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Me, Cardinal Wolsey, and Martin Luther King

It could hardly get any better than this – to stumble upon a post about Moscow in 1664 in a blog written by Cardinal Wolsey. The fact that it’s twenty minutes past eleven at night would make me doubt things, but no, this is true: while the life of Henry VIII is being adapted and re-adapted for the screen, his Humble Servant is blogging away “on Tudor history, medieval history, early-modern history and anything else that takes his fancy”.

All jokes aside, Cardinal Wolsey’s Today in History is a really interesting blog, which I haven’t read before. Having spent several years studying mid-Tudor history and specialising in the history of Edward VI’s reign, I was glad to find this post about child kings.

Thanks a lot to Cardinal Wolsey who got me started on remembering my Medieval and Early Modern History studies. I finally feel it is appropriate to tell the story that happened in Moscow in 2003. As you might know, in Russia we have predominantly oral exams, which involve learning a lot of facts, dates, names, definitions, etc., by heart. The exam is taken by a senior academic, who is often assisted by a junior member of staff. So, in my first (and by far the only) year of Ph.D. in History I assisted three or four times, and the final time it was during the summer exam session at the Early Modern History exam.

This 2nd year student had two questions: one on socio-economic history of England in the 16th c., another on the history of German Reformation. He knew his first question badly, and answering it to the senior examiner would have made no difference, as the main examiner was my supervisor, herself an English scholar.

We dragged through this first question, and then I finally “released” him from this turmoil and suggested he’d start answering his second question.

The student evidently thought that German Reformation was an easy question, and that since I was an English scholar I was therefore not a German scholar, so it wouldn’t be too difficult to impress me with some generic phrases. And thus, sitting opposite me at the desk, he almost struck a pose, and pronounced the first sentence that was supposed to start a memorable answer:

– Reformation in Germany was begun by Martin Luther King.

I made my best effort not to take a notice. Alas, the student heard what he said. He shrank and mumbled with a confused smile:

– I mean, simply Martin Luther.

One of my former teachers told me recently he thought this was a joke. It was, of course – except that it was true.

Anton Chekhov, The Joy

The Joy is a short story by a renowned Russian author and playwright, Anton Chekhov. I have long loved it for its satirical look at the individual’s awe of the press. In those days there was no media the way we now know it, but the power that the newspapers owed to their wide-spread circulation was well recognised and appreciated. There is thus no wonder that anyone of a low social standing who’d find his name in the newspaper would be overjoyed, like the protagonist of this story.

I don’t often read English translations of Russian literary classics, mainly because I have already read those in Russian, and there is much more to do other than to compare the differences between the original and its translation. In the case with The Joy, I wanted to translate it anew anyway, and I was convinced it was necessary after I read the English translation. The differences start at the very beginning: in the Russian text, the protagonist’s parents are only getting ready to go to bed, but the English translation says they had already gone to bed.

Why is this difference important? A few short sentences of the opening passages depict the Kuldarins family through the time they go to bed and through what they do, once in bed. The youngest, the brothers, are the earliest to go, so by midnight they’re fast asleep. Next, a sister, is also in bed, but is finishing a novel, of which her parents are probably oblivious. No doubt, the novel is a romance, and the girl is in that “romance-prone” age. The parents, being the oldest, are the last to go to bed, but also perhaps because they are waiting for their eldest child, the protagonist, to return home. This young man is leading a typical young man’s lifestyle, visiting public houses, working in the day as a college registrar, which was the lowest civil officer rank in Imperial Russia.

Those first few sentences are also important because, in spite of a long list of brilliant short stories, Chekhov’s perhaps largest contribution as an author was to the world’s theatre with his poignant dramas and comedies. The Joy is exemplary in that, being written in 1883, it anticipates Chekhov’s plays by setting a stage for the story: a half-asleep house, disturbed by a “joy”. The momentum is built by getting the secondary characters out of their beds only gradually, while also, through many repetitions, pointing to the protagonist’s hunger for fame and his total disregard to the kind of fame that had befallen him.

Links:
Joy by Anton Chekhov
А. П. Чехов, Радость (original Russian text)

Anton P. Chekhov, The Joy (1883)

It was midnight.

Mitya Kuldarov, all excitement, his hair dishevelled, stormed into his parents’ house and quickly walked across all the rooms. The parents were just getting ready for bed. His sister was already in bed, reading the last page of a novel. His brothers, the schoolboys, were fast asleep.

– Where have you come from? – the parents asked in amazement. – What’s the matter?

– Oh, don’t ask! I didn’t expect this! Oh, I didn’t expect this at all! It’s… it’s simply unbelievable!

Mitya burst out laughing and then sank into the armchair, unable to cope with his happiness.

– It’s incredible! You can’t even imagine this! Look!

His sister leaped out of the bed and, wrapping herself in the quilt, went to see her brother. The schoolboys woke up.

– What’s the matter with you? You’re not yourself!

– Oh, it’s a joy, Mother! For now entire Russia knows about me! Entire Russia! Before it was only you who knew about a college registrar Dmitry Kuldarov, and now the whole of the country knows! Mother! Oh my God!

Mitya quickly raised on his feet, ran around the house again, and then returned to the armchair.

– But what happened? Can’t you say exactly?

– You live like animals in the wild, read no newspapers, pay no notice to the news, yet the papers print so many splendid things! Once something happens, it’s promptly reported, nothing is concealed! Oh, I’m so happy! Oh my God! In the papers, they only write about the celebrated people, and now they wrote about me!

– What do you say? Where?

The father went pale. The mother looked at the holy image and crossed herself. The schoolboys left their bed and as they were, in their short nightgowns, came up to their brother.

– Exactly! They wrote about me! Now entire Russia knows me! Mother, you put this issue away and keep as a memory! We’ll be reading it occasionally. Look!

Mitya drew a newspaper out of his pocket, gave it to the father and pointed with his finger to a passage highlighted with a blue pencil.

– Read!

The father put on his glasses.

– Come on, read it!

The mother looked at the holy image and crossed herself, and the father coughed and began to read:

– On December 29^th, at 11 o’clock at night, a college registrar Dmitry Kuldarov…

– You see? See? Carry on!

– … a college registrar Dmitry Kuldarov, upon leaving a porter-serving public house located at Kosikhin’s in Malaya Bronnaya, and being in the inebriated state…

– I was with Semyon Petrovich… No detail is missed! Carry on! On! Listen!

– … and being in the inebriated state, slipped and fell under the horse of a cab-driver that parked there, which driver is known as Ivan Drotov, a peasant of the Durykina village of the Yukhnovsky district. A frightened horse stepped over Kuldarov, and dragged over him the sledge in which was sitting Stepan Lukov, a 2^nd rank Moscow merchant, and then galloped down the street, but was stopped by the street cleaners. Kuldarov, initially unconscious, was later taken to the police station, where he was checked by a doctor. A contusion that he received on his nape…

– I was struck by a thill, father. Go on! Read on!

– … received on his nape is considered light. The incident is being put on file. The victim received medical help”.

– They told me to foment my nape with cold water. So, have you read it now? Yes? See! Now it’s all over Russia! Give it here!

Mitya snatched the paper, folded it and put it back in his pocket.

– I’ll go round to the Makarovs, show them, too… And then to the Ivanitskys, and Natalia Ivanovna, and Anissim Vasillich… I’ll run now! Farewell!

Mitya put on his hat with a badge and, joyous and triumphant, stormed out of the house.

English translation © Julie Delvaux (JS) 2007.

In the Mood for a Weekend

Staying only for half of the day at work on Friday is already enough to put you in the mood for weekend. I was properly in the mood for it on Friday morning, when I discovered that Notebooks – Los Cuadernos de Julia is shortlisted for this year’s Manchester Blog Awards. I couldn’t blog about it last night, as my internet didn’t work, so it’s Saturday morning, and I’d like to say to everyone who nominated me a huge “thank you”. Incidentally, the event will take place at MohoLive in our dear Northern Quarter on October 10th, and although the event is free we’re all advised to book tickets. So, if you’re up to travelling to Manchester on October 10th to see me and other Manchester bloggers in flesh, let us know or just turn up at the event. As for me, I’d be absolutely chuffed to see my reader. Likewise, I’m looking forward to seeing everyone I already know, especially because meeting with some of them is sometimes tricky to organise.

To move on to more digital randomage, I notice that an email is something that gets our heads turn in the past few months: first, the 15th c. email, then mine Short history of the email, and now Google has finally assembled the Gmail users’ submissions for their video about how a Google mail travels. To check the video out, go to Gmail: A Behind the Scenes Video.

Google has also introduced BloggerPlay: in simple terms, they made all photos uploaded to blogs in real time publicly available. In their own words,

Blogger Play will show you a never-ending stream of images that were just uploaded to public Blogger blogs. You can click the image to be taken directly to the blog post it was uploaded to, or click “show info” to see an overlay with the post title, a snippet of the body, and some profile information about the blogger who uploaded it.

Sounds like real fun, and being a woman (after all), I couldn’t resist clicking on catwalk photo that brought me directly to Cuantos Trapitos blog. I don’t know Spanish, but looking at the blog, it’s all about fashion, fashion, fashion, and it’s likely to become one of those that I visit very often. Thanks to Blogger Play, what can I say!

(The image in the post is courtesy of Manchizzle).

Vladimir Solovyov: A Parody on Russian Symbolists

Vladimir Solovyov A Parody on Russian Symbolists mocks an affected, indulgent style of young Symbolist poets and their love for opulent imagery

Russian Symbolism was a branch of European artistic movement under the same name. I first discovered Russian Symbolist poets more than 10 years ago, when I was still at school (Alexander Blok and Konstantine Balmont were my favourite). I suspect, however, that outside Russia Russian symbolism may be primarily associated with theatre, especially the names of Diaghilev and Meyerhold.

Russian Symbolism was occasionally criticised for its superfluous imagery, and the poem that I translated highlights just this sort of criticism. It was composed by Vladimir Solovyov, a Russian philosopher, who was close enough to the Russian literary circles to be able to smile at these sarcastically. The Parodies on Russian Symbolists were printed in 1895 and consist of three parodies, but my favourite has always been the one I have just translated from Russian. It is very much an impromptu, completed chiefly on the bus on my way home. As you may see, Solovyov’s poem is more of a parody on symbolism per se: he generously fills every line with a “symbol”, to create a hilarious image of a jealous lover. So, please welcome, Vladimir Solovyov A Parody on Russian Symbolists, in Russian and English.

Vladimir Solovyov – A Parody on Russian Symbolists

The skies are burning with the lanterns’ fire –
Dark is the Earth!
So, have you been with him, oh woeful liar?
Let truth shine forth!

But tease not the hyena of misgiving
And mice of gloom!
Or else the leopards of revenge come bringing
In teeth your doom!

And call you not the owl of discretion
This fateful night!
The mokes of poise and elephants of question
Have taken flight!

You bore yourself the monstrous crocodile,
Which is your fate!
Oh let the skies burn with the lanterns’ fire –
Dark is the grave!

© Julie Delvaux 2007

Владимир Соловьев, Пародии на русских символистов (1895)

На небесах горят паникадила,
А снизу – тьма!
Ходила ты к нему иль не ходила?
Скажи сама!

Но не дразни гиену подозренья,
Мышей тоски!
Не то смотри, как леопарды мщенья
Острят клыки!

И не зови сову благоразумья
Ты в эту ночь!
Ослы терпенья и слоны раздумья
Бежали прочь!

Своей судьбы родила крокодила
Ты здесь сама!
Пусть в небесах горят паникадила,
В могиле – тьма!

More posts on Vladimir Solovyov, Alexander Blok, Translation.

A Short History of the Evolution of the Email

My favourite seminar at the Moscow State University was in Modern History, not exactly because I enjoy the time period, but because we had a fantastic tutor who made us read Rousseau, and Montesquieu, and Toynbee, and Febvre, and Jaspers, and engaged us in sometimes high-flown philisophical discussions.

He also had a great sense of humour. Once we were comparing the gone and present civilisations. The question was, whether or not those medieval people, forever stinking and superstitious, were less happy than modern people, who have got things that medieval people wouldn’t even think of. The answer was, of course, that medieval people simply didn’t know about the things that we’ve got, so they were neither less, nor more happy. Had they been transported into our time, tried out different things, and then went back to their time, then they would probably be very unhappy.

Today, however, I saw this video on YouTube, and it made me contemplate on how far the world would have gone, had the 15th c. folks really had Macs in their sacks. In the 15th c. they’d retype their emails many times before entrusting a Mac to a messenger. In the 16th c. they’d discover the spell-checker and possibly some drawing programs. The latter would become extremely useful in the 17th c., during the Thirty Years War (1618-1648), as it would allow to draw the schemes of the enemy’s headquarters and positions on the battlefields, as well as the enemy’s portraits. They still wouldn’t know how to save these things, which is exactly the reason why this early electronic history of mankind is not available, not even in cache.

However, because of war, people would realise how costly it may be to send a Mac with a messenger, so they’d create logins. (I anticipate some archaeological discoveries or the mentions in the 17th c. manuscripts of the destroyed white metallic boxes that didn’t seem to contain any information and had been broken in parts in the hope of uncovering the information). The logins and passwords would be sent, as previously, with pigeons.

In the 18th c., inspired by the great surge in development of natural and social sciences, as well as by the new literary genres, people would further experiment with their Macs. They’d learn to use Word, to write their novels and dramas; they’d use Excel to manipulate the complex economic figures (as you might know, Adam Smith was undoubtedly familiar with Excel functions); and the antiquarians would master the use of Access, to catalogue their stupendous collections.

Moreover, in the 18th c. they’d not be content with using just a Mac (which, some people say, is rubbish at RSS applications), so they’d invent a PC. At this time, because of the all-pervasive influence of computers, they’d briefly get back to writing letters on paper. But soon the Revolution would strike, and they’d realise that sending a paper letter may cost one their life. A messenger was now much more dangerous a mercenary than ever before, and it was vital to find the means to avoid using him to send the information. So people would go back to emails, and this time they’d finally discover the “send” button. The 19th c. would thus have started.

But the email users still had to discover many things. By coming across the “send” button, they would be able to avoid the use of messengers, but they still couldn’t protect themselves from being framed. That’s until they’d discover the way to archive private information and to delete sent and received messages. But this would only happen under the influence of the world wars.

In the 20th c., during the wars, it would become clear that it was impossible to spend time typing every word at full, so the electronic shorthand would have been developed. The wars having been finished, shorthand wouldn’t disappear but instead would become an inherent part of email writing. The email users would appreciate the enormous possibilities of punctuation at communicating moods and emotions: 0), ^_^, :-(((, ;-). As there was no longer any real danger in keeping hold of one’s correspondence, people would be deleting sent and received emails less and less often, and already in the new millenium many email applications would offer their users the unlimited mailboxes, and even an option of searching their growing email archives.

But as technology doesn’t stop, neither does email. We’d enter the 21st c. with a huge array of means to deploy emails, which would include sending them via a mobile phone. And if you’d ever had any reservations about the human ability to progress, this short story of the evolution of the email (had it been true) would have proved you wrong once and for all.

Luciano Pavarotti

As I was going to work in the morning, there was a small article in Metro about the Italian tenor Luciano Pavarotti being in serious condition. A few hours later at work I read on MSN that one of the world’s greatest opera artists died.

There is very little to say, amidst the tributes and obituaries. U2’s Bono said Pavarotti epitomised opera. Undoubtedly, he also epitomised Italy, exuberant and passionate as he was. It is, I guess, because of his immensity – be it physique, talent or life – that millions of people around the world have taken his exit so close to heart. He entered the memory of many as an ever-smiling opera genius, and nothing can fill the void.

Many an opera aficionado will already have passed on their condolensces to the tenor’s family. It is strange to think that, like there would never be any Beatles “comeback” after George Harrison died, so now there are no longer Three Tenors, certainly not in the way we have come to think of them.

The MSN article renders precisely the significance of today’s date for the classical music scene:

In the annals of that rare and coddled breed, the operatic tenor, it may well be said the 20th century began with Caruso and ended with Pavarotti. Other tenors — Domingo included — may have drawn more praise from critics for their artistic range and insights. But none could equal the combination of natural talent and personal charm that so endeared Pavarotti to audiences.

Luciano Pavarotti has embraced his fame after performing Nessun Dorma in 1990 at the opening of the World Cup in Italy. He sang it again in 2006 at the opening of the Torino Olympic Games, which turned out to be his last major performance. This aria from Puccini’s Turandot has always been one of my favourite opera arias. Earlier this year somebody practically anonymous, my compatriot, has sent me in an email a recording of Nessun Dorma as a Christmas present, which I enjoyed a lot. In the video below Pavarotti performs Nessun Dorma in Torino in 2006 (many thanks to supinder for posting this). I cannot describe in words how much or why I love this part, every time I hear it my eyes fill with tears…

MBA and Tenori-On Launch

MBA is what I have just realised the abbreviation of the Manchester Blog Awards 2007. The first event of this kind was held last year, and as those who were present there a year ago testify, this is a wonderful night to attend and to remember. The idea belongs to Kate Feld, and this year’s event is expected to be held on October 10, at Mojo Live in Northern Quarter. The nominations are: best political blog, best arts and culture blog, best personal blog, best new blog (started since September 1st 2006), and best creative writing on a blog. The deadline for nominations is September 7th.

More information: BBC Manchester Blog and The Manchizzle.

And one more date for your diary, whether you live in London or in Manchester. September 4th and September 5th will see the world-wide launch on Tenori-On hosted in London and in Manchester, respectively. Tenori-On is the latest invention from a Japanese artist Toshio Iwai, who I had had the honour of watching performing on this instrument exclusively at the last year’s Futuresonic launch. As far as I remember him talking about his interest in music and visual arts, he’d always been fascinated with motion picture, and had been drawing animated films in small notebooks. It looks like many a great thing starts with a notebook.

To quote from Futuresonic’s website where you can find all information about the events, “the TENORI-ON is a unique 16 x 16 LED button matrix performance controller with a stunning visual display. For musicians, visual artists & DJs it is a unique performance tool that enables them to create spectacular live & DJ audio-visual performances. The worldwide exclusive events will feature TENORI-ON performances from some of the finest talents in electronic music plus an introduction and discussion with the TENORI-ON’s inventor, Toshio Iwai.”

And here are the line-ups in London and in Manchester – as you’ll see, admission is free but an early arrival is recommended to avoid disappointment.
LONDON,
TUESDAY 4 SEPTEMBER Featuring:
Robert Lippok (Domino/To Rococo Rot)
Toshio Iwai (Media Artist)
Secondo (Dreck Records)
Capracara (Soul Jazz)

Phonica Records / Vinyl Factory, London
6pm-11pm
Admission Free
MANCHESTER,
WEDNESDAY 5 SEPTEMBER
Featuring:
Robert Lippok (Domino/To Rococo Rot)
Toshio Iwai (Media Artist)
Secondo (Dreck Records)
Graham Massey (808 State/Toolshed)

Mint Lounge, Oldham Street, Manchester
8pm-Midnight
Admission Free

Toshio Iwai’s performance at the launch of Futuresonic 2006 at the Warehouse 1832 at the Museum of Science and Industry in Manchester was indeed a stunning performance, a visionary and visually impressive piece of music. And to put you in the Tenori-On mood, and possibly to lure you to either a Manchester or a London venue, here is a short demo from YouTube.

More information: Futuresonic and Last.fm.

The Strongest Parts of Our Bodies

Last year when I only just started blogging I wrote this post about the offbeat news stories in Metro newspaper. Those included a story about the bull who got stuck in the river mud while trying to get to the herd of cows on the opposite bank, and tips for appeasing the over-amorous neighbours whose moans don’t let you have your own quality time.

Frankly, I don’t read Metro very often. I spend so much time reading both printed and digital texts that having something in front of my eyes on the train is too much. But now and again I flick through Metro’s pages, and it somehow happens that it is in the second half of the year that I get to read some really funny stories.

So today I read about a Malaysian man nicknamed “King Tooth” who beat his own record of train-pulling. He tugged the seven-coach 2.9tonnes train almost 3m along the tracks. Rathakrishnan Velu is a strict vegetarian, he gets up every morning at 4.30am to do at least 25km of running and to lift at least 250kg (and not just with his teeth). He is said to attribute much of his dental strength to daily meditations. Indeed, in some videos shown on the web he is seen entering the state of uttermost concentration before embarking on his record-breaking “trail”.

His management is reportedly “slightly disappointed” because the man was expected to tug the train 4m. The government, on the contrary, is elated. The Malaysian cabinet minister Dr Maximus Ongkili is quoted saying: ‘I don’t know what toothpaste he uses. But I’m sure a lot of companies will be looking to endorse their products from Rathakrishnan’.

I included a few images in this post from Metro, but I especially like the one on the left. I think this is the most natural image of profound contemplation since “The Thinker” by Rodin – and strikingly similar, too (see right).

It wouldn’t be Metro, however (or any other respectable newspaper), if it didn’t accompany the story with a selection of other world records in lifting and pulling. So, in the past we’ve had a Pakistani man lifting 51.7kg with his right ear. We’ve got a Briton lifting more than 11kg with his tongue. A Lithuanian lifted 59.18kg with his beard. An Australian pulled “a Boeing 747-400, weighing 187tonnes, a distance of 91m in 1min 27sec”. I suppose this one is not just about the weight or distance, but primarily about the time.

Last but not least, at a strongman contest in Jakarta (Indonesia) in June a man “proved how hard he was by pulling an 8.9tonne bus 50m using his penis“. I won’t contemplate his methods of training, but really, isn’t this the ultimate proof of manhood?

Carmarthen Cameos – 9: Childhood Memories of Dinefwr

When I sat down to narrate my journey and stay in Carmarthenshire in June, I wasn’t sure how this would go. As I said in the very first post under Carmarthen Cameos label, I didn’t know how to approach Carmarthen. It would seem occasionally that medieval ballads and lullabies were still heard across Carmarthenshire, and my visit to Llandeilo and Dinefwr only confirmed to me that there are still places very near to us that haven’t lost their original charm.

However, my impressions were largely my own, and I didn’t intend to make them particularly entertaining or objective. I must admit, though, going to Dinefwr Castle was like fulfilling a child’s dream for me. That post on Dinefwr attracted some comments, but little did I know that a couple of months later I would receive a letter from Jeremy Thomas, who grew up in Llandeilo in the 60s and 70s and now lives in the States. The letter in which he narrated his memories of Dinefwr is the one that you’d write about something that suddenly visited you and is very precious. It also documents that part of history of Dinefwr and Llandeilo area which is only known to someone who lived there, and, with Jeremy’s permission, you can now read what it was like to be a kid in Llandeilo:

“Your words brought back the memories of the many weekends of my youth when my cohorts and I would trespass on the castle grounds.

Yes, trespass. In those days the castle was not open to the public at all. There were no signposts, no pathways, and no history lessons. The castle was as raw as if it had been left untouched for centuries. To get there we would pretend we were entering guarded territory (back then the threat came in the shape of the dreaded local farmers). We’d scale the hillsides and thrash through the wooded areas to get to our reward–a veritable time-wrap.

The novelty never wore off. Each and every time inside the castle we would be transported to medieval times–an eerie but irresistible connection to the voices and bodies of the past. We all had ancestors going back centuries in the Llandeilo area, so the connection was plausibly familial.

At the end of the day we would always scare the living daylights out of each other, making up ghost stories as we sat in one tower room that I remember still had a parquet-type floor. I don’t know if you saw that same tower room, but I used to think it was some fair maiden’s boudoir.

There were never any other people at the castle which made the experience so personal. With dusk upon us and with our imagination running wild, the flight back to Llandeilo was always at full speed. I remember once getting in trouble with one of my friend’s mothers for having frightened my poor pal out of his skin with one of my ghost stories.”

I didn’t see the floor, but if I am totally honest, I didn’t even look on the ground where I walked. The walls and the views from them were so much more captivating for me. And considering that to walk up the hill to the castle is quite a feat, it probably doesn’t see too many visitors, in spite of being open to the public.

Jeremy also mentions the church (that I also missed), “Llandyfeusant, tucked under one of the hillsides on the way to the castle. We would also stop off there when we were kids to get our adrenaline flowing (it was always too dark on the way back, of course). The church hadn’t seen a service for decades back then and was always cloaked in such a creepy silence. Some of the tombstones were even open so you can just imagine what dares we subjected each other to. Life went along at a steady pace in those days and the days were definitely longer.“

I must admit, reading Jeremy’s story almost made me jealous. As a child, I lived in the capital city of concrete, brick and glass, and I had no such luxury of visiting a derelict church with half-open tombs, or of sitting in a cold medieval castle, pressing my back against the 13th-14th c. stones, listening to the movement of bats’ wings and to the scary tales of my friends. I had to exploit the books and my imagination to fulfil the void, but, God knows, I wish I had spent at least a couple of days in Llandeilo, visiting Dinefwr. Thanks to Jeremy, however, I did just that.

If you have your own memories of visiting Dinefwr, or any other castle, especially when you were a child, and don’t mind sharing your stories with us, please leave a comment.

– D([“mb”,”\u003c/div\>\u003cdiv\>\u003cbr\>\u003c/div\>\u003cdiv\>It feels so far away now.\u003c/div\>\u003cdiv\>\u003cbr\>\u003c/div\>\u003cdiv\>Like you, I am a linguist. I have lived in Russia (as Soviet Union), Geneva, Seville and France. I have been in the States for seventeen years now, but my family still lives in and around Llandeilo.\n\u003c/div\>\u003cdiv\>\u003cbr\>\u003c/div\>\u003cdiv\>Sincerely,\u003c/div\>\u003cdiv\>\u003cbr\>\u003c/div\>\u003cdiv\>Jeremy Thomas\u003c/div\>\u003cdiv\>\u003cbr\>\u003c/div\>\u003cdiv\>\u003cbr clear\u003d\”all\”\>\u003cbr\>– \n\u003cbr\>Jeremy Thomas | Partner / Director of Account Planning | Collaborate | work: 415.651.1218 cell: 415.425.2802\n\u003c/div\>\n”,0] ); D([“mi”,10,2,”11499b57fd73fa05″,0,”0″,”Julia Shuvalova”,”Julia”,”julia.shuvalova@gmail.com”,[[[“jeremyt”,”jeremyt@collaboratesf.com”,”11499b57fd73fa05″] ] ,[] ,[] ] ,”24-Aug (4 days ago)”,[“jeremyt@collaboratesf.com”] ,[] ,[] ,[] ,”24-Aug-2007 22:09″,”Re: Dinefwr musings”,”Hi Jeremy, I hope you are OK. I’m very sorry for not replying earlier, I’m af…”,[] ,1,,,”24 August 2007_22:09″,”On 24/08/07, Julia Shuvalova \u003cjulia.shuvalova@gmail.com\> wrote:”,”On 24/08/07, \u003cb class\u003dgmail_sendername\>Julia Shuvalova\u003c/b\> wrote:”,”gmail.com”,,,””,””,0,,”\u003c4d7733f50708241409y43d05bc1o7749d12e370bdbc3@mail.gmail.com\>”,0,,0,”In reply to \”Dinefwr musings\””,0] ); //

Manchester – One of a Kind

Being a Manchester blogger, I nevetheless don’t write about Manchester as often, as about literature, or music, or my own experiences. Thankfully, I’m not unlike many a Manchester blogger. When it comes to proving our allegiance, it may look as if we take our Mancunian connection as a matter of fact. As far as I am concerned, it is both so and not because Manchester is a great, quirky, impossible, challenging place to live, – it is simply one of a kind, which is why we all love it, for however long we’ve been here. But if you want to send your love message to Manchester, it’s got to be different, isn’t it?

Yesterday I was trying my hand for the first time at making slideshows with music. I created two small ones, which gave me great deal of inspiration to experiment further. So, I took my photos of Manchester (all of them you could already see on Flickr), arranged them, edited and tweaked them, added music (“One of a Kind” from “Easy Jazz, Easy Listening” collection I copied to my hard drive when I was at QT Radio)… and then spent several hours trying to figure out how to change the file extension, so I could upload the video to the web. Finally, all jigsaw pieces came together, and here is my declaration to Manchester. It’s never been intended to be comprehensive, so there are a lot of Manchester sights missing. But we each have our own Manchester, so, while watching this video, you are seeing this city with my eyes.

I’ll continue to experiment with these technologies, but the very fact of me making this slideshow about Manchester as the first public slideshow must be telling. In connection with this, I think it’s not too bad that we, bloggers, don’t blog about Manchester very often. Because when we do, we do so with a difference.

[I’m also using the newly added feature in Blogger that allows you to upload your videos in different formats directly to your blog, without the necessity to host the file elsewhere, so as to obtain a code for embedding. LiveJournal doesn’t offer such option yet, as I had to upload the file to Imeem.com first in order to be able to post it to my Russian blog.]

//www.youtube.com/get_player