An open letter to the Amazon help-desk with a shout out to Jah people...

Hi. My father has been getting me gift cards from amazon.com for years. Recently, I relocated to the UK permanently and so far I have not been able to order *ANYTHING* with my gift card. The lovely pannier bag for my bike could not be shipped here. The runner up pannier bags on the amazon.co.uk could not use my gift card because they are non-transferrable, even between different parts of your own company. And now, I find out that I cannot even download mp3s with the dang thing!!! This is RIDICULOUS. So, is this an end of a family tradition for gift-giving via amazon or can you people suggest something I *can* do with my gift card?! Right now, it seems like a pretty piss-poor situation. PS To the person reading this, I realize that amazon is a HUGE company, anti-union and probably not nice to workers. And I realize that the person reading this message probably has utterly no control over policy, so know that I do not mean to direct *any* of my negativity at you, but the ridiculous company you work for. I hope they treat you better that this utterly outlandishly frusterating customer policy regarding gift cards would imply. Be well and thank you, Britt

a visit to Moldova, the poorest country in Europe you've never heard of

It was great to have you two here. Hope the trip back was not too hard. But you have now toured a part of the world that will be off the tourist trail for a long time and you know why. I am sorry about all the food and drinking but folks here have so little to enjoy and they want to show visitors their best and boy did you get it. Hope you all have time sometime this week to catch up on you sleep. Love, Mom

Pan Godchaux
In Moldova!!
www.pangodchaux.blogspot.com

Britt Doughty-Godchaux to Pan, anthony

5:07 PM (2 minutes ago)

Hi Mom,

No worries about anything. It was a lovely lovely week, even with all the poopy business and drinking. Actually, the drinking was fine. We just weren't used to it.

But we made it to the airport with three-and-a-half hours to spare before our flight, miracle of miracles.

It was sorta amazing. And I wanted to tell you a bit about it. I think Na'ima might be interested in it as well.

So, the taxi driver who drove us to Georgia-lesc [sp] (who kept singing the sappy English love songs along with the radio, which was adorable particularly as he had that captain's hat and reminded us of Bluto) got us there within 40 minutes, including when he turned off the car to drift down hills and save gas. There was a line there, but people didn't exactly speak English. In fact no one did, really. The tip there is to find a car to ride in at the *front* of the queue. The people at the back were nice and offered, but then you had to wait. Instead we found this lovely Moldovan couple who work in Belgium (and spoke French... thank goodness we do a tiny bit too) and they were at the front, but not the very front. But then the guy went and talked to the guard and suddenly (like 5 minutes later) we're zooming through. We were to Galati in no time and they dropped us (refusing any money) off at the correct bus station with 40 minutes to spare. Ana was a doll, waiting for us when we arrived. She chatted and was lovely. Apparently, she told John that the 6am from Cahul to Galati was very unreliable. (Good to know, eh?) And she also said that the GSM trans doesn't run every half-hour, but that other mini-buses might. We parted by saying, "see you in London"! The GSM trans website seemed to be correct and we caught the 8:30. Nice bus (air con) and it cost 80 ROL for the both of us. We arrived at the Gara de Nord at 1 (since there was a bit of a traffic hold-up on one of the one-lane-highway parts and the driver did some very ballsy, fancy tricks to push us to the front of the jam) and then caught the 1:39 bus (that came at 1:25) to the airport. Along the way, there was about 1/15th of the traffic there had been, and we got there in little over a half hour. Then we got our flights back, but because our connection in Amsterdam was so tight, our bag was left there, which was yet another blessing in disguise as then we didn't have to haul back all 19.7 kilos of it on our tired, poopy backs on the tube and train. KLM delivered it to our door a few hours ago, free of charge.

And I just unwrapped Iona's home-made wine and it made it safely. The dirt on the side of the pop bottles was still in tact. Good job wrapping those up. Feel free to bring more at Christmas (if you want... hint hint).

It couldn't have worked out better if we had planned any of it.

Tony would like to add that the sweetest bit is that the 500 MOL bill will be waiting for you at X-mas when you arrive.

In any case, I would not try to recreate this set of miracles to get one to from Cahul to Bucharest, BUT if you can find a good way to Galati, it is an easy, potentially more flexible way to Bucharest.

And may Moldova stay off the beaten path. When we got back to Bucharest, we were sorta simultaniously appalled at the way that capitalistic "success" manifested while simultaniously wary of getting ripped off because of the profiteering mindset. We did not get KFC as Tony's tummy was still terribly off and it is still normalizing today. Luckily, his work shifts got cancelled anyway.

We are home, sleeping, resting (well, I worked today) and recovering.

Thanks again for everything. Thanks for going to Moldova which is as ridiculous as it is lovely. I think it has cured me of any need to ever go to Russia though, so it was a money-saving trip indeed.

Anyway, say hi to everyone there. Thank Parascovia and her family again for the hospitality!

Love you. Talk soon,

Britt

czk7hyti3w

A covering letter that was good for my soul to write.

Once on Talk of the Nation, there was a segment on this horrendous economy of ours. I cuddled up in my pubicle, processing lawsuit claim forms and listened as people phoned in with fascinating stories of surviving and survival jobs (the jobs that we would never take under any other circumstances, but these) and the surprising ways they grew, nonetheless. In any case, one dude called in and said that he had landed a sweet gig by break from the mold of respectful and boring demureness to say what he really wanted to. He threw caution to the wind, (and this is my interpretation) trusted the universe, and leapt, only to find a sweet-ass, golden-threaded net to catch him.

I am not keeping my hopes up so high, but while searching for jobs to apply for, opportunities of any sort, I somehow stumbled upon Weiden+Kennedy's website.

Maybe it was listening to Grace Jones or M.I.A. or that I needed some job-searching that didn't demean my being, but I wrote this, cut-and-pasted here for your entertainment:

Gis a Job

Wieden + Kennedy London

16 Hanbury Street

London E1 6QR

020 7194 7000

london.jobs@wk.com

10^th of July already!

Hello!*

I am interested in applying for the as of yet unadvertised temporary job that you will inevitably need to fill for the summer.

I am inexplicably attracted to your firm, having stumbled upon you through a series of non-linear turns of perhaps fate, and perhaps it is only the latter 90% of my brain that I do not have direct access to that will know why I am feeling such motivating to write this letter. Perhaps this numinous thread will reveal itself in a dream. My waking self loves your style, however, and not merely of the adverts you have created and displayed on the website (clever, inspiring; there’s nothing like a good advert), but in your style of communicating your expectations for any prospective minion.

As a prospective minion, I am outlandishly open and flexible. I can be surprising things, which means I can do surprising things. I am originally from the US (with full rights to work in the UK, no worries), have lived in five countries on three continents, have varying language skills, a Masters Degree in Anthropology, extensive organizational and office experience, and have been practising insider art and writing since I was eight. My style would best be described as artfully mixing the likes of a disciple of Grace Jones while colluding imperfectly with Frida Kahlo and meditating as a student of Pema Chödrön. My skin is thick (I have been literally physically harmed at work and returned for more, but not because I am a masochist, but because it was a worthy cause) and my humour, like all things balanced, combines the dark and light.

Three things I am most passionate about are art (whatever form it takes; whoever does it), sustainable health (spiritually, mentally, tangibly, ecologically, socially) and love (as defined by bell hooks: “the will to extend one’s self for the purpose of nurturing one’s own or another’s spiritual growth”).

A moment in my life where I embraced failure was when, upon reaching the UK with my partner last September after travelling literally around the world, I realized that visa policies had gotten a lot more stringent and inflexible than they had been when I had last gone to live abroad and that there was no way I could stay in the UK legally. And I had very little money. So I lived beyond sparingly, tapped unknown resources and figured out a way. It included returning to the US, getting married to my partner there, and returning after living apart for eight months all the while cultivating a lot of character. It inspired a chapter for my book entitled, “Rejected by Empire.” It was a very good time for me creatively and soul-wise.

I am currently breaking the rules of our larger society even as we shift away from an ethic of blind, unequivocal pursuit of profit. I have employment come late September, and although I have been offered several permanent roles, I have turned them down despite the fact that I am quite broke, because to take them would mean lying about how long I plan to work there. I believe to live unethically, to lie, or to divide oneself up living in an unintegrated fashion (i.e. without integrity) hurts these organisations, which affects the already dying economy of such a former philosophy, hurts individuals’ abilities to trust each other which unravels the social fabric, as well as hurting myself as someone living without a complete integration of my own life. It is for the greater good. We will see if this will offer any tangible or material benefit to this particular individual in the end.

Clearly, I would love a response from Wieden+Kennedy. Let me make you tea or answer your phone. Let’ see what we can come up with. If it is meant to be, everyone involved will benefit in exponential beauty.

Be well,

Britt {last names}©

---

* How’s that for avoiding gender mishaps/dichotomies? And a sincere greeting to boot!

© PS I tried to work in some sort of reference to chocolate, but it would have been too much an obvious anomaly, even for me. But dark, organic chocolate with ginger…and that whole thing about integrity? Out the window.

I gotta... WRITE!

Like that scene in Dazed and Confused when the guy in the back of the car sorta randomly and non-sequitously says, "I gotta DANCE!" Accept that I think he says something else, but that is how I remember it, how I prefer to remember it.

That is how I am this morning.

Yesterday, I went for quite a good interview at quite a good company. The job would have made me happy. The unhappy part? It was for a permanent gig, so after a fair amount of soul searching ("where are those ethics of mine? I know I had 'em in here somewhere?") I decided to withdraw my name from their list of candidates. After all, I have a job that I am really excited about and committed to come September.

It's just the money in the meantime issue... again.

I feel like I've had this issue this entire last year. When I was in Portland, it was the same thing. I wanted to work, but couldn't commit to six months or a year. The crazy lady (and I use this term with deep respect being a crazy lady myself and all) that wanted to hire me as a manager at Target because of my personality and anthropology background "if that whole fiance, marriage thing doesn't work out", but wanted a commitment? Out of the blue, odd, and I am glad I turned it down. But then of course, temp agencies in Portland employ people sometimes. Here, it feels like there are a million people wanting temp jobs and about six to go around.

So, I am broadening my search. I am going to go around to neighborhood pubs with my CV that has zero pub-related or drink-serving related experience on it and offer myself up anyway. I am going to call my one temp agency that has gotten me some work and lower the bar for the amount of money I will accept as an hourly wage. Short of standing on a corner in a mini-skirt asking guys if they want a date or dancing around a pole, I am really opening myself up and trying to think creatively. (Do you live in London? Do you need child-care? Painting? Cleaning? Yard work done? Where is Craig's List when you need it?)

We are not desperate. Thank goodness for T. He has work and enough money coming in to keep us housed and fed. But it would be nice to visit my Mom this August in Moldova, go to the coast once, go into London to a museum? It would be nice not to be hella broke... still... again... and it would be nice if I could contribute to our household costs.

It just feels like about the fifth time in the last year that I have been looking for work/money/resources and the effort I thought it would take times 7 still doesn't cut it. Not to whine. Not to complain. Just to notice a pattern and have faith that this too shall pass.

++Author's note: as I was writing, I got a call from the temp agency for a permanent role in a school being a mentor. Agh! Why these conundrums?

I {heart} British television.

Weird.

After resisting for so long, not owning a television myself for... YEARS, I will finally admit it: I love TV... in the UK.

Not all TV, not all the time. I still gotta write my novel, right? And resist. But sometimes, somethings... genius.

{And I will say that there are some US shows I like, namely things I can't afford to see unless someone lends me their hyper-pricey HBO or I rent them on DVD: Six Feet Under, Big Love, etc. but even that is rare. And resisted.}

But in the UK, they have TV geeky enough even for me!

A few examples:

1) Countdown

In this locally shot (in Leeds in the north) show, contestants *don't play for money*! Instead, they come on and have word and number challenges. They must make words (the longer in length, the more points) and solve math equations using randomly chosen letters and numbers respectively. There is a resident word geek with a rotating guest. The word geek presents information about arcane and underused terms like the origin of the term "Curling", like the Scottish sport so popular with Canadians. Apparently, there is an old Scottish word that means “singing” that is "curring", so as the stones (usally flat, irregularly shaped river stones) glide over the ice, so the theory goes, they sang. Thus curling’s nickname: “singing stones.” Of course. The champ of Coundown right now, Ennis, is probably on the spectrum. (He is almost an “octo-champ.” I’ll take that over Octo-mom.) And the pretty, young blonde thing acting as the local Vanna White? She's a math genius, who checks the contestant's figures... live. And they are there for the sheer love of it. I repeat, no money is involved. I wonder if the presenters get paid for their sheer and palpable love of being there and geeking out. Brilliant.

[Tony loves the show afterwards, Deal or No Deal, because you come to care about the characters of real people who may or may not win a huge amount of money, and as a result, may or may not have their dreams come true. He likes caring about people. Very endearing.]

2) Revelations

This show is a documentary/ investigative show that goes into religious places (that usually restrict access particularly) to explore the issues of faith and culture (or cults) that arise. The show last week was about the English Christian movement, the Alpha Course, that takes agnostics through a pretty low-pressure 8-week-course (ok, so they speak in tongues) that may or may not change their undecided faith. Next week, it is an expose of a Muslim school. Pretty smart stuff.

3) Question Time

Ok. So someone needs to come up with a better title. Last night’s show featured a bunch of MP’s (Members of Parliament) and ministers of various wings of government, all from a variety of parties, an obnoxious newspaper naysayer and Jarvis Cocker, the lead singer of Pulp. Of course. And people just ask questions from the audience. And it gets sorta heated, but is very informative, interesting, and pretty darn accessible.

And then there is the BBC and their news and specials and Russell Brand, saying the rudest sh*t, you know, just on the TV. Maybe it is novelty, but I am not as upset as I thought I would be about our TV set playing such a prominent role in our living room.

In other news, today was my first day of work in the UK. I took a one-day temp gig taking notes during a meeting. It was good. It feels good to work.

I was running yesterday (as in, for exercise) and I was thinking that North London could do with a local chapter of We've Got Time to Help. In Portland, it has meant that unemployed people can inject a little extra pride and meaning into their lives, do good and get out there while they are also looking for work. It occurred to me because I was running through a park near our house that is incessantly covered with litter. Sure, there is about one bin (a.k.a. garbage can) for the entire park, but please people! What a better place to be, I mused, if the litter was gone. Something to think about.

That is the latest from a gorgeous Friday afternoon in North London. We are heading up to a friend’s 40^th party this weekend in Standon, a little hamlet near Bishop’s Stortford, about a half hour north of the M25. It is 70s themed and I am going as a disco ball. I can’t find my pink wig, BUT I will use the word “boogie” in the proper context and think of my friend Lynn at Smith Rock in Oregon, biking and being a rad babe that still says “boogie.”

My writing sounds so banal and specific. It is about on part with the Writer’s Almanac and most of the stuff that Garrison Keilor does. As Homer screams (as he beats the TV with his shoe): “STOP BEING BORING! STOP BEING BORING!” {PS Why is this not a youtube clip?!)

Waiting for the Mom

Interesting life this one.

I could start off nearly everything I write... ever... with that little sentance.

I have been waiting for my mom to get online for the past two hours. As Moldova is two hours ahead of us, and she said she would be home at three her time, that she has not been on and it is 3 London time means... I am about to give up.

Meanwhile, in another part of my brain, I am trying to keep in mind what is going on with other parts of my family. My 93-year-old grandmother broke her hip and has been moved to hospice as surgery would not actually help her and the experts have apparently informed my family there that this is it for her.

She has always been a formidable force in my family, this grandmother. And although she and I have not seen eye-to-eye on nearly anything, it is amazing to consider that someone is going through such a phenomenal transition right now. Someone I am related to. One of my foremothers. Someone I love.

And of course, it is this intellectual/emotional/spiritual detachment that is mitigating the actual distance I feel from my family, a distance that is about average of what the distance has been over the years, physically, but has changed as far as how often we are in touch because of all the technologies at our disposal. This distance is my own personal version of my family's comfort level, lacking much in the way of ceremony or shared ways of marking transitions.

And although for some reason my lunch made me really very tired for some unknown reason, and the heat probably isn't helping, I am set on getting out on my bike today, going to run some errands, pick up my UK equivalent of a social security number, visiting a yoga store where I applied for a job, and eventually end up at "Ally Pally" (Alexandra Palace) where I will read, relax, and probably write some more of my super-secret book.

Fighting through the weird tiredness is interesting though. I am afraid of having of having one of those auto-immune mystery diseases because as it stands now, I could probably sleep 9-10 hours a night anyway, and take naps! Amazing being of kapha constitution. No nap, gonna go!!!

Would tea help?

a letter to Liz

Hey Lizaliscious--

Psychic much? I just applied for a summer gig at a yoga prop/book/tea/mat/etc supply company to be their German customer support. It sounds like a sweet gig chock full of kindred spirits. We will see.

But yoga has been ranging widely in my psyschic terrain so we will see.

I am glad that the little ginger tin with note and singular earrings found its way to you and the other brilliant mommies.

I hope the distance isn't that big a thing, although it clearly won't be the same. Particularly as you and I seemed to just get things really cinched before I kicked off to this island.

Hum. Would like to see the photos. I don't know how that would work sans la familia.

I am thinking of starting a blog. Stay tuned. Will let you know.

Anyway-- i hope you have a great time in Cali as your facebookness seems to be indicating you are heading south. It is pretty hilarious. Everyone asks me where I am from and I say, Oregon. Everyone says, uh huh and nods. {Pause.} and I say, do you know where that is? And they say,

no.

And I say, north of California on the west coast. I am sure you have probably had the same conversation at some points.

PS you came up at lunch today. I was eating with Adrian, Tony and a few others at this pub way the hell out in the country and we were talking about the shortage of nurses in the states and the way they get paid more than over here and about the lack of spots in training programs, and Adrian was mightily impressed that you were in. He is so funny and laid back, he was sorta like, "Liz? The Liz I know?" yes, Adrian... Funny this lifetime.

I don't mean to dangle cuteness under your nose.

ANYWAY-- gonna go. Seem to be in a write-y mood. Maybe I will start my blog with this note to you.

Much love.
Big hugs.
Your MIT,
B