Fear of poverty

AOG, Madrid

I just got back from London. I have to say that, for the first time in a long time, I got the feeling that the whole country is bracing itself for what is coming finance-wise.

Yes, I am talking about the fear some people have concerning the recent budget proposals by the Torie/Lib-Dem coalition Government.

I spoke to a couple of friends about it and the general consensus was that the Government , in their opinion, is trying to outdo Thatcher. 

From what they said, many people fear that a lot of social rights will be taken away and, once gone, will never be returned.

One guy I spoke to mentioned that it was unfair how David Cameron, who has led a semi-sheltered well-to-do life has embarked in a quasi-crusade against poor people, not poverty. And the lady who told me this did so almost in tears.

I think she felt helpless as to what was happening. She was afraid.  

Should citizens be afraid of their own Government?

Another friend whom I spoke to mentioned how Britain had always been a Nanny State. It all started with a comment made to him by a good friend from Italy who said he felt like the UK was a bit of a police state. 

His partner then mentioned how a friend from Austria who'd lived in the UK had always felt it was a bit oppressive which is why she moved back home to have children.

I found it ironic since Austria has always seemed slightly oppressive to me.

From reading the British press, it would appear like my friends are not the only people worried about the coming months. 

Here The Guardian's take on it regarding Housing, which, according to many, will create an exodus of poor families from central London into the suburbs and will see an influx of well-to-do families into central London. 

Here The Independent talks about Boris Johnson's (Mayor of London and a Torie MP) take on the situation.

And here, the Daily Mail talks about child benefit cuts.  

Of course, nobody doubts that the UK needs to curb its spending, but many wonder if this is just a case of using the economic climate to enforce a right-wing social change. 

I think we will just have to wait and see.

Istanbul

AOG, Istanbul

We took a flight from Heathrow yesterday into Istanbul, ancient capital of the Ottoman Empire, ancient Constantinople, and even more ancient Bizantium. As it happens, it is 2010's European capital of culture.

City info:

Istanbul, Turkey, the largest city in Turkey and the industrial, commercial, and cultural center of the nation. 

Istanbul, formerly the capital of the Byzantine Empire and later of the Ottoman Empire, was for centuries one of the world's preeminent cities.

The city lies partly in Europe and partly in Asia on the traditional land route between Europe and Asia Minor. It commands the sea route connecting the Black Sea and the Mediterranean. 

The city's site has been of great commercial and military significance for centuries.

Flying BA

The flight went well, British Airways is definitely a step up from the low-budget airlines, and one is grateful for not having to pay extra for luggage, or sparkling water.

When I flew to Athens, I remember the flight lasting about 4 hours and a half. This time, however, the journey time was roughly 3 hours and 40 minutes, and this city is further from London than Athens. I think we either had a good tail wind, or the pilot stepped on the gas. Either way, I'm happy to have arrived.

At the airport

My first impression of Istanbul International Ataturk Airport, is that it looked fairly modern, though the journey from the plane to the terminal on the finger was hot, to say the least. 

No, it appears a/c is not big in these parts. 

We went straight to passport control, failing to notice the VISA section just before it. After waiting in line for about 10 minutes, the policeman laughs (as in "stupid tourists, this happens everyday, when will they learn") with some resignation and points to the VISA section where the line is even longer. 

We aim for the shortest line, which is, of course, the one with the difficult nationality "du jour" passenger which is holding up everything. 

There were some screens which showed how much each country has to pay to enter the country for 30, 60, or 90 days. We see ours and see that it is 10 euros for 30 days. 

We come up to the window only to be told that it is 15 euros. No discussion, no explanation, just pay. So we did.

We have just arrived and are too tired to argue, especially since we slept little the night before, and, most of all, we want to enjoy ourselves.

So, with our visas (a paper stamp) in our passports, we head back to passport control. We get get the thing rubber stamped and head off towards our luggage which was waiting for us at the -by now motionless-, carousel like two beached whales awaiting death. 

We pick them up and try to look not too conspicuous as we walk past customs. No, we aren't carrying anything dodgy, but it is a pain to open your bags and have the security forces look through your underwear.

We didn't get stopped and went outside. Our hotel was meant to send us a driver to pick us up (airport pick and and delivery being one of the reasons why this place got chosen). 

We leave the arrivals exit looking at a small army of people holding up signs for different travelers, none of them us. We had written to the hotel asking for confirmation that they would come, and when we called them this morning, they confirmed that somebody would come. 

No one is there. We call the hotel, twice, and get told to wait at the information desk. There are two information desks, so we split up. After 20 minutes, we call again. 

"He is coming".

After another 15 minutes, we call again.

"He is coming".

After another 8 minutes, he shows up making excuses about the traffic. Very nice man, but very late. I assume that if this is his  regular job, he knows the journey times by heart since he must do this every day. 

I keep thinking that he should have left his departure point sooner, to prevent this. In any case, it is true that the traffic is a bit heavy at times.

First impressions from the transport van

Istanbul is big. Gigantic. And not too wealthy. We see colorful blocks of flats on the sides of the highway into the city, which would not have looked out of place behind the iron curtain. Totalitarian architecture, what a joy.

The other thing which we notice right away is that a) this place is very hilly, and b) Minaret city. They are everywhere, looking like some sort of holy silo pointing at the heavens.

Whilst on the highway, other cities come to mind. Buenos Aires, because of the driving style -at one point a passenger bus makes a sharp turn in front of us to catch the exit, almost crashing into us and, by the way, almost running over the pedestrian (yes) that was crossing over at the time, right by the exit (Cape Town). The other city which Istanbul reminds us of is Salvador de Bahia. 

Although I wouldn't say that Istanbul has Favelas, it does have a tendency to have grubby, old buildings next to new ones, and in the distance we soon spot what could be a luxurious downtown area à l'americaine. 

They tend to stand out a lot since most buildings are not as tall, and also, they are probably built in a high part of town, so they really stick out against the skyline. Once we cross the Golden Horn we notice that this city has a lot of small streets going up steep hills, which are lined with old wooden Ottoman houses which look like they are about to fall apart, and a mixture of old and new, business and civil, architecture. It shares this aspect of itself  with Bahia.

The Hotel 

We arrive at the hotel and give the driver a small tip. On the whole, the journey took about 35 minutes and the hotel does not look too bad on the outside. A porter comes out to fetch our bags and walks us inside. Slow day, I gather, we were not left at the doorstep,  but rather a few feet away.

We check in and are told, after the initial "Oh there's been a mistake, you want two beds- No there's no mistake, one large bed thank you" that there are no rooms with a view or that face the street. 

We are given a room on the 4th floor which we dislike because a) it connects with another room and b) it faces the rooftops of the adjacent buildings and their loud a/c machines. Not good.

We go back downstairs and complain. They give us another room. Our welcome fruit basket stays behind. 

The new room is smaller (like Tokyo proportions) but it has a nice view of the street, which we like, and the a/c works great. In the coming days this will be a major plus.

We unpack, shower, and decide to visit the Gym/ Sports Club since we are told we get our pool towels from there. The hotel has two pools, and indoor pool and a rooftop pool.

We go down to the -3 floor. When we step out of the lift we see a gym to the right, and two guys talking. No one is manning the front desk. We ring the bell and no one comes. So after 10 minutes, we split.

The Bar Hunt

A friend of ours had told us about a bar we should visit in the city, and that became our first priority.

It was meant to be near our hotel so we headed out and started walking around the hotel quarter where we were staying, but with no luck. We saw the first glimpses of Turkish life then. 

Men playing chess, men talking, children playing on the street, men who want you to eat at their restaurant, men working. 

We don't find the bar in question, so we check our map and venture off into Beyoğlu, the quarter where we are staying.

First stop: Taksim square

Large and busy. Not a beautiful square, particularly, but it certainly is bustling. And it is exciting.

 People, children, movement, traffic, vendors, beggars, women with veils, men holding hands, some tourists.

We go down Istiklal street (Istiklal caddesi) and are amazed by the large number of people, shops, hustle and bustle of the place.

On it are to be found many former embassies from when Istanbul was the capital of the Ottoman Empire which are now only consulates. 

The first one which caught my eye is the Greek consulate. And how do you say Greece in Turkish? Yunanistan. I loved it! Yunanistan.

The whole street is half Western, half Turkish and I'm not sure about which half I love best.

We find a music shop and pop in quickly. CDs are not expensive, so I spot a couple I want to buy, including Tarkan's latest album.

Our search for the "holy" bar takes us all the way down to Galatasaray square, from where the street begins to loose glamour and excitement and the less moneyed businesses have set up shop. 

Ironic since Galatasary High School is meant to be very upmarket and a place where most of the country's politicians studied.

Se we turn back upon ourselves, and head towards this small alley where we think we spotted something resembling a rainbow flag.

The alley in question is wonderful. Street musicians, coffee tables, some local graffiti, and a bar called Love on Sakızağacı street. 

We walk in and I can't help but to be reminded of Havana. It is old, with some attempt at being fashionable and Western, but tatty and decadent. And with Wi-Fi. So, of course, we like it. Also, we are the only ones there.

We order a couple of drinks (no alcohol, it is Ramadan) and we discover that -and it will only grow more obvious as they days pass, that hardly anyone speaks English in Turkey's most international city. 

At this bar one of the guys spoke some German, but not English. We were surprised. They tell us where the bar is, and we have our drinks and head back. A couple of hours have gone by at this point. 

As we approach Taksim square once again, we get a phone call from our friend who tells us that he had, in fact, been given us the wrong information all along. 
Great. The street he meant, which is the one we had on our piece of paper, is the same street our hotel is on. Yes, you guessed it, we walked right past it! Oh how we laughed when we stood in front of it like two idiots!

It is closed, and even looks like it won't ever open. It is now getting late (not a problem in this city. It truly does not sleep), and we settle for a local kebab shop on a parallel street. 

They serve us some nice food, but nothing amazing. And we get no alcohol because it is Ramadan, but they are very polite about it.

We pay up, cross the pavement, buy some water and bananas for the room at an underground shop, and head home. 

  

We are very tired at this point. 

Long day.

 

Odd year

AOG, Madrid

This has been an odd year thus far. I have not wanted to update this blog, though I have no idea why eaxctly. It just hasn't happened.

Since we got back from Japan last year, I have found it increasingly difficult to concentrate on much, though I think that what I have been suffering from most is just good old fashioned apathy and little else.

Work has been stressful since about mid-February when 80% of my department at the paper left. 

The workload increased and I was surprised to experience that my colleagues were not really forthcoming in the help department. 

Yes, I know economics is a difficult thing to deal with. However, I also noticed that they were not really helping each other much either.

I am not in the mood to do a 7 month recap, but I will say that somehow I've managed to survive Spain winning the World Cup in South Africa, the Madrid Pride celebrations, and that I've made a couple of new friends and those are always in short supply.

And speaking of friends, through the magic of Facebook, I found the two High School buddies I've been after since we graduated. One, funnily enough, lives in London! The other one just moved back to Texas. We've spoken on the phone a couple of times, which is good. We are still were we left off. A good feeling.

August is just around the corner, and my only plan is to take it easy. 

We'll see.

 PS: I've just realized that the 2010 Vancouver Winter Olympics just passed me by completely. I'm so not a jock...but I do like one when I see one! LOL

New York Times Ready To Charge Online Readers

AOG, Madrid

Television pays for itself through advertising, and it is free (unless you have cable). Radio, a medium with a lot of things in common with the internet, also somehow manages to "survive" without charging for content.

The NYT claims that to continue to pay for its "high-cost, ambitious journalism", it must charge online readers. I don't see this as working, especially now that the NYT has gone global and, as it claims, it has 20 million unique readers (I among them).

I think someone has forgotten to remind this paper that online users consult a lot of different sources to get their news, not just one or two.

Especially people under 25. Whilst I know that since we pay for paper, it would make sense to pay for online content, it is also true that there is something in the internet which makes it anathema to even consider this option.

If NYT starts to charge, its 20 million "unique users" will mostly flee.

I don't think I can afford to pay for several papers online. I'm sure that what will happen is that some other paper delivers the same news for free, and that will be the way users will go. Open market means zero fidelity.

NYT, and other who consider going down that road, will soon experience a rude awakening.

Read the Article at HuffingtonPost

Avatar

AOG, Madrid

Just saw the movie Avatar, by the director James Cameron.

First impressions: very weak writing, predictable throughout, way too long, and, yes, very good special effects.

The movie has flaws as deep as the cheekbones on the Na’vi. For example, if you’ve ever heard of General Custer or Sitting Bull, you are in familiar territory.

The indigenous people are a XIX century caricature of the customs of native peoples everywhere.

They behave a bit like animals sometimes, grunting, growling, and showing their teeth, and in the next scene, they are all doing some sort of Cumbaya around a tree with glo-worms everywhere.

Please note that in the film, the character Neytiri’s mother, the Shaman of the tribe, speaks with a Jamaican accent when she speaks English. And the locals all have braided hair and ride horses like the Apache did.

Oh, and yes, in the future, everyone speaks English on Earth. And the natives, although a different species, can pick it up quite quickly. Handy, yes?

If you’ve seen Aliens (also a Cameron movie), then the Evil Space Corporation from Earth reprise will not surprise you. How ironic that Sigourney Weaver stars in both films.

But there are other things that will remind of you Aliens. Gadgets, insults (like "Bitch"), characters, etc.

There are gaps in the story line, a couple of loose ends, and, unfortunately, although it is meant to be in the future, everything that happens is quite modern. Like all! There is no futuristic moral message.

The entire movie is like watching a Native American tribe being kicked out of their land by white men in 1920. Flying machines versus bows and arrows. Warriors against soldiers. Yes, you’ve seen it all before, but done better.

And no, in case you are wondering, there are no gay people in the future and the Na’vi are a species which likes to paint its body and biologically connect with the local fauna, but nothing which might even hint at homosexuality, though, and this might be a bit of a shocker, zoophlilia is well catered for.

"Feel her strong legs, now her hearbeat and yours are one".

Gimme a break!

There are also no fat humans, or fat Na'vi, they are all slim and tall and athletic, and the blue beings don't age. Or at least not with wrinkles.

All in all, it is sad to see that Sci Fi has not yet moved beyond Minority Report, Aliens, Apocalypse Now, Gorillas in the Mist, Disney’s Cimarron and Predator.

The movie feels a lot like a two-and-a-half hour long video game.

It doesn't help that it looks like a beautiful one too most of the time.

Thanksgiving thoughts

AOG, Madrid

It was Thanksgiving yesterday.

When I lived in London, I tried every year to have people round. Family too, though on the day. Friends celebrated Thanksgiving normally on Saturday with me.

Yesterday it almost passed me by. I didn't realize almost until I opened up my "Facemook" account and began to read the well wishes of my friends in the US.

They were all grateful for something.

I was grateful for being able to read their comments, because it meant I had
friends.

I know it sounds silly, but for me, friends have always been something special.

Something to be cherished and in need of care.

That is not to say I've been a good, or even an ok friend. I'm sure I haven't.

Why? Gee, I don't know, because I'm human?

N0r does it mean that my friends deserve a Nobel Peace Prize. They don't.

I've had mostly bad friends in life, until recently (that is to say, starting about 10 years ago or so). I've also had good friends, but good friends in life are a luxury.

And for every good friend I have, there's been about 30 plonkers, all in successive order. And for every plonker there's been about 500 morons.

I think the best thing I can say is that as I got older, I began to rid myself, ever so stealthily, of some of the ballast I was carrying around. In 2004, I believe, I cut diplomatic relations with a particular friend after having had just about enough. Do I miss this friend? Oh, I would be lying if I said no. I do. I miss this friend sometimes.

But right away I start to remember the reasons why I started to grow tired of this person, the hysterics, the scenes, the words, the strange behavior.

So yes, there is a feeling there, but I don't allow it to get very far.

Not long ago I became reacquainted with a friend from High School back in Texas. I last saw this person in 1998, at our reunion.

We've been in touch, off and on ever since.

These days, thanks to the magic of "Facemook", we are talking more often.

Are we growing closer? Hard to say, there is an ocean between us, and friendship is all about shared moments. And yet, we have developed a certain complicity.

Epistolary, but nevertheless constant.


Strangely enough, one of my best friends (a reader of this blog I might add) and I speak very irregularly, and yet, when we do, it feels as if we spoke just yesterday. We go through spells, and, amazingly, "Facemook" has not brought us closer.

Perhaps because we were close already?


For them, for the ones I left behind, the ones who left me by the wayside, the ones who steadfastly stick by my side, the ones I cherish, the ones I miss, even the ones I'm yet to meet, I say thank you on this post Thanksgiving (alias St. Turkey's Day) day.

Oprah

AOG, Madrid

Oprah! Oprah! Oprah...

I first heard this name in the mid 1980s. I was living in Texas then. I remember watching her show with utter fascination as a kid. I liked her voice, her demeanor, her manner.

I left the US to go and live in the UK, and, within a few years, she was there too, albeit with less success than in the US. Perhaps the American tendency to be touchy-feely about things, the great need to bring psychology to fix and explain all problems, proved too much for the British public.

I remember too how other programs made it big in the UK in the 1990s. There was, first of all, The Jerry Springer Show. Oh I we laughed, and cringed with shame and pain, at the sight of America’s Whitest and Trashiest on television.

On-screen violence, it was discovered, was a great crowd puller. To say nothing of all the insults which got bleeped out show after show.

It was repetitive in that the same sort of problems showed up. People who slept with relatives, men who slept with men whom they thought were women, long lost relatives fighting over who knows what. In short, people who went on television to sort out a problem the old fashioned way: with violence and insults. Touchy feely only in that you got hit and you felt it.

Then there was Jenny Jones. Interesting, and a couple of steps up on the social scale. But she was always so frail. Nonetheless, watchable enough. Being frail and open is not a negative.

And Ricky Lake. Gay friendly, fat friendly, girl friendly, mother friendly, tv friendly.

But I think we all liked her better on the silver screen.

We do owe her one key 1990s idea: the makeover!

On her show you could bring your old tattered mother who looked like a tired, run over, 1950s Vegas stripper, give her over to Ricky Lake’s staff, and return home with a cleaner, more updated version of the poor woman. Or your boyfriend. Or your Gothic daughter. Or your slimy boyfriend. Or his boyfriend!

Finally, there was the Oh-how-very-sanctimonious-holier-than-thou Sally Jesse Raphael.

Sally Jesse was like that bitch of a teacher you had in Elementary School who was always right. Always had the last word. Always tried for you to improve yourself. And when you didn’t, she came down on you like a ton of bricks.

Was she watchable? Was she ever. Like a car crash!

I mean, how could you not watch, perplexed, someone who defied the aging process? And in designer gear!

However, all along the line, Oprah remained a cut above the rest somehow.

Her show, which was always on again, off again in the UK, was always aimed at people who were aspirational.

It didn’t matter what your background was when you were on Oprah because being on Oprah meant that, by default, you were elevated from your social status immediately. To hers. A bit like Colonel Pickering, who would talk to a flower girl as though she were a lady.

You too were then a celebrity. Oprah always brings you up to her level. And unknowingly so. That of a rich celebrity. A well-to-do, upper middle America, normal person.

Because Oprah is nothing if she's not normal. Her reactions, her feelings, her ups and downs, are all normal. She is not what I'd call pretentious in the slightest.

Perhaps it was this elevation which made people tune in. Oprah is not for intellectuals, it is for people who aspire to know and understand what intellectuals were about. At least at first.

She even has a book club which recommends which books, and thoughts and ideas, your new-found social group cares for.

On Oprah I saw how racist people tried to make sense of their ideas by saying things like, “I don’t like blacks, but I like you. You are not like them”.

Is this not amazing? I think she did more for what is know in America as “race-relations” than any piece of legislation or Governmental goodwill.

I always liked her. So did my family. We all still do.

But because I live in Spain, I can’t watch her show any longer.

And I miss it.

I will miss it even more after 2011 because the queen of all talk shows started to say goodbye today.

On that year, 2011, she will tape her last show and concentrate on her new channel.

I am amazed at how long she has been a part of my life- over 20 years!

I have suffered with her when her weight you-yoed. I was with her, side by side, when she championed civil rights, when she had KKK members on her show, when she tried to help people.

I think this is probably what I will miss most, her ability to help people. I have seen so many shows where she helped others.

Most of all, she helps you to be yourself, whomever you might be. And that is great. I have to say, 2011 will be the end of an era. It will represent the end of a show, but much more. It will be a milestone of sorts.

Suddenly, we will all realize how far away we've come by her side. And how far we'll go without her.

Thank you Oprah. For being Oprah.

Writing in Diurno

AOG, Madrid

Today I went from my English class straight home. I picked up my new Mac, and went for a coffee at Diurno.

The place has been remodelled lately. Not all of it good. The counter is too high, which is bad, but the smokers have been banished to their own section, away from the rest of humanity, which is good for me (maybe less so for them).

Before I went to Japan, Diurno was a nice café which had decided to create a sort of plasticky gas chamber in the largest part of its premises to accommodate the smokers, giving them alone the use of the sofas, whilst banishing us to the front of the café, to use the tables and chairs, and, by the way, inhale the incoming smoke from the smoking area which perpetually kept both its windows unto the rest of the place, open. It was a lose-lose situation for us.



But now things have changed. The owner has had the good sense to rid the place of the plastic cage which divided an otherwise great space, and now most of the premises are one great open space- except for the specialty video section. And the much-too-large counters.

The other negative thing is its food. Before I left for Japan, (did I mention I just got back from the future?), Diurno had a very good selection of cakes, sweets and sandwiches made from different types of bread. They always looked appetising.

Enter the one-type-of-baguette-fits-all. The quality has come down. Gone too are its delicious chocolate doughnuts.

But enough bitching.

Last night I started writing a short story in English. A major step since I haven’t written in ages, never mind in English.

So this morning, after class, I thought I’d work on it a little bit. So off I went to Diurno to have a coffee, not a turkey and cheese English granary baguette, and do some writing.

Opposite me there was this guy reading an eBook of sorts. I’m not sure if it was Kindle, a Sony reader, Papyre, or what. It was like a small paperback. Red leather bound. He looked enthralled. And very modern.

More so than the two guys who took his place a while later and brought their two Labradors with them. Or me, who was, at the time, reading a paper newspaper!

How dared I!

Because it was still early, I got a place by the sofa section. Had the coffee, read the paper, and wrote for about 35 minutes. For me, a milestone.

It felt good to write. It made me feel useful, creative.

I have this crazy idea that I’ll send the finished story to The New Yorker.

And owning a copy of The Best American Short Stories, years 2007, 2008 and 2009, allows me to target a few more literary sources.

Google Wave Pt. 2

AOG, Madrid

I don't know whether to be scared, or grateful.

This morning I wrote a post about Google Wave.

How I thought it hopeless to try and find out about it, how I thought it useless and used, blah blah blah.

As if by magic, as if a little bird told them, as if, somehow, Google were monitoring the blog or something, this very afternoon, when I opened my Gmail account, there it was: the official Google Wave invitation.



Spooky? You bet!

Problem is, I can't really use it since I have nobody on my contacts account, and I can't write to anybody.

GWave (as I shall now call it), does allow me to invite eight people, which I have done.

In fact, a work colleague exchanged a Spotify invitation for a Gwave invite.

How's that for in-office PR?

Since I have no one I can write to, I have to wait until one of the people I've invited gets invited by Google to participate in the great GWave experiment.

I have to admit, I am now 1, maybe 3%, interested.

Thank you Google spies for reading my blog and fast-forwarding that invite this afternoon.

Google Wave

AOG, Madrid

Ok, I'm all for new stuff. New websites. New ideas. But I'm not so keen on new-but-not-for-you. Or new-by-invitation-only.

Such is the case with Google Wave, the new, über cool, who-knows-for-what service, from Google.

I read somewhere that it is meant to be how email would work if it were invented today.

Well....aren't they clever?

At times I think that...if it ain't broke...but anyway, we should not stand before the path of progress. Even if it is progress by invitation only.

However, to participate on their little scheme, you have to sign up, be invited, or kill a chicken, I'm not sure which combination works best.

A couple of months ago, my Facebook account was a-buzzin' with people talking about it, wanting to participate, wanting to know.

Since then, interest has waned. For many of my "friends" and for me. In fact I forgot about it until this morning.

Like a fool, I thought the thing might be up and running. Wrong. You still need to sign up, (which I did long ago), and pray they Google Gods let you participate.

Guess what's happened inside of me by now?

That's right, I am very uninterested by this whole Google Wave. Just as I am less than impressed by Google Chrome especially since it is not available for Mac and they are (only just it seems) working on a version.

I'm not anti Google. I like Gmail. And Google. And Google Black- Blackle.

But this system, perhaps designed to create expectation, is creating boredom and exasperation with their little product.

I know how this will play out in the end:

-It will come out.
-I won't care.
-Some people will start using it.
-I won't care.
-Someone will show me how the thing works.
-I will care 1%.

If I find it useful, I'll use it 50% how it was intended to be used, and 50% by the seat of my pants (i.e. intuitively). If not, it will lie in the great cyber grave, next to all other useless internet innovations. Like Beans.

Thank you Google for turning me right off your new invention.