny with their traditions struck me already before. One day I was surprised to learn that everyone here opens his or her birthday presents on the Birthday day itself. In Russia if a person receives a present or a card before his or her birthday, she or he will never wait to open it, especially if the envelope with the card also has some money inside. Therefore, the patience of my boyfriend in postponing to open all his wishes and presents till the actual birthday came as a big surprise, especially that under normal conditions I wouldn’t describe my boyfriend as a very patient person.
Then, there is this thing with observing traditions. On Bonfire night we were invited to my boyfriend’s sister place. I went before to Marks & Spencer to buy some wine and a cake to bring with us to the party.
“It’s a Christmas cake! We eat these cakes only at Christmas!” exclaimed my boyfriend, while looking at me as if I had committed a crime, when I showed him the cake we were taking with us to his sister.
I mean what’s wrong with eating a Christmas cake before Christmas in theory, may I ask? True, I did discover at Christmas that it’s pleasure I would rather restrict myself to once a year max, but in general, if you like a cake, be it a Christmas cake, or any other cake for that matter, you can eat it when you want, how you want, before, during and after Christmas. But no, in this country it’s a sacrilege.
Another funny thing here is this business with cards. It’s even a more serious crime to forget to send a card to your relative than eating Christmas cake before Christmas, but the particularity of the Brits is their obsessions with types of cards. The choice is quite large: to my special sister, to my special brother, to my special brother and his partner, to my special son and his girlfriend (we received the last two), to my special loved one, and so on and on. I mean, what’s wrong with just buying and sending a ‘normal’ Christmas card? No, here, you need to send it to the special someone.
And then, of course, comes the Christmas day itself. You start it with opening your presents (personally, I find nothing wrong with opening them on the twenty-fourth), and then you have your Christmas dinner. We had it at my boyfriend’s sister and fortunately, she is a very good cook, otherwise, apparently, it’s the same choice year after year if you go for a traditional British Christmas dinner, - which all Brits in this country prefer to do. Some appetizers (we had garlic mushrooms), followed by Turkey, roasted potatoes with vegetables (served, obviously, with gravy), and finished with the famous Christmas cake, - which can be eaten as a dish on its own, so heavy it is. Then you have games, chatting and in general relaxing time.
And well, despite some curiosity on my part as to why the Brits are so absorbed in their traditions, I have to give them a point. When done in good spirit and in the presence of good company, - it can be a very pleasant event indeed. In fact, I have to admit that it was perhaps my most entertaining Christmas ever. The food was absolutely delicious, I got very good presents and had really fantastic time at my boyfriend’s sister place.
This week is New Year, and I hope that my boyfriend will appreciate the New Year in a Russian way the same way I enjoyed the typical British Christmas.

Men and their socks

noreply@blogger.com (Ekaterina) — Tue, 15 Dec 2009 15:14:00 +0000

In one of my posts I was debating about the difference between men and women, but in this post I want to focus more on men.
Already for some time I have been wondering about the habit of almost all male species to leave their socks around. My boyfriend is no exception to the rule, and finding socks in all unexpected places, has become part of my daily routine. Most of the time, they are to be found in the bedroom near the bed, but sometimes, they emerge from more unusual places, like decorating the middle of the table in our dining room.
This question as to why men leave their socks around has been preoccupying my mind to be honest. Take my boyfriend, for example. He is clean and tidy. He does most of the cooking and does dishes all the time (I have to rewash them occasionally, but the effort is what really counts at the end). He also does cleaning and shopping. In fact, I am quite lucky to have a man around the house like my boyfriend.
And yet, there are these socks. In the corridor, in the bedroom, sometimes in the kitchen, or on my study table. My logical conclusion after some thinking time (yes, I was really dwelling upon this question) was that it’s a way for men to mark their territory. Like cats, they need to make sure that this propriety and everything which comes with it (including the partner) is theirs. Which is not a surprise since when you live in a house with a female you can make a sure bet that there will be limited space left around where to put any male belongings. My bathroom, for instance, is hundred percent my domain, taken over by candles, creams, body lotions and the like. My boyfriend has a very small corner space where he can put his razors.
But what amazed me even more the other day was the answer my boyfriend provided me when I asked him about his ritual with socks.
“Are you sure I leave socks around? I haven’t noticed” he said.
This only confirmed my initial thinking that men are cats. Like animals, they don’t even realize what they are doing.
On the other hand, I am glad that sometimes they are blind to obvious things. I prefer to have a human male cat at home who leaves his socks on the table than a meticulously tidy gentleman who would claim more space in the bathroom.

Women’s weaknesses. They all have one!

noreply@blogger.com (Ekaterina) — Fri, 11 Dec 2009 18:58:00 +0000

All women have one addiction or another. Shopaholic series of Sophie Kinsella are that popular for a reason: women love clothes, bags, and shoes.
My addictions are not that expensive, but nevertheless I have some as well. I am not that interested in shoes and bags, but I am addicted to books and creams. My addiction to books is actually a matter of serious debates with my boyfriend, who is also addicted to them, but at least he takes them from the library. I need to buy them. Nothing is more pleasurable than to take a book from a bookshelf and knowing that it’s mine. But it does lead to constant readjustment of our storage space and to the fact that we need to buy more bookshelves.
Creams demand less storage but they ask for greater budget. I guess it’s where actually all my spare money goes at the end. But which woman doesn’t want to try a new green tea face mask or a pampering body cream? True, most of them end up in the garbage bin after a year of no use, but what a pleasure is it to unwrap a new cream which smells so nice and try it immediately on some part of your body?
However, recently, I discovered that some women insist that they have no addictions. Two of my girlfriends used to laugh about my incapacity to resist a new beauty product. I even started to think that there must be something wrong with me.
That, until I discovered their addictions. And quite unusual ones, I must add.
One is addicted to prams. True, she has two babies and as a pregnant woman myself, I do have a higher interest in this matter than let’s say, several moths ago. But to what extent can you be interested in prams? Actually I find them pretty annoying. For a start, prams are boring, you have to choose among thousand different brands, women have the tendency to check your status from the pram you carry, etc, etc. I studied them for an hour max, found the whole experience boring to death and decided to leave the pleasure of buying a pram to either my mom or the mom of my boyfriend.
But this woman is really ‘invested’ in prams. She can talk about them for hours, try to drag you every time you meet to a shop to show you prams (so far I managed to resist the temptation) and shows different functions of her own pram on each meeting.
It does get on your nerves.
Another girlfriend is addicted to socks. I mean, what difference does it make which socks you buy and use? No one can really see them in any case.
But in her case, it’s a real mystic ritual. Socks have to belong to a certain brand, be of certain size and a certain colour. Probably this experience costs less money than my creams, but it does cost more time. Each time we are supposed to meet I ask her whether buying socks is not on her agenda.
So, beware of women who say that they are not addicted to anything. It’s a lie! We are all addicted to something, be it flower pots, shoes, bags, baby clothes, or even drinking a certain brand of cappuccino in one and only café.

Moving, estate agents in the UK, and TV licensing…again.

noreply@blogger.com (Ekaterina) — Tue, 01 Dec 2009 18:05:00 +0000

I was silent for a couple of months on this blog due to several things I had to deal with in my life. I had to finish and present an important report at my job (and since it forms a part of my PhD process, currently it comes before my writing), and I had to move.
Moving in Sheffield is a serious business. That, if you deal with the estate agencies.
My personal advise to you (if you live in the UK), try to avoid any agencies and go for a private arrangement. Actually it always worked fine with me, in my previous countries of residence. I always managed to find a flat via someone, and the only thing which matters when you arrange accommodation privately is your own intuition. And in my case, it never betrayed me. All my landlords became my good friends at the end.
However, when you deal with an agency, it’s less intuition that matters and more common sense. Or, it’s what I thought. Surely, if the agency is involved, you are more protected, more likely to get necessary works done on time, and more likely to get your deposit back?
And well, apparently (again, I am just talking about my own case) it is just the opposite. You can’t trust the agency, no works will ever be done and to get your deposit back you have to basically work for the agency.
If you live in Sheffield, I will strongly advise you to come back to me and ask for the name of the agency I was dealing with. They lied to us about everything when I first moved into my previous flat. The calm, serene, but somewhat dirty apartment, appeared to be worst place I ever lived in my entire life. There was a separate blog entrance about the flat, but to cut the story short, - I had to deal with anti-social behaviour of three neighbours at once, clean myself the flat (which I would do in any case, but read further) when I moved in, and beg for all small and inconvenient works in the flat. And it was expensive for what it was.
But the biggest surprise came on walk out day when I was supposed to get back my deposit.
My boyfriend was rather amazed by my cleaning zeal before the Day. “Why do you clean it so much? Surely, they clean themselves the flat for the next tenants? Is it not more important that everything is in place, nothing is broken and that it is already clean?”
“I don’t trust them,” was my reply, and I was right.
My experience with just one of these sort of agencies assured me that they belonged to the worst case and that they try to keep at least part of your deposit, whatever is the cost.
And my bet (and as it turned out I was right) was that in a flat which looks in a good state, they will try to sabotage you with the cleaning.
To avoid it, the flat I was giving back was in a pristine state and much cleaner when what I got when I moved in (as mentioned already, I had to clean it myself, because it was very dirty). But the agent, who immediately accessed the situation (not much to retain in terms of deposit) still tried his best. His bet was that in my condition (heavily pregnant) I wouldn’t be able to reach some dark corners in the flat, and in total shock I watched him to turn up and down all beds, cupboards and gas oven to show to me that there was still some dust behind.
“Shall we retain some part of deposit for cleaning or you will clean it yourself?”
I decided to do it myself refusing to give him satisfaction of robbing me of one hundred pounds just because I am pregnant (and thus, less likely to run around with a vacuum cleaner). Which was stupid at the end, since the pictures taken on the day I moved in and the day I moved out, were a perfect proof that the flat I was giving back was indeed in much better condition than what I received. But unfortunately, I saw the pictures only after I had cleaned the dust.
That’s the story with the agencies. Avoid them if you can.
But what you really can never avoid in the UK, on the other hand, is TV licensing. They chase you whatever is your destination.
The house where I live now is a private arrangement. No one was in fact supposed to know where and when was I moving. The first letter I received on the next day of moving? A letter to the new occupant from TV licensing people.
Now I really wonder whether they don’t have cameras on every street to monitor who is moving, when and where.
But I repeat again. I don’t watch TV, don’t want to watch TV and less likely to start watching it due to the harassment of TV licensing people.