The Power of the Daleks ©BBC
Good distractions from the unfolding political nightmare:
- Watching the animated reconstruction of Patrick Troughton’s first story, The Power of the Daleks, in the cinema. Actually, I also enjoyed just focusing on the audio and trying to hear it in the living room where it was first broadcast and saved 50 years ago. The story itself was silly but menacing nonetheless, with sneaky Daleks ready to lure credulous humans into with extravagant promises of 100% reliable weather forecasts. And then killing almost all of them.
- Introducing James to Four Lions. I do love that film.
- Playing Pandemic with Randi, Chloe, Aaron and Jason. I was sceptical of cooperative games but this really won me over, even though we were unsuccessful in saving the world from destruction. (Damn you, South America!)
- Finally seeing Catherine and AJ again now that the campaign is over, and trying to uplift ourselves with multiple episodes of The Secret Life of 4 Year Olds. (Conclusion: 4 year olds are frighteningly advanced.)
- Laughing a surprising amount at three improv comedy teams with Randi’s colleague Katie at Friday Night Riot at the Bughouse Theatre. (Perhaps I shouldn’t have been surprised, but for $10 tickets at a tiny theatre on a Friday night I wouldn’t necessarily expect to be laughing out loud rather than smiling indulgently. Legitimately funny.)
- Lunching with Luis while keeping an eye on two football matches (real football!) and pooling our limited knowledge about the political situation in France. It would really be a good idea to keep an eye on France.
- Joining the adorable adventures of Newt Scamander and his TARDIS briefcase by seeing Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them with Todd and Carolyn this afternoon. (Although I do share Todd’s concerns about the continued absence of any proper judicial process in the wizarding world.)
If you’re looking for more productive things to do, I am reliably informed that phoning your representatives (not writing or emailing) is the most effective way to lobby them into investigating Trump’s evident conflict of interests, challenging his frightening and unqualified appointments, and generally causing a fuss. (I haven’t done so yet, partly because none of them are really ‘my’ representatives. But I should.)
On Election Day morning, I head out on another canvassing ‘packet’ of doors to knock. The list is designed to identify known Democratic supporters with patchy voting records. Our aim is to remind them of their polling station, cajole them to come out early, ensure they don’t forget. One family is so sick of being pestered that they’ve stuck a cardboard sign to their front door with a smiley face, a voting sticker and the words “I voted today at 8.30am” in felt tip. They are a canvassing dream. But most people are not home, or pretending not to be. I scribble their polling location onto our campaign sticky note and add it to another door.
“What are you doing?” asks a man from his porch. “Hi, I’m Dominic and I’m volunteering with the Hillary Clinton campaign” I repeat for the hundredth time, walking over and straining to achieve ‘friendly’ and ‘approachable’.
“Are you coming to my house?”
Actually no, I explain. His house isn’t on the list. But is he voting for Clinton? He is. I try to shake his hand, and he turns it into a complicated fist bump which I fail to pass but he forgives. He’s maybe 40, and I understand maybe half of what he’s saying. This is not a normal problem for me, and hasn’t come up in any of the canvassing so far. I’m really not sure where he’s from, or what he’s telling me, but after a couple of attempts I realise he’s asking me about my jeans.
I’m feeling sensitive about my jeans, because the previous morning I was threatened off a nearby street by a group of men (plus dog) who objected to my “gay jeans” in the strongest possible terms. But this guy is merely making conversation and I try to think of a response. I look down, look back up, and then – in full and total awareness of the ridiculousness of what I’m about to say – break the silence with “thanks, they’re from Uniqlo!”.
Suffice to say, there is not a Starbucks in downtown Toledo, let alone Japanese casual wear. Many homes are boarded up or demolished. One woman told us about the parks, pools and ice skating rinks which used to exist when she was growing up, but they are all gone now, along with the manufacturing which paid for them. The city is deserted, especially at weekends. Its remaining residents could be Trump’s imagined target audience, except they aren’t white. (On average, Trump voters are actually richer, and live further out.)
Even to annoying canvassers, however, people here are kind and generous with their time. One undecided voter appears at his door with his hand over his mouth and apologises for yawning: he was recording a studio session late last night. From his t-shirt and voting priorities, I guess Christian music. He thanks me with ultra-American Midwestern politeness for trying to sway him to Clinton. Another woman gives me a hug because she likes my accent. (She’s into languages and speaks some French, Spanish and Swahili.) In one strange encounter, a man agrees to vote early today because thinks he can make it before 5pm. I’m pleased, but I wasn’t expecting him to literally close his apartment door and walk off to vote the next moment without even stopping to pick up a coat. (Later on, when I see the multi-hour queue at the early voting centre, I feel guilty.)
And then there are the real heroes. Starting, of course, with the campaign team and volunteers who welcome and feed us like family despite us only showing up for the final four days. The young, homeless woman who sees my t-shirt and approaches me with enthusiasm to ask if she can still vote for Hillary. (She’s registered in Detroit, so she can’t.) There’s Monica, standing outside a polling station in support of renewing the city’s zoo levy, who buys us hot chocolate as we hand out Democratic sample ballots. Later, a local Republican and his 14 year old son show up to give out the Republican equivalent. He is kind to us, and we chat amiably, and for a brief moment there is a tiny window into civil democracy which is probably more widespread, even now, than you might think.
My favourite person is the young man who rescues us from the seventh floor of an apartment building, after Randi and I tailgate and then realise you need a keycard to get out as well as in. Pushing my luck, I ask if he’d lend us his keycard for an hour so we can canvass the whole building, and he agrees on account of it being for Hillary.
I thought it might be better to write about these people, who made life better for me, Randi and Christina in Toledo, rather than writing the same thing about Trump you can find on your Facebook feed. It is not supposed to be an uplifting distraction. These are good people who will be hurt by President Trump. They will be hurt in the worst-case scenarios, and they will be hurt in the ‘best-case’ scenarios where Trump is ‘only’ a Republican and ‘only’ does generic Republican things. I am sorry.
Canvassing in Toledo, Ohio
What a moment to be in Chicago. We had the perfect spot at the Begyle Brewing Company last night to watch the Cubs win the World Series for the first time in 108 years, but it wasn’t an easy ride getting there. Randi and I tried watching a couple of the earlier games with Todd and Carolyn, but our presence didn’t seem to bring much luck, and the Cubs ended up down 3-1 in the best-of-seven series. I made plans for Wednesday night on the assumption that there would be no seventh game. But then it all turned around, culuminating in a thrillingly tense finale in which my efforts to actually understand baseball were rewarded bigly.
Sure, my joy is vicarious. It was great timing to turn up in the city just as lifelong Cubs fans got what they’d always wanted. But as we were driven home through a thicket of celebratory car horns and waving W flags, it was clear there was plenty of joy around to share.
Flatmates
Matt, James and Lauren
In non-baseball news, Randi scored free tickets to The Last Wife – a play based on the relationship between Henry VIII and Katherine Parr. As the title suggests, she was the one who outlived him. I most enjoyed its depiction of Henry, a historical figure who manages to tick both the boxes of ‘pivotical turning point in the nation’ and ‘clearly a psychopath’ at the same time. He ends up weirdly lovable, which is what several hundred years of distance can get you. I also completed my duty of showing Randi the Lord of the Rings trilogy and decided that I was going to love Class, the new Doctor Who spinoff, no matter any objective spoilsporting which could be trotted out. (I mean, it’s worth it for the character of Miss Quill alone. She’s great.)
I wanted to write this post now because tomorrow night we’re off to Toledo, Ohio to volunteer for Hillary in the final four days of the election. I fully expect the election of America’s first female President to follow next week. But just in case…. here was the high before the low. Look how happy we were!
In the observation car on board the (nine hour) Amtrak ride from Chicago to Omaha, Randi and I encountered Henry: a young British tourist on his way from New York to California. Because of course he was. No matter how many times you remind us how ginormous the US is, we’re constitutionally inclined to seek out the railways to get from A to B. And if you have the time to spare, it’s still the most rewarding strategy. Nine hours pass very quickly when you have that much legroom, a half-bottle of wine and a table from which to watch the Midwest roll by.
I won’t even pretend that we were going to Omaha for any reason other than reaching another state. But it’s a strange place. Omaha is the largest city in Nebraska – and by ‘largest city’, I mean it’s around 400,000 people, with 1.3 million in the Greater Omaha area, against a state population of 1.9 million in total. So most Nebraskans are here.
They just don’t come out very much.
I’ve been to ghostly city centres before – St. Louis comes to mind – with an eerie emptiness at the downtown core. But that’s because they’ve been depopulated by suburbanisation. Omaha feels different. There were some unattractive stretches, but on the whole everything was perfectly pleasant. It wasn’t run-down. There were restaurants and bars, and – as you’d hope – they looked pretty busy on a Saturday night. There just didn’t seem to be anybody on the streets between the restaurants and the bars. Short of apparition or an extensive floo network, I assume the mystery is explained by lots of very direct car journeys from home to work to play. It’s a shame.
Fair play: it’s a tall fountain
The border
A red telephone box in the Old Market
Winning!
Blessed with great weather, we bucked this custom by walking around a lot, but we settled into a wonderful bar in time to watch the Cubs advance to the World Series. (To the uninitiated, this a Big Deal. They haven’t got this far since 1945, and if they won, it would be the first victory since 1908.) Despite being two states over, Omaha turns out to be a hotbed of Cubs fans and the atmosphere was perfect for the occasion.
Special thanks to Cory, an amiable bloke who joined us at the bar and answered many of my remaining Nebraskan questions. (The quintessential activity is pheasant shooting, apparently. British readers might note that, even here, I still get asked in cabs about Brexit.)
The moment the Cubs made it through to the World Series
The latest in my ‘posing with Presidents’ limited edition art series
Other adventures in Omaha included adding predictive post-it notes to Gerald Ford’s birthplace, wandering around the ‘Heartland of America’ park, learning about Prohibition and railway history at the Durham Museum and taking advantage of the bike rental scheme by the riverfront. Although technically most of the actual biking was in Iowa since the Nebraskan trails were still mostly in ‘proposal’ stage on the map. (This was also where my shoelace became unfortunately entwined with the bike, and Randi had to beseech some strangers for a fearsome-looking pocketknife to set it free. Guns don’t save people, pocketknives do.)
We improved it
Technically Iowa
That’s pretty much it for our weekend in the country’s only unicameral state. But we have been busy in Chicago too, including grinning and bearing through the final Presidential debate, phonebanking into Nevada (ten minutes of conversation with one wavering Republican woman made her feel, and I quote, “a lot more confident” about voting for Hillary – probably the first and only time I’ve had this effect on anyone) and playing Betrayal at House on the Hill with Chloe. This is a fun board game where one player suddenly turns hellish defector halfway through, and came highly recommended by Katie.
We also saw two more plays! Merge, by New Colony at the Den (which, I think it’s fair to say, is our favourite theatre here) told the story of the rise and fall of gaming company Atari. It’s the kind of thing I would happily read a book about, so seeing it on stage instead – at a breathless, quirky pace – was an enjoyable alternative. And then The City of Conversation (directed by Marti who is most definitely our favourite director, anywhere) showcased the decline of a Washington political elite through the Carter, Reagan and Obama years. The lead character, socialite Hester Ferris, was particularly well played and the entire production was well worth the trek up to the treacherous ‘pavements optional’ land of Skokie. Doubly so, because we also got to have lunch with Robert and Grace beforehand, who joined us in glaring awkwardly at the one person who voted for Reagan in the pre-show Carter vs. Reagan vs. Obama poll.
OK, unlike last time, this blog won’t be 100% Carcassonne related. Just a little bit.
We’ve now had two Presidential and one Vice Presidential debates to watch, which Randi and I have only got through with help from virtual Catherine and real-life Chloe and Amanda as watching partners. They generally leave us somewhere on the spectrum between incredulous and upset, but it’s especially annoying for me since I don’t actually get to vote at the end. So I was very pleased to be able to play my small part for Hillary by joining a virtual phonebank organised by Randi’s friend Debra.
Hello, Ohio
We weren’t calling to persuade voters: these were from a database of likely Hillary supporters, and the aim was to sign up volunteers to help register new voters before the deadline closed in a couple of days. What is really striking is how almost-obsolete phonebanking (and by implication, telephone polling) feels: the vast majority of people simply don’t pick up. I certainly wouldn’t, and simply making contact felt a lot rarer than when I last did this in London in 2008. Nevertheless, I did successfully sign up one woman to volunteer, so I have contributed! On the other hand, I also generated the angriest (and most hilarious) voicemail I’ve ever heard. The man was not having a good day, and curious readers should drop me a message if they want to hear it 😉
Back by the bay
Lori has just started walking
The other big thing to mention is our whirlwind trip to San Francisco last weekend! The first order of business was to see Jamie and Paul and to meet baby Lori for the first time, which was as wonderful as you’d expect. (She’s just turned one, and is magically starting to walk.) With the beautifully sunny weather we were able to just chill out together in their garden, talking and watching their cat unsuccessfully hunt gophers, before getting lunch nearby.
With Jamie, Paul and Lori!
With violent family and her less-violent family
San Francisco City Hall
The primary purpose of the trip was the wedding of Brett and Courtney – Randi’s family friends – which was held inside San Francisco’s magnificent City Hall. Spending time with her family is always great, and (amongst many other things) the wedding itself set a very high standard for the quality of cheese on offer. I don’t mean kitsch, I mean literal cheese. I think this will become my barometer for all future weddings.
Not pictured: shattered dreams
Wait, who’s that? Is it Robert Dietz? Indeed so, back in Chicago two weeks ago for work stuff but thankfully amenable to watching one of the tense Orioles vs. Blue Jays games in Toons with Todd and Carolyn. Later in the week we had drinks with Alex during one of her brief jet-setting interludes, and also ended up in a bizarre bar watching Otis Wilson of the ’85 Superbowl Bears compete to see how many beers he could pour in two minutes. (These details don’t mean much to me, but I dutifully wrote them down because it felt like good Americana for this post.)
Randi and I also had drinks with James and Lauren and saw Sam Hicks star in The Rhode Island Chapter: a play about a community of New England zombies. It was part of a weekend festival of back-to-back sci-fi and fantasy short plays which I would certainly check out again next year. Prior to Sam, we also saw Worrier and the Not about a robot couple struggling with their (optional) human emotions.
Finally, some updates to previous posts:
- Remember my dentist? Well, the ratcheting effect over two subsequent years has now resulted in a Bluetooth-connected toothbrush which partners with my phone to nag me as I brush my teeth. I know, I know.
- Remember Jimmy Savile? Louis Theroux’s 2000 documentary has always stuck in my mind even before the full revelations came out, so it was doubly fascinating to watch his self-questioning follow-up about failing to get to the truth.
- I did promise some more Carcassonne, which has continued to spread through my life. Since last time, Randi and I have played in real-life with Alec, with Emilie (both of whom were frustratingly good, although only Emilie brought delicious French cheese) and with many others over the iOS app. You should join us!
Beth E . Dubowe-Lawrence on China, Part 3: Chongqing & Chengdu: “Again an awesome adventure to share this with you” Apr 21, 19:13
