Women's Volleyball

This Friday night I attended a volleyball match: the University of Washington Women’s Volleyball team versus Stanford University. The game was played at the University’s Bank of America arena in the lovely red-bricked Hec Edmundson Pavilion situated neatly alongside the ring wing of the enormous Husky Stadium. As an experiment, if I were to ask you to roughly estimate the attendance to this game I wonder what figure you would reach. Considering the game was scheduled on a Friday night and the relative obscurity of Women’s volleyball in the UK, I imagine most estimates would be fairly conservative.

According to Husky Sports, the 24/7 media arm of the University, attendance at the game was over 4500 people. From a brief visual survey of the crowd, I would guess that only one-fifth were students. On reflection, it actually felt far more than this within the arena, as the atmosphere was raucously infectious for the entire game. This atmosphere was warmly fostered by a stereotypical US sports announcer who screamed ‘Point Huskies’ at every available moment, a small division of the Husky Marching Band playing cheesy upbeat melodies and wild, celebratory graphics emblazoning across a JumboTron scoreboard that floated above the arena.

The University of Washington Women’s Volleyball team are currently ranked 3^rd nationally by the Associated Press and they certainly played like such a team (not that I have deep, critical appreciation of volleyball). The game was played at an impressive pace and the movements of the players within set-plays was incredible as players variously feinted, dummied and reset to seek the extra edge. The exchanges at the net were a series of crashing spikes, towering blocks and the most delicate of finger touches. Equally the corresponding team’s pick-ups were a dazzling demonstration of highly tuned reflexives, hand coordination and dedicated court coverage. Impressive stuff…

It seemed that whilst this atmosphere was conducive to the creation of a sporting spectacle, it might have overwhelmed the Stanford team, as they were blown away 3-0 in straight sets. There was some obvious gamesmanship from the home team that may have also contributed to this whitewash. Not least were the cascade of cackles and escalating cheers that created every Stanford server prior to striking the ball and the joyful shouts of derision at the ever more desperate time-out calls from the Stanford coach – although it should be noted that these are the natural characteristics of the average sporting mob. More deliberate were the graphics that celebrated points from the star Washington players such as ‘Kill Jill, Kill!’ and ‘Airial’s Aerial Attack’.

As I streamed out into the night with the hoards, I gave pause to wonder at the diverse array of fans and their great enthusiasm for the sport. I had truly enjoyed my evening and gained a new appreciation for a previously unexplored sport. However, when I inevitably sort to draw comparisons with the UK, I sadly came rather short which was both disappointing but unsurprising. Women in team sports in the UK experience comparatively sparse coverage and support than US counterparts, which needs to be remedied to the benefit of both development and participation. Until such time the University of Washington Women’s Volleyball will continue to benefit from my vocal support.

Halloween

I have to confess that if there were an equivalent character for Halloween, as Scrooge or more appropriately as I’m in American the Grinch represent for Christmas, I would endorse them. Why this annual event is considered a ‘holiday’ has always been slightly beyond my comprehension. This is probably due to an accumulation of factors such as never having ‘celebrated’ Halloween as a child; the stupid kid that I once threw an egg at my house and then one directly at me when I chased him; the fact that most elderly people I know will spend the evening with their lights off in the hope that no miscreant knocks their door; or just general apathy to this wholly commercial holiday loosely based on pseudo Christian and Celtic traditions.

However, in America Halloween is a significant event and therefore I feel behoved to comment.  It is also a distinctly different experience to the UK version that it makes for good observational and anecdotal material. There are many parallels to the UK such as excess candy, stupid costumes, inebriated students, the sudden appearance of faux spider webs, idiots that feel the need to cackle when they serve you coffee and of course the pumpkins. But as with most things in America, the event is bigger, louder and more enthusiastically pursued – it is Halloween on steroids.

It is hard not to over emphasise this, indications that Halloween was once again upon us began in very early October with signs, costumes and special offers appearing all over. It was similar to what happens towards the end of November with reference to Christmas, when you can feel both emotionally and physically, the commercial machine gearing itself up for the ‘holiday’. Then in the week leading up to Halloween virtually every coffee house, office, school, shopping mall and many homes suddenly resemble the set of the Addams family. Plus the annual pumpkin massacre is evident everywhere in a bright orange orgy of vegetable entrails.

This American version of Halloween is perhaps best illustrated by events held at America’s most influential house, the White one with the pillars in Washington…

On Saturday evening, the Obamas hosted over 2000 children for a Trick or Treat event on the front porch of the White House. The Leader of the Free World along with the First Lady gave out Presidential M&Ms, dried fruit and a sweet dough butter cookie made specially by the White House pastry chef in the shape of the official residence. From the news segments, the party appeared to be a huge success with even the Press Secretary dressing as Darth Vader and Michelle Obama as a leopard. Thankfully President Obama demonstrated more restraint, choosing to adopt a more subtle costume, namely that of a middle-aged father in a cardigan. The crowning event of the evening was the unveiling of a 1287lb pumpkin on the Front Lawn – for those seeking a metric qualification it was a 584kg pumpkin…

It is hard to imagine anything like this occurring in the UK. The kids would probably not be allowed into 10 Downing Street due to anti-terrorism legislation and anyhow Gordon Brown would scare them all away – the guy looks like a Halloween monster all year round. Despite it all I remain a Halloween sceptic and refuse to see why I should be held hostage for sweets by small kids in stupid costumes or attention seeking adults that really should know better. However, I am in full support of the traditional pumpkin genocide at Halloween as I have yet to be convinced of why the vegetable is considered edible – even the pumpkin beer I tried recently was nasty. Did we not learn as kids that bright colours indicate danger or a hazard? 

Calvin and Hobbes

On Wednesday, I visited my one of favourite coffee shops located near to the School of Social Work to engage in one of Seattle's beloved pastimes, pretending to study whilst exploiting the free Wi-Fi connection. I was slowly trawling through endlessly stories of the latest Republican attempts to sink healthcare reform and wondering just how low the conservative propaganda would stoop before an agreement was reach (Rush Limbaugh currently holds the record after comparing public health care to Bernie Madoff’s $16 billion Ponzi scheme).

Just as I began to feel overwhelmed by the myopic conservative media and their soulless defense of a free market in healthcare that exploits profit from the health and well-being of the poor. I noticed a book on a nearby shelf that seemed vaguely familiar – The Complete Calvin & Hobbes. It was like an instant anti-acid tablet soothing the bitterness I had reserved towards these malcontented dilatants of the Right wing.

The book was a collection of Bill Watterson’s comic strips about the adventures of a six-year-old mischievous boy called Calvin, and his anthropomorphic stuffed tiger, Hobbes. I will not dwell on the magic of Calvin & Hobbes, other than encourage you to explore what is essentially one of the wittiest and insightful comic strips ever drawn. It certainly succeeded in making the world a more amusing proposition for a few brief moments on Wednesday…


*Note: You may have to click on the strip to read the text

Just one more! 

As a social worker I cannot condone this kind of parenting...

Where the Wild Things Are

Some of you, particularly those with children, maybe aware of the recent cinema release of Where the Wild Things Are. The film is an adaption of Maurice Sendack’s American classic children’s story as envisioned by director Spike Jonze and screenwriter Dave Eggers. As much as Enid Blyton, Roald Dahl or perhaps even J.K Rowling are integral to the childhood of many children in the UK; Sendack’s Where the Wild Things Are is perhaps a US equivalent. Not that I wish to generalise about anyone’s childhood experiences on this or any side of the Atlantic…

As I discovered, after a visit to the evil empire of books that is Barnes & Noble, the story is a ten-sentence picture book that tells the story of a mischievous boy called Max. Essentially it seems the book is famous for the wonderfully imaginative illustrations of Sendack as opposed to his narrative, which vaguely rhymes but it is fairly stunted. However, the illustrations for the book are alive with a sincere childish credibility and it is easy to relate to why the book has captured the heart of many young children but also still resonates with many of its older, initial readers.

The film, however, is markedly different from the book, in part due to the need to create a full-length film from the sparsely sketched story of Max’s adventure with the Wild Things. The final result is an incredibly livid but yet oddly eerie and sinister story that does not truly reflect the conventional tone of a child’s film. In fairness to Jonze perhaps this conclusion is coloured by the legacy of the traditional happy and homogenously uplifting Disney film that still dominates the genre.

Still this film is incredibly weird and without any appreciation of the book or its illustrations – a film experience that proved to be decidedly trippy, to the point where I began to wonder whether my popcorn had been laced with some illicit substance. The film does not tell a story in a linear format which, if intentional, is designed to reflect the unpredictable imagination of the child, Max. One minor irritation with the character Max, is that although clearly a naughty child in the original story, Max has mutated to reflect the stereotypical ADHD and oppositional defiant traits of the ‘modern’ child. This recontextualising of the story to a new era has even placed Max within a broken home, seemingly further nods to our warped modern narrative of naughty children.

For me the strangest element of the film was James Gandolfini as the voice of one of the main characters, Carol. To hear the voice of my all time favourite mobster boss emanating from a six-foot tall furry creature with horns and a tail was very unsettling. I was worried that at any moment Max would be condemned to sleep with the fishes by this creature that had seemingly swallowed Tony Soprano – he even bore the same vengeful, maniacal traits as New Jersey’s best loved Mafioso!

Maybe Where the Wild Things Are suffers from a common failing of many big screen adaptations of popular books, namely living up to the hype of the reader’s imagination. It is an interesting film and worth watching but if you are looking for a more child friendly fantasy film then I recommend Tim Burton’s Big Fish.

Further Bookish Thoughts

In my previous posting I omitted some of the most interesting information with regards to the Central Library. Aside from the startling aesthetics and refreshing functionality, it is important to share just how  the library came to be constructed and also to gauge its impact on the city. I'm grateful to one of the checking clerk at the Central Library for all the facts and figures. 

In 1998, the residents of Seattle voted (in one of their many, many referendums), 70% in favour for a $196.4 million public bond issue called ‘Libraries for All’. This public funding provided the basis for improvements to 22 existing libraries and the creation of 4 new branches across the city, which included $160 million for the new Seattle Central Library. A further $20 million in funding was provided by variety of philanthropic foundations and individuals including the Bill and Melinda Gates Foundation. 

It is clear from referendum results that Seattle has a strong civic sense of literacy and the importance of this value is reflected not only in the architectural grandeur of Central Library but also in its usage. Last year over 10 million items were checked out of the Seattle Public Library system, equivalent to more than 16 books per person. Similarly the people traffic rates within the Library system have quadrupled since the opening of Central Library to over 30,000 visitors a week. 


These statistics are not surprising with a building such as the bizarre but dazzling wonderful Central Library providing the energetic core of the city’s public library system. Personally I would rather swap the 2012 London Olympic games budget for 20 such libraries across Great Britain and then perhaps redevelop our poor public sporting facilities with the spare change. But then I guess improving literacy rates and public health are weak outcomes compared to 4 weeks of international media attention…