Delete All

Jul. 9th, 2021 09:47 am
dotinthesky: (Default)
Yesterday, after 16 years of use, I deleted my personal Facebook account. (And by delete I mean, I removed all friends and groups, leaving it only as an admin account for my pousada's FB page.) If I didn't have a guesthouse with so many fans on Facebook, I'd permanenly delete everything. But I have to be realistic, and so the best I can do - for now - is to remove the app from my phone, the shortcut from my browser, and only use the site for work purposes.

I also deleted my Tumblr blog, my writings on Wattpad, my Feedly and Snapchat accounts. And all dating and hook up apps.

I didn't feel anything - no weight lifted, no great shift. It was just something to do, and a truth to recognise that these sites no longer served me and merely held traces of my digital presence. I felt slightly uneasy later about not feeling anything.

Today, I'm reflecting on Livejournal and if I honestly still wish to use this site. As I write this, I can see shortcuts to YouTube, Twitter, Pinterest, Instagram and Goodreads on the browser's tabs. A part of me fears I'll be completely isolated - more so than I already am - if I no longer have any social networks.

And don't get me started on WhatsApp...
dotinthesky: (Default)
Barging Round Britain: Exploring the History of our Nation's Canals and WaterwaysBarging Round Britain: Exploring the History of our Nation's Canals and Waterways by John Sergeant

My rating: 5 of 5 stars

"Barging Round Britain" sounds good as the title of a book on the history of Britain's canals and its narrow boats - it has a ring to it - but it's an intriguing choice nevertheless when you consider that boats people found the term "barge" and "barging" offensive! Maybe the authors are signalling that despite their knowledge of the topic they are not boaters?

The book is perfect for anyone wishing to move into a narrow boat, already living in one, or keen on British history (especially engineering history). It's structured chronologically, starting from the first canals until the last one built. After each chapter detailing the history of a particular canal, the book then offers a guide for the journey on that particular canal, for any readers who chooses to have the book with them as they cruise the canals. It's worthwhile reading these sections, though the desire is high to skip them, as they contain interesting tidbits of English and Welsh history. For example, near Liverpool there is a National Nature Reserve with the largest area of peat bog in the country where the military set fire to moss during WWII to make the Luftwaffe think it was Liverpool and drop their bombs there.

The most interesting section, in my view, is towards the end, where it goes into the canal's social history. The miscreants that manned the boats in its early days (considered the worst of the worst for their boozing and depravity), to the families that then grew from them - entire communities that were born and raised in tiny cabins, shunned by "good society", living in awful conditions (no lavatories, washing their clothes in canals dirtied by the industrial revolution) - there were so many interesting facets mentioned (boat schools created, for example, as well as floating chapels!)

There's a lot of interesting info for history buffs:

- Charles Darwin's grandfather was directly involved with the implementation of canals in England, which led to the Industrial Revolution. He'd have been proud to know his grandchild would one day be the father of the theory of Evolution.
- Boats were drawn by horses on canal paths. Once they reached tunnels, there would be men and women waiting to offer their help in pulling the boats along them. They (known as leggers) would lie on their backs on top of the boat and push with their legs. Wasn't unusual for some to fall in the water and drown. Horses, in the meantime, were worked to their death and were considered the worst treated animals in the country. It wasn't unknown for horses to drop dead into canals and be left there.
- Birmingham was the epicentre of a lot of discoveries that propelled the Industrial Revolution and changed the world, such as the first steam engines. The expansion of canals there also involved a lot of corruption.
- There was a "Canal Mania" at the end of the 18th Century, when canals shares steadily grew, encouraging frenzied speculation and investment - often on canals that never got their permits through Parliament or took decades to finally be completed. Fortunes were made and lost. All interest, sadly, was in making money and not maintaining the canals or creating decent working conditions - so only the worst possible characters took on a boating life. Crime was rife.
- After the "Canal Mania" came the "Rail Mania", killing off canal trade. It made me think of MySpace, killed off by Livejournal, which then got killed off by Facebook... which then got killed off by TikTok?

Luckily, the canals didn't die - thanks to a revival of interest in the Second World War, enthusiasts worked on restoring many stretches, and soon the leisure boating industry moved in. Nowadays, canals are seeing a really strong revival, with many people moving into narrow boats thanks to the high cost of living "on land" (the book doesn't go into this, though.)

View all my reviews
dotinthesky: (Default)
On our movie date, he mentioned Facebook had suggested me as someone he may know. I speculated whether our conversation on WhatsApp had shared data back and forth.

He sends me a friend request a few days later and delivers a surprise: I know his userpic! I’d seen it before: we had chatted to each other two years ago, on Grindr.

Did he approach me on Daddy Hunt because he recognised me? Or is this a gift from the fates?

His next day off is Tuesday but we haven’t decided if we see a film again, or do something else.
dotinthesky: (Default)

“If I had moved into a narrowboat ten years ago, the whole experience would have been documented on Livejournal,” I told [livejournal.com profile] olamina yesterday.

She laughed and agreed with me. And although she posts more regularly than me – about twice a month – even she’s getting some grief from her friends that she doesn’t post often enough. I must be in the dog house with some of my friends! :)

[livejournal.com profile] olamina is one of my oldest Livejournal friends and we have now fallen into a lovely pattern of meeting once a year, when she comes over to Europe to visit her family in London. (Though this might change next year if K and I finally move to Montreal and will be nearer to her in New York.)

I have been thinking about LJ lately – not only because [livejournal.com profile] olamina was in town, but because I also caught up recently with another old LJ friend, [livejournal.com profile] gnossiennes. It had been 13 years since we’d last seen each other! Like myself, [livejournal.com profile] gnossiennes has stopped posting on LJ. We reminisced about the days when we’d post sometimes 5, 6 times a day. Short posts, long posts – thoughtful posts, posts about nothing at all.

Why did I stop posting regularly to LJ? Why has everyone moved to Facebook and stopped sharing their lives’ grit and bones? We have all asked these questions before…

It’s the 1st of August and I’m going to try – AGAIN – to kick start my LJ. For myself, for my memories, for the practice of writing, for the few readers who still use this site, for maybe making some new friends here, for documenting K and mine’s narrowboat adventure.

Please give me grief if I don’t stick to my plans! ;-)

dotinthesky: (Default)
Fim de tarde.#pousadadonamarica #pousadas #minasgerais #brasil

On Friday, 11 August 2017, my brother announced on our family’s guesthouse page on Facebook that the business had closed. It was my mom’s lifelong dream and it ran for just over 12 years.

I feel relived and I think my brother and mother do too. It was untenable as a business, especially in Brasil’s current economic crisis. Also, there were two disabled people right in the heart of it (my mom and youngest brother) and it was too much for my brother, who also has his own family.

The online messages from previous guests have been heart-warming and supportive.
dotinthesky: (Default)

Image by Alba Pena Castro

A bank holiday weekend in London graced by sunshine.

A shirtless young man does pull-ups in Victoria Park. Later, he’ll post a flawless selfie on Instagram. A runner stops to catch her breath and check if her stats uploaded onto RunKeeper. Then comes a group in their twenties, sharing a joke. They’ll have something to tweet about in the evening.

All the benches facing the park’s pond are occupied. Happy young families on the paddleboats upload their photos onto Facebook before they’ve even stepped back onshore.

He wonders what’s the best way to synthesise it all for his online journal.
dotinthesky: (Default)

My brother sent me a video through Facebook of an elderly man in a care home – part of the Music and Memory iPod Project.

The man was in the advanced stages of Alzheimer’s and didn’t recognise anyone anymore. A caretaker placed headphones on him and connected him to an iPod. She then explained to him she was going to play a song. When she pressed play, his eyes lit up, nearly bulged out of their sockets: he was hearing a song he used to love as a young man. He began to sing along to it. When they asked him questions later, he could talk a little about his past, about that song and its musicians. The song had dislodged something that was stored deep inside his brain, brought him back to life for a few minutes.

I wrote back to my brother suggesting we start a list of all our mom’s favourite albums. He agreed and reminded me that she already had many vinyls and CDs at home.

Over the weekend, I took advantage of the unusual sunshine over London to walk around Victoria Park. I suddenly had an idea: from now on, every time I called my mother I’d ask her about something from her past, I’d get her to expand on it, and I’d then write it down for her – for us.

In the evening, I gave her a call and, after our initial chit chat about what was going on in our lives, I asked her what was the first album or song she had ever bought.

‘I can’t remember,’ she said. ‘Why do you want to know?’

‘You don’t remember going to Lojas Americanas perhaps? (Americanas was a popular department store in the brasilian town she grew up in, Londrina, where I knew she and her siblings liked to go for ice creams and shopping when they were young.) Or someone giving you a record?’

‘No,’ she said, a little exasperated. ‘We used to listen to a lot of soap operas on the radio though.’

‘Oh?’

‘We’d gather around the table at night and listen to soaps. There was no TV at the time.’

‘Did your younger brothers and sisters stay quiet while you listened?’

‘They must have,’ she said. ‘I can’t remember.’

Later, I told my boyfriend of this exchange and how disappointed I was -- that realisation that my mother wasn’t like me. What might seem interesting – essential even – for me to remember held no interest to her. Which songs from my past held importance to me?

I remember my first vinyls containing children stories – Peter Pan, Charlie Brown, Sleeping Beauty – and my first proper music album being a two-disc compilation of early 80s hard rock (Joan Jett, Survivor, Judas Priest, etc) called Rock na Cabeça (Rock in the Head). I was 8 and my brother was 6 when we received it as a gift from our dad. As we both owned the compilation together, we decided that disc no.1 would be mine and the second his. He ruined his record soon afterwards when he tried playing it with our dog’s paws as the turntable’s needle.

But would Rock na Cabeça jog my memory if I were ever in Henry's place? The Best of The Smiths probably would, and Suede's first album. Maybe Madonna's Immaculate Collection as well.

‘Why don’t you ask her about her pet pig?’ my boyfriend suggested. ‘She might have more to say about that. She once told me all about him.’


dotinthesky: (Default)
Heading home. Wishing protection and safety for all commuters tonight.

Just before I leave for work, I read a tweet alerting of two explosions in Brussels' airport. It’s a beautiful sunny day outside, the first one this spring.

Train commuters read their free newspapers, already old news. I think of an old friend who lives in Brussels, who had a daughter last year. More news comes in, this time of a bomb gone off in a subway train near the EU Headquarters.  I watch the faces by the train’s doors with some worry. I check Facebook but my friend hasn’t replied to an earlier concerned message.

I then walk down the high street, past Camden Station. Its entrance is like a maw taking in and spilling out people. An unmarked car speeds by, a single driver inside, blasting a siren. An ambulance loiters across the street, eerily silent.

I steer clear of commuters by going down a quiet street. Near my office, I walk past a family unloading their bags from a taxi. They are in good spirits, maybe arriving home after a long journey. One of the young daughters smiles at me so openly and friendly as if thinking ‘isn’t this a beautiful day?’ Her mother wears a hijab.

Gob, part 2

Sep. 9th, 2015 06:52 pm
dotinthesky: (Default)
I went back to the scene of the crime because of what a friend told me on Facebook: that it may have been a bird. I think she may be right. The guttering is slightly too wide, meaning that someone would have to lean half their body out of the window to get me. And the windows have nice doilies... It's more likely a pigeon was sitting there - I was too consumed with the posters to notice it.

Sorry Roman Road folk for doubting you!

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