Xmas Cheer

Sent by John Whitley

Hi there, and a happy holidays to all. Right now, I'm listening to Glenn Miller's band playing 'Jingle Bells' from a mix I made for my last show.

Christmas is almost upon us and here in Gib we're like many folks in the western world. Our Main street has been full of locals spending money we're not sure will be there by next month. Maybe it's smarter that way? It sure gets the lumps out of the mattress. We've also had an influx of Spanish as they find themselves with a better exchange rate as the pound collapses. It would seem that the English followed the USA model of 'Greed and business' a little too closely.

Sent by Ann Trudell

Gib celebrates Xmas big here I've been to two separate parties paid for by our bosses. A formal dinner dance (dress in a suit) type for which they laid on coaches and took us into Spain. Then a more casual lunch which was in town. Then us guys at work are heading out to eat some lunch on the 31^st. It does my spirit good but my heart bad I'll be climbing on the 'Weight train' next month! That's if I can run and catch it.

Sent by Heather Sabella
Photo shopped by me!

Though everyone here has been complaining that its been the coldest winter ever. We've had some beautiful days. At the top of the Rock we had golden sunshine pouring down and warming us. At one point I had five apes laying around where the cable car comes in sunning themselves. I know it's been different for you. Mark Marshall just web cammed me and I saw the snow you guys have been getting. I love each and everyone of you but I am so glad I don't have snow in my weather pattern. I had to smile when a month ago all of Gibraltar was running around excited and snapping digital pictures of large hail stones. Some people even made diminutive snowmen from the ice. Could 'Jack Frost' have been hiding in my suitcase all this time? Besides these visitors from a higher altitude we've also had some extremely powerful storms come along and pound our little Rock. Just a couple of months ago another ship was sent to the bottom of the sea. Here's some video shot by a local reporter where you can see this large ship being pounded by the sea. I keep seeing a huge watery hand breaking it in two.

So, I did the Xmas show at the historical/hysterical Garrison library which is a truly wonderful building. Several hundred years old, chock full of ancient books and atmosphere. The room we performed in was pure unadulterated Victorian magic with it's tall, tall ceilings and two large fire places. The evening I had designed was 'Christmas in Gibraltar 1945': An hour long radio show broken up by a choir thirty-five strong who sang many lovely Xmas hymns and songs. The material and jokes for the show were borrowed from radio broadcasts during WW2. Now, as you know I'm not usually up for Xmas till...well...December and then not until Xmas week. So, this was very odd for me. I had been collecting radio shows & Xmas music for months. Standing in shorts on a 90 degree day during July pouring over newspapers and soldiers magazines from the period. Looking for mentions of what they were doing to celebrate Christmas and how was daily life? I listened to the radio shows and music over the months and slowly a plan came into form. Nothing written down but I was working on it. Then two weeks before the show my computer coughed up a blue screen which I did not like the look of and made me unsure I could keep it working. It was then that I decided to buy a new machine. Since all the sound files which I was going to to transcribe from were on the hard drive and the thing I was going to write with was the computer.

I found one at a good price and made the purchase. My new set up is faster and smarter than the older. I wish I were too. Days followed battling the new machine as I learnt just how fussy Vista was going to be. But...by the end I got the computers up and the script was written in just two days leaving me in a haze but with a plan called 'B'.

Now, as far as the show? It was like trying to herd cats. Too many lovely, smiling people telling me I was in charge and then constantly reminding me that we couldn't do things that way. I was grateful for the input but tired of the game plan. I was the new kid on the block with no real idea of the shape of the evening but by all accounts a good time was had by all. It was two sold out houses filled to the rafters with plenty f extra seats and fire codes thrown to the wind. We raised close to 1,500 dollars for the RAF benevolent fund and we made more money this year than others.

So, onto the next thing which in my case is cramming my lines for the pantomime and assuming the role of 'Cringe' one of the footmen to the 'Evil Count de Cash'. Not too demanding and something I won't repeat. The director has a habit of not running any of the moments or lines more than once. Therefore no-one can remember much and cares even less. She then gets angry because of this. I know you can see my smile.

I also went and saw my doctor here to get an appointment with an orthopaedic surgeon a few months down the road. It will be worth the wait to have him look at my body and send me for a scan. Perhaps, I can get my knee sorted out. It gives me much grief! But mostly I am well and looking forward to putting this year behind us. Art wise I feel a little cramped. I miss my familiar actors and the quality, humor and understanding they brought to these projects.

But, enough... I found this fun item posted on Yahoo about the New President elect...

Made me smile... I love and miss you so much and shall be thinking of you all through the holidays. Your friend always Andrew Dark

Judy Garland: Merry Xmas (My current fav)

The end of days.. Heratics & Lipstick

So, what's it all about?

You know the meaning of life? (Song)

Sorry folks... that I've not been writing much in my blog but I needed to work on a few things before the apocalypse comes. As you all know by now the media has informed us that “the end is nigh”. So, I have been busy catching up with a few soul absolving tasks. Isn't it funny? But since, the “Market Meltdown” and the 'Presidential debates' saying my prayers and cleaning out the basement for a bomb shelter seem vitally important. It only seems like a few days ago when the American people exerted some political opinion and expressed angst to the houses of Congress and Senate about the bailout and how it was rewarding the people who'd broken the economy. Oh, how foolish we were believing in Democracy. We had no understanding of how bent the universe is! For the money market gods of Mammon looked down from Wall street and they were angry. In a mighty tantrum they tore down the temple and plunged the numbers into the toilet. For we were doubting that they had done the right thing? We were questioning their motives? Didn't we understand that it wasn't the people running these companies who'd done something wrong? No, it was the E.S.S. (Evil European Scientists) who had played the Large Hadron Collider RAP (song) so loud that it had torn a hole in the financial space time credit continuum of the global economy with their hip-hop. Allowing a Recessional Black hole to connect to our universe and suck out the value of everything as we know it. This is what had caused Main street to wink out. The people to be swept away... Leaving only these brave Captains of Industry to sail upon the sea of paltry billions (we had given them) so they may create the world in their image anew. Give me a break...hang the bastards!

Please, take the time and hug yourself. I offer a few songs and things to reassure you. Keep your chin up and your smile wide. Put on some lipstick and make yourself feel like a billion Dollars! The world is not over. Miss ya Love Andrew Dark.

A Dark Painting:

Unger Report:Making the most of a bad bussiness (Radio humor)

But I like Palin! This guy would be a wonderful VP (Classic Python)

Give me a call on the Banana phone: (Song)

All aboard!

My ears are still ringing from the booming blues as I head home across Casemates Square. It's midnight and the last throes of our hot and steamy summer are hanging in the air. The youngsters are just starting to head out for one last fling before they go away to university in England. So, I segue from the blues playing at the Lord Nelson to being serenaded by these creatures of the night calling their lust to each other in the darkness. The women look beautiful each one an exotic flower seeking pollination, wearing flowery skirts so short they should be called napkins. The men so handsome everyone of them a King Bee, delightfully long & lean in their low cut jeans showing off their briefs.

My mind is numb from work and my body tired. All day we didn't stop shuttling people up to the top. The line stretching right across the parking lot with a waiting time of two hours. Gibraltar was filled to capacity, three cruise liners were in port bringing over 6,000 people from different parts of the world to our little town. Then there were all the others who had come across the frontier from Spain by coach, car and foot. This multitude all heading towards our Main street and the upper Rock!

As I pass through the ancient tunnel gates which still guard the entrance to the city square. The memory of the queue shuffling slowly forward is still flickering in my eye. An endless stream of humanity like Fritz Lang's gray workers in Metropolis heading towards the elevators to begin their shifts. The difference being these guys are on vacation and are wearing colors not seen in nature. All day: I'd take off the rope and start counting as they went by One, two, three...till I stopped at 24 souls. Souls? Yes, because getting into a cable car is a matter of faith. Those of you who snicker are welcome to join me in a steel can some 14 feet long, 6 feet wide and 8 feet tall which is about to be taken up some 1400 feet by a cable. Then everyone has faith, even those with fear have faith...in their fears. I have faith in the technology...mostly. Except, for the times I don't...

All day: I put people in and closed the door, pressed a button, then waited until the operator at the top was ready. You see like a pair of dancers on wire our cars are linked. One goes up as the other comes down. Within seconds the temperature inside the cabin would soar from our bodies crammed together. I'd press another button and a voice would say “Welcome to the cable car! You are traveling up 412 meters to the top of the Rock of Gibraltar.” This of course does nothing to console those who fear heights and there is at least one person every ride who is very scared. After nearly two months, I can spot the nervous ones quickly. Their eyes give them away. Women deal with it quietly by grabbing a hand rail and looking at the floor but men are terrible wanting to be in control. They also have the odd habit of teasing their women instead of consoling them?

The people who enter the car are an audience with expectations and anxieties. How often do you check the cable? Has the cable ever broken? Are the monkeys friendly? Do they bite? I joke and reassure. It seems forever but after a couple of minutes the car moves upwards and we’re off. There’s a gasp of relief as air comes through the open windows cooling us off and the ground falls away. It's as if some cartoon ray gun is at work because everything below us seems to be shrinking. The buildings, cars and people become toys. Then suddenly we are clear of the town and the scenery opens up to show the Straits of Gibraltar. A cacophony fills the cabin as the cameras beep and a sing song of languages begins talking. I don’t need a Babel fish in my ear to know that all those tongues are saying the same thing how beautiful! For it is a sight which invokes in me a genuine feeling of awe. Not 'awe' as in an “awesome ice-cream” but the real thing! Something both mystical and mythical which your spirit cannot tire of.

On a sunny day the calmer waters in the bay between us and Spain seem like rippling, liquid glass. The ships in the port which are so huge outside my bedroom window now seem small enough for a child's hands. Fisherman's large row boats sit like minute bugs on the waters surface. To the north the wind turbines on the Spanish hills are just the right size for Don Quixote to tilt. But we're not done yet. Higher and higher we go and our ears pop with the speed of our ascent. We're visiting the gods! Over there to the south Mount Hacho peeks over an icing of clouds. It's one of the mythical Pillars of Hercules with Gibraltar being the other. This is where the ancient strong man stood and smashed down the divide between the Mediterranean sea and the Atlantic ocean. At this point the once dark continent of Africa is a mere 14 miles away.

I'm almost home at my flat with a crescent moon smiling down. The ships in the bay once more normal sized and the lights from Spain twinkling their goodnight...goodnight. Love Andrew.

The olympics & the true face of medusa.

The True face of Medusa?

I write this time from Ocean Village a complex of expensive apartments and piers built by speculators hoping Gib will become another Monaco. The dream to attract people with a lot of money to buy summer homes and berth their luxury yachts. I’m in one of a slue of high class restaurants which have opened and this is an Indian restaurant without a hint of Indian styling or dark skinned waiters. Through the open windows the smell of the sea and the sounds of the bay float across me and the sweet white flower which floats in a glass on my table. All this mingles with Nora Jones whose crooning quietly in the background. As I peruse the menu and listen to the music. I notice a heavy set woman in her mid-sixties looking towards my direction almost smacking her lips. I wince at my sudden attractiveness and order a drink to steady my nerves. A gin and tonic in honor of my dear friend John Whitley who would love this tranquil moment. He would also smile to know that the man with no sports gene (moi) has so far successfully managed to miss the Olympics. A hard thing to do in Gib which like the rest of the western world has become littered in every bar and restaurant with flat screens plastered with the games.
The young waitress with the accent from some unfamiliar European country comes over with my drink and I order a chicken Byranni with some Nan bread. The lady across the room is still glancing over towards me with that hungry look. Feeling like an appetizer at a homeless persons convention. I try looking elsewhere towards a framed picture opposite of me of a British fox hunting scene. An image totally incongruous with the Asian menu I’ve chosen my food from. I drift back to my notes and sip my colonial G&T. Where was I? Oh yes…the Olympics in China with all it’s Ying and yang grandeur and grotesqueness. A more humdrum looking singer swapped out for a lip-sinking cutie. A spectacular fireworks display tweaked with computer graphics. A mind blowing opening ceremony utilizing countless humans doing the same thing in unison. Spooky and spectacular. You ask me Chairman Mao still casts a long shadow across this culture?
But not to worry folks here comes President Bush who bumbles and drools his way through the ceremony and games. Ignoring…like all the press…China’s human rights record and pollution levels. Why wouldn’t they? The USA’s are not so good! I like John Stewart am looking forward to the end of the Bush administration ‘as a person….and as a mammal.’ Speaking of mammals the woman is now looking like she’d like me to suckle her deepest desire.
I look once more towards the picture of English gentry on horseback hunting down a fox…when I spot it. Like Perseus avoiding the gaze of Medusa by using his shield’s reflective surface to see. The glass of the painting opposite me has a reflection dancing in it from an until then unseen television screen which is above my head. A perfectly beautiful young man on the parallel bars. The figure that the woman has been watching with such hungry eyes. He is the tall drink of water which her thirsty body would love to drink. I smile…a little disappointed and eat my dinner in peace. At least I didn’t get turned to stone!

Motor cycles and music (August 14th)

I slip down Parliament lane towards the Star bar where our oldest pub and my local is. Its situated in a razor blade thin cobbled stoned street which reminds me of New Orleans. For a second I remember my sweet ex-wife Lois dancing with me at a jazz funeral. Then she’s gone swaying on the balmy air. Behind me I can still hear the sounds of the crowd coming from Gibraltar’s main town square. Where I’ve just walked through to get to here. It’s the Summer nights festival and a large stage and sound system has been set up in Casements square so that dancers, musicians and DJ’s can entertain a large crowd of locals eating and drinking at the restaurants. As I pass through the crowd checking out the scene I shake my head smiling. A couple of 21st Century sorcerering apprentices in the guise of two young DJ’s are dueling each other with a cacophony of robotic beats, repetitive crescendos and lusty electronic mush…but not a note of music. Like enthusiastic amateur lovers they grope around each other with sampled slivers of sounds but there’s no ecstasy to fool the ears into orgasm just deafeningly loud sloppy moments. A pair of struggling Mickey Mouses comes to mind with an over conjured tempest brewing wilder and wilder all about them and threatening to drown us all.
Earlier this week the same square had been full of some 800 Shiny Harley Davidson’s from a motor cycle rally that we had here in Gib. (I have a couple of photos attached.) A nice bunch of leather clad folks took over the town. Shame the bodies were not in better shape. Mostly…beer bellied men and older women who should know better. But tonight, the bodies are much younger and hesitatingly move to the beat. Mostly just teenagers dancing who are on vacation and so don’t have curfews and much confidence in their steps. Suddenly, as if hearing my thoughts about the lack of real music in this musical event, Tom Jones voice roars out across the square with a cry of “I think I better dance now!” and The Art of noise song ‘Kiss’ pounds away with it’s own brand of retro electronic beats. Then as if magically freed from the DJ’s spell the youngsters are gyrating as one. A split second later the music wave washes across the adults in the restaurants and toes start tapping while butts bounce around on their seats. Will he ever die I wonder? Or will Tom Jones just keep living on in some zombie form? Inside some future mix? I think he just might. It’s our modern mummification. An eternal digital after-life.
I move inside the tiny Star Bar to get a drink and the babble of music is taken over by the drone of dueling TV’s spewing out news. SKY (British) on one…CCN (European) on the other. Not much of it good…the markets are still collapsing from the credit melt down and the Middle East wars are escalating with their casualties. Joined by Georgia’s foolish attempt to get into a pissing contest with the Russians. Plus, I still haven’t met up with a Hash dealer. I take my brandy and move outside to a cooler table in the night air and sit opposite a stationary store called ‘Write away’ How things have changed? No pen and paper with weeks to get your words to someone. We now keep in contact with facebook and can see the smallest things that a friend is up to. Feeling anachronistic as I write in my journal, I smile at the ease of all the other things in my new life this time. It’s no longer the scarping nails on glass at having to give up the USA. Instead a growing acceptance and confidence in the future. I still miss people but the sense is of something to the end of a run but not the adventure. That there is much more to be accomplished.
The job has turned out to be mostly fun and this week I had a singing experience with some four Germans folks in their sixties who were riding down from the top station. It was a truly beautiful day and the sky we were moving through seemed just endless as a powerful cooling wind slid through the open windows of the cable car. (Yes, we have open windows in summer but they do have bars to prevent folks from falling out.) Then a husband of one the two couples began quietly singing a song to his wife. It caught my ear because it was the same song that I had been loudly singing on top of the cable car as we did our test runs. Partly to overcome my nerves at the long drop but mostly because it is such a thrill to be doing such a thing. Anyway, the fella starts singing and I join in. He turns around, smiles to me and starts singing louder. Then all five of us are just singing our heads off as the cable car seems to fly!!! I finish this weeks ‘Bloggo’ from Gib with the song. Love and miss you all.