Rant

Today at the ILO we have been asked to wear red, or pin red ribbons to our lapels. We have been given flyers to remind us that at lunch time people will be forming a human ribbon, holding hands to raise awareness about living with AIDS. 

Holding hands to make a chain and ribbon together for AIDS seems just a step away from dancing around a fire and mumbling incantations over huge pots of frothing potions. Which as we know is a remedy against AIDS that has failed in Africa. They're both based on superstition, led by quacks and equally distant from a real solution. Just in case my red pants make a difference though I have worn them today. I wonder how many people I have saved with the good points they are ratcheting up with the universe on this most special of days as decreed by the UN. 

I do think though that holding hands will achieve nothing more than spreading colds and flus faster. If holding hands had helped the 60' would have ended differently. 

This evening as I was looking for something to turn into my desktop picture I realised that in the last five years I have not one single picture of myself with my grandfather. I have pictures of us on a group, or sitting with family, but of just the two of us, capturing some part of the camaraderie we shared- not one. I did locate a picture of the two of us sitting side by side at a table in a restaurant. The picture was taken on a family trip, where three separate units piled into cars, cousins, grandparents and all to go to a wildlife sanctuary. We like this particular restaurant. My grandfather liked it too. It served chutney that did not offend him, and sambar that he could almost tolerate, despite being it being run by Kannadigas. I remember this meal. I sat by him and we decided to get one dosa, one plate of idli and one plate of vada to split between the two of us. And one filter coffee and one tea. He warned me that I would not like the tea. He was right. The picture has me reaching into his plate. Something I frequently did, if I saw something there that I wanted.

I am trying to think back but I can no longer recall the exact date on which he died. I never really knew the date of his birth. Some time in August. Or maybe it was in September. Maybe its my grandmother who is in August.

Two days ago I was at drinks with people that I do not know very well, and one man whom I think of as a kindred spirit. He instinctively understands, and this is wonderful. He mentioned that a neighbour's father had cancer of the kidneys and the lungs. While everyone commiserated, and the discussion moved on to the subject of the neighbour's dogs all I could think was- if he is lucky this neighbour's father's kidneys will fail before his lungs.

Summer reading

This has been my reading list since I received my thesis grade last week. I now feel free to read again, now that I have a second M.A.

1. The Midnight Palace by Carlos Ruis Zafon- what a small silly book.

2. The Little Stranger by Sarah Waters.
I love all things Sarah Waters, but Fingersmith was her best. This was alright, but not amazing like that. I did enjoy reading her version of a middle aged man though- I thought she might have gotten that part right. But what do I know, I will never be one.

3. The Winter Rose by Jennifer Donnelly
I loved this. I adore stories about female doctors at times when female doctors were a rarity. The characters here were lovely. Except for the annoying insistence only One True Love forever I enjoyed the book a great deal. Which is why I galloped into the sequel. Big mistake.

4. The Wild Rose by Jennifer Donnelly
I hate books that make me despise the women in the book, while ignoring the sins of the men. This book did that to me. The cast of characters got too unwieldy, and she didn't establish the primary woman as a sympathetic sort- not early enough, in fact not at all. I found her character to be completely unrelatable, and inconsistent with the way she appeared in the previous books. This One True Love Forever business got very tiresome as well. It would be nice if not everyone behaved like tragic lovers a la Romeo and Juliet- there is a reason they are so young- it is behaviour best suited to teenagers. Presumably when you get a bit older the world forces you to pull your head out of your ass.
I should have loved that the main character was based on Gertrude Bell, but instead of making the book about her work the book was about her pining away and doing all manner of silly things because she lost her leg and wouldn't communicate with her boyfriend or her family. Bah. As you might have gathered the book annoyed me. It took up 700 pages of my life and left me bugged.

Ennui

Today I went to the store, bought myself a big box of sushi and ate it by myself in the cafeteria. The fish felt weird but good. I read the bridge column while I ate. Then I thought a little about the eyebrows of the new intern, they are very Tom Selleck and so I heart him already. After this I went back to work and promised myself a cup of tea in a couple of hours.

i feel stabby

doom

Scary stuff

Today my mother called me to tell me she had heard of a boy with a PhD from the U.S whose parents were looking for a suitable girl. She wanted to know if I was interested in her initiating a conversation about me filling that position.
I wanted to know if she knew anything more about him (she didn't), and if just a PhD from the U.S was my going rate.
Impasse.