People have often asked me what the hardest part about traveling overseas is- the long flights, the strange food, the inevitable diarrhea, etc. But easily the most frustrating aspects of international work travel are the different ideas regarding time-management. This trickles down into enormous inefficiencies that make tiny tasks two- or three- day affairs. Just trying to finalize the number of graduates, for example, is like being nibbled to death by a thousand sluggish minnows.
Me, I'd rather die quickly, decisively.
Blame it on Protestant Work Ethic or whatever, but I really hate wasting time when there's lots to be done in a short period. I am punctual, to a fault. It annoys me when people don't come to meetings on times, or worse yet - don't come prepared. (I'm also annoyed when people don't read the attachments, but that's another blog post).
Anyway...
I understand that my views on time and time management are not universal - I really do. It makes honest-to-God-good-hard - sense to me that getting things done in a country that doesn't have a working postal system, stable electricity grid (power went off three times today), and operates on a cash only basis will take more time than usual. In fact, it's nice to slow down.
But what drives me bonkers are local cultural sensitivities that - as the malai (foreigner, in Tetum) I will never ever understand, and yet, must carefully tip-toe around. As you would imagine, it's virtually impossible not to trip those cultural landmines and splatter stupid expat everywhere.
Yesterday, our office manager was putting together some invitations to Ministers at the Department of Agriculture. Seriously, their names and titles were listed on a sheet of paper and although I don't speak Portuguese, I am fairly certain that the word "Secretario d'Agricultura" means Secretary of Agriculture. The honorific title in this case would be (ta-DA!) Secretary.
Stupid malai, trix aren't for kids! You know it's not that simple.
Noooooo no no no no no no no. The office manager, the COP and I had a long discussion, at which time the DCOP got involved, then the native Portuguese speaker, then the communications specialist, then finally, the drivers. We settled the matter by emailing a third-party affiliate (local) who confirmed the next morning that the honorific title was not "Secretario" but "Excellency".
As I was making a joke about it this afternoon, the DCOP said, "But you don't get it. This is a big deal. If we address him wrong, we could be FINED. It's a common practice."
Life saved, but only by a hair.
I am taught, yet again, that nothing - ohhhhhhh nothing - is ever as simple as it seems. It's a good lesson to be reminded of, but boy, is it going to be a long three weeks.
M.
Friday, August 22, 2008
Thursday, August 21, 2008
Tais Market
Today, Asha took me toe the Tais Market, which are traditional woven cloths. According to one website I found :
Tais are traditionally made for ceremonial occasions and/or given as tribute in traditional ceremonies so there is no traditional custom of selling or buying which is why at local markets you rarely see them for sale. There are two main types Male or Mane and Female or Feto, The Mane Tais are usually quite large piece of woven cloth with tassles at each end, These are tied around the waist and worn like a sarong, The Feto Tais have the ends sown together to form a tube that you can step into and wear like a dress.
The strange thing about this market was its tiny size. The way I'd heard it talked about from other expats is that it is _THE_ spot to go for tais., but it was small and relatively out of the way. It was clearly marked with roadsigns to lead the way (a rarity here!) and evidently erected in cooperation with USAID and the Ministry of Tourism. Yet, it wasn't very impressive. The best thing it had going for it was mass - atleast 20 shops piled together in "traditional" corregated metal huts. I guess USAID provided the metal? I dunno. While certainly handy for "tourists" (in this country, its mostly development/UN folks), it kind of sucks for the vendors. I always felt a bit bad for vendors in this situation, because unless they all agree on a bottom price, there's no incentive for shoppers to buy from them and not go to a neighbor.
I also bought a moon-shaped crown, on which I can't find anything but this picture to help me explain it. It's the thing on the woman's head in the top picture. Cloth, you can get anywhere in the world, but a half moon/horn crown is something else entirely. Will search around tomorrow when I have more time to discover what on earth it does...
After leaning my pant leg on some wet table varnish (which is now a permanent part of my wardrobe), we left. The work days are going fast, but soon I will be left to my own devices to organize an entire graduation in a language I don't speak - so I'm doing my best not to panic.
Tonight, I'm going out with my colleague who is leaving and will hopefully drink my cares away, wake up and the entire graduation will be over.
Wish me luck!
Tais are traditionally made for ceremonial occasions and/or given as tribute in traditional ceremonies so there is no traditional custom of selling or buying which is why at local markets you rarely see them for sale. There are two main types Male or Mane and Female or Feto, The Mane Tais are usually quite large piece of woven cloth with tassles at each end, These are tied around the waist and worn like a sarong, The Feto Tais have the ends sown together to form a tube that you can step into and wear like a dress.
The strange thing about this market was its tiny size. The way I'd heard it talked about from other expats is that it is _THE_ spot to go for tais., but it was small and relatively out of the way. It was clearly marked with roadsigns to lead the way (a rarity here!) and evidently erected in cooperation with USAID and the Ministry of Tourism. Yet, it wasn't very impressive. The best thing it had going for it was mass - atleast 20 shops piled together in "traditional" corregated metal huts. I guess USAID provided the metal? I dunno. While certainly handy for "tourists" (in this country, its mostly development/UN folks), it kind of sucks for the vendors. I always felt a bit bad for vendors in this situation, because unless they all agree on a bottom price, there's no incentive for shoppers to buy from them and not go to a neighbor.
I also bought a moon-shaped crown, on which I can't find anything but this picture to help me explain it. It's the thing on the woman's head in the top picture. Cloth, you can get anywhere in the world, but a half moon/horn crown is something else entirely. Will search around tomorrow when I have more time to discover what on earth it does...
After leaning my pant leg on some wet table varnish (which is now a permanent part of my wardrobe), we left. The work days are going fast, but soon I will be left to my own devices to organize an entire graduation in a language I don't speak - so I'm doing my best not to panic.
Tonight, I'm going out with my colleague who is leaving and will hopefully drink my cares away, wake up and the entire graduation will be over.
Wish me luck!
Wednesday, August 20, 2008
The Smallest of Small Towns
I can't believe it's only been two days since I last wrote - it feels like forever. I've put in two eleven hour days at the office and have also been pulling 22-hour days, thanks to jet-lag (yeah, thanks) and the roosters that play call and response outside my door.
Dili is a tiny, dusty backwater with, as far as I can tell, two main roads: airport road and beach road (I'm not kidding, they're really referred to by these names). It's not that much different from any other tiny, dusty, backwater town, save the inordinate amount of UN cars around and the correspondingly high expat community.
My hotel is quite nice - it would be a three star hotel in the States, but it's definitely a 5 here, by virtue of having ice cold air conditioning and free in-house internet (although it's DSL, not wireless but hey, I'm not fickle). It helps that it is literally right behind our project office, so I can easily walk to work.
There's alot of dirt and trash and random barbed wire on the street on the awy - plus, I walk by two "massage parlors" which are exactly what you think they are. For the most part though, it's not too bad. Plus, it always helps to be about 50 lbs heavier than even the biggest thug- that always gives me comfort.
The hotel is right around the corner from the beach, and there are many restaurants where you can sit and drink in the sunset (about 6:30 pm every day). My first night here, some project staff took me out to the beach where we had fresh barricuda and shrimp. Yum!
Being a girl from Minnesota, I have been surprised at the quantity and voracity of the mosquitos though. They just won't give up! I've got welts all over that won't go away. My first night here, in the brain fog of 3am, a mosquito bit me right in my PALM! I was in agony for hours. Luckily, the office has plenty of bug spray (and I packed my malaria meds).
But, the real surprise came tonight, as I was finishing up a meal in the hotel restaurant.
I don't know if this is a testament to what a small world it is, or if I've finally become a seasoned traveller, because I ran into someone I KNOW. As in, an old friend/co-worker whom I used to work closely with. And she was sitting at the table in the courtyard right in front of my room! She's been in East Timor for the past month, working on another project for my old company, but is leaving in a few days. I had heard she was here in July, so I just assumed that we missed each other, but there she was! I am truly psyched to see a friendly face. We're going to meet up later this week; she's going to be my entree into expat life here.
This is so random, I thought it deserved a blog-post. I mean, who travels across the world and runs into someone they KNOW?
And now I'm wondering...... who am I going to meet next?
Dili is a tiny, dusty backwater with, as far as I can tell, two main roads: airport road and beach road (I'm not kidding, they're really referred to by these names). It's not that much different from any other tiny, dusty, backwater town, save the inordinate amount of UN cars around and the correspondingly high expat community.
My hotel is quite nice - it would be a three star hotel in the States, but it's definitely a 5 here, by virtue of having ice cold air conditioning and free in-house internet (although it's DSL, not wireless but hey, I'm not fickle). It helps that it is literally right behind our project office, so I can easily walk to work.
There's alot of dirt and trash and random barbed wire on the street on the awy - plus, I walk by two "massage parlors" which are exactly what you think they are. For the most part though, it's not too bad. Plus, it always helps to be about 50 lbs heavier than even the biggest thug- that always gives me comfort.
The hotel is right around the corner from the beach, and there are many restaurants where you can sit and drink in the sunset (about 6:30 pm every day). My first night here, some project staff took me out to the beach where we had fresh barricuda and shrimp. Yum!
Being a girl from Minnesota, I have been surprised at the quantity and voracity of the mosquitos though. They just won't give up! I've got welts all over that won't go away. My first night here, in the brain fog of 3am, a mosquito bit me right in my PALM! I was in agony for hours. Luckily, the office has plenty of bug spray (and I packed my malaria meds).
But, the real surprise came tonight, as I was finishing up a meal in the hotel restaurant.
I don't know if this is a testament to what a small world it is, or if I've finally become a seasoned traveller, because I ran into someone I KNOW. As in, an old friend/co-worker whom I used to work closely with. And she was sitting at the table in the courtyard right in front of my room! She's been in East Timor for the past month, working on another project for my old company, but is leaving in a few days. I had heard she was here in July, so I just assumed that we missed each other, but there she was! I am truly psyched to see a friendly face. We're going to meet up later this week; she's going to be my entree into expat life here.
This is so random, I thought it deserved a blog-post. I mean, who travels across the world and runs into someone they KNOW?
And now I'm wondering...... who am I going to meet next?
Monday, August 18, 2008
East East = as far East at you can get
This afternoon I finally arrived in East Timor, which incidentally from Minnesota, takes two and a half days. I spent 24 hours in Japan, arriving at midnight to Bali where I spent all of 5 hours before taking off again. Thanks to my own inability to follow international date lines, I spent about three hours too long in the Bali airport this morning, awaiting my uneventful flight to Dili, the capital of East Timor.
After three days and two nights of relative solitude and sleep deprivation, I can very easily say that East Timor (Timor in Malay means East, meaning that the official name of the country is East East) is pretty much the farthest corner of the globe I've been to yet.
It's similar to Banda Aceh, in that it's remote, has a tenous relationship with Indonesia, and been through a devastating turn of events (in Timor's case, national violence instead of BA's tsunami). However, the scenery and attitude couldn't be more different. First of all, I arrived in early afteroon, in sweltering heat, to a mountainous island deep into the dry season. BA, last November by comparison, was lush and green with opportunity.
East Timor is 90% plus Roman Catholic - which means less strict dress codes than BA and more alcohol, always welcome to the Western woman's palate. If I were charged to make a guess, I'd also surmise that the standard of living here is much lower - and the population much much younger. In relation to the other countries I've visited, upon first impression, this feels like to poorest.
Granted, it's only been my first day - but so far so good. the hotel bed is comfortable and the internet accesible. My work colleagues are terrific - they took me for supper of cooked barricuda on the beach - and I'm sad of thinking that they are both leaving by the end of this week. But then, if they weren't leaving, why would I be here?
After three days and two nights of relative solitude and sleep deprivation, I can very easily say that East Timor (Timor in Malay means East, meaning that the official name of the country is East East) is pretty much the farthest corner of the globe I've been to yet.
It's similar to Banda Aceh, in that it's remote, has a tenous relationship with Indonesia, and been through a devastating turn of events (in Timor's case, national violence instead of BA's tsunami). However, the scenery and attitude couldn't be more different. First of all, I arrived in early afteroon, in sweltering heat, to a mountainous island deep into the dry season. BA, last November by comparison, was lush and green with opportunity.
East Timor is 90% plus Roman Catholic - which means less strict dress codes than BA and more alcohol, always welcome to the Western woman's palate. If I were charged to make a guess, I'd also surmise that the standard of living here is much lower - and the population much much younger. In relation to the other countries I've visited, upon first impression, this feels like to poorest.
Granted, it's only been my first day - but so far so good. the hotel bed is comfortable and the internet accesible. My work colleagues are terrific - they took me for supper of cooked barricuda on the beach - and I'm sad of thinking that they are both leaving by the end of this week. But then, if they weren't leaving, why would I be here?
Wednesday, August 06, 2008
Nardom Ctnoruy: Timor Leste
Because it's been a while, here is the next random country: East Timor!
Because I can see the collective puzzle of faces (literally and figuratively, since I had to explain this to a host of strangers this weekend), here's more information from your friend and mine, Wikipedia:
East Timor, also known as Timor-Leste (officially the Democratic Republic of Timor-Leste) is a country in Southeast Asia. It comprises the eastern half of the island of Timor, the nearby islands of Atauro and Jaco, and Oecussi-Ambeno, an exclave on the northwestern side of the island, within Indonesian West Timor. The small country of 15,410 km²[1] (5,400 sq mi) is located about 640 km (400 mi) northwest of Darwin, Australia.
East Timor was colonized by Portugal in the 16th century, and was known as Portuguese Timor until Portugal's decolonization of the country. In late 1975 East Timor declared its independence but was invaded and occupied by Indonesia later that year, and declared that country's 27th province the following year. In 1999, following the United Nations-sponsored act of self-determination, Indonesia relinquished control of the territory and East Timor became the first new sovereign state of the twenty-first century on May 20, 2002. East Timor is one of only two predominantly Roman Catholic countries in Asia, the other being the Philippines. At US$2,500,[2] the per capita GDP (purchasing power parity adjusted) of East Timor is one of the poorest nations in the world. Its Human Development Index (HDI), however, corresponds to a medium degree of human development and places East Timor 150th among the world's states.
East Timor was colonized by Portugal in the 16th century, and was known as Portuguese Timor until Portugal's decolonization of the country. In late 1975 East Timor declared its independence but was invaded and occupied by Indonesia later that year, and declared that country's 27th province the following year. In 1999, following the United Nations-sponsored act of self-determination, Indonesia relinquished control of the territory and East Timor became the first new sovereign state of the twenty-first century on May 20, 2002. East Timor is one of only two predominantly Roman Catholic countries in Asia, the other being the Philippines. At US$2,500,[2] the per capita GDP (purchasing power parity adjusted) of East Timor is one of the poorest nations in the world. Its Human Development Index (HDI), however, corresponds to a medium degree of human development and places East Timor 150th among the world's states.
Strangely enough, Lonely Planet DOES publish a guidebook..! (Which I haven't bought). I'm heading over later on this month to assist a project that's kind of stuck in limbo. And by limbo, I mean, all the staff are either going on vacation, quit, or have gotten mugged.
...Isn't it strange how challenges alternatively thrill and terrify you?
Lot's to do between now and then, not the least of which is recover from my 10 year HS reunion, stop my mail, go to Ikea, celebrate a 50th wedding anniversary - and update my blog.
One down.
M.
Monday, July 28, 2008
To Vienna
Today, I love you publicly.
I love you on the internet, in front of my friends and total strangers.
I love you on a strange street, window-shopping; in a white-washed non-descript hotel; and eating alone. I love you reading a book in a cafe. I love your foreign office, bad cable and irregular German verbs. I love public transportation. I love those missed phone calls and my own stupid schedule. And time zones.
Today, I love you privately.
I love murderous butterfly kisses, running up the stairs and melty ironed rugs. I love the lies we told that ice cream clerk, just to get a free scoop.
I love you on the internet, in front of my friends and total strangers.
I love you on a strange street, window-shopping; in a white-washed non-descript hotel; and eating alone. I love you reading a book in a cafe. I love your foreign office, bad cable and irregular German verbs. I love public transportation. I love those missed phone calls and my own stupid schedule. And time zones.
Today, I love you privately.
I love murderous butterfly kisses, running up the stairs and melty ironed rugs. I love the lies we told that ice cream clerk, just to get a free scoop.
Wednesday, July 09, 2008
I Prefer My Own Morals, Thanks
Two weekends ago, Megan and I headed up to Grand Forks to visit KD, who will soon be packing up her life to the great wilds of Wyoming. The drive itself takes the greater part of 6 hours, but we managed to hit an enormous thunderstorm and wall-to-wall traffic, so it took us a little longer.
A while ago KD posted on her pet peeves, namely, dogs being left tied up in the their front yards, essentially neglected. On this drive, my pet peeve kept slamming into my eye-line every thirty or so miles. That is, billboards with overt and stupidly obvious moral directives. As if I was going along my merry way and a billboard reminded me to be a good person. OH! If the BILLBOARD says it....!
It should be said that an inordinate number of billboards just so happen to be pro-life. Now, I don't have anything against the pro-life movement, but their ads are just so ridiculously dumb that, well, it's ridiculous.
For example:
A while ago KD posted on her pet peeves, namely, dogs being left tied up in the their front yards, essentially neglected. On this drive, my pet peeve kept slamming into my eye-line every thirty or so miles. That is, billboards with overt and stupidly obvious moral directives. As if I was going along my merry way and a billboard reminded me to be a good person. OH! If the BILLBOARD says it....!
It should be said that an inordinate number of billboards just so happen to be pro-life. Now, I don't have anything against the pro-life movement, but their ads are just so ridiculously dumb that, well, it's ridiculous.
For example:
- Choose Life!
- Pick Life!
- Life rocks!
- etc
Each one, of course accompanied by a baby in a flower pot, a baby wearing sunglasses, a baby giving the thumbs up, a baby riding a motorcycle, blah blah blah. (As a side note: why don't they ever have photos of babies projectile vomiting? Or screaming their lungs off? I hear they do this much more often than riding motorbikes).
Again, I must emphasis that, even though myself I am pro-choice, I have no beef with the pro-life movement. It's just that their message is so ridiculously OBVIOUS. I mean, what would the alternative billboard say: Kill Your Bastard Spawn Today?
It kind of reminds me of the line in the move Juno, where she calls the clinic and says, in complete deadpan irony: "Hello. I'd like to procure a hasty, painful abortion please." I mean, come ON, I'd like to believe that no one enters into that decision lightly, much less be swayed by a billboard.
This is not a pro-life rant. I only pick this example because they have somehow so proLIFErated along the highway that they are hard not to miss. My other favorite is the billboard outside of Sauk Center that showed a sillohuet of a man thinking, and a bubble coming from his head saying "What if I swore less?" I used to always give that billboard the finger.
Megan, a soon to be pastor, brought up a point I'd never thought about. As someone who makes it her lifes work to comfort and counsel others, she felt that these moral directives were kind of insulting. While trying to encourage "good" deeds, they were also distilling (and distorting?) her art form down to a simple catch phrase.
The other thing that gets me on these is that I have no escape. I HAVE to drive on that highway; it's the only way to get home! In essence, I'm tricked into seeing someone else's moral vision for my life because I can't NOT look at the road.
Hmm...How about a sign that says "Stop reading billboards?"
The last thing that gets me is the assumption that I'm NOT already doing those things. I've never had an abortion, nor do I swear all the goddamn time, so why do I need a reminder? It just seems so....assumptive. Assumptive to the point of invasive.
Anyway, it just annoys me that whoever has enough money can spew their moral directives my way. Advertising is one thing, but I prefer my own moral highway, thanks.
Saturday, June 28, 2008
Home
I'm up at the farm this weekend - visiting an old friend who's moving away. It so happens that my parents are away, so I'm the only one staying at the house.
At times, I've had considerable doubts about my decision to move back to Minnesota. I was really angry and miserable the first three months - mostly at the weather but also through sheer exhaustion. Now that the weather has gotten warmer, it's easier to appreciate the lower cost of living and pollen-and-excessive population-free environment.
But I'm only truly grateful for my move when I make the drive north, to my parents farm and my childhood home. I'm grateful that I have the chance to visit with my favorite uncle, kiss my beautiful, sassy and rapidly ageing aunt and visit with my best friend's parents. I enjoy a walk on the prairie, for no reason other than that I'm HOME. I am grateful that my childhood room is basically unchanged, the well-water still tastes sweet and that basically, things change very slowly in rural America.
I am so. grateful. to have these things.
Of course, I'm fortunate (and sometimes unfortunate) that my mother instilled a proper amount of nostalgia and empathy in me, so that I crave being around things that remind me of my past. Also, this draw really only works for places that you've never moved from - places that your parents chose, settled and stayed in for over 40 years. And places where the memories ARE sweet, or atleast bittersweet, so that you want to relive those feelings again.
Tonight, I'll be home along in my folk's place, but this doesn't creep me out. I love the silence here. I love this kooky old place. (I love they have cable!) And if Iget into trouble, I know where the shot guns are...
At times, I've had considerable doubts about my decision to move back to Minnesota. I was really angry and miserable the first three months - mostly at the weather but also through sheer exhaustion. Now that the weather has gotten warmer, it's easier to appreciate the lower cost of living and pollen-and-excessive population-free environment.
But I'm only truly grateful for my move when I make the drive north, to my parents farm and my childhood home. I'm grateful that I have the chance to visit with my favorite uncle, kiss my beautiful, sassy and rapidly ageing aunt and visit with my best friend's parents. I enjoy a walk on the prairie, for no reason other than that I'm HOME. I am grateful that my childhood room is basically unchanged, the well-water still tastes sweet and that basically, things change very slowly in rural America.
I am so. grateful. to have these things.
Of course, I'm fortunate (and sometimes unfortunate) that my mother instilled a proper amount of nostalgia and empathy in me, so that I crave being around things that remind me of my past. Also, this draw really only works for places that you've never moved from - places that your parents chose, settled and stayed in for over 40 years. And places where the memories ARE sweet, or atleast bittersweet, so that you want to relive those feelings again.
Tonight, I'll be home along in my folk's place, but this doesn't creep me out. I love the silence here. I love this kooky old place. (I love they have cable!) And if Iget into trouble, I know where the shot guns are...
Saturday, June 21, 2008
Hallelujah!
I love, love, love days like today.
1) Saturday
2) Sunny and gorgeous (if, a little stuffy in my apt).
3) waking up to the sun on my face
4) whole weekend in front of me
5) did I mention the weather is gorgeous?
6) having time to clean my apartment
7) coffee shop round the corner
8) library opening at 10 - my book on hold is here!
9) shopping with my sister
10) clean laundry
I am a ridiculous nerd, I know. But there is something about being wide awake early on a sunny Saturday morning, with the weekend stretched before you that just.....sigh. Puts me in a good mood.
Now I'm going to go enjoy it!
M.
1) Saturday
2) Sunny and gorgeous (if, a little stuffy in my apt).
3) waking up to the sun on my face
4) whole weekend in front of me
5) did I mention the weather is gorgeous?
6) having time to clean my apartment
7) coffee shop round the corner
8) library opening at 10 - my book on hold is here!
9) shopping with my sister
10) clean laundry
I am a ridiculous nerd, I know. But there is something about being wide awake early on a sunny Saturday morning, with the weekend stretched before you that just.....sigh. Puts me in a good mood.
Now I'm going to go enjoy it!
M.
Wednesday, June 18, 2008
Blurghhhh.
Look, there's no reason for me to feel like an enormous crab today, but I just do. OK?
I woke up this morning to a beautiful day - and I was psyched because today was the day I promised I was going to bike to work! Hooray!
Normally, I love biking. I mean, ridiculously, love biking. I should've drawn this conclusion, when, even as a second-grader, I biked the five miles from my farm into Megan's house just for fun. Without telling my mom. Barefoot.
So, for all intents and purposes, I should've been in an awesome mood today. Save the fact that I just wasn't.
The bike ride wasn't the greatest - uphill most of the 10 miles - and I had woken up stiff and sore from my new "latin-hip-hop" dance class anyway (I can see you cringing now, Kate, and you'd be right to do so). Not only that, but I had a bunch of crap to deal with at work today that I didn't really want to do, which didn't exactly make the ride zip by.
That, and I'm just kind of.......blurrrghhh.
I don't know if it was the shitty coffee, the so-so bike ride, the middling work, PMS or what-EVER, but today is just one of those days where I shouldn't have gotten out of bed.
I am a lump. A lump of luke-warm human fleshwad that slips through your fingers and melts in your lap - probably in between your thighs and the couch, leaving a nice brown stain where you need it most (it's chocolate - I swear!)
Luckily, Scarlett O'Hara said it best - "Tomorrow is another day". Therefore, I'm officially pressing the re-set button and going to bed.
Good night.
I woke up this morning to a beautiful day - and I was psyched because today was the day I promised I was going to bike to work! Hooray!
Normally, I love biking. I mean, ridiculously, love biking. I should've drawn this conclusion, when, even as a second-grader, I biked the five miles from my farm into Megan's house just for fun. Without telling my mom. Barefoot.
So, for all intents and purposes, I should've been in an awesome mood today. Save the fact that I just wasn't.
The bike ride wasn't the greatest - uphill most of the 10 miles - and I had woken up stiff and sore from my new "latin-hip-hop" dance class anyway (I can see you cringing now, Kate, and you'd be right to do so). Not only that, but I had a bunch of crap to deal with at work today that I didn't really want to do, which didn't exactly make the ride zip by.
That, and I'm just kind of.......blurrrghhh.
I don't know if it was the shitty coffee, the so-so bike ride, the middling work, PMS or what-EVER, but today is just one of those days where I shouldn't have gotten out of bed.
I am a lump. A lump of luke-warm human fleshwad that slips through your fingers and melts in your lap - probably in between your thighs and the couch, leaving a nice brown stain where you need it most (it's chocolate - I swear!)
Luckily, Scarlett O'Hara said it best - "Tomorrow is another day". Therefore, I'm officially pressing the re-set button and going to bed.
Good night.
Monday, June 16, 2008
Baby-Ho's are a No-No
After spending some time roaming around the internet on this one, I'm not sure that I have much to add. However, I recently picked up a book at the library called "The Lolita Effect: the Media Sexualization of Young Girls and What We Can Do About It." I'm only a couple of chapters in, but so far, it's a fairly interesting read. (I can't wait to get to the part on what we can do about it - lock them in the basement? Poke their eyes and ears out? Subscribe only to Highlights?)
If you haven't seen a magazine cover, television show - or even the morning cartoons - in the past ten years, then you probably won't understand the premise. But for the rest of you, it's pretty cut and dried: the media sends mixed messages. Young girls wear hip-huggers, lipstick and tube-tops at younger and younger ages. Pre-pubescence is the new hotness.
I'm on board with the messages in this book, especially since I was in Pamida this weekend, wasting time (god bless small towns and their thriving five-and-dimes..) and I wandered down the toy aisle to come face-to-navel with THIS:
Yes, that is an enormous "baby" doll, wearing a string bikini and a BJ face. I can't find the photo at the moment, but there was another doll that advertised having "designer diapers."
Um...?
If you're curious, there's already alot of angry mom vomit all over the internet about these things, which is why I say I really don't have anything more to add. (If you're really interested, check out these postings: Is it Just Me, Or is Everything SHIT?, Her Bad Mother, and this is the best one because it's an open letter to Target and it made my laugh till my sides hurt: Mama Drama)
One thing I like about the book I'm reading, is that it doesn't deny that everyone - yes, even children - have sexuality. While admittedly, the idea of putting the words of child and sexuality together in the same sentence makes me feel gross, I do agree with this premise. However, (and admittedly, I'm only a few chapters in), I'd argue that a child's sexuality is just that - childlike. Underdeveloped. So densely fogged that these seemingly overt messages are blunted by their own minds.
Sigh. There are so many things to be afraid of for my (future) daughter. So many things I'd like to tell her to watch out for, to be strong for and laugh at. I want her to know right off the bat - something that took me years to understand - that no matter what you use on your face, you'll never look like Alicia Silverstone, and that's ok.
Also, I want her to know that sex is not a toy.
But, while I would argue that letting kids play with sexy babies is not the _best_ way to encourage their personal growth, it also isn't the end of the world. So rather than get up in arms, I'm going to have faith in the literalness of my (yet forthcoming) children:
Sometimes a doll is just a doll.
......Here's hoping.
If you haven't seen a magazine cover, television show - or even the morning cartoons - in the past ten years, then you probably won't understand the premise. But for the rest of you, it's pretty cut and dried: the media sends mixed messages. Young girls wear hip-huggers, lipstick and tube-tops at younger and younger ages. Pre-pubescence is the new hotness.
I'm on board with the messages in this book, especially since I was in Pamida this weekend, wasting time (god bless small towns and their thriving five-and-dimes..) and I wandered down the toy aisle to come face-to-navel with THIS:
Yes, that is an enormous "baby" doll, wearing a string bikini and a BJ face. I can't find the photo at the moment, but there was another doll that advertised having "designer diapers."
Um...?
If you're curious, there's already alot of angry mom vomit all over the internet about these things, which is why I say I really don't have anything more to add. (If you're really interested, check out these postings: Is it Just Me, Or is Everything SHIT?, Her Bad Mother, and this is the best one because it's an open letter to Target and it made my laugh till my sides hurt: Mama Drama)
One thing I like about the book I'm reading, is that it doesn't deny that everyone - yes, even children - have sexuality. While admittedly, the idea of putting the words of child and sexuality together in the same sentence makes me feel gross, I do agree with this premise. However, (and admittedly, I'm only a few chapters in), I'd argue that a child's sexuality is just that - childlike. Underdeveloped. So densely fogged that these seemingly overt messages are blunted by their own minds.
Sigh. There are so many things to be afraid of for my (future) daughter. So many things I'd like to tell her to watch out for, to be strong for and laugh at. I want her to know right off the bat - something that took me years to understand - that no matter what you use on your face, you'll never look like Alicia Silverstone, and that's ok.
Also, I want her to know that sex is not a toy.
But, while I would argue that letting kids play with sexy babies is not the _best_ way to encourage their personal growth, it also isn't the end of the world. So rather than get up in arms, I'm going to have faith in the literalness of my (yet forthcoming) children:
Sometimes a doll is just a doll.
......Here's hoping.
Screw You, Citibank
I've been sitting on this for a few weeks now. I just can't seem to get myself to spend _more_ time in front of a computer after I get home from work. However, I feel others should be forewarned.
I called Citibank a few weeks ago. I happen to have quite a bit in student loans from them, and I was following up on a phone call I made back in January, wherein they told me to call back in May.
Interest rates are low low LOW right now. I've been lying in wait, trying to capitalize on these low rates by consolidating the few loans I have left that are unconsolidated (which are now at a whopping 7.22%). The current student loan rate is 3.5%.
So yes, that's quite a savings.
I call them up and say "Hey, I'd like to consolidate these loans!"
And they say, "No can-do, Ma'am."
I'm sorry, - wha?
I get the manager on the phone, who tells me the same thing. "I'm sorry ma'am, but as of May 1, we no longer offer that service."
Not only was I TOLD to call back in May (fed rates usually change July 1, so I wanted to call closer to that date) but I was NOT informed that Citibank would "no longer be offering this service as of May 1."
How come I wasn't notified?
"We're not required by law to do that, ma'am."
Durrrrrrrrrr...
This makes me so angry. It's not my fault that Citibank stock is languishing; that for a bank that manages money, they're not so good at managing their own. I think the thing that makes me the most angry is that, while they take liberties to inform me of just about every other g__d__m service they DO provide, my legal friend (who writes BOOKs on this stuff) believes that they are not legally required to inform me when they stop.
How. Aggravating.
Now, my master plan is to find another lending institution that will buy out my current loan and replace my interest rates with something, shall we say, more favorable. However, easier said than done. I may talk a big game, but I'm thus far only ankle deep in my adult finances and I suspect this will take longer for me to figure out that just a ranty blog post. Although I have faith in my ability to figure it out, this might be a tough one to do alone.
Anyway, consider yourself notified.
And SCREW YOU, Citibank.
I called Citibank a few weeks ago. I happen to have quite a bit in student loans from them, and I was following up on a phone call I made back in January, wherein they told me to call back in May.
Interest rates are low low LOW right now. I've been lying in wait, trying to capitalize on these low rates by consolidating the few loans I have left that are unconsolidated (which are now at a whopping 7.22%). The current student loan rate is 3.5%.
So yes, that's quite a savings.
I call them up and say "Hey, I'd like to consolidate these loans!"
And they say, "No can-do, Ma'am."
I'm sorry, - wha?
I get the manager on the phone, who tells me the same thing. "I'm sorry ma'am, but as of May 1, we no longer offer that service."
Not only was I TOLD to call back in May (fed rates usually change July 1, so I wanted to call closer to that date) but I was NOT informed that Citibank would "no longer be offering this service as of May 1."
How come I wasn't notified?
"We're not required by law to do that, ma'am."
Durrrrrrrrrr...
This makes me so angry. It's not my fault that Citibank stock is languishing; that for a bank that manages money, they're not so good at managing their own. I think the thing that makes me the most angry is that, while they take liberties to inform me of just about every other g__d__m service they DO provide, my legal friend (who writes BOOKs on this stuff) believes that they are not legally required to inform me when they stop.
How. Aggravating.
Now, my master plan is to find another lending institution that will buy out my current loan and replace my interest rates with something, shall we say, more favorable. However, easier said than done. I may talk a big game, but I'm thus far only ankle deep in my adult finances and I suspect this will take longer for me to figure out that just a ranty blog post. Although I have faith in my ability to figure it out, this might be a tough one to do alone.
Anyway, consider yourself notified.
And SCREW YOU, Citibank.
Sunday, June 08, 2008
It's Over Already?
It's tough to come off a weekend like this one. The HMF was here and we had a FANTASTIC time. On Friday evening, we saw The Fall - a cinematic smorgesborg of color, texture and imagination that was filling, but not overwhelmig. If I could paint that film and do it justice, I would.
Saturday it was supposed to rain, so imagine our surprise when it was sunny and humid. We were going to check out the MN History museum, but the weather was so unbelieveable, that we had brunch with friends and left immediately for outside. We borrowed a bike from my co-worker and biked across Ford bridge to Minnehaha park, down to Lake Nokomis, to the bandstand at Lake Harriet where we listened to big bands and ran into old friends, had ice-cream on Lake Calhoun (where we ran into MORE people we knew!) and then home via the newly paved Midtown Greenway bikepath on 27th street (which I didn't even know existed! Talk about a magic discovery!). We arrived home four hours later, pooped, but smiling.
After that, we showered and headed to Punch in Highland park. By that time, it'd been 6.5 hours since we'd last ate, so the pizza and wine were terrific! We got ambitious and rented a movie for the couch, where we promptly fell asleep after the first 15 minutes.
Needless to say, there's a void to fill today - and every day until I see him over the 4th of July. It's nice that we've traded our day-to-day errands for only fun stuff when we see each other, but it's like having ice cream for every meal.
Anyway, I'm glad the weather cooperated. This week, I'm excited to have volunteering and volleyball to look forward to, otherwise it would be bleak.
Saturday it was supposed to rain, so imagine our surprise when it was sunny and humid. We were going to check out the MN History museum, but the weather was so unbelieveable, that we had brunch with friends and left immediately for outside. We borrowed a bike from my co-worker and biked across Ford bridge to Minnehaha park, down to Lake Nokomis, to the bandstand at Lake Harriet where we listened to big bands and ran into old friends, had ice-cream on Lake Calhoun (where we ran into MORE people we knew!) and then home via the newly paved Midtown Greenway bikepath on 27th street (which I didn't even know existed! Talk about a magic discovery!). We arrived home four hours later, pooped, but smiling.
After that, we showered and headed to Punch in Highland park. By that time, it'd been 6.5 hours since we'd last ate, so the pizza and wine were terrific! We got ambitious and rented a movie for the couch, where we promptly fell asleep after the first 15 minutes.
Needless to say, there's a void to fill today - and every day until I see him over the 4th of July. It's nice that we've traded our day-to-day errands for only fun stuff when we see each other, but it's like having ice cream for every meal.
Anyway, I'm glad the weather cooperated. This week, I'm excited to have volunteering and volleyball to look forward to, otherwise it would be bleak.
Tuesday, May 27, 2008
More Photos from Sarajevo
Emira and I get caught up...
An Orthodox church and old men playing street chess
A filled in "mortar shell rose" in the sidewalk
A fantastic trip!Photos from Dubrovnik, Croatia
The view of Old Town Dubrovnik from the outer walls
Emira and I at the water's edge on the island of Lubron
My new camera is awesome!
Supermodel pose in the island of Kolocep
Francescan Monestary on the island of Lubron
Friday, May 23, 2008
Vacation?
After almost a full twenty-four hours of traveling and/or sitting in various European airports, I arrived safely yesterday evening to a city in full summer glory. The lilacs are blooming, the bicycler's are out and the neighborhood has come alive. It's not exactly sipping cappucino's and wandering cobblestone streets, but it's the more familiar, more comforting US version. I am home.
Upon reflection, it's tough for me to label the last week as a straight-up "vacation". I will never again underestimate traveling in a former war-torn country. That's not to say that I took it lightly before going, but Bosnia and it's history is so complex, it's easy to get in over your head quite quickly. Even "normal" conversations rapidly turn political, and there is still a seething unrest over the Dayton Accords which leads to mixed reviews of Americans, who lead the talks.
That said, this trip was a rounding success. I believe that travel is not necessarily about escaping, it is about discovery as well. Good travel challenges your world views, educates and leads to self-reflection and rumination. While not always relaxing, and usually conflictingly uncomfortable, I am definitely a more well-rounded individual for having made the effort in the first place.
Now, time for Memorial day!
Upon reflection, it's tough for me to label the last week as a straight-up "vacation". I will never again underestimate traveling in a former war-torn country. That's not to say that I took it lightly before going, but Bosnia and it's history is so complex, it's easy to get in over your head quite quickly. Even "normal" conversations rapidly turn political, and there is still a seething unrest over the Dayton Accords which leads to mixed reviews of Americans, who lead the talks.
That said, this trip was a rounding success. I believe that travel is not necessarily about escaping, it is about discovery as well. Good travel challenges your world views, educates and leads to self-reflection and rumination. While not always relaxing, and usually conflictingly uncomfortable, I am definitely a more well-rounded individual for having made the effort in the first place.
Now, time for Memorial day!
Wednesday, May 21, 2008
EuroSong
Once a year, each European country sends a song to compete in that Euro-awesome tradition known as "EuroSong". You in America may remember this from a few years back when this band from Finland won with "Hard Rock Hallelujah". Big news in the US, mostly because they looked like the undead version of Battlefield Earth cast-members.
Anyway, last night Emira and I watched the first semi-finals, which included Bosnia's song "Attempt". The English version can be found here, although Emira cautions that the Bosnian version is much better. Plus, the performer usually has chickens on stage....
For me, the best song of the night either had to be the turkey puppet from Ireland, OR Estonia's dudes dressed in the Estonian flag with women flopping all around them. No wait, Azerbaijan had people dressed as devils and angels flying about - THAT had to be the best.
Mostly this just justifies to me that television is crap everywhere. I will no longer feel ashamed of "The Biggest Loser" or "So You Think You Can Dance?" because really, television is universally stupid.
The End.
Anyway, last night Emira and I watched the first semi-finals, which included Bosnia's song "Attempt". The English version can be found here, although Emira cautions that the Bosnian version is much better. Plus, the performer usually has chickens on stage....
For me, the best song of the night either had to be the turkey puppet from Ireland, OR Estonia's dudes dressed in the Estonian flag with women flopping all around them. No wait, Azerbaijan had people dressed as devils and angels flying about - THAT had to be the best.
Mostly this just justifies to me that television is crap everywhere. I will no longer feel ashamed of "The Biggest Loser" or "So You Think You Can Dance?" because really, television is universally stupid.
The End.
Tuesday, May 20, 2008
Crime and Punishment (?)
Last night, Emira, her friend Bronwyn and I, went out on the town. As we exited the first bar, walking down the street there was sudden "POP!" behind us. Emira turned, and I wheeled around to see two youths about ten feet away smash the driver's side of a car window and jump in.
My first thought – they’re stealing a car in broad daylight.
My second thought – perhaps they have weapons.
My third – perhaps they don’t want witnesses.
My fourth – let’s run.
We ran about twenty feet, and stopped in a doorway, wondering what to do next. I didn’t see what the thugs did next, but Bronwyn said she saw the whole thing. They reached into the car, hopped out, crossed the street and walked blithely away, with their hoodies up, blending into the crowd. That’s why she started running, so we wouldn’t be keeping the same pace. We debated and debated on what to do.
Myself, it has been drilled into me to keep a low profile. Never ever ever mess with the cops in a foreign country. Not good idea. But neither did I just want to act like nothing had happened. Emira asked a neighbor who popped his head out of a window right above our heads if we should call the cops. The neighbor took a drag from his cigarette and cynically said, “Why bother? They’re not going to do anything.”
Huh. We ended up just leaving. Knowing it was not really a violent crime helped soothe our guilty minds, but it was still unsettling. Emira and Bronwyn filled me on the recent spate of youth crimes, including one where a group of boys killed another youth on a crowded public tram at 7pm – stabbed repeatedly.
This morning I got up and googled “youth crime, Bosnia” and this story popped up. Turns out, there’s not really anything Bosnian authorities can do to anyone under 18 as there’s no juvenile system in place. It’s strange to think that there is this horrible violence going on and no one – including us – does anything about it.
The more and more I travel the more I realize that we are all just inches away from mass chaos, and it doesn’t matter if you’re in Bosnia or the US. A few special ingredients: disregard for rule of law, polarizing politics and a cowed public is really all it takes. And while I’d like to think I’d be part of the counter-revolution, I’m schooled by experiences like last night, when it’s far better to melt slowly into the crowd, than risk retribution by feral youths or the scrutiny of an inept police investigation.
My first thought – they’re stealing a car in broad daylight.
My second thought – perhaps they have weapons.
My third – perhaps they don’t want witnesses.
My fourth – let’s run.
We ran about twenty feet, and stopped in a doorway, wondering what to do next. I didn’t see what the thugs did next, but Bronwyn said she saw the whole thing. They reached into the car, hopped out, crossed the street and walked blithely away, with their hoodies up, blending into the crowd. That’s why she started running, so we wouldn’t be keeping the same pace. We debated and debated on what to do.
Myself, it has been drilled into me to keep a low profile. Never ever ever mess with the cops in a foreign country. Not good idea. But neither did I just want to act like nothing had happened. Emira asked a neighbor who popped his head out of a window right above our heads if we should call the cops. The neighbor took a drag from his cigarette and cynically said, “Why bother? They’re not going to do anything.”
Huh. We ended up just leaving. Knowing it was not really a violent crime helped soothe our guilty minds, but it was still unsettling. Emira and Bronwyn filled me on the recent spate of youth crimes, including one where a group of boys killed another youth on a crowded public tram at 7pm – stabbed repeatedly.
This morning I got up and googled “youth crime, Bosnia” and this story popped up. Turns out, there’s not really anything Bosnian authorities can do to anyone under 18 as there’s no juvenile system in place. It’s strange to think that there is this horrible violence going on and no one – including us – does anything about it.
The more and more I travel the more I realize that we are all just inches away from mass chaos, and it doesn’t matter if you’re in Bosnia or the US. A few special ingredients: disregard for rule of law, polarizing politics and a cowed public is really all it takes. And while I’d like to think I’d be part of the counter-revolution, I’m schooled by experiences like last night, when it’s far better to melt slowly into the crowd, than risk retribution by feral youths or the scrutiny of an inept police investigation.
Monday, May 19, 2008
Back to Sarajevo
Emira and I arrived back in Sarajevo no worse for wear about an hour ago. Since the bus station is in the middle of the city, I got a better look at the main part of town on our way in, and it was interesting to compare to the one we'd just seen.
On the way down, Emira and I talked alot about the ravages that war placed on the town, and it's easy to see. There are many many buildings with large chunks (and small bullet holes) pock-marking the facade. There are even apartment complexes with perfect circles where grenade launchers hit them. I was surprised that these buildings were still standing - as I guess I'd always thought that buildings that had been hit with anything larger than a bullet would immediately collapse. Indeed, I stand corrected now, as most buildings are still in tact, they just look heavily acne-scarred. You can guess it does not make for such an awe inspiring landscape.
Dubrovnik, of course, sees more tourists and, as I understand it, was not heavily seiged by the Serbs. While our guidebook claimed six months, Emira hotly denies this, stating that it was only TWO weeks and that fourteen people lost their lives. It's hard to get an objective view on things (although I'm of course, predisposed to believe Emira) but a nice outline can be found here.
Because the Old Town in Dubrovnik is a UNESCO World Heritage Site , the damage was fixed rather quickly, unlike Sarajevo, which has seen only a slow rebuilding. Don't get me wrong, there IS construction going on - and there are certainly a whole lot more going for it than I expected (drinkable tap water, excellent bus system, a WHOLE lot of Volkswagons...) - but there is still a decidedly run-down feel to the place. And sometimes, the war legacy literally smacks you right in the face, like when you stumble on the sidewalk over "mortar shell roses" (divets left in the sidewalk) or, as I did, came face to face with a tank outside Tito's Bar. (Although, to be fair this tank was from WWII.)
Anyway, interesting stuff going on. And yes, if you didn't know, there was a war here - but there isn't anymore.
M is for Mortal Shell Roses;
M.
On the way down, Emira and I talked alot about the ravages that war placed on the town, and it's easy to see. There are many many buildings with large chunks (and small bullet holes) pock-marking the facade. There are even apartment complexes with perfect circles where grenade launchers hit them. I was surprised that these buildings were still standing - as I guess I'd always thought that buildings that had been hit with anything larger than a bullet would immediately collapse. Indeed, I stand corrected now, as most buildings are still in tact, they just look heavily acne-scarred. You can guess it does not make for such an awe inspiring landscape.
Dubrovnik, of course, sees more tourists and, as I understand it, was not heavily seiged by the Serbs. While our guidebook claimed six months, Emira hotly denies this, stating that it was only TWO weeks and that fourteen people lost their lives. It's hard to get an objective view on things (although I'm of course, predisposed to believe Emira) but a nice outline can be found here.
Because the Old Town in Dubrovnik is a UNESCO World Heritage Site , the damage was fixed rather quickly, unlike Sarajevo, which has seen only a slow rebuilding. Don't get me wrong, there IS construction going on - and there are certainly a whole lot more going for it than I expected (drinkable tap water, excellent bus system, a WHOLE lot of Volkswagons...) - but there is still a decidedly run-down feel to the place. And sometimes, the war legacy literally smacks you right in the face, like when you stumble on the sidewalk over "mortar shell roses" (divets left in the sidewalk) or, as I did, came face to face with a tank outside Tito's Bar. (Although, to be fair this tank was from WWII.)
Anyway, interesting stuff going on. And yes, if you didn't know, there was a war here - but there isn't anymore.
M is for Mortal Shell Roses;
M.
Sunday, May 18, 2008
Sunday in Dubrovnik
This morning, Emira and I awoke to a beautiful morning, with the sun shining over the Old City and our rented room. We meant to get up earlier - but seeing as this is also my vacation, managed to sleep in until 8:30. I made coffee from the tiny machine our landlady set outside the door, along with home-made apple strudels.
With my camera newly charged, we walked took the long stairways (about 500 steps, straight down) to the Old City gates, in search of a bakery. We wound up at a tiny grocery store, where I bought yoghurt, and later Emira found a bakery where she bought a meat pie. She claims it's not as good as what we could get in Bosnia...
Around 10:15, we found ourselves at the port, looking for boat trips to the various islands around Croatia. We ended up booking ourselves for the student rate to the Elephiti Islands: Kolocep, Šipan, and Lopud. We bought a few souvenirs from a nice old lady and then met the boat at 11am. As the day was young, and the Old Town fairly well explored, we were both really excited to see some of the surrounding area.
The first five minutes should've tipped us off to the crazy adventure we were in for. It was a double-decker boat, but the moment we left the harbor, the guides announced that everyone should get off the top deck, due to high winds. Huh. That's when Emira turned to me and asked if I'd packed the dramamine. Nope, I said, it was back at the room.
Whoops.
Fifteen minutes later, I was sitting on the prow, staying a safe distance away from Emira's head, hanging off the side. We both must have looked a little green, because the captain and most of his crew came by to see how we were doing. We ultimately ended up at the back of the boat, praying to JC and breathing in the lavendar sachets that I bought, to keep us from collectively hurling.
The first island was relatively close. Once we wobbled off the boat and set to exploring, it was really lovely. The islands give off a mediterranean feel - kind of like a Monet painting, with all the poppies, rosemary plants and yes, even some cacti. The port was super peaceful and surrounded by awesome paths, one of which led us to an abandoned church and cemetary. We headed back to the boat for a catered dinner of fresh whole fish, cevapi, cole slaw and all the terrible terrible wine we could drink. We laughed ourselves silly.
After that, it was one to Sipan, which was ok, but we only had forty minutes and there wasn't much to see. The last island, Lopud, was the best. We had 1.5 hours to check out the Francescan monestary, the botanical gardens and to eat a huge calzone the size of my head. Plus, have I mentioned that the cappucinos here are to die for? Like, three inches of foam and two of delicious dark coffee. I've had six today already and I think I might type all night. Anyway, we had some cappucinos in the port.
By this time, it was 4:15 and we had to head back to the boat. I was seriously not looking forward to it, and it turned out my instincts were right. The wind had only intensified, and it was two hours of absolutely hell. Once out into the wind, we were broadside to the shore, meaning we took the brunt of all the waves right into the bottom of the boat. My shoes were soaked, not to mention my shivering legs (good thing I was wearing a skirt, because my jeans would've never dried). Also, neither of had jackets and Emira kept her face flat against the table, trying not to hurl. I had to stare at the horizon, because it was the only thing that wouldn't move.
When I teased Emira that JC must not have heard her prayers for today, her only answer was, "Hey, the dude can't be at our beck and call. There are also wars and shit to take care of." The laughing did kind of help the nausea to subside, but not by much. I'm sure the crew thought that we were certifiably nuts.
Anyway, we got back a little wet and worse for wear into the port at 6pm. Neither of us wanted to talk much, so we marched back up the 500 flights of stairs shivering and swearing all the way. I hopped right into warm clothes and bed while Emira collapsed right on the floor. It took us a good hour to collect ourselves (and comb out the serious wind-hair) before we were ready for supper.
We marched BACK down the stairs and back into Old Town right about the time it started to rain, but we were not to be daunted. We ended up at a very cute local restaurant in a back alley, out of the way, and had a heart-warming meal of delicious pasta and lots of wine (ending with cappucino, of course). Now Emira is waiting patiently while I regail these adventures to teh interwebs at the same internet cafe as last night, and then we're going to gingerly test the night-life here. I say gingerly, as I think both our systems are still kind of nautious...
Anyway, that's all from here. We're back to Sarajevo tomorrow, but this has been the best of best breaks for both of us, all hurling aside :)
M is for motion-sickness;
M.
With my camera newly charged, we walked took the long stairways (about 500 steps, straight down) to the Old City gates, in search of a bakery. We wound up at a tiny grocery store, where I bought yoghurt, and later Emira found a bakery where she bought a meat pie. She claims it's not as good as what we could get in Bosnia...
Around 10:15, we found ourselves at the port, looking for boat trips to the various islands around Croatia. We ended up booking ourselves for the student rate to the Elephiti Islands: Kolocep, Šipan, and Lopud. We bought a few souvenirs from a nice old lady and then met the boat at 11am. As the day was young, and the Old Town fairly well explored, we were both really excited to see some of the surrounding area.
The first five minutes should've tipped us off to the crazy adventure we were in for. It was a double-decker boat, but the moment we left the harbor, the guides announced that everyone should get off the top deck, due to high winds. Huh. That's when Emira turned to me and asked if I'd packed the dramamine. Nope, I said, it was back at the room.
Whoops.
Fifteen minutes later, I was sitting on the prow, staying a safe distance away from Emira's head, hanging off the side. We both must have looked a little green, because the captain and most of his crew came by to see how we were doing. We ultimately ended up at the back of the boat, praying to JC and breathing in the lavendar sachets that I bought, to keep us from collectively hurling.
The first island was relatively close. Once we wobbled off the boat and set to exploring, it was really lovely. The islands give off a mediterranean feel - kind of like a Monet painting, with all the poppies, rosemary plants and yes, even some cacti. The port was super peaceful and surrounded by awesome paths, one of which led us to an abandoned church and cemetary. We headed back to the boat for a catered dinner of fresh whole fish, cevapi, cole slaw and all the terrible terrible wine we could drink. We laughed ourselves silly.
After that, it was one to Sipan, which was ok, but we only had forty minutes and there wasn't much to see. The last island, Lopud, was the best. We had 1.5 hours to check out the Francescan monestary, the botanical gardens and to eat a huge calzone the size of my head. Plus, have I mentioned that the cappucinos here are to die for? Like, three inches of foam and two of delicious dark coffee. I've had six today already and I think I might type all night. Anyway, we had some cappucinos in the port.
By this time, it was 4:15 and we had to head back to the boat. I was seriously not looking forward to it, and it turned out my instincts were right. The wind had only intensified, and it was two hours of absolutely hell. Once out into the wind, we were broadside to the shore, meaning we took the brunt of all the waves right into the bottom of the boat. My shoes were soaked, not to mention my shivering legs (good thing I was wearing a skirt, because my jeans would've never dried). Also, neither of had jackets and Emira kept her face flat against the table, trying not to hurl. I had to stare at the horizon, because it was the only thing that wouldn't move.
When I teased Emira that JC must not have heard her prayers for today, her only answer was, "Hey, the dude can't be at our beck and call. There are also wars and shit to take care of." The laughing did kind of help the nausea to subside, but not by much. I'm sure the crew thought that we were certifiably nuts.
Anyway, we got back a little wet and worse for wear into the port at 6pm. Neither of us wanted to talk much, so we marched back up the 500 flights of stairs shivering and swearing all the way. I hopped right into warm clothes and bed while Emira collapsed right on the floor. It took us a good hour to collect ourselves (and comb out the serious wind-hair) before we were ready for supper.
We marched BACK down the stairs and back into Old Town right about the time it started to rain, but we were not to be daunted. We ended up at a very cute local restaurant in a back alley, out of the way, and had a heart-warming meal of delicious pasta and lots of wine (ending with cappucino, of course). Now Emira is waiting patiently while I regail these adventures to teh interwebs at the same internet cafe as last night, and then we're going to gingerly test the night-life here. I say gingerly, as I think both our systems are still kind of nautious...
Anyway, that's all from here. We're back to Sarajevo tomorrow, but this has been the best of best breaks for both of us, all hurling aside :)
M is for motion-sickness;
M.
Conversations with God
On the bus yesterday, I watched as the formerly brilliant sky clouded over into a dull grey aroudn noon. Worriedly, I turned to Emira and said
Me,"Looks like it's clouding up. I hope it's not like this when we reach Dubrovnik."
Emira, "Naw, don't worry about it. I put in a good word with the JC."
Me, "Who? JC Chasez?"
Emira, "No, fool. Jesus Christ!"
Me, "But, you're Muslim!"
Emira, "Don't worry about it. JC and Mohammed have a time-share on my soul."
A point that was later proven when the sky cleared and a beautiful afternoon opened before us in the Old City. Obviously, I need to get on the JC's good side.
Me,"Looks like it's clouding up. I hope it's not like this when we reach Dubrovnik."
Emira, "Naw, don't worry about it. I put in a good word with the JC."
Me, "Who? JC Chasez?"
Emira, "No, fool. Jesus Christ!"
Me, "But, you're Muslim!"
Emira, "Don't worry about it. JC and Mohammed have a time-share on my soul."
A point that was later proven when the sky cleared and a beautiful afternoon opened before us in the Old City. Obviously, I need to get on the JC's good side.
Saturday, May 17, 2008
This Country Makes Me Poop
Not sure if I'd suggest drinking until one am, waking up at six to catch a crowded bus at 7:15 am for an eight hour trip through the mountains with hang over.
BUT, luckily it's over. And worth it.
Emira and I got on the bus this morning, and, after a rough start (ie motion sickness and some slight constipation), finally woke up and got the juices flowing about the time we ate a meat pie in Neum, on the small strip of Bosnia that's actually ON the Adriatic.
During the eight hours we mulled over the three president problem and decided that some "redistribution" was in order. That is, Bosnia was in a perfect position to share leaders with other, more unfortunate countries that don't actually HAVE leadership, per se. Like Somalia. I think this funnier when we were both sick.
Anyway, we arrived around two pm and found a room just above old city, in one of the many windy cobblestone streets. Apparently it's quite common for families living around the area to let rooms out to total strangers. Luckily for me, Emria had been here three weeks ago, knew where to look and, most importantly, speaks the language. We scored a terrific room with a private bath and terrace for little over $30/night for each of us. (Trust me, this is a steal).
The day, although initially cloudy, has cleared up to be a sunny, gorgeous 70 degree perfect day. We wandered in and around the old city, checked out the history museum, re-charged my camera battery (I know, I know), ate gelato, had terrible seafood (which was surprise - that it was terrible, I mean) and we are now chillin' at an internet cafe, testing out plans for tomorrow. We may take a boat tour, we may just lay on the pebble beach and drink cappucino's (the best I've ever had in my life! And,,...happens to help with constipation...not MINE of course...)
So far, so good. Emira and I travel well together, as we have in the past, we fight like sisters and laugh like drunken sailors. Dubrovnik is amazing - at least, the old town portion. It's surrounded by these old walls (which we walked around today), red roofs and cobblestones - much like an old Europe feel. I love the sun, I love vacation, I love relaxing.
That's it for today.
M.
BUT, luckily it's over. And worth it.
Emira and I got on the bus this morning, and, after a rough start (ie motion sickness and some slight constipation), finally woke up and got the juices flowing about the time we ate a meat pie in Neum, on the small strip of Bosnia that's actually ON the Adriatic.
During the eight hours we mulled over the three president problem and decided that some "redistribution" was in order. That is, Bosnia was in a perfect position to share leaders with other, more unfortunate countries that don't actually HAVE leadership, per se. Like Somalia. I think this funnier when we were both sick.
Anyway, we arrived around two pm and found a room just above old city, in one of the many windy cobblestone streets. Apparently it's quite common for families living around the area to let rooms out to total strangers. Luckily for me, Emria had been here three weeks ago, knew where to look and, most importantly, speaks the language. We scored a terrific room with a private bath and terrace for little over $30/night for each of us. (Trust me, this is a steal).
The day, although initially cloudy, has cleared up to be a sunny, gorgeous 70 degree perfect day. We wandered in and around the old city, checked out the history museum, re-charged my camera battery (I know, I know), ate gelato, had terrible seafood (which was surprise - that it was terrible, I mean) and we are now chillin' at an internet cafe, testing out plans for tomorrow. We may take a boat tour, we may just lay on the pebble beach and drink cappucino's (the best I've ever had in my life! And,,...happens to help with constipation...not MINE of course...)
So far, so good. Emira and I travel well together, as we have in the past, we fight like sisters and laugh like drunken sailors. Dubrovnik is amazing - at least, the old town portion. It's surrounded by these old walls (which we walked around today), red roofs and cobblestones - much like an old Europe feel. I love the sun, I love vacation, I love relaxing.
That's it for today.
M.
Stuff I Never Knew
Bosnia is actually split into two parts - the Federation of mostly ethnic Bosnians and Croats and the Republika Srpska (sounds like Serb-ska) filled with mostly Bosnian-Serbs. Right now, Bosnia has THREE presidents, representing these three ethnic groups. The Croats and the Bosnians, for the most part, get along under the Federation, which has 51% of control in Parliament (but 70% of the population, according to Emira), while the Bosnian-Serbs have 49% representation. All this came about through the 1995 Dayton Accords, which effectively ended the war here but with THREE presidents (rotating out every nine months) one has to wonder - how long can this keep up?
Friday, May 16, 2008
I Have Beer Fingers...
Dear Readers;
I have arrived in Bosnia safely. I missed my connection in Munich, and had to stay the night there, but I met a nice Bosnian lady and a fun Kenyan/midwestern with whom to pass the time. Anyway...I'm on vacation so what's an extra night in Munich? I slept most of the time anyway.
I arrived in Bosnia this morning at noon. Flight uneventful. My friend Emira met me at the gate, looking fabulously long-haired and we immediately jumped a cab out to her house in Visnjik. It's a great apartment, right near Old Town, which we immediately took off for.
After exploring around for awhile, we sat down to eat cevapi (che-vapi); essentially beef links with pita and sour cream. It was very very good, if not colon-stopping. We poked around old town, checking out the main mosque, Orthodox Church and even Synagogue, but then grabbed some backlava. Walked around some more, and then hit her favorite bar, which we holed up on for about three hours, drinking beers, harassing the bartender and generally, catching up.
Which leads me to my post title...apparently, Emira has beer fingers. I don't know what that means, but after three liters of beer, I don't really care.
I called the HMF over skype, and then called my friend Alex, whom some of you might remember from my Malawian adventures two years ago. Turns out he was reassigned to Sarajevo about six months ago, so now we're going to hook up at an Italian restaurant and re-live old times.
Ahhh...vacation.
Tomorrow, we're off at 7am to catch a bus to Dubrovnik (Croatia). We'll see how that goes, but so far, so good!
M.
I have arrived in Bosnia safely. I missed my connection in Munich, and had to stay the night there, but I met a nice Bosnian lady and a fun Kenyan/midwestern with whom to pass the time. Anyway...I'm on vacation so what's an extra night in Munich? I slept most of the time anyway.
I arrived in Bosnia this morning at noon. Flight uneventful. My friend Emira met me at the gate, looking fabulously long-haired and we immediately jumped a cab out to her house in Visnjik. It's a great apartment, right near Old Town, which we immediately took off for.
After exploring around for awhile, we sat down to eat cevapi (che-vapi); essentially beef links with pita and sour cream. It was very very good, if not colon-stopping. We poked around old town, checking out the main mosque, Orthodox Church and even Synagogue, but then grabbed some backlava. Walked around some more, and then hit her favorite bar, which we holed up on for about three hours, drinking beers, harassing the bartender and generally, catching up.
Which leads me to my post title...apparently, Emira has beer fingers. I don't know what that means, but after three liters of beer, I don't really care.
I called the HMF over skype, and then called my friend Alex, whom some of you might remember from my Malawian adventures two years ago. Turns out he was reassigned to Sarajevo about six months ago, so now we're going to hook up at an Italian restaurant and re-live old times.
Ahhh...vacation.
Tomorrow, we're off at 7am to catch a bus to Dubrovnik (Croatia). We'll see how that goes, but so far, so good!
M.
Wednesday, May 14, 2008
Receipt Rant
What on earth has happened to the receipts of the world? How did they suddenly multiply and extend themselves to THREE feet ? Is there some sort of hormone in cash registers I dont' know about?
Case in point - every time I go to Cub, I usually buy about $30 worth of stuff. That's about 20-25 things MAX. Yet, when I leave, I have a THREE foot long receipt, a smaller receipt that summarizes my total, the receipt with my signature on it and atleast TWO coupons that they print at the register. That is a handful of crap that I really don't need, and usually ends up at the bottom of my canvas grocery bags.
Last month was Earth day, and as such, Green news abounded in all my magazines. How to live in a green house, have a greener liver, yada yada yada. One of the tips was to press "No receipt" when you pulled money from the cash machine. So this morning, I hit the cash machine before my trip and hit "No receipt."
How surprised was I when a slip of paper popped out! (I had almost driven away, but imagining my bank information being stolen from the person behind me made me stop). I pulled it out, thinking I must of hit the wrong button.
Nope. The slip of paper just said "Thanks for Banking at Bremer!"
I was so pissed -I mean, why even give the OPTION of no receipt if you're still going to print out some lame piece of paper?!?
So yeah, I was so pissed - I threw the damn piece of paper out the window. Maybe the littering outside the bank will get so bad they'll realize what total douches they are. Or maybe not.
Oh, the irony.
Case in point - every time I go to Cub, I usually buy about $30 worth of stuff. That's about 20-25 things MAX. Yet, when I leave, I have a THREE foot long receipt, a smaller receipt that summarizes my total, the receipt with my signature on it and atleast TWO coupons that they print at the register. That is a handful of crap that I really don't need, and usually ends up at the bottom of my canvas grocery bags.
Last month was Earth day, and as such, Green news abounded in all my magazines. How to live in a green house, have a greener liver, yada yada yada. One of the tips was to press "No receipt" when you pulled money from the cash machine. So this morning, I hit the cash machine before my trip and hit "No receipt."
How surprised was I when a slip of paper popped out! (I had almost driven away, but imagining my bank information being stolen from the person behind me made me stop). I pulled it out, thinking I must of hit the wrong button.
Nope. The slip of paper just said "Thanks for Banking at Bremer!"
I was so pissed -I mean, why even give the OPTION of no receipt if you're still going to print out some lame piece of paper?!?
So yeah, I was so pissed - I threw the damn piece of paper out the window. Maybe the littering outside the bank will get so bad they'll realize what total douches they are. Or maybe not.
Oh, the irony.
Sunday, May 11, 2008
Packing Packing Packing
Things to do before leaving for Bosnia on Wednesday night:
1) Stop working. Woo hoo! Wait, you mean I have to wait until Wednesday??
2) Laundry - including bleaching that ketchup stain out of the hem of my white dress pants.
3) Wrest new camera away from UPS
4) Fix wheel on rolly carry on luggage
5) Fit a whole trivial pursuit game into my purse
6) Mourn my totally dead ipod
7) Search the depths of my soul (and bank account) for a new one
8) Make financial (and potentially boring) decision to skip the new 'pod until trip is paid for
9) Find underwear
10) Forgive self for being - and looking - American, no matter how many dark pairs of jeans/tennis shoes I own
11) Notify credit card companies of my whereabouts so they don't freeze my assets
12) Take out some dollars...in the event I might be able to buy something against the euro...
13) Hope that Emira's book arrives in time
14) Find sunglasses
15) Find swimsuit
16)...um,...shave..
17) Find bandaids
18) Pray my 17 hours and three airports will pass quickly and uneventfully
19) Pluck eyebrows in eastern european (thin) fashion
20) Buy eyebrow pencil to cover sickly eyebrows..
21) Meet Roxie, the girls and the husbands at Buca for a farewell mastacholi and martini
22) Hope Megan can still take me to the airport
23) Check in
24) Air kiss America goodbye.....
1) Stop working. Woo hoo! Wait, you mean I have to wait until Wednesday??
2) Laundry - including bleaching that ketchup stain out of the hem of my white dress pants.
3) Wrest new camera away from UPS
4) Fix wheel on rolly carry on luggage
5) Fit a whole trivial pursuit game into my purse
6) Mourn my totally dead ipod
7) Search the depths of my soul (and bank account) for a new one
8) Make financial (and potentially boring) decision to skip the new 'pod until trip is paid for
9) Find underwear
10) Forgive self for being - and looking - American, no matter how many dark pairs of jeans/tennis shoes I own
11) Notify credit card companies of my whereabouts so they don't freeze my assets
12) Take out some dollars...in the event I might be able to buy something against the euro...
13) Hope that Emira's book arrives in time
14) Find sunglasses
15) Find swimsuit
16)...um,...shave..
17) Find bandaids
18) Pray my 17 hours and three airports will pass quickly and uneventfully
19) Pluck eyebrows in eastern european (thin) fashion
20) Buy eyebrow pencil to cover sickly eyebrows..
21) Meet Roxie, the girls and the husbands at Buca for a farewell mastacholi and martini
22) Hope Megan can still take me to the airport
23) Check in
24) Air kiss America goodbye.....
Lists Lists Lists Lists
It's great to have parents.
It's great to have parents that are nice.
It's great to have parents and extended family that are nice.
It's great to have parents and extended family that are nice and feed you.
It's great to have parents and extended family that are nice and feed you often.
It's great to have parens and extended family that are nice and feed you often at the lake.
The End
It's great to have parents that are nice.
It's great to have parents and extended family that are nice.
It's great to have parents and extended family that are nice and feed you.
It's great to have parents and extended family that are nice and feed you often.
It's great to have parens and extended family that are nice and feed you often at the lake.
The End
Thursday, May 08, 2008
Tuesday, April 22, 2008
Food Aid
I spent all last week attending a conference on food aid in Kansas City, followed by two days of grueling-yet-fascinating - training and a Saturday full of catch up work. Although it was an exhausting week, now that I'm a few days out, I can reflect a little bit.
US Food Aid takes many forms and is administered under several different government programs, to many different ends (and under lots of controversy). My company is one of a zillion development organizations that bids to win commodities from the US government, with the intent of shipping them overseas, either for food emergencies (famines, conflict, and usually temporary in nature) or development work (more longstanding programs). One of the more fascinating aspects of these programs is how they involve almost all aspects of our economy - suppliers/farmers, freight forwarders, private voluntary organizations (PVOs), the US Dept of Agriculture (USDA), US Agency for International Development (USAID), millers, shipping agents, shipping companies, port authority, customs; you name it, we got them involved.
I tried to explain this to a gentlement hitting on me at the bar last thursday (ok, what would YOU say when asked what you do?) and his response was, "Oh, like the Iran-Contra!"
Um......not exactly.
But, food aid comes under the gun of critics quite often. At best, it's claimed as a mechanism for US subsidized commodities (usually wheat, soybeans, corn and the like) to be dumped in unsuspecting foreign markets, bottoming out the local prices. At worst - and this is how it is perceived by the government in Zambia - a chance to poison the locals with dangerous GMO's. It has a long and sordid history. I'm too lazy to go hunting for the links right now, but most aid can be trailed back to the Post World War passage of the Marshall Plan, meant to rebuild Europe and Europeans.
I'm not sure what to think about all this, but I do enjoy the controversy. In fact, having gone thorugh a liberal grad school, I'd say I'm pretty well aware of the criticisms, so it's interesting to be on the business end of it. I took this job, in part, to learn more about food aid. After this week, I see that it truly is an industry in and of itself and I've got tons left to learn. Even though it was painful at the time, I count myself lucky that I work in an industry that keeps me engaged, keeps me learning and keeps me wondering what will happen next.
US Food Aid takes many forms and is administered under several different government programs, to many different ends (and under lots of controversy). My company is one of a zillion development organizations that bids to win commodities from the US government, with the intent of shipping them overseas, either for food emergencies (famines, conflict, and usually temporary in nature) or development work (more longstanding programs). One of the more fascinating aspects of these programs is how they involve almost all aspects of our economy - suppliers/farmers, freight forwarders, private voluntary organizations (PVOs), the US Dept of Agriculture (USDA), US Agency for International Development (USAID), millers, shipping agents, shipping companies, port authority, customs; you name it, we got them involved.
I tried to explain this to a gentlement hitting on me at the bar last thursday (ok, what would YOU say when asked what you do?) and his response was, "Oh, like the Iran-Contra!"
Um......not exactly.
But, food aid comes under the gun of critics quite often. At best, it's claimed as a mechanism for US subsidized commodities (usually wheat, soybeans, corn and the like) to be dumped in unsuspecting foreign markets, bottoming out the local prices. At worst - and this is how it is perceived by the government in Zambia - a chance to poison the locals with dangerous GMO's. It has a long and sordid history. I'm too lazy to go hunting for the links right now, but most aid can be trailed back to the Post World War passage of the Marshall Plan, meant to rebuild Europe and Europeans.
I'm not sure what to think about all this, but I do enjoy the controversy. In fact, having gone thorugh a liberal grad school, I'd say I'm pretty well aware of the criticisms, so it's interesting to be on the business end of it. I took this job, in part, to learn more about food aid. After this week, I see that it truly is an industry in and of itself and I've got tons left to learn. Even though it was painful at the time, I count myself lucky that I work in an industry that keeps me engaged, keeps me learning and keeps me wondering what will happen next.
Sunday, April 13, 2008
This Just In
...I've hit adulthood.
My taxes are paid, there are utilities in my name, my refridgerator is full, I own my own car (with insurance!) and can hold down a job. Plus, I now take "work trips" - and not anywhere fun either. For example, today, I head off to Kansas City for a week. Erm, woot-woot? I guess?
When did this happen?
Plus, where are all the ponies and cotton candy and princesses?
Harrumph.
M.
My taxes are paid, there are utilities in my name, my refridgerator is full, I own my own car (with insurance!) and can hold down a job. Plus, I now take "work trips" - and not anywhere fun either. For example, today, I head off to Kansas City for a week. Erm, woot-woot? I guess?
When did this happen?
Plus, where are all the ponies and cotton candy and princesses?
Harrumph.
M.
Thursday, March 27, 2008
Random Country # 31
It's vacation time! I just bought my tickets last night.
Come mid-May I'll be packing my bags and visiting Emira in Bosnia!
Woo hoo!
Come mid-May I'll be packing my bags and visiting Emira in Bosnia!
Woo hoo!
Sunday, March 16, 2008
Girl.....Power?
My friend Rachel and I had a chick-flick night on Friday. We ended up watching a movie with a significant "girl power/girls are all princesses/you can do anything you want" message. At one point, they all gather together for a pink slumber/bachelorette party, go mattress surfing and sing a song about sisterhood.
Not a big deal , right? I mean, what else do you expect from a movie with the word's "Princess" and "Diairies" in the title? These types of messages have become so ubiquitous in society that they don't really even register to me any more. I mean, girls are vulnerable right? They need to be nurtured and empowered before setting sail into that scary sexually charged co-ed school/workplace/life in general unless you life in a convent.
I've seen this movie before - and let me say that I DO like it - but this was the first time I noticed how heavy-handed a message it really carries. For the first time in my life, I started to question the hidden implication. I mean really, it was so over the top, I was surprised there weren't unicorns and fluffy bunnies floating around. Think "Enchanted" but without the tongue in your cheek.
This feeling was further underscored by my Saturday morning ritual: sunshine, coffee, pancakes, pajamas and Hannah Montana (relax, this was by accident. Last week it was 'Saved By the Bell'). Unsurprisingly, her show also underscores the "girl power" message.
I got to thinking - where are all the "boy power" messages? How come little boys don't get together and celebrate their burgeoning manhood with bibi guns and Xbox marathons? Who celebrates THEM as they go out into the equally scary world?
I guess one could argue that, as the incumbents, boys/mini men already have a social mandate that highlights their worth and ability to rule the world. Sure, I don't argue that point.
But, don't boys need just as much direction and guidance and slumber parties and empowerment to make smart decisions as little girls do? In the advent of us telling girls they can do ANYTHING, who is teaching the boys how to power-share with equanimity?
It's guess easier to market unicorns and fluffy bunnies.
And then, this evening, I'm in the middle of this fabulous book: Fragments of Grace: My Search for Meaning in the Strife of South East Asia, by Pamela Constable. She writes about the dowry system in India:
When I arrived in India, I started a folder of news clippings on cases of dowry violence [...] by the time I left, the folder was bulging. [...] A pregnant woman of twenty-six hung herself from a ceiling fan after her husband, a police officer, and his relatives repeatedly harassed her over demands for a $5,000 dowry. A man shot his wife dead because her parents had given them an Opal sedan and he wanted a Honda. An eighteen year old wife was starved, burned, and finally beaten to death by her in-laws, who demanded more money and a motor-scooter.
Uh-huh. That says MOTOR SCOOTER.
Yes, teaching girls to value themselves is important. But so is educating others as to their value, outside boy baby-making machines. I guess it hit me this weekend: You can't accomplish this buy in with excessive, over the top, in your face, obnoxious messaging. Yes, it's easier to advertise unicorns and fluffy bunnies, but you can do it without alienating the other 50% of the population.
Otherwise, what you'll have is one very angry, pink unicorn shouting in a corner while the rest of the world wants to put it down.
Not a big deal , right? I mean, what else do you expect from a movie with the word's "Princess" and "Diairies" in the title? These types of messages have become so ubiquitous in society that they don't really even register to me any more. I mean, girls are vulnerable right? They need to be nurtured and empowered before setting sail into that scary sexually charged co-ed school/workplace/life in general unless you life in a convent.
I've seen this movie before - and let me say that I DO like it - but this was the first time I noticed how heavy-handed a message it really carries. For the first time in my life, I started to question the hidden implication. I mean really, it was so over the top, I was surprised there weren't unicorns and fluffy bunnies floating around. Think "Enchanted" but without the tongue in your cheek.
This feeling was further underscored by my Saturday morning ritual: sunshine, coffee, pancakes, pajamas and Hannah Montana (relax, this was by accident. Last week it was 'Saved By the Bell'). Unsurprisingly, her show also underscores the "girl power" message.
I got to thinking - where are all the "boy power" messages? How come little boys don't get together and celebrate their burgeoning manhood with bibi guns and Xbox marathons? Who celebrates THEM as they go out into the equally scary world?
I guess one could argue that, as the incumbents, boys/mini men already have a social mandate that highlights their worth and ability to rule the world. Sure, I don't argue that point.
But, don't boys need just as much direction and guidance and slumber parties and empowerment to make smart decisions as little girls do? In the advent of us telling girls they can do ANYTHING, who is teaching the boys how to power-share with equanimity?
It's guess easier to market unicorns and fluffy bunnies.
And then, this evening, I'm in the middle of this fabulous book: Fragments of Grace: My Search for Meaning in the Strife of South East Asia, by Pamela Constable. She writes about the dowry system in India:
When I arrived in India, I started a folder of news clippings on cases of dowry violence [...] by the time I left, the folder was bulging. [...] A pregnant woman of twenty-six hung herself from a ceiling fan after her husband, a police officer, and his relatives repeatedly harassed her over demands for a $5,000 dowry. A man shot his wife dead because her parents had given them an Opal sedan and he wanted a Honda. An eighteen year old wife was starved, burned, and finally beaten to death by her in-laws, who demanded more money and a motor-scooter.
Uh-huh. That says MOTOR SCOOTER.
Yes, teaching girls to value themselves is important. But so is educating others as to their value, outside boy baby-making machines. I guess it hit me this weekend: You can't accomplish this buy in with excessive, over the top, in your face, obnoxious messaging. Yes, it's easier to advertise unicorns and fluffy bunnies, but you can do it without alienating the other 50% of the population.
Otherwise, what you'll have is one very angry, pink unicorn shouting in a corner while the rest of the world wants to put it down.
St Patrick's Day lesson
If someone pours you an "Irish Car Bomb";
Run away.
Run, run, run, run, run away.
......Sweet lord.
Run away.
Run, run, run, run, run away.
......Sweet lord.
Sunday, March 09, 2008
Zombies are Definitely the New Ninja vs. Pirates
This link, here, is good for a laugh. And a Zombie Plan.
At last night's MN Roller Derby (so. much. awesomeness.), we discussed that Cabela's might also be a nice alternative to Super WalMart. There's hunting gear, freeze-dried food and an aquarium stocked with fresh fish (which you can then drink after you've eaten all the fish!). I didn't think about the toilet situation, but there's always the roof.
I also like the plan I read on teh interweb however, because it suggests:
...Make sure you have some girls. Preferably hot chicks, but in the absence of those some tough biker babes would work.
Now here, presumeably is where I can be of service. I have a uterus, which, ostensibly (although I haven't tested it yet) works. And even if it doesn't, by the time I figure that out, it will be too late.
You have no idea how releived I am. This means I can resign from gun-toting nursing school. My place in Cabela's is secured!
It's going to be a good day. I knew these hormones were good for something.
M.
At last night's MN Roller Derby (so. much. awesomeness.), we discussed that Cabela's might also be a nice alternative to Super WalMart. There's hunting gear, freeze-dried food and an aquarium stocked with fresh fish (which you can then drink after you've eaten all the fish!). I didn't think about the toilet situation, but there's always the roof.
I also like the plan I read on teh interweb however, because it suggests:
...Make sure you have some girls. Preferably hot chicks, but in the absence of those some tough biker babes would work.
Now here, presumeably is where I can be of service. I have a uterus, which, ostensibly (although I haven't tested it yet) works. And even if it doesn't, by the time I figure that out, it will be too late.
You have no idea how releived I am. This means I can resign from gun-toting nursing school. My place in Cabela's is secured!
It's going to be a good day. I knew these hormones were good for something.
M.
Sunday, March 02, 2008
Too Much Time On My Hands
Sometimes I worry that I have worked to amass a set of essentially useless skills. One of my few measurements of success - and recent recurring cocktail question - is whether or not I (or any of my soft-bottomed friends) would survive in a post-apocalypse nuclear fall out.
After watching 'I Am Legend', both the HMF and I readily agree that we would be dead within hours, should we be left to our own devices. I mean, I can barely use a can opener - what if I had to hunt and skin my own food? ...AND, what about fighting off zombies?
As a side bar, my friend Ann explained to me this weekend that she and her boyfriend already have a zombie survival plan: they are going hole up in a Super WalMart - all the food, ammo and medical supplies you need. Think about it. (She's right!)
Ok, so anyway, back to my useless life. Here are a list of skills I perceive needing in post-nuclear holocaust world:
CPR
Gun safety/operation/target practice
Car mechanic
Ham radio, morse code
Rock climbing/Rapelling
Veterinary science - chickens, goats, pigs
Sewing my own clothes
Gardening
Being able to suture a wound or set a broken bone
Flying an airplane
Siphoning gas
Starting a fire without a match
Here is what I am reasonablly skilled at:
Use my credit card, and return items on said credit card
Take my car to the mechanic
Check email
Spell
See? Not much good. While I believe my pioneer fore-fathers would have hands down been able to live in the aftermath of a nuclear fall out - I mysefl am screwed.
Sigh. There is SO much to worry about.
After watching 'I Am Legend', both the HMF and I readily agree that we would be dead within hours, should we be left to our own devices. I mean, I can barely use a can opener - what if I had to hunt and skin my own food? ...AND, what about fighting off zombies?
As a side bar, my friend Ann explained to me this weekend that she and her boyfriend already have a zombie survival plan: they are going hole up in a Super WalMart - all the food, ammo and medical supplies you need. Think about it. (She's right!)
Ok, so anyway, back to my useless life. Here are a list of skills I perceive needing in post-nuclear holocaust world:
CPR
Gun safety/operation/target practice
Car mechanic
Ham radio, morse code
Rock climbing/Rapelling
Veterinary science - chickens, goats, pigs
Sewing my own clothes
Gardening
Being able to suture a wound or set a broken bone
Flying an airplane
Siphoning gas
Starting a fire without a match
Here is what I am reasonablly skilled at:
Use my credit card, and return items on said credit card
Take my car to the mechanic
Check email
Spell
See? Not much good. While I believe my pioneer fore-fathers would have hands down been able to live in the aftermath of a nuclear fall out - I mysefl am screwed.
Sigh. There is SO much to worry about.
Friday, February 29, 2008
The Day That Doesn't Normally Exist
I don't have anything particular to write today - just wanted the date to show up, because it will be four long years before I see it again.
You know, when I was a kid, I thought that people born on this day were developmentally delayed. Before you blast me, let me explain.
I remember overhearing my mom (or someone) explain leap year to my siblings, saying "People born on this day only have a birthday every four years, so if someone has been around for sixteen years, they are really only four."
In my childhood mind, you couldn't officially "turn" any older without having a birthday, so this explanation _clearly_ meant that there was a four year-old trapped in a sixteen year old's body. Call my crazy, but I thought that leap year babies were somehow retarded.
Ah, the childhood mind.
Have a great day!
You know, when I was a kid, I thought that people born on this day were developmentally delayed. Before you blast me, let me explain.
I remember overhearing my mom (or someone) explain leap year to my siblings, saying "People born on this day only have a birthday every four years, so if someone has been around for sixteen years, they are really only four."
In my childhood mind, you couldn't officially "turn" any older without having a birthday, so this explanation _clearly_ meant that there was a four year-old trapped in a sixteen year old's body. Call my crazy, but I thought that leap year babies were somehow retarded.
Ah, the childhood mind.
Have a great day!
Thursday, February 28, 2008
Forever Faithful, Forever.....21?
So I headed to the mall last weekend with the HMF to pick out a belated birthday present for my sister......and to do a little shopping for myself. My wardrobe has been looking a little peaked lately, and with a pending Valentine's dinner that night, I was also on the hunt for some good deals.
Of course I tried all the grown-up places first (Nordstrom's, Banana Republic, Arden B., etc) but after hour three I could no longer resist that cotton candy of commerce, the bubble gum of bargains - oh yes you know you love to shop there, too - Forever 21.
I LOVE this store. You can find all sorts of interesting, trendy junk in there for waay cheap. Ok so yes, you might have to re-fasten a button or two, but as their inventory falls directly into the category my college roommate and I dubbed "disposable clothing", it doesn't much matter. When you pay 4.99 for a pair of shoes, are you really that surprised when the heel breaks off?
Anyway, their fashion ranges from hippy to hip, silky to sheer, and everywhere in between. The particular store I was in had a dirth of "prairie-skirts-come-lingerie" (ie paisley with black lace at the end?) in stock. It was ridiculously busy - and ridiculously fun.
Of course, I did find a beautiful sleeveless coral blouse for that evening (sans the HMF; I mercifully let him wander off) and took it home. I wore it that night, was fabulous and then went home. End of story, right?
Later that weekend, the HMF picked up the plastic "Forever 21" shopping bag to recycle, and asked me what John 3:16 was.
"It's a bible verse," I said, distractedly watching the TV. "For God so loved the world he gave his only son that we may be saved through him..." trailing off, thinking my mom would be proud of me that Sunday school atleast made an imprint.
"Why is it on this shopping bag?" he laughed, wiggling the obnoxious yellow bag under my nose.
And he was right. Right there on the bottom of the bag, in small letters - yet still visible - were the words "John 3:16". That's it. Nothing more, nothing less. Nothing flashy. In fact, if you don't look for it, you probably wouldn't notice. I've been shopping there for about three years and had never looked. We thought this was more than a litte bizarre, seeing as I was unaware that a clothing store that sold see-through blouses was also in the business of Jesus.
I've been pondering this post for a few days, but things have been a bit hectic on my end so I haven't had time to google it until tonight. I lifted this from Wikipedia:
As much as the stores look unkempt and messy, with bargains a handful cheaper than high-end brand names, the stores are always stocked with consumers and new clothes ready for the steals.
The store's trademark teal shopping bags (um, my bag was yellow? guess wiki is not _always_ right) have the words John 3:16 printed on the bottom, a reflection of the owners' Christian faith.[4]
Huh. Again I say, I find it hard to see the link between lascivious lingerie, plastic shoes, transparant dresses and God's love. But whatever, I've come up with my own interpretation:
Obviously this means God wants me to shop there.
Of course I tried all the grown-up places first (Nordstrom's, Banana Republic, Arden B., etc) but after hour three I could no longer resist that cotton candy of commerce, the bubble gum of bargains - oh yes you know you love to shop there, too - Forever 21.
I LOVE this store. You can find all sorts of interesting, trendy junk in there for waay cheap. Ok so yes, you might have to re-fasten a button or two, but as their inventory falls directly into the category my college roommate and I dubbed "disposable clothing", it doesn't much matter. When you pay 4.99 for a pair of shoes, are you really that surprised when the heel breaks off?
Anyway, their fashion ranges from hippy to hip, silky to sheer, and everywhere in between. The particular store I was in had a dirth of "prairie-skirts-come-lingerie" (ie paisley with black lace at the end?) in stock. It was ridiculously busy - and ridiculously fun.
Of course, I did find a beautiful sleeveless coral blouse for that evening (sans the HMF; I mercifully let him wander off) and took it home. I wore it that night, was fabulous and then went home. End of story, right?
Later that weekend, the HMF picked up the plastic "Forever 21" shopping bag to recycle, and asked me what John 3:16 was.
"It's a bible verse," I said, distractedly watching the TV. "For God so loved the world he gave his only son that we may be saved through him..." trailing off, thinking my mom would be proud of me that Sunday school atleast made an imprint.
"Why is it on this shopping bag?" he laughed, wiggling the obnoxious yellow bag under my nose.
And he was right. Right there on the bottom of the bag, in small letters - yet still visible - were the words "John 3:16". That's it. Nothing more, nothing less. Nothing flashy. In fact, if you don't look for it, you probably wouldn't notice. I've been shopping there for about three years and had never looked. We thought this was more than a litte bizarre, seeing as I was unaware that a clothing store that sold see-through blouses was also in the business of Jesus.
I've been pondering this post for a few days, but things have been a bit hectic on my end so I haven't had time to google it until tonight. I lifted this from Wikipedia:
As much as the stores look unkempt and messy, with bargains a handful cheaper than high-end brand names, the stores are always stocked with consumers and new clothes ready for the steals.
The store's trademark teal shopping bags (um, my bag was yellow? guess wiki is not _always_ right) have the words John 3:16 printed on the bottom, a reflection of the owners' Christian faith.[4]
Huh. Again I say, I find it hard to see the link between lascivious lingerie, plastic shoes, transparant dresses and God's love. But whatever, I've come up with my own interpretation:
Obviously this means God wants me to shop there.
Tuesday, February 19, 2008
Meet Your Friendly Neighborhood.....
Muslim?
I couldn't believe this when I saw it in the St Paul Community Ed Winter Class Schedule. The best was the last line: "Participants will be able to meet with a local Muslim family."
After I stopped laughing (I mean, after all, when is this going to stop? ...meet your friendly neighborhood Jew? Come one come all and see the bearded Sikh? If so, I could make oodles of money renting out my less honky-tonky friends...), I realized that I kept going back to this class description, wondering what on earth it would be about. After I poked all the fun I could at it (joking that I would show up with pigs-n-a-blanket to share...and then act all offended...), I thought, hey, if something draws my curiousity and attention (and ridicule) so much, why not just GO?
So, on Tuesday night, I did. There was no Muslim family (bummer) but there was a very nice man from the Somali community, with a great power point presentation. I was a bit surprised, as the advertisement didn't say it would have a Somali focus, but given the demographics of Minnesota, it made sense. I was slightly disappointed, but the nation of Islam is quite diverse after all...
I wondered...who would GO to things like these? Who couldn't make their own Muslim friends? Turns out, there were seven other people there - mostly teachers, interested in learning more about Islam for their students' sake. There was also a mid-fifties couple there - a belligerant guy who had read too much about Muslims in Time magazine ("yeah, don't you all believe in 1,000 vestal virgins?") and a woman, who confessed to me that she liked cemetaries.
Yeah.
On the whole, it was a very good presentation. I consider myself a pretty culturally aware person, and I pay attention. (It helps that one of my best friends is a Bosnian Muslim - hope you're enjoying your tonkatsu, Emira!) That said, I feel I learned a few things.
For example:
I couldn't believe this when I saw it in the St Paul Community Ed Winter Class Schedule. The best was the last line: "Participants will be able to meet with a local Muslim family."
After I stopped laughing (I mean, after all, when is this going to stop? ...meet your friendly neighborhood Jew? Come one come all and see the bearded Sikh? If so, I could make oodles of money renting out my less honky-tonky friends...), I realized that I kept going back to this class description, wondering what on earth it would be about. After I poked all the fun I could at it (joking that I would show up with pigs-n-a-blanket to share...and then act all offended...), I thought, hey, if something draws my curiousity and attention (and ridicule) so much, why not just GO?
So, on Tuesday night, I did. There was no Muslim family (bummer) but there was a very nice man from the Somali community, with a great power point presentation. I was a bit surprised, as the advertisement didn't say it would have a Somali focus, but given the demographics of Minnesota, it made sense. I was slightly disappointed, but the nation of Islam is quite diverse after all...
I wondered...who would GO to things like these? Who couldn't make their own Muslim friends? Turns out, there were seven other people there - mostly teachers, interested in learning more about Islam for their students' sake. There was also a mid-fifties couple there - a belligerant guy who had read too much about Muslims in Time magazine ("yeah, don't you all believe in 1,000 vestal virgins?") and a woman, who confessed to me that she liked cemetaries.
Yeah.
On the whole, it was a very good presentation. I consider myself a pretty culturally aware person, and I pay attention. (It helps that one of my best friends is a Bosnian Muslim - hope you're enjoying your tonkatsu, Emira!) That said, I feel I learned a few things.
For example:
- There are 1.5 billion (billion!) Muslims in the world. That's about 1/6th of the global population. Wow!
- Arab Muslims only make up 18% of that population.
- There are 7 million American Muslims - the largest group of American Muslims come from South Asia (Pakistan/India/Bangladesh). Note: America is allied with all of these countries.
- The root of the word "Islam" is "silm", which means "peace." This is where the words "salaam" (hello) and "Muslim" (one who surrenders to God" derive.
- You know how Muslims need to face east (Mecca) when they pray five times a day? They are actually facing the Ka'bah, a stone structure whose sole purpose is to symbolize the direction you're supposed to pray. I always thought they were praying towards a mosque or something...
- Some Muslims are uncomfortable around dogs because Muhammed said the saliva from dogs is severely unclean.
All in all, it wasn't a total waste of an evening, but I can't say it was worth $5. I still can't shake the feeling that it is a bit strange - after all, why Muslims? Shouldn't we, as a pluralistic society be learning about all faiths? No wonder non-Christians dislike Christians so much - we make others explain themselves to us, rather than the other way around (withOUT trying to convert them). I don't think Christian Americans (especially caucasian ones) always realize how mainstream their believes are - how white-washed Christian this nation really is - and offputting it can be, however innocuous, to those who don't fit in to that mold.
On a side - but related - note, I watched a really awesome movie this past weekend called "Murderball". It's all about the US Para-Olympic Quadrapalegic Rugby team. They're just regular jocks, but in wheelchairs. The movie moved me, because it shows the guys just being...guys. They don't fit into the "norm" and get treated differently by well-meaning idiots (one guy told a story where his girls aunt said - "I heard you were going to the Special Olympics, good job!" His comment: "In her eyes, I just went from quad to retard in 4 seconds..!") It is a terrific movie.
I couldn't help but compare the teacher's lecture to my life in Japan, when I was the "other" making presentations to school kids about "America". I constantly stuck out, having to justifying my existence. It's tough - and I found very few Japanese reached out to me in a non-fetishitic (as in "oo let's have an American friend!") kind of way. Sticking out of the norm takes courage, guts and it is very easy to become a cynic. This only makes me love those who's differences haven't managed to make them sour on honky-tonks like myself, even more. :) (You know who you are...)
So, my prior experience, coupled with the movie, coupled with this lecture Tuesday evening has kept my heart full while my mind has been busy with work this week. I haven't had time to digest it all, but the more I think about it, the less afraid I am to be different, and yoke myself to someone who is also different. In the end, those who want will still see us as retards, even when we're Olympic Gold Medalists. Only I need to know the difference.
M is for Muslim;
M.
Monday, February 18, 2008
[Your Title Here]
Why do birds sing on the coldest days?
When I'm hunched up, and shaking
Cursing the darkness and my frozen fingertips
Hating each breath stolen from my nostrils
Eyes stinging, sinuses dry
How could they sing?
How could they?
When I'm hunched up, and shaking
Cursing the darkness and my frozen fingertips
Hating each breath stolen from my nostrils
Eyes stinging, sinuses dry
How could they sing?
How could they?
Friday, February 01, 2008
This One is Better
Just like this blogger, I love my job. Well, I've only been there a month, but the prognosis is good. This is fortunate, because I upset a very nice existence in DC to take it. I mean, there's still work-related sludge to deal with (re: microwave posting below) but on the whole, I think I traded up.
I work for a large company, but in a small division (26 people) with people from all walks of life (Venezuela, Kenya, Australia, Illinois, Indiana, Egypt, etc). My manager(s) are awesome - thoughtful, funny, patient and kind. Also, they have lives outside of work, which helps.
I get to think about far flung corners of Asia all day, and work help improve living conditions for the people there. We do this by providing food, shelter, infrastructure, cows, and an education - for one. On a macro level, it sounds a whole lot more interesting than what it turns out to be in reality (logistics = paper pushing) but I still love it.
But the best part? The best part is today, the CEO gave the entire company this Friday afternoon off.
Just because.
Woo hoo!
M.
I work for a large company, but in a small division (26 people) with people from all walks of life (Venezuela, Kenya, Australia, Illinois, Indiana, Egypt, etc). My manager(s) are awesome - thoughtful, funny, patient and kind. Also, they have lives outside of work, which helps.
I get to think about far flung corners of Asia all day, and work help improve living conditions for the people there. We do this by providing food, shelter, infrastructure, cows, and an education - for one. On a macro level, it sounds a whole lot more interesting than what it turns out to be in reality (logistics = paper pushing) but I still love it.
But the best part? The best part is today, the CEO gave the entire company this Friday afternoon off.
Just because.
Woo hoo!
M.
Thursday, January 31, 2008
Oh Dear
I realize this is two rants in a row, but for some reason my crab-o-meter is over the edge lately. I don't know why, but I think I anticipated going from public transportation to driving would ease my tension and irritation towards the general populace.
I should've known better.
Dear MN Vehicular Users:
1) Your SUV is NOT a compact car. I don't care how short and cute it is, you cannot park in the compact car space. Stop being delusional.
2) Mr. Man with the Dodge Ram who parked across in TWO parking spaces, 10 feet from the door on a 40 below windchill day. Go directly to hell. Do not pass go, do NOT collect $100.
3) Mr. Minivan who ran a red left-hand turn light in a left hand turn lane. But, instead of turning left, he went straight! Apparently, a big red arrow pointing left just doesn't reach some people at 8am. Oh yes sir, that WAS the angry mitten!
4) I realize the snow and copious amounts of hotdish probably makes judging the speed of an oncoming car difficult, but please, don't merge and then SLOW DOWN in front of me. I'm talking to you with the break lights.
5) Also, speaking of merging. Don't be a lazy ass. If I'm trying to merge from the on-ramp, take your car off cruise control for one tiny second to let me in.
6) Lastly, I realize that you're probably trying to grab a CD from floorboards, or a toothpick from your backseat, but the rest of us don't know this. Please don't break in the middle of the interstate for no good reason! It breaks up the flow of traffic and you are bound to get rear-ended. If you really need something from your purse that badly, pull over, or pull over, grab a hitchhiker and let THEM get it for you.
pantpantpant *end rant*
Honestly, I don't know if this is culture shock - or weather shock - but man, this really gets my goat in a way even I'M surprised at. I guess this serves to prove you can take the girl out of the east coast, but you can't take the east coast out of the girl.
Or maybe I should've just moved to warmer climate.
M is for Mass Transit Mayhem,
M.
I should've known better.
Dear MN Vehicular Users:
1) Your SUV is NOT a compact car. I don't care how short and cute it is, you cannot park in the compact car space. Stop being delusional.
2) Mr. Man with the Dodge Ram who parked across in TWO parking spaces, 10 feet from the door on a 40 below windchill day. Go directly to hell. Do not pass go, do NOT collect $100.
3) Mr. Minivan who ran a red left-hand turn light in a left hand turn lane. But, instead of turning left, he went straight! Apparently, a big red arrow pointing left just doesn't reach some people at 8am. Oh yes sir, that WAS the angry mitten!
4) I realize the snow and copious amounts of hotdish probably makes judging the speed of an oncoming car difficult, but please, don't merge and then SLOW DOWN in front of me. I'm talking to you with the break lights.
5) Also, speaking of merging. Don't be a lazy ass. If I'm trying to merge from the on-ramp, take your car off cruise control for one tiny second to let me in.
6) Lastly, I realize that you're probably trying to grab a CD from floorboards, or a toothpick from your backseat, but the rest of us don't know this. Please don't break in the middle of the interstate for no good reason! It breaks up the flow of traffic and you are bound to get rear-ended. If you really need something from your purse that badly, pull over, or pull over, grab a hitchhiker and let THEM get it for you.
pantpantpant *end rant*
Honestly, I don't know if this is culture shock - or weather shock - but man, this really gets my goat in a way even I'M surprised at. I guess this serves to prove you can take the girl out of the east coast, but you can't take the east coast out of the girl.
Or maybe I should've just moved to warmer climate.
M is for Mass Transit Mayhem,
M.
Monday, January 28, 2008
Passive-Agressive Much?
There are alot of wonderful things about living back in Minnesota, but every coin has two sides. Today at lunch, I was rammed in the head with possible the MOST annoying thing about Minnesota: that is, Minnesotans.
There are five microwaves in the cafeteria area. Being a Fortune 500 company, there is usually a queue around noon-noon fifteen. I understand you need time to warm up your tator tot hotdish and sloppy joes, but really, there needs to be some etiquette training.
I walk up to microwave today, to heat up my soup, and open it, because it was off (and clearly not running).
A snippy brunette about my age, was waiting in front of another machine, steps in and snips, "Someone's food is in there."
Being hungry, I said, "Well, the microwave is off. This person is not here and there is a line." In my mind, it is ridiculous for one person to hold up an entire line of people waiting to get hot food. Also, it's just a microwave, not the End of the World.
"But what if it's not hot?" says the fat woman wearing a fleece (really, fleece? at work?) embroidered with the words "TAMPA BAY".
"Well, then they should've kept a better eye on it and not wandered away." Again, there are people waiting!
So, without another word, I take out the mystery person's food and set it on the table. I feel all the women around me bristle.
Then, the Snippy Brunette then STEPS IN FRONT OF ME and says, oh well, I'll just pop my sandwich in for only 10 seconds.
Wait, WHAT?
And, AT THE EXACT SAME TIME, the fat woman behind me picks up the tupperware and turns to another woman that has just joined the line and says "Oh Barb, is this yours? Is it hot enough?"
So, I'm left standing there, with all the post-menopausal women glaring at me because Barb's macaroni hotdish is only WARM while the Snippy Brunette has clearly taken advantage of my up front assessment of the situation and STOLEN the microwave! I mean really, just because you didn't have the balls to take it out of the microwave yourself doesn't mean you have first dibs when someone else does.
But, I couldn't say anything, because I'd already used up my fill of acceptable "rudeness" for the day.
I'm ready for spring.
M is for Microwave Moron,
M.
There are five microwaves in the cafeteria area. Being a Fortune 500 company, there is usually a queue around noon-noon fifteen. I understand you need time to warm up your tator tot hotdish and sloppy joes, but really, there needs to be some etiquette training.
I walk up to microwave today, to heat up my soup, and open it, because it was off (and clearly not running).
A snippy brunette about my age, was waiting in front of another machine, steps in and snips, "Someone's food is in there."
Being hungry, I said, "Well, the microwave is off. This person is not here and there is a line." In my mind, it is ridiculous for one person to hold up an entire line of people waiting to get hot food. Also, it's just a microwave, not the End of the World.
"But what if it's not hot?" says the fat woman wearing a fleece (really, fleece? at work?) embroidered with the words "TAMPA BAY".
"Well, then they should've kept a better eye on it and not wandered away." Again, there are people waiting!
So, without another word, I take out the mystery person's food and set it on the table. I feel all the women around me bristle.
Then, the Snippy Brunette then STEPS IN FRONT OF ME and says, oh well, I'll just pop my sandwich in for only 10 seconds.
Wait, WHAT?
And, AT THE EXACT SAME TIME, the fat woman behind me picks up the tupperware and turns to another woman that has just joined the line and says "Oh Barb, is this yours? Is it hot enough?"
So, I'm left standing there, with all the post-menopausal women glaring at me because Barb's macaroni hotdish is only WARM while the Snippy Brunette has clearly taken advantage of my up front assessment of the situation and STOLEN the microwave! I mean really, just because you didn't have the balls to take it out of the microwave yourself doesn't mean you have first dibs when someone else does.
But, I couldn't say anything, because I'd already used up my fill of acceptable "rudeness" for the day.
I'm ready for spring.
M is for Microwave Moron,
M.
Monday, January 21, 2008
And by the way...
Mostly, I buy the exact same size and brand of undewear from Victoria's Secret, whenever need be (or there's a sale, whichever comes first).
Today I was wearing said underwear, and it keep riding up my right buttcheek.
Now, as I said, I buy the EXACT SAME size and style of underwear from Vicki's - EVERY TIME. In fact, just recently, I purchased about three new pairs of said underwear - and this is the ONLY pair of the three (or ever) to ride up.
Which leads me to ponder the question - did Vicki's mislabel the size, OR DID MY RIGHT BUTTCHEEK JUST BECOME SPONTANEOUSLY LARGER?
Sigh.
Today I was wearing said underwear, and it keep riding up my right buttcheek.
Now, as I said, I buy the EXACT SAME size and style of underwear from Vicki's - EVERY TIME. In fact, just recently, I purchased about three new pairs of said underwear - and this is the ONLY pair of the three (or ever) to ride up.
Which leads me to ponder the question - did Vicki's mislabel the size, OR DID MY RIGHT BUTTCHEEK JUST BECOME SPONTANEOUSLY LARGER?
Sigh.
Well..
I thought that as long as I had changed jobs, licenses, mailing addresses, and underwear, I might as well go ahead and update this thing, too. I've also never been to keen on the title, so I've changed it, although the address will remain the same.
The photo in the heading is a row of trees in the field directly across from my parents farm. I stared at that thing every day for 18 years - mostly trying to figure out if the visibility was good enough to go out - or gauging if I could risk leaving my one and only home.
Which, of course, I eventually did.
No word yet on what sense any of it makes, but for all intents and purposes, this is my life - beyond the shelterbelt.
The photo in the heading is a row of trees in the field directly across from my parents farm. I stared at that thing every day for 18 years - mostly trying to figure out if the visibility was good enough to go out - or gauging if I could risk leaving my one and only home.
Which, of course, I eventually did.
No word yet on what sense any of it makes, but for all intents and purposes, this is my life - beyond the shelterbelt.
Sunday, January 13, 2008
The Angry Mitten
I fear, dear readers, I have waited too long to introduce you to the wonders of the Angry Mitten. It's not really my fault, I just haven't had use for the phrase (except at cocktail parties) until I moved back here. I can't (and won't) take full credit for its coinage (thanks, Rachel!) but I will prostelytize it's use.
Now that I'm back in Minnesota, the frozen tundra, 'tis time to trot out this useful phrase when someone cuts you off, leaves their left hand blinker on for ten city blocks, or simply, drives like an idiot.
That is to say, while in other - NORMAL- cities during the winter, you'd simply honk your horn and show your rage with a quick and easy flip of the leather finger.
But in Minnesota, one faces peril, if not certain frostbite should you dare to glove your fingers seperately. And lo, that elegant gesture, covered by large (shearling lined) mittens, gets immediately transformed into a flat-palmed italian full-hand "whats-a-matta-you!" arm wave.
So while YOU know you are wiggling the one-finger hello, all the other driver sees is a large mitten, waving like a dead fish.
That, my friends, is the Angry Mitten.
M.
Extra credit! Use it in a sentence at work tomorrow:
"Man, on the way to work today, some jerk cut me off and the SLOWED down on 494!
"Did you give him the Angry Mitten?"
Now that I'm back in Minnesota, the frozen tundra, 'tis time to trot out this useful phrase when someone cuts you off, leaves their left hand blinker on for ten city blocks, or simply, drives like an idiot.
That is to say, while in other - NORMAL- cities during the winter, you'd simply honk your horn and show your rage with a quick and easy flip of the leather finger.
But in Minnesota, one faces peril, if not certain frostbite should you dare to glove your fingers seperately. And lo, that elegant gesture, covered by large (shearling lined) mittens, gets immediately transformed into a flat-palmed italian full-hand "whats-a-matta-you!" arm wave.
So while YOU know you are wiggling the one-finger hello, all the other driver sees is a large mitten, waving like a dead fish.
That, my friends, is the Angry Mitten.
M.
Extra credit! Use it in a sentence at work tomorrow:
"Man, on the way to work today, some jerk cut me off and the SLOWED down on 494!
"Did you give him the Angry Mitten?"
Tuesday, January 08, 2008
Choices
The last time I moved, my friend Ann (sufferer of Vertigo, below) and I ended up having a conversation about life that has stuck with me ever since. We were bitching (as usual) about finances - mostly about expensive apartments and other horribly high expenses that are part of post-graduate DC life.
I distinctly remember her saying, "You know, I thought I'd be farther by now."
"Like how?" I asked.
"Well, I thought I might have a house - or atleast drive a better car. When I was in high school, I thought being a grown up was going to be awesome."
I remember laughing at this, and saying, "...and then you grew up and realized it totally sucks?"
She grinned, and agreed.
I thought about that for awhile, and then mused, "But, think of all the things in high school you thought you were going to have as an adult."
"Ha! I wanted a car...and a place I didn't have to share with my sister....and a job with my own money....and to go shopping whenever I wanted..."
I pointed out to her that, caveats aside, by high school standards anyway, we were living the lives we always wanted (nevermind that the car came with insurance, the apartment with utilities and the job with, well, work. Oh yes and credit card bills for all those damn shoes...). but my point remained, we were essentially living the lives we wanted. (We just never counted on the consequences!)
This past month has been full of hard, not-fun, grown-up choices for me. I thought of Ann as I was greeted by sub-zero temperatures after spending the new year with my HMF in sultry DC. I had to remind myself that it was my choice that put me here, and no one else.
I saw again that growing up sucks - and you can take that truth to the Bank.
But I had to remind myself that, all caveats aside, I have all the things I had dreamt of in high school. Hell, college even. In fact, my life has been pretty neat - and my choices have shaped that. It's the choices I've made (even the sucky ones) that have made my life interesting and fulfilling.
I guess my point is that growing up never turns out the way you think it will, choices are never as cut and dried as you want them to be- but by and large having ownership of those choices and seeing the life you've built for yourself is a neat feeling. That's it, in a nutshell, of what I've been feeling lately.
Did this require a blog post? Probably not.
I distinctly remember her saying, "You know, I thought I'd be farther by now."
"Like how?" I asked.
"Well, I thought I might have a house - or atleast drive a better car. When I was in high school, I thought being a grown up was going to be awesome."
I remember laughing at this, and saying, "...and then you grew up and realized it totally sucks?"
She grinned, and agreed.
I thought about that for awhile, and then mused, "But, think of all the things in high school you thought you were going to have as an adult."
"Ha! I wanted a car...and a place I didn't have to share with my sister....and a job with my own money....and to go shopping whenever I wanted..."
I pointed out to her that, caveats aside, by high school standards anyway, we were living the lives we always wanted (nevermind that the car came with insurance, the apartment with utilities and the job with, well, work. Oh yes and credit card bills for all those damn shoes...). but my point remained, we were essentially living the lives we wanted. (We just never counted on the consequences!)
This past month has been full of hard, not-fun, grown-up choices for me. I thought of Ann as I was greeted by sub-zero temperatures after spending the new year with my HMF in sultry DC. I had to remind myself that it was my choice that put me here, and no one else.
I saw again that growing up sucks - and you can take that truth to the Bank.
But I had to remind myself that, all caveats aside, I have all the things I had dreamt of in high school. Hell, college even. In fact, my life has been pretty neat - and my choices have shaped that. It's the choices I've made (even the sucky ones) that have made my life interesting and fulfilling.
I guess my point is that growing up never turns out the way you think it will, choices are never as cut and dried as you want them to be- but by and large having ownership of those choices and seeing the life you've built for yourself is a neat feeling. That's it, in a nutshell, of what I've been feeling lately.
Did this require a blog post? Probably not.
Sunday, January 06, 2008
You're Definitely Back in Minnesota When...
You're at the mall foodcourt, watching two grandparents and their middle aged daughter chow down on crappy chinese food, and they pull out their own tupperware (brought from HOME) to bag the leftovers.
Now THAT's the midwestern sensibility I'd been missing!
M.
/now will someone please dig out my car??!
Now THAT's the midwestern sensibility I'd been missing!
M.
/now will someone please dig out my car??!
Wednesday, December 12, 2007
Random Medication
My friend Ann and I were chatting on the train last night and she pulled out a little orange bottle of perscription medication.
"Check this out," she said, "lately I've been feeling really woozy and out of it, so I went to my doctor." She hands me the perscription and I look it over.
"Wait, I say, this medicine is for - VERTIGO?" I say.
"Yeah, isn't that weird? My doctor says I've got an infection in the doohickey in my inner ear."
"You have an Alfred Hitchcock disease! " I say, marveling. "Cool!"
"Yeah, but that's not the best part. Flip the bottle over."
I do as she says and see, in tiny lettering under "possible side effects" three hilarious words:
MAY CAUSE DIZZINESS.
We laughed all the way home.
"Check this out," she said, "lately I've been feeling really woozy and out of it, so I went to my doctor." She hands me the perscription and I look it over.
"Wait, I say, this medicine is for - VERTIGO?" I say.
"Yeah, isn't that weird? My doctor says I've got an infection in the doohickey in my inner ear."
"You have an Alfred Hitchcock disease! " I say, marveling. "Cool!"
"Yeah, but that's not the best part. Flip the bottle over."
I do as she says and see, in tiny lettering under "possible side effects" three hilarious words:
MAY CAUSE DIZZINESS.
We laughed all the way home.
Saturday, December 01, 2007
Cambodia/Indonesia Pictures
Me with the Leper King
Ankor Wat
Wayang Puppet Theatre
Ta Prohm (aka "Tomb Raider Temple")
Aspara Dancer - Traditional Khmer dance
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