The first day I actually made plans to do more than wander around Bussum (a cute, quaint, little town) the weather was decidedly Dutch. Now, whenever you visit the Netherlands you have to be ready for rain, it is a given. But it was actually storming, thunder, pouring rain, the whole nine yards. I made a few calls and pushed my plans in The Hague back a bit. I didn’t mind the delay because I was hoping that Erin was going to feel better so she could join us for a drink. I also knew that Hans was at his brother’s birthday party. Basically I was in no rush to sit on the train for over an hour feeling like a Shih Tzu that was dropped in Bethesda Fountain by a startled socialite.
Erin and Sytze did try to get me to give up and we could watch Weeds, play a game, drink the Moonshine I brought or work on making wedding programs, but I was determined to go hang out in The Hague. I lived for two years with that crazy rain and wasn’t about to drop my plans to see a friend leaving for Algeria because it was raining in Holland. After about 2 hours the rain finally let up just long enough to not get lost on the way to the station.
Once I got to The Hague it was basically raining sideways and Richard was already waiting for Hans and me at the Grote Markt without an umbrella. I’m not sure how long Richard was there by himself, but when I called to say I was at Centraal Station he decided to walk in my direction. Just as he ran into me after making his way from awning to doorstep to any other covered area, it starts to hail. It was August. Only in Holland would it hail and rain like that in August and only Richard would be wearing linen in that type of weather.
Eventfully we get back to the Grote Markt and Hans arrives just moments later. Due to the rain and the lack of the appropriate number of beer carts for they event there that night we decide that we are going to go back to Richard’s. This was just the beginning of story filled night.
Friday, December 18, 2009
Friday, October 16, 2009
Relax on the Rails or Be Highly Entertained by People Watching.
I’d forgotten how much I enjoy riding the train. Even the stop-train. I guess this can be attributed to the fact that I hate driving and I love people watching. So taking the train is perfect. There are so many different people, so much going on. I loved my little commute from Leiden to The Hague. Now, I may not have liked the bike ride or walk to the station when the weather was horrid, but the rest was wonderful.
I enjoyed my little routine. Actually, I enjoyed the fact that you could change it up a bit and it wouldn’t cost you any real hassles. Like deciding to come a little earlier and ride to HS with Erin instead of Centraal or taking a different tram once I arrived. Heck I’d even walk down to Gravenstraat and catch my tram there instead of at Centraal Station. I liked going to AH to grab a ham & kaas croissant, maybe a Lipton green tea and then walk up to the platform to wait on my train.
By far my favorite thing about riding the train is people watching. From the time I reach the station until I arrive where I am going there is almost always something entertaining to watch. Take my trip from Bussum to The Hague as an example.
The entertainment started when I witnessed a group of teens miss two trains in a row. There simply is no explanation for missing two trains in a row, but it made for a great scene as the head couple pushed and argued with each other over the second missed train. After I switched trains at the airport (my choices were take a train to Utrecht and switch several platforms away in like 5 minutes or take a train through Schiphol and simply cross to the other side of the platform for my connection- I didn’t need to be missing trains that evening so I went with Schiphol) I sat across from a very loud young lady. She had two cell phones and talked or txted on both while we all listened to her musical selection on her i-pod. It would have been an okay selection of songs if it wasn’t being played through tin can speakers more commonly known as ear-buds. Even more entertaining was the couple who got on with their toddler and baby.
The mother and her little girl sat across from me next to the young lady/slinceaphobic. She was so adorable smiling at everyone and refusing to sit down. She was giggling and pretty happy for just getting off an airplane. He mother gave her a cracker which she showed off to the other passengers before taking a little nibble. Well, more like just sucked the salt off a corner and let the thing get all soggy, but she was adorable and no older than two so one really can’t begrudge her. Then she dropped it. On the railcar floor. In the dirt and the goo. She stared at it for a moment, thought about crying, and then just as her mother turned to her, she swiftly swooped the soggy dirt covered cracker and shoved the entire thing in her mouth. It happened in a split second. But it seemed as if her mother was stuck in slow motion, reaching for her little girl and sharply shouting NO! (well NEE! To be specific…) and trying to grab what was left out of her daughter’s mouth. A look of utter befuddlement contorted the little rosy face as her mother tried to pry open her mouth. They were totally out of sync as the munchkin squirmed away and the mother caught her by her coat with a panic stricken look slowly morphing into a furrowed brow. Time finally evened out between the two as mom was scraping clumps of chewed cracker out of her toddler’s mouth causing the little girl to cry. Oh poor little thing! But she stopped as soon as her mom put her down and gave her a clean cracker.
As I tired not to laugh from how comically timed the moment was – the struggle totally mismatched with the jabberbox missing nary a beat during the entire ordeal – I realized how much I had missed taking the train.
I enjoyed my little routine. Actually, I enjoyed the fact that you could change it up a bit and it wouldn’t cost you any real hassles. Like deciding to come a little earlier and ride to HS with Erin instead of Centraal or taking a different tram once I arrived. Heck I’d even walk down to Gravenstraat and catch my tram there instead of at Centraal Station. I liked going to AH to grab a ham & kaas croissant, maybe a Lipton green tea and then walk up to the platform to wait on my train.
By far my favorite thing about riding the train is people watching. From the time I reach the station until I arrive where I am going there is almost always something entertaining to watch. Take my trip from Bussum to The Hague as an example.
The entertainment started when I witnessed a group of teens miss two trains in a row. There simply is no explanation for missing two trains in a row, but it made for a great scene as the head couple pushed and argued with each other over the second missed train. After I switched trains at the airport (my choices were take a train to Utrecht and switch several platforms away in like 5 minutes or take a train through Schiphol and simply cross to the other side of the platform for my connection- I didn’t need to be missing trains that evening so I went with Schiphol) I sat across from a very loud young lady. She had two cell phones and talked or txted on both while we all listened to her musical selection on her i-pod. It would have been an okay selection of songs if it wasn’t being played through tin can speakers more commonly known as ear-buds. Even more entertaining was the couple who got on with their toddler and baby.
The mother and her little girl sat across from me next to the young lady/slinceaphobic. She was so adorable smiling at everyone and refusing to sit down. She was giggling and pretty happy for just getting off an airplane. He mother gave her a cracker which she showed off to the other passengers before taking a little nibble. Well, more like just sucked the salt off a corner and let the thing get all soggy, but she was adorable and no older than two so one really can’t begrudge her. Then she dropped it. On the railcar floor. In the dirt and the goo. She stared at it for a moment, thought about crying, and then just as her mother turned to her, she swiftly swooped the soggy dirt covered cracker and shoved the entire thing in her mouth. It happened in a split second. But it seemed as if her mother was stuck in slow motion, reaching for her little girl and sharply shouting NO! (well NEE! To be specific…) and trying to grab what was left out of her daughter’s mouth. A look of utter befuddlement contorted the little rosy face as her mother tried to pry open her mouth. They were totally out of sync as the munchkin squirmed away and the mother caught her by her coat with a panic stricken look slowly morphing into a furrowed brow. Time finally evened out between the two as mom was scraping clumps of chewed cracker out of her toddler’s mouth causing the little girl to cry. Oh poor little thing! But she stopped as soon as her mom put her down and gave her a clean cracker.
As I tired not to laugh from how comically timed the moment was – the struggle totally mismatched with the jabberbox missing nary a beat during the entire ordeal – I realized how much I had missed taking the train.
Sunday, September 27, 2009
To a mouse...
I’m slowly learning that no matter how well I plan for a vacation I will not get to do all the things I want to do. I think a small part of this is that I want to do EVERYTHING. I know I can’t do it all, but I usually set out trying. This may have something do with the fact that we really didn’t go on vacation when I was growing up.
Honestly, I only really remember taking two vacations with my family. One was in High school and we went to London for three days. The other time we went to Charleston, S.C. to ring in 2000. Now, don’t get me wrong, it was a great vacation, but I really don’t remember any other time we traveled as a family to get away from where we were living. Often Friends and relatives would come and visit us in Japan; Italy; Florida; Washington, D.C., all those really fun duty stations. And even though we would sometimes travel to different cities when guest were visiting, I still think of those trips as us being tour guides, because more often than not we had already been to the sites in that town on school field trips.
Typically, Family Vacation was just a nice way of saying “we are moving this summer”. Just to catch the none brats up, this meant having one suit case between my sister and I for up to three months, traveling with a cat and a dog, not knowing when our household goods would arrive and possibly visiting a relative or two that we are not going to see for another 3-6 years. This is *not* a vacation, but it is what we got, and we made due (like reading in a hammock on the lawn at Grandma Panter’s in the middle of Tennessee or watching every two dollar movie at the base theater while being in temporary housing). Now some bases were definitely better than others. That fact did make some moves a bit easier, but these moves were the exception to the rule.
My little sister and I would also get to visit our Daddy during some summer breaks and a few holidays. This was more like what you may think of during a vacation. Yet we would cram so much in to these visits that I really needed a vacation from these vacations when I got home! In fact one trip was actually called our whirl wind weekend. I’ve even had a short story about that printed from a newspaper contest. I’ll have to dig that up for ya…
Regardless, all of these experiences have lead to my tendency to be a heavy planner. I have a need to fit it all in. I have a few friends trying their darnedest to break me of this habit. And it seems from my last trip across the pond even God is getting in on this re-programming.
I wanted to see everyone still living in Holland, enjoy the wedding, drop by and do a little intelligence gathering on a few city diplomacy initiatives, go shopping for things I can’t get in the States, meet my relatives, go to the Mauritshuis, go for a walk along the dunes, visit the archeological museum in Leiden, and read a book or two. Maybe, if it wasn’t too expensive and I still had time I would have gone to Krefeld for work. None of this really mattered. I only did a fraction of what I had planned to do, because by day four I was down a wallet and by day five I was stuck on the couch for half a week and crutches for the rest of my trip. (Oh and those readers who know where the title of this blog comes from get a gold star!)
Honestly, I only really remember taking two vacations with my family. One was in High school and we went to London for three days. The other time we went to Charleston, S.C. to ring in 2000. Now, don’t get me wrong, it was a great vacation, but I really don’t remember any other time we traveled as a family to get away from where we were living. Often Friends and relatives would come and visit us in Japan; Italy; Florida; Washington, D.C., all those really fun duty stations. And even though we would sometimes travel to different cities when guest were visiting, I still think of those trips as us being tour guides, because more often than not we had already been to the sites in that town on school field trips.
Typically, Family Vacation was just a nice way of saying “we are moving this summer”. Just to catch the none brats up, this meant having one suit case between my sister and I for up to three months, traveling with a cat and a dog, not knowing when our household goods would arrive and possibly visiting a relative or two that we are not going to see for another 3-6 years. This is *not* a vacation, but it is what we got, and we made due (like reading in a hammock on the lawn at Grandma Panter’s in the middle of Tennessee or watching every two dollar movie at the base theater while being in temporary housing). Now some bases were definitely better than others. That fact did make some moves a bit easier, but these moves were the exception to the rule.
My little sister and I would also get to visit our Daddy during some summer breaks and a few holidays. This was more like what you may think of during a vacation. Yet we would cram so much in to these visits that I really needed a vacation from these vacations when I got home! In fact one trip was actually called our whirl wind weekend. I’ve even had a short story about that printed from a newspaper contest. I’ll have to dig that up for ya…
Regardless, all of these experiences have lead to my tendency to be a heavy planner. I have a need to fit it all in. I have a few friends trying their darnedest to break me of this habit. And it seems from my last trip across the pond even God is getting in on this re-programming.
I wanted to see everyone still living in Holland, enjoy the wedding, drop by and do a little intelligence gathering on a few city diplomacy initiatives, go shopping for things I can’t get in the States, meet my relatives, go to the Mauritshuis, go for a walk along the dunes, visit the archeological museum in Leiden, and read a book or two. Maybe, if it wasn’t too expensive and I still had time I would have gone to Krefeld for work. None of this really mattered. I only did a fraction of what I had planned to do, because by day four I was down a wallet and by day five I was stuck on the couch for half a week and crutches for the rest of my trip. (Oh and those readers who know where the title of this blog comes from get a gold star!)
Sunday, September 20, 2009
Shock Me, Shock Me, Shock Me with Your Deviant Book Titles
I love to read. I’m addicted to buying books. So naturally I will pick up a new title for a flight. I’d much rather read than watch a movie while flying. I buy books relatively often so I have stacks of books lined up for me to read. When I fly I just pick one off the nearest pile. I never really put much thought in to it. Yet I recently noticed a pattern. I seem to pick out titles that are going to raise more than a few eyebrows.
A few years ago, I had picked up Emergency Sex and other Desperate Measures. It is about the UN and is a great read, but not as racy as the title lets on. I didn’t think any thing about the title until a few members of a Christian church tour group started to give me the evil eye and a few old ladies tisked at me while shaking their heads during a layover in DC.
More recently I had picked up God Is Not Great: How Religion Poisons Everything. I actually bought it as a gift for a friend of mine and decided to read it on my way back to Holland after a short break at home. I had a surprising reaction for this book too. The most stereotypical looking red neck sat own in front of me on a flight. He had already done his fair share of hemming and hawing about the big city transplant types who just think they are so important and a little later said an off color remark to me after I bumped his chair while trying to put away my lap top. When I was returning to my seat after going to the restroom, He got up out of his chair and turned to me as I sat down. I was not really sure what he was going to say, but I definitely wasn’t ready for the conversation which followed. He wanted to know where I bought the book. He’d been trying to buy it for a while but it was not being sold at the stores he goes to in Alabama. I told him I got it at Target.
This last trip overseas I was reading Bonk: The Curious Coupling of Science and Sex. I didn’t get any odd looks for this one, but this may be because it is hard to see the couple making out on the microscope stage.
A few years ago, I had picked up Emergency Sex and other Desperate Measures. It is about the UN and is a great read, but not as racy as the title lets on. I didn’t think any thing about the title until a few members of a Christian church tour group started to give me the evil eye and a few old ladies tisked at me while shaking their heads during a layover in DC.
More recently I had picked up God Is Not Great: How Religion Poisons Everything. I actually bought it as a gift for a friend of mine and decided to read it on my way back to Holland after a short break at home. I had a surprising reaction for this book too. The most stereotypical looking red neck sat own in front of me on a flight. He had already done his fair share of hemming and hawing about the big city transplant types who just think they are so important and a little later said an off color remark to me after I bumped his chair while trying to put away my lap top. When I was returning to my seat after going to the restroom, He got up out of his chair and turned to me as I sat down. I was not really sure what he was going to say, but I definitely wasn’t ready for the conversation which followed. He wanted to know where I bought the book. He’d been trying to buy it for a while but it was not being sold at the stores he goes to in Alabama. I told him I got it at Target.
This last trip overseas I was reading Bonk: The Curious Coupling of Science and Sex. I didn’t get any odd looks for this one, but this may be because it is hard to see the couple making out on the microscope stage.
Wednesday, September 16, 2009
Transatlantic Travel
I’m quite used to long flights across the globe. I’ve flown DC to Frankfurt, Detroit to Tokyo, Miami to Santiago, just to name a few. Depending on which direction I’m flying and exactly how long the flight is going to be I prepare differently. Bring music, books, my laptop, whatever I may need to keep myself occupied incase the movie selection is poor.
Typically, I can sleep on the overnight flight from the Eastern US to Europe. Usually I miss the dinner meal and sometimes even the breakfast if they still serve food on flights (during the short leg from Charlotte to Newark one of the flight attendants on Continental actually asked me if I wanted “today’s meal”- as he held out a packet of mini pretzels). And for the record, I really hate being feed only once in the middle of a transatlantic flight. It is extremely useful to sleep on this flight. I’ve determined the only way to not suffer from jet lag going to Europe is to power through that first day. No nap, plenty of caffeine and lots of company. The goal is to stay awake at least until 9:30-10:00 pm. Often I stay up even later if my friends drag me out for a drink or two.
This time, nothing was as I planned. Tuesday flights are always packed, but this one just seemed to be more so. I had a window seat which is perfect for jamming oneself into a bit of a cubby hole with just a tad extra room for curling up. I’ve become quite adept at pushing my foot in to that cranny between the wall and seat in front of me and basically lodging myself into the chair so I sort of can fool myself into pretending (not quite believing) that I’m all curled up in my favorite arm chair at home. This just wasn’t going to happen this trip.
The gods were conspiring against me. To begin with the young woman next to me decided to read the entire time. The lights were not angled well so there was no way to shut out the light with out covering my head with a blanket, scarf, something. I hate having my face covered when I sleep, even just my eyes with one of those masks. It is because I usually toss and turn and move and then what ever it is gets wrapped around my neck and I can’t even wear turtle necks so it just doesn’t work out well. Then there was the issue that the guy in front of me has stuffed his coat in the crack I use for a foot rest. Even worse was that I couldn’t keep a constant temperature. The plane was too cold, the blanket wasn’t warm enough, and adding my coat made me too hot. Oh and there was this horrid buzz when I leaned on the window shade.
Needless to say I got absolutely NO sleep. I sat with my eyes closed for a bit, but never drifted off. So I read for 8 hours (a typically Alexis-Travel Title, of course, more on that in my next installment). This lack of sleep didn’t stop me from staying up the whole day after landing. In fact, I think we figured that since I got up early for work the day I flew over and was up until around midnight after my arrival the next day I was up for 30 some hours. Joy!
Typically, I can sleep on the overnight flight from the Eastern US to Europe. Usually I miss the dinner meal and sometimes even the breakfast if they still serve food on flights (during the short leg from Charlotte to Newark one of the flight attendants on Continental actually asked me if I wanted “today’s meal”- as he held out a packet of mini pretzels). And for the record, I really hate being feed only once in the middle of a transatlantic flight. It is extremely useful to sleep on this flight. I’ve determined the only way to not suffer from jet lag going to Europe is to power through that first day. No nap, plenty of caffeine and lots of company. The goal is to stay awake at least until 9:30-10:00 pm. Often I stay up even later if my friends drag me out for a drink or two.
This time, nothing was as I planned. Tuesday flights are always packed, but this one just seemed to be more so. I had a window seat which is perfect for jamming oneself into a bit of a cubby hole with just a tad extra room for curling up. I’ve become quite adept at pushing my foot in to that cranny between the wall and seat in front of me and basically lodging myself into the chair so I sort of can fool myself into pretending (not quite believing) that I’m all curled up in my favorite arm chair at home. This just wasn’t going to happen this trip.
The gods were conspiring against me. To begin with the young woman next to me decided to read the entire time. The lights were not angled well so there was no way to shut out the light with out covering my head with a blanket, scarf, something. I hate having my face covered when I sleep, even just my eyes with one of those masks. It is because I usually toss and turn and move and then what ever it is gets wrapped around my neck and I can’t even wear turtle necks so it just doesn’t work out well. Then there was the issue that the guy in front of me has stuffed his coat in the crack I use for a foot rest. Even worse was that I couldn’t keep a constant temperature. The plane was too cold, the blanket wasn’t warm enough, and adding my coat made me too hot. Oh and there was this horrid buzz when I leaned on the window shade.
Needless to say I got absolutely NO sleep. I sat with my eyes closed for a bit, but never drifted off. So I read for 8 hours (a typically Alexis-Travel Title, of course, more on that in my next installment). This lack of sleep didn’t stop me from staying up the whole day after landing. In fact, I think we figured that since I got up early for work the day I flew over and was up until around midnight after my arrival the next day I was up for 30 some hours. Joy!
Travel Log...
So I'm really bad at keeping travel logs, but I did jot down a few notes from my last trip to the Netherlands and will be turning them in to blogs over the next few days stay tuned :-)
Only Because I Adore my FOX Friends
I was tagged by Dee's Avendentures
Silly Things About Me
Started today at 9:09pm
1. What time did you get up this morning? 7:13am (forgot to set my alarm...)
2. How do you like your steak? Medium Rare on the Rare side
3. What was the last film you saw at the cinema? District 9
4. What is your favorite TV show? Mad Men
5. If you could live anywhere in the world where would it be? I want to live in so many different places, but I'd like to end up in Charleston after another stint in Zuid Holland.
6. What did you have for breakfast? protein shake
7. What is your favorite cuisine? Thai
8. What foods do you dislike? mainly just liver
9. Favorite Place to Eat? Buddha's in Leiden
10. Favorite dressing? poppy seed
11. What kind of vehicle do you drive? An Altima
12. What are your favorite clothes? jeans, tailored top and a pashmina scarf
13. Where would you visit if you had the chance? Well I have to visit two more continents Africa and Australia
14. Cup 1/2 empty or 1/2 full? 1/2 full, but even if it is 1/2 empty I'm sure I can find a bottle and fill it back up.
15. Where would you want to retire? Charleston, SC
16. Favorite time of day? early evening
17. Where were you born? Honolulu, HI
18. What is your favorite sport to watch? Hockey
19. Bird watcher? yes. I love watching the birds in my yard.
20. Are you a morning person or a night person? Night!
21. Do you have any pets? My Bean, the Boston Terrier
22. Any new and exciting news you'd like to share? My Dad is up for a 3rd star!
23. What did you want to be when you were little? a purple unicorn
24. What is your best childhood memory? eating strawberries on papa's back porch
25. Are you a cat or dog person? Dog
26. Are you married? nope
27. Always wear your seat belt? Yes
28. Been in a car accident? Yes
29. Any pet peeves? stupid people.
30. Favorite Pizza Topping? meat
31. Favorite Flower? Oriental Lilies
32. Favorite ice cream? Pralines and Cream
33. Favorite fast food restaurant? TACO BELL
34. How many times did you fail your driver's test? never
35. From whom did you get your last email? That wasn't junk... Hans van der Vlugt a relative who lives near Rotterdam
36. Which store would you choose to max out your credit card? none, I don't like maxing out my card! but if I didn't have to pay it back... then Anthropologie
37. Do anything spontaneous lately? nope
38. Like your job? I love what I do.
39. Broccoli? yum
40. What was your favorite vacation? Going to Italy with Erin ties with Fishing with Ben
41. Last person you went out to dinner with? Richard
42. What are you listening to right now? I can hear Bean snoring over Alana Daivs' cover of Third Eye Blind's "I Want You"
43. What is your favorite color? Blue
44. How many tattoos do you have? None
45. Coffee Drinker? sometimes
What time did you finish this quiz? 9:46
Now I am tagging:
http://shanaiinsouthafrica.blogspot.com/
Silly Things About Me
Started today at 9:09pm
1. What time did you get up this morning? 7:13am (forgot to set my alarm...)
2. How do you like your steak? Medium Rare on the Rare side
3. What was the last film you saw at the cinema? District 9
4. What is your favorite TV show? Mad Men
5. If you could live anywhere in the world where would it be? I want to live in so many different places, but I'd like to end up in Charleston after another stint in Zuid Holland.
6. What did you have for breakfast? protein shake
7. What is your favorite cuisine? Thai
8. What foods do you dislike? mainly just liver
9. Favorite Place to Eat? Buddha's in Leiden
10. Favorite dressing? poppy seed
11. What kind of vehicle do you drive? An Altima
12. What are your favorite clothes? jeans, tailored top and a pashmina scarf
13. Where would you visit if you had the chance? Well I have to visit two more continents Africa and Australia
14. Cup 1/2 empty or 1/2 full? 1/2 full, but even if it is 1/2 empty I'm sure I can find a bottle and fill it back up.
15. Where would you want to retire? Charleston, SC
16. Favorite time of day? early evening
17. Where were you born? Honolulu, HI
18. What is your favorite sport to watch? Hockey
19. Bird watcher? yes. I love watching the birds in my yard.
20. Are you a morning person or a night person? Night!
21. Do you have any pets? My Bean, the Boston Terrier
22. Any new and exciting news you'd like to share? My Dad is up for a 3rd star!
23. What did you want to be when you were little? a purple unicorn
24. What is your best childhood memory? eating strawberries on papa's back porch
25. Are you a cat or dog person? Dog
26. Are you married? nope
27. Always wear your seat belt? Yes
28. Been in a car accident? Yes
29. Any pet peeves? stupid people.
30. Favorite Pizza Topping? meat
31. Favorite Flower? Oriental Lilies
32. Favorite ice cream? Pralines and Cream
33. Favorite fast food restaurant? TACO BELL
34. How many times did you fail your driver's test? never
35. From whom did you get your last email? That wasn't junk... Hans van der Vlugt a relative who lives near Rotterdam
36. Which store would you choose to max out your credit card? none, I don't like maxing out my card! but if I didn't have to pay it back... then Anthropologie
37. Do anything spontaneous lately? nope
38. Like your job? I love what I do.
39. Broccoli? yum
40. What was your favorite vacation? Going to Italy with Erin ties with Fishing with Ben
41. Last person you went out to dinner with? Richard
42. What are you listening to right now? I can hear Bean snoring over Alana Daivs' cover of Third Eye Blind's "I Want You"
43. What is your favorite color? Blue
44. How many tattoos do you have? None
45. Coffee Drinker? sometimes
What time did you finish this quiz? 9:46
Now I am tagging:
http://shanaiinsouthafrica.blogspot.com/
Tuesday, September 1, 2009
Forget the Friendly Skies...
I grew up flying. I'd have to confirm it with my mother, but I am pretty sure that my first flight was taken under the age of two and my first unaccompanied flight was when I was 6 or 7 (and even that was transatlantic) I never minded being cooped up in a tin can flying through the atmosphere. I loved it. I loved everything about travel except packing. I loved the announcements for different flights, the international stewardesses in their classy outfits and watching giant jets being taxied out of the gates. I used to actually drive up to the international airport in Charlotte while I was in college in South Carolina in order to get a coffee and people watch. I loved traveling by air that much. It made me happy to just sit in the Airport and try and guess where people where going or if at that moment I had the money where would I buy a ticket to on flights leaving in the next few minutes. I didn’t mind longer layovers as long as it was an airport I liked.
This is no longer true. The wonders of air travel are slowing being sapped one by one by the airlines and security agencies. Gone are the days of picking up your friends at the gate or meeting a buddy for lunch at the airport during their long layover. Inch by inch leg room was stolen so they could fit in more seats and find a way to over book flights even more than before. It used to be that if you’d miss a typical meal time (say 11:30 to 1:30 for lunch) you’d be feed something. Granted it wasn’t always the best, but you would not go hungry. Now you are lucky if they don’t make you pay for the pretzels (and I honestly miss the honey roasted peanuts).
You used to have service with a smile and slender well dressed attendants. Now you have over worked flight crews who aren’t always friendly and often bump into you with their plumper regions (this is less true of non-US carriers, but we have to be PC and can’t hire flight attendants on looks anymore). You used to be able to bring two checked bags internationally for free and one free checked bag on domestic flights. Now that is gone and people are hitting you in the head with their overstuffed full sized suit case and calling it a carry on. I’ve now been on three flights where they ran out of room on the plan for carry-ons. It ticked me off because I made sure to measure mine to make sure it would fit in the over head bin and well, no one else did that. And of course they check mine and not the 65-pound-nearly-the-size-of-a-steamer-trunk-thing the man in 28c put over row 15. As much of a hassle it is in Europe, I rather hope they start weighing carry-ons in the US too.
What is worse I all of this just make the customers more angry and more likely to tick each other off. Like how a lady in row 15 had words with the dude from 28c. I just usually just loose sleep. I can’t relax because I’m not comfortable and now can’t clear my mind of the anger over paying 500+ for tickets following the rules and not getting my money’s worth. In all this just makes me more likely to be agitated. There was a time when 'd not care if they made me shuffle stuff from one bag to another to make one lighter. I'd even volunteer me seat if they over booked and I didn't have a connecting flight or an appointment to make on the other end. It feel bad for the baby crying because his ears won't pop. Now I'm pissed off at the mother for flying with a baby (I would have never agreed with my friend 5 years ago, but now her idea that you can only have one baby in the cabin per flight, just like dogs, is sounding more appealing).
To make matters worse, the last flight I had cancelled on me was from Chicago to Charlotte. I never choose to travel through Chicago. I hate both airports there. I, however, didn't buy the tickets my self and beggars can't be choosers. My flight got cancelled because they were only letting plans a certain size fly out that evening due to the weather. Because this was a weather related problem they wouldn't pay for your hotel. I didn't want to spend the night in the airport so I called to see if I could just change flights to some where else and then transfer there to get home. I had actually tried to preempt this when I originated out of Vegas, but since the connecting flight in Chicago hadn't been cancelled yet they wouldn't let me do it.
I got in the "costumer service" (this name applies as much as meal applies to pretzels) line and decided to call my father who had booked the original tickets and see if he can help with the changes. My Father called the customer service call center (they try to be more helpful, but aren't always either) from his phone, and I also did the same while standing in line. I was transferred to a woman in India. Being stranded in O'Hare is not the time to send a customer to someone in India. I'm tired from traveling, it is super loud in the concourse, many American and British English words for travel hold different meanings, and I lost my patience with my baggage during the connecting flight. I'm in no mood to try and communicate when she can't understand my slightly southern accent and I can't hear here over the baby crying next to me.
Well we give it a go anyway. There was lots of asking the other person to repeat herself on both sides. I think she thought I couldn't understand her accent. It really wasn't that, I am very much used to speaking with people with accents. I live in a city where there are innumerable variations on the southern accent mixed with international accents tinged with southern accents, or even more challenging a foreign accent mixed with a Boston accent with a hint of Tennessee twang. The truth of the matter was that I was exhaust and it was too noisy for me to even begin to understand her. Eventually, I found out there were no more flights to Charlotte that Friday. So I asked her when would the first flight tomorrow be. There were no flights tomorrow. In fact, the first possible flight would be on Monday night. There is no way in hell I am going to stay at an airport for an entire weekend. This was unacceptable. So I asked for a flight to DC. Well it turns out the airline was cancelling even the bigger flight after 8pm, and that was when the next flight to DC had been scheduled. Atlanta? the last flight be 8pm left 15 minutes ago. Tampa was also a no go. I asked her are there any flight going out of Chicago on your carrier or someone else's before the 8pm cut off that I can take and eventually end up at least a state that shares a border with the Carolinas? that took some explaining as I had to now list those states (granted I'm not even sure a call center in the US would have been able to figure that out with out the help of Google). Apparently, there was one, but it leaves in 10 minutes and is on the other side of the airport. Just as I was about to lose it my father beeped in on the other line. I put the Indian woman on hold (I've always want to to put a call center person on hold!) and my father said, "You've got 10 minutes, run to gate G21 your flying to Raleigh." I hung up on my line to Mumbai and booked it. One guy further behind me in line and one guy in front of me also did the same thing.
It was just like you've seen in the movies. I wish I wasn't wearing heels, but I didn't have time to even try and run barefoot, thought idea did cross my mind. I ran shouting down the people mover that "the f'ing sign says stand to the right you dolt!" I only stopped ran in to the check in counter at the gate when the attendant standing there screamed that I can't just run onto a plane. She wanted my boarding pass. I said can you look me up with my Charlotte pass? I need to make this flight and it was booked maybe 12 minutes ago so please please please let me be in the system. She was hemming and hawing, but she looked me up and let me on board as I started down the jet way I yelled back, oh don't close that screen there is another guy who is about 2 minutes behind me, and sue enough I heard her yell at him too as I stepped on to the plane. I've never in my life been that happy about going to Raleigh (this is more meaningful if you understand the dynamics between Charlotte and Raleigh).
Oh and it took two days to get my bag out of Chicago.
This is no longer true. The wonders of air travel are slowing being sapped one by one by the airlines and security agencies. Gone are the days of picking up your friends at the gate or meeting a buddy for lunch at the airport during their long layover. Inch by inch leg room was stolen so they could fit in more seats and find a way to over book flights even more than before. It used to be that if you’d miss a typical meal time (say 11:30 to 1:30 for lunch) you’d be feed something. Granted it wasn’t always the best, but you would not go hungry. Now you are lucky if they don’t make you pay for the pretzels (and I honestly miss the honey roasted peanuts).
You used to have service with a smile and slender well dressed attendants. Now you have over worked flight crews who aren’t always friendly and often bump into you with their plumper regions (this is less true of non-US carriers, but we have to be PC and can’t hire flight attendants on looks anymore). You used to be able to bring two checked bags internationally for free and one free checked bag on domestic flights. Now that is gone and people are hitting you in the head with their overstuffed full sized suit case and calling it a carry on. I’ve now been on three flights where they ran out of room on the plan for carry-ons. It ticked me off because I made sure to measure mine to make sure it would fit in the over head bin and well, no one else did that. And of course they check mine and not the 65-pound-nearly-the-size-of-a-steamer-trunk-thing the man in 28c put over row 15. As much of a hassle it is in Europe, I rather hope they start weighing carry-ons in the US too.
What is worse I all of this just make the customers more angry and more likely to tick each other off. Like how a lady in row 15 had words with the dude from 28c. I just usually just loose sleep. I can’t relax because I’m not comfortable and now can’t clear my mind of the anger over paying 500+ for tickets following the rules and not getting my money’s worth. In all this just makes me more likely to be agitated. There was a time when 'd not care if they made me shuffle stuff from one bag to another to make one lighter. I'd even volunteer me seat if they over booked and I didn't have a connecting flight or an appointment to make on the other end. It feel bad for the baby crying because his ears won't pop. Now I'm pissed off at the mother for flying with a baby (I would have never agreed with my friend 5 years ago, but now her idea that you can only have one baby in the cabin per flight, just like dogs, is sounding more appealing).
To make matters worse, the last flight I had cancelled on me was from Chicago to Charlotte. I never choose to travel through Chicago. I hate both airports there. I, however, didn't buy the tickets my self and beggars can't be choosers. My flight got cancelled because they were only letting plans a certain size fly out that evening due to the weather. Because this was a weather related problem they wouldn't pay for your hotel. I didn't want to spend the night in the airport so I called to see if I could just change flights to some where else and then transfer there to get home. I had actually tried to preempt this when I originated out of Vegas, but since the connecting flight in Chicago hadn't been cancelled yet they wouldn't let me do it.
I got in the "costumer service" (this name applies as much as meal applies to pretzels) line and decided to call my father who had booked the original tickets and see if he can help with the changes. My Father called the customer service call center (they try to be more helpful, but aren't always either) from his phone, and I also did the same while standing in line. I was transferred to a woman in India. Being stranded in O'Hare is not the time to send a customer to someone in India. I'm tired from traveling, it is super loud in the concourse, many American and British English words for travel hold different meanings, and I lost my patience with my baggage during the connecting flight. I'm in no mood to try and communicate when she can't understand my slightly southern accent and I can't hear here over the baby crying next to me.
Well we give it a go anyway. There was lots of asking the other person to repeat herself on both sides. I think she thought I couldn't understand her accent. It really wasn't that, I am very much used to speaking with people with accents. I live in a city where there are innumerable variations on the southern accent mixed with international accents tinged with southern accents, or even more challenging a foreign accent mixed with a Boston accent with a hint of Tennessee twang. The truth of the matter was that I was exhaust and it was too noisy for me to even begin to understand her. Eventually, I found out there were no more flights to Charlotte that Friday. So I asked her when would the first flight tomorrow be. There were no flights tomorrow. In fact, the first possible flight would be on Monday night. There is no way in hell I am going to stay at an airport for an entire weekend. This was unacceptable. So I asked for a flight to DC. Well it turns out the airline was cancelling even the bigger flight after 8pm, and that was when the next flight to DC had been scheduled. Atlanta? the last flight be 8pm left 15 minutes ago. Tampa was also a no go. I asked her are there any flight going out of Chicago on your carrier or someone else's before the 8pm cut off that I can take and eventually end up at least a state that shares a border with the Carolinas? that took some explaining as I had to now list those states (granted I'm not even sure a call center in the US would have been able to figure that out with out the help of Google). Apparently, there was one, but it leaves in 10 minutes and is on the other side of the airport. Just as I was about to lose it my father beeped in on the other line. I put the Indian woman on hold (I've always want to to put a call center person on hold!) and my father said, "You've got 10 minutes, run to gate G21 your flying to Raleigh." I hung up on my line to Mumbai and booked it. One guy further behind me in line and one guy in front of me also did the same thing.
It was just like you've seen in the movies. I wish I wasn't wearing heels, but I didn't have time to even try and run barefoot, thought idea did cross my mind. I ran shouting down the people mover that "the f'ing sign says stand to the right you dolt!" I only stopped ran in to the check in counter at the gate when the attendant standing there screamed that I can't just run onto a plane. She wanted my boarding pass. I said can you look me up with my Charlotte pass? I need to make this flight and it was booked maybe 12 minutes ago so please please please let me be in the system. She was hemming and hawing, but she looked me up and let me on board as I started down the jet way I yelled back, oh don't close that screen there is another guy who is about 2 minutes behind me, and sue enough I heard her yell at him too as I stepped on to the plane. I've never in my life been that happy about going to Raleigh (this is more meaningful if you understand the dynamics between Charlotte and Raleigh).
Oh and it took two days to get my bag out of Chicago.
Friday, August 14, 2009
From Skittles to the Habsburgs...
Everyone has their own process to forgiveness, to love, to life. Not to mention their own thought process. I have a mess of a mind. Useless knowledge like knowing that squid are cephalopods is filed somewhere with how to check the oil in my car. Retrieving this knowledge is a quite interesting process. Sometime a random occurrence like walking past a great shoe store reminds me that I bought these cool blue shoes that look like they have fortune cookies on them at a shop in Holland with a name that reminds me of the song DVNO by Justice and did you hear that the UK has imposed direct rule on the Turks and Caicos Islands today? Oh! Those may be shaky linkages to you my friend, but it is a logical string in my mind. Even more fun then following my ramblings whilst reading (and possible re-reading, then hitting up Google), Dear Reader, is following along with one of my loose conversations.
When needed I can be succinct and to the point, but if I want to give a more zealous rendering of the affairs at hand or a personal account of an event then I have the tendency to be... well verbose doesn't even begin to describe it. Some people love this as we bounce from topic to topic everyone tossing in something. Others, who don't think that way, seem to hate it and lose interest in our chatter.
I have learned that in order to have a true conversation with me- not just hear the words I say and throw in a non-comment or two, but actually converse, add something to the dialogue, be an active participant - you need to be able to do two things: 1)Not be afraid to interrupt or be really good at finding the pauses I build in. (I know some of you don't think they exist, but they are there you just have to really listen for them. If you miss them I'll just assume you had nothing to add) and 2) have a brain that works like Wikipedia.
The best conversations I have link all over the place. You know how you can start by looking up something on trimming Crape Myrtles and end up reading about the Dutch East India Company after taking a left some where while pondering a vacation in the Maldives? Well it is something like that. This is how my brain works and often this leaks in to my casual conversation. Everything is linked. Someone can be talking about vegetarians and I will think, "really want some skittles." This is because once a friend of mine was out with someone who was one of those holier than though vegetarians that still eat dairy but not eggs or products from dead animals but was eating a bag of skittles and my friend so astutely pointed out that skittles in the US contain gelatin and even overseas they often have "natural flavors" which often means a flavor derived from something you don't want to know about.
Basically, every point I wish to make is linked to a certain group of details and I cannot get to it without explaining the details. It is sort of a crazy combination lock in my memory. If I don't describe something in a certain pattern I can't seem to get what I want across. This drives my Dad nuts. Then again my sister and I often compare notes on who has the record for longest conversation with Dad on the phone before he says, here let me find your Mother. I think my Personal best was around 10 minutes.
I guess the point of this passage is that I promise to try and keep my blogs a little shorter. ;-)
When needed I can be succinct and to the point, but if I want to give a more zealous rendering of the affairs at hand or a personal account of an event then I have the tendency to be... well verbose doesn't even begin to describe it. Some people love this as we bounce from topic to topic everyone tossing in something. Others, who don't think that way, seem to hate it and lose interest in our chatter.
I have learned that in order to have a true conversation with me- not just hear the words I say and throw in a non-comment or two, but actually converse, add something to the dialogue, be an active participant - you need to be able to do two things: 1)Not be afraid to interrupt or be really good at finding the pauses I build in. (I know some of you don't think they exist, but they are there you just have to really listen for them. If you miss them I'll just assume you had nothing to add) and 2) have a brain that works like Wikipedia.
The best conversations I have link all over the place. You know how you can start by looking up something on trimming Crape Myrtles and end up reading about the Dutch East India Company after taking a left some where while pondering a vacation in the Maldives? Well it is something like that. This is how my brain works and often this leaks in to my casual conversation. Everything is linked. Someone can be talking about vegetarians and I will think, "really want some skittles." This is because once a friend of mine was out with someone who was one of those holier than though vegetarians that still eat dairy but not eggs or products from dead animals but was eating a bag of skittles and my friend so astutely pointed out that skittles in the US contain gelatin and even overseas they often have "natural flavors" which often means a flavor derived from something you don't want to know about.
Basically, every point I wish to make is linked to a certain group of details and I cannot get to it without explaining the details. It is sort of a crazy combination lock in my memory. If I don't describe something in a certain pattern I can't seem to get what I want across. This drives my Dad nuts. Then again my sister and I often compare notes on who has the record for longest conversation with Dad on the phone before he says, here let me find your Mother. I think my Personal best was around 10 minutes.
I guess the point of this passage is that I promise to try and keep my blogs a little shorter. ;-)
Sunday, August 2, 2009
Don't let me borrow your fave shirt...
So it seems I have a penchant for stealing men's shirts. I've never had a favorite shirt of my own that I bought. I mean, I have shirts I love and that I think are great and fun to wear, but they never are shirts I could wear all day, every day, even if they began to smell. Ok, I don't think I could wear any shirt when it began to smell. I am extremely sensitive to smells. That could be another blog topic altogether.
Anyway, back to the topic at hand, stealing shirts. Actually I never *steal* them. They are usually lent to me. For different reasons of course. The following are just a few of those reasons: the room is cold; I didn't bring anything to paint in; I was thrown in the pool and don't have a change of clothes; I didn't bring a long sleeve shirt because I wanted to sunbathe while fishing and don't see why I need to be covered from head to toe; I need something to sleep in; I don't want to ride the train wearing what I had on last night; the list could go on forever. I can even think of one occasion where I was given a guys shirt just because I liked it so much (It was a really cool texture-- I have a thing for textures, I won't eat certain food due to textures-- let's not get into that either, it is along the lines of my issues with smells. Come to think of it the guy's cologne also was very nice...) . I still have it and another one of his shirts, both of which I am very fond of. In fact, for fear of the airlines losing one I left them in North Carolina when I moved to Holland.
I think the first shirt I tired to claim as my own was either Frank's or BJ's. That was back in the day when all the guys I liked wore flannel shirts. I'd borrow those two's often in class because the theatre in high school was freezing. Actually all theaters in almost all my High Schools were freezing. At that time I was really good at returning them since it was Florida and once out of the ice auditorium I didn't need the extra layers.
Wait a minute; I do own a favorite shirt... well I think I do. I recall my mother trying to throw it out and Nathan (my ex-fiance who is about to get married) trying to throw it out as well. I can't remember if they succeeded at the moment, hrm. It is a Navy Blue flannel shirt and it is why I didn't steal any shirts when lived in RI. I almost never went to school with out that shirt. I've worn that thing till the inner lining of the cuffs frayed and it had holes in it. I love that shirt. it also has a huge hole over the chest pokect. that was from tying it around my waist in Italy and it getting caught on the rail of a bus. I still would wear it though. It wasn't mine to begin with either--- It was Dad's and it shrank in the wash, so I got it since I was in that flannel wearing stage still. Ah hitting highschool in the hight of the Seattle scene definetly left its mark.
So I have a habit of obtain other men's shirt regardless. Other than the one I inherited from Dad most of the others I always have to give back. I actually remember once trying to see how long I could keep one for Frank's flannels. I don't remember now, but it couldn't have been past a week or two. Then I went nearly two years without borrowing anyone's shirts. Quiet a feat I think. I was tempted to borrow Ryan's that night we all went down to the beach behind the teen center on Ft. Adam's, but I was being stubborn and decided that it really wasn't *that* cold and I could tough it out. Besides ,I didn't want the rest of the group to think I was flirting with him, though I was, but everyone liked the twins and it became a matter of principle, I didn't want to be like all the giggly girls and borrowing a shirt when it isn't *that* cold is such a giggly girl thing to do. I wonder whatever happened to the twins... where was I? oh yes the next shirt I borrowed.
I remember borrowing Corey's shirts on the activity bus on several occasions. Oh the activity bus! The times we had back then! What fond memories... I also recall borrowing one of Bill's on the Vicenza trip that was before he started dating Amber and we all gave them such a heard time for her being so young, even though we all liked her. Funny how we all seemed to get along on those long bus trips on the activity bus to Lago. But again these shirt borrowing moments never lasted more than the bus trip and maybe the stay in the place the bus was going. Most of the girls in Naples borrowed the guys letterman jackets. Honestly I didn't like Letterman jackets, they just aren't that comfy. It wasn't until college that I was able to hold on to a new fave shirt for more than a week.
There was one prize shirt of many of the girls in College. It was gray and been washed to the point that the print that was once on it was all but gone. I had borrowed it once before while the guys I was friends with were playing video games and I was freezing since it had gotten a lot colder than I expected that night. I gave it back as soon as I got home and never thought anything about it 'til about a year later when I was dating Jimmy, to which the shirt belonged, and borrowed it again. I loved that shirt! It was *so* soft and warm and just perfect for sitting around the house, after a long day of rock climbing, tossing it on if I had to run to the office and didn't want to go in my PJs, or while studying. I was able to keep that one until laundry days... then Jimmy usually took it back.
I also gained a new shirt from Ben during one spring break in college. I borrowed one of his long sleeve shirts to fish in because I didn't know I needed to have a long sleeve shirt to fish in. I gave that one back, good memory but fishing shirts need to be dedicated to fishing and it is always there when I go fishing again. I also got my only Brandon High School shirt from Ben. That is because I borrowed one of his, but he wouldn't part with it not even for his bestest girl friend. To make up for it he bought me one of my own and sent it to me.
My next favorite shirt became my thinking shirt. My Assignment Editors knew never to bother Alexis between 6 and 8pm if she has the thinking shirt on (well unless it is breaking news, then they better tell me). It started with DeAnna borrowing Eric's shirt as it was colder in the part of the Newsroom where they banished the Edge crew. Then I borrowed it once when I produced the Edge and I was hooked. I stopped bringing in my sweater from home and would borrow Eric's shirt all the time. I'd even wear it when it wasn't cold and I wasn't in a crunch on the show. It made me happy. One time I came in to work on a Sunday early and Tiffany was wearing it. It almost felt like my new shirt was cheating! Even Tiffany gave me this I'm sorry but it is freezing in here look of shame. Ok, that is really odd I know, but I was very attached to that shirt and was sad I couldn't keep it. It kinda belonged to the newsroom. I did get a replacement from Eric, it was my favorite shirt that he wore. It has a really cool weave that gives it this neat texture, not to mention I love his cologne and the shirt smelt like him. A few years after leaving the news buisness I discovered that I some how had managed to smuggle the newsroom shirt home too. Not sure how or when I did that, but after returning to the States and reordering my life after two years in another country and a failed engagement I discovered my favorite newsroom shirt in my closet.
More recently I tried to steal one I was given to wear home. It was another super-soft-worn-all-the-time shirt that is fresh and clean and still smelled of laundry detergent. I threatened to keep it, but I knew it was my friend's favorite and I just coulodn't be that mean. I wore it for a day and a half while running to the market and other such errends around town. I think I secertly wanted some one to notice I had it, though I'm not sure anyone would have known who's shrit it was. I washed that next day and promotly returned it the next time I saw my friend who conviently worked in the town I lived in. If I wasn't such a nice person and I didn't want to stay friends with the shirts owner, I think I would have stolen it. I even saw someone a few weeks after said friend moved away with a similar shirt and thought how I wish I could have stolen it... At one moment I may have said I'd miss that shirt more than I'd miss him. But that is the irrational shirt thief in me talking.
I guess the best shirts are always someone else's for two reasons. Frist, it is because the best shirts are the those that get worn a lot and end up all soft and comfy. They are usually worn so much b/c they are someone else's favorite shirt as well. Second, they have to be someone's shirt you like, because it reminds you of them in some sort of way. Not necessarily a boyfriend or a crush, but just a friend who you have had a good time being around. That shirt can make you think of the time you caught the same fish over and over and over and OVER again and no one had the heart to tell you so until after you got home. Or it reminds you of late nights playing Axis and Allies- writing up treaties and then starting proxy wars before the game board is thrown across the room. The discussions over a glass of beer with a bunch of people from all over the world who you know you want to keep in touch with, but will only see maybe once more in your life time. Of flirting between MOS's and batting your eyes when you know you've turned your scripts in late. I guess it is a lot like hearing certain songs on the radio. Memories become attached to things and if you are like me and attached to memories then you may just get attached to a few favorite shirts.
The moral of this story is don't let me borrow your favorite shirt unless you know I'll give it back or can steal it out of my laundry ;-).
Anyway, back to the topic at hand, stealing shirts. Actually I never *steal* them. They are usually lent to me. For different reasons of course. The following are just a few of those reasons: the room is cold; I didn't bring anything to paint in; I was thrown in the pool and don't have a change of clothes; I didn't bring a long sleeve shirt because I wanted to sunbathe while fishing and don't see why I need to be covered from head to toe; I need something to sleep in; I don't want to ride the train wearing what I had on last night; the list could go on forever. I can even think of one occasion where I was given a guys shirt just because I liked it so much (It was a really cool texture-- I have a thing for textures, I won't eat certain food due to textures-- let's not get into that either, it is along the lines of my issues with smells. Come to think of it the guy's cologne also was very nice...) . I still have it and another one of his shirts, both of which I am very fond of. In fact, for fear of the airlines losing one I left them in North Carolina when I moved to Holland.
I think the first shirt I tired to claim as my own was either Frank's or BJ's. That was back in the day when all the guys I liked wore flannel shirts. I'd borrow those two's often in class because the theatre in high school was freezing. Actually all theaters in almost all my High Schools were freezing. At that time I was really good at returning them since it was Florida and once out of the ice auditorium I didn't need the extra layers.
Wait a minute; I do own a favorite shirt... well I think I do. I recall my mother trying to throw it out and Nathan (my ex-fiance who is about to get married) trying to throw it out as well. I can't remember if they succeeded at the moment, hrm. It is a Navy Blue flannel shirt and it is why I didn't steal any shirts when lived in RI. I almost never went to school with out that shirt. I've worn that thing till the inner lining of the cuffs frayed and it had holes in it. I love that shirt. it also has a huge hole over the chest pokect. that was from tying it around my waist in Italy and it getting caught on the rail of a bus. I still would wear it though. It wasn't mine to begin with either--- It was Dad's and it shrank in the wash, so I got it since I was in that flannel wearing stage still. Ah hitting highschool in the hight of the Seattle scene definetly left its mark.
So I have a habit of obtain other men's shirt regardless. Other than the one I inherited from Dad most of the others I always have to give back. I actually remember once trying to see how long I could keep one for Frank's flannels. I don't remember now, but it couldn't have been past a week or two. Then I went nearly two years without borrowing anyone's shirts. Quiet a feat I think. I was tempted to borrow Ryan's that night we all went down to the beach behind the teen center on Ft. Adam's, but I was being stubborn and decided that it really wasn't *that* cold and I could tough it out. Besides ,I didn't want the rest of the group to think I was flirting with him, though I was, but everyone liked the twins and it became a matter of principle, I didn't want to be like all the giggly girls and borrowing a shirt when it isn't *that* cold is such a giggly girl thing to do. I wonder whatever happened to the twins... where was I? oh yes the next shirt I borrowed.
I remember borrowing Corey's shirts on the activity bus on several occasions. Oh the activity bus! The times we had back then! What fond memories... I also recall borrowing one of Bill's on the Vicenza trip that was before he started dating Amber and we all gave them such a heard time for her being so young, even though we all liked her. Funny how we all seemed to get along on those long bus trips on the activity bus to Lago. But again these shirt borrowing moments never lasted more than the bus trip and maybe the stay in the place the bus was going. Most of the girls in Naples borrowed the guys letterman jackets. Honestly I didn't like Letterman jackets, they just aren't that comfy. It wasn't until college that I was able to hold on to a new fave shirt for more than a week.
There was one prize shirt of many of the girls in College. It was gray and been washed to the point that the print that was once on it was all but gone. I had borrowed it once before while the guys I was friends with were playing video games and I was freezing since it had gotten a lot colder than I expected that night. I gave it back as soon as I got home and never thought anything about it 'til about a year later when I was dating Jimmy, to which the shirt belonged, and borrowed it again. I loved that shirt! It was *so* soft and warm and just perfect for sitting around the house, after a long day of rock climbing, tossing it on if I had to run to the office and didn't want to go in my PJs, or while studying. I was able to keep that one until laundry days... then Jimmy usually took it back.
I also gained a new shirt from Ben during one spring break in college. I borrowed one of his long sleeve shirts to fish in because I didn't know I needed to have a long sleeve shirt to fish in. I gave that one back, good memory but fishing shirts need to be dedicated to fishing and it is always there when I go fishing again. I also got my only Brandon High School shirt from Ben. That is because I borrowed one of his, but he wouldn't part with it not even for his bestest girl friend. To make up for it he bought me one of my own and sent it to me.
My next favorite shirt became my thinking shirt. My Assignment Editors knew never to bother Alexis between 6 and 8pm if she has the thinking shirt on (well unless it is breaking news, then they better tell me). It started with DeAnna borrowing Eric's shirt as it was colder in the part of the Newsroom where they banished the Edge crew. Then I borrowed it once when I produced the Edge and I was hooked. I stopped bringing in my sweater from home and would borrow Eric's shirt all the time. I'd even wear it when it wasn't cold and I wasn't in a crunch on the show. It made me happy. One time I came in to work on a Sunday early and Tiffany was wearing it. It almost felt like my new shirt was cheating! Even Tiffany gave me this I'm sorry but it is freezing in here look of shame. Ok, that is really odd I know, but I was very attached to that shirt and was sad I couldn't keep it. It kinda belonged to the newsroom. I did get a replacement from Eric, it was my favorite shirt that he wore. It has a really cool weave that gives it this neat texture, not to mention I love his cologne and the shirt smelt like him. A few years after leaving the news buisness I discovered that I some how had managed to smuggle the newsroom shirt home too. Not sure how or when I did that, but after returning to the States and reordering my life after two years in another country and a failed engagement I discovered my favorite newsroom shirt in my closet.
More recently I tried to steal one I was given to wear home. It was another super-soft-worn-all-the-time shirt that is fresh and clean and still smelled of laundry detergent. I threatened to keep it, but I knew it was my friend's favorite and I just coulodn't be that mean. I wore it for a day and a half while running to the market and other such errends around town. I think I secertly wanted some one to notice I had it, though I'm not sure anyone would have known who's shrit it was. I washed that next day and promotly returned it the next time I saw my friend who conviently worked in the town I lived in. If I wasn't such a nice person and I didn't want to stay friends with the shirts owner, I think I would have stolen it. I even saw someone a few weeks after said friend moved away with a similar shirt and thought how I wish I could have stolen it... At one moment I may have said I'd miss that shirt more than I'd miss him. But that is the irrational shirt thief in me talking.
I guess the best shirts are always someone else's for two reasons. Frist, it is because the best shirts are the those that get worn a lot and end up all soft and comfy. They are usually worn so much b/c they are someone else's favorite shirt as well. Second, they have to be someone's shirt you like, because it reminds you of them in some sort of way. Not necessarily a boyfriend or a crush, but just a friend who you have had a good time being around. That shirt can make you think of the time you caught the same fish over and over and over and OVER again and no one had the heart to tell you so until after you got home. Or it reminds you of late nights playing Axis and Allies- writing up treaties and then starting proxy wars before the game board is thrown across the room. The discussions over a glass of beer with a bunch of people from all over the world who you know you want to keep in touch with, but will only see maybe once more in your life time. Of flirting between MOS's and batting your eyes when you know you've turned your scripts in late. I guess it is a lot like hearing certain songs on the radio. Memories become attached to things and if you are like me and attached to memories then you may just get attached to a few favorite shirts.
The moral of this story is don't let me borrow your favorite shirt unless you know I'll give it back or can steal it out of my laundry ;-).
Saturday, August 1, 2009
Covered in Gliter
Just a typical Saturday I suppose, being all covered in glitter and rushing over to my next appointment. Yes, I understand that sentence is a bit misleading to those of you with filthy little minds (oh how the filthy little minds of the world keep me entertained!). What I was really getting at is that my weekends have a tendency to be all or nothing. Weekend Scenario One: me at home throwing a little pink hippo across the room a zillion times until Bean decides she'd rather squeak the hell out of monkey-bear or whine because I refuse to dislodge her mini soccer ball from beneath the lid of a kimchi pot. Weekend Scenario Two: race around town to events that I want to attend but are also sort of work related and then hurry over to a friend's house for the last few minutes of a celebration.
Last weekend I volunteered at the Caribbean Festival. The local leaders of the cultural groups in town have found out that I have a really heard time turning people down when I know how much help they need. Every organization in town it seems knows that they can ask me to stage manage, edit press releases, track down missing contest judges, set up tables, take photos, design posters, or to do one of a million other things that others have said they will do but at the last minute never got around to doing. I can't say no. I want them to have successful events, I want people in town to see that we really have a diverse population from all over the world here. Oh and I am on a personal mission to never hear the people I associate with say, "There is nothing to do in this town." Even if you've exhausted the bar and club scene, seen all the museums, attended all the plays and concerts, there is still... well that is a separate blog/rant.
Anyhow last weekend I drove around Elizabeth looking for a place to park, rushed to Independence Park to find the volunteer gazebo, then got my assignment. I was to be working the kids craft table. Oh let the fun begin! I am not being sarcastic. I love kids. I love crafts. Above all else, the craft table was in the shade! Score!
So after shooing multiple adults away and pointing out that the picnic tables in this area were reserved for children and setting up the tables with art supplies I was ready to spend a couple of hours watching budding artists express themselves by coloring Flags from Caribbean Nations and making masks to celebrate this little mid-summer carnival. I was really happy not to be in charge of the bounce house or the games. Even when the tables got crowded and I was rushing form one to another to make sure everything was running smoothly. What made me most happy was to see that some parents still care how their kids are being raised. In fact a large chunk of my faith in parenting was restored. I've often seeing children running a muck in stores screaming, throwing tantrums and parents not giving a hoot about their child's ill behavior. But last weekend, I saw some of the most well behaved children. Kids where waiting their turn, asking if they could please have the blue glitter pin and would sweetly ask if they could have the other blue glitter pen too. The called me Miss or Ma'am and would say excuse me when trying to get my attention from another child. It was marvelous. They were genuinely interested in what was going on asking questions, wanting to know how to make the glitter in the shaker stick to the mask, can they have feathers for their mask, is it okay to leave it at the table until it dries? It was wonderful to hear all those please and thank yous.
Each little kid had their own way of doing thing. some wanted to do everything on their own and would have a scattering of media all over their project, glitter, marker, feathers, one child even glued a small prize from the game section to her creation. Others want their mothers to help and then some wanted me to help, but would get made if mom or an older sibling meddled with their art. Pink, Purple and blue feathers were the most requested, though just about every child tried to put the giant red feathers on the mask first, but when they wouldn't stay the smaller ones would only do if they were pink, purple or blue. One little girl who had to be about 6, wanted pink, purple and orange to match her dress. She was very precise on her design it had to have swirls like the print in her outfit. As demanding as she was, each request was started with a may I and followed with a sincere thanks once she had perfectly coordinated her mask to her attire.
The little boys were hilarious. We had three brothers sit down to color at once. By this time we had sacrificed a prize to become part of the craft table, a roll of pictures to tear apart and color. All three of them wanted an under the sea scene to color, but I could only find one after unrolling about 8 frames of pictures. So I was able to talk the youngest into a picture with a rhino. Then the oldest say it and wanted that one too. I didn't recall any other rhino's but we decided that the one of a zoo with lots of different animals would be just fine. About 5 minutes later the middle boy came over with a half colored-in-the-lines crab and a whale scribbled through with purple on his underwater scene, "My brother ruined it, is there a giraffe I can have instead?" five more frames and we found one. Some of the really little boys really made my day. They wanted to make masks and butterflies and use the sparkles and feathers. Oh! They were just soooo happy to be making something pretty. One little guy just squeezed all the glitter out of two pens and then dumped an entire shaker of glitter on top of that in the center of his mask. Once he was done he thought it was so cool that he needed to make one for his dad too. But this one needed feathers and massive amounts of glitter, because that way it will look like a super hero's mask.
I started the craft table about about noon. A little after two I exclaimed at this one little girl who was glittering and gluing sequence with the utmost care "Goodness you are just covered in glitter!" She replied with the sweetest little giggle, "Just like you!" I didn't think I could be as sparkly as she was, I mean I was mainly just passing glitter to the kids and maybe drawing hearts, flowers, stars, fish, or whatever was requested (one girl asked me to draw her a rose. Now I do paint and sketch and have even sculpted before, but glitter pens don't really offer the same control as most mediums... I had to ask her if she would be okay with a tulip. Once I told here that a tulip is a really pretty flower from Holland and that they can be red, pink, yellow, well just about any color, she decided a tulip would be okay if I drew it's leaves too). I had done my best to steer clear of the loose glitter, so I figured I should come out of this maybe not glitter free, but with limited added sparkle. I didn't really think much of it other than to exclaim that I was glad we were not finger painting then!
Around 4:15 I was done with my craft table duties so I decided to wander around the festival(me wander? I know that never happens now does it dear reader?). I was ravenous since I hadn't eaten since around 10am so I found the shortest line and ordered some curried goat. I had never had curried goat before, well at least not that I know of. I was alright, tasty, but a little fattier than I like. I also walked about to get a few photos for our office newsletter, since we try to cover as many festivals as we can each quarter. I wish the international events could get more coverage, but the news crews just don't care until people get sick, faint from the heat or some other calamity otherwise befalls the event (we won't pull out my news soap box here). It really was a beautiful day with so many different people out representing all walks of life with our gorgeous skyline as the back drop.
When I finally got back to my car several blocks away I had just enough time to drive home, walk Bean, and then head back into town for a friend's birthday party. When I got home I tried to shake as much glitter out of my clothes and hair and wiped down with a washcloth. I just didn't have time to take a full shower. When I arrived at my friend's Birthday party I was still coated in glitter. So much show that at one point one person greeted another friend by saying "I see that you've already said hi to Alexis," while noting the glitter that had rubbed off on him. I wash just so happy that this party was mellow. I was pooped. I was still starving. All I wanted was cake and a martini (made with proper gin not a stupid vodkatini people!). I wasn't supposed to have either since I am watching what I eat, but I had a half of someone else's cake. Oh how divine chocolate cake is when you are not supposed to eat cake! I actually don't like chocolate cake. I like red velvet best, which is technically a kind of chocolate cake... but better. Great now I want cake... Anyhow. It was a great party. We mingled and ate and talked and looked at catalogues. The birthday boy opened gifts and cards and then a bunch of us ended up on the front porch. A few choice remarks elicited some pretty biting comments about what I *really* meant by my thinly veiled snide interjection about what two people left drinking in the kitchen were up to. Oh it is great when friends can feed off what the others are saying! All in all it was a good Saturday.
Yet I still like it when I can spend a whole day watching Bean freak out about a squirrel on our back deck. That also beats three showers of scrubbing glitter out of my hair and off of my skin.
Last weekend I volunteered at the Caribbean Festival. The local leaders of the cultural groups in town have found out that I have a really heard time turning people down when I know how much help they need. Every organization in town it seems knows that they can ask me to stage manage, edit press releases, track down missing contest judges, set up tables, take photos, design posters, or to do one of a million other things that others have said they will do but at the last minute never got around to doing. I can't say no. I want them to have successful events, I want people in town to see that we really have a diverse population from all over the world here. Oh and I am on a personal mission to never hear the people I associate with say, "There is nothing to do in this town." Even if you've exhausted the bar and club scene, seen all the museums, attended all the plays and concerts, there is still... well that is a separate blog/rant.
Anyhow last weekend I drove around Elizabeth looking for a place to park, rushed to Independence Park to find the volunteer gazebo, then got my assignment. I was to be working the kids craft table. Oh let the fun begin! I am not being sarcastic. I love kids. I love crafts. Above all else, the craft table was in the shade! Score!
So after shooing multiple adults away and pointing out that the picnic tables in this area were reserved for children and setting up the tables with art supplies I was ready to spend a couple of hours watching budding artists express themselves by coloring Flags from Caribbean Nations and making masks to celebrate this little mid-summer carnival. I was really happy not to be in charge of the bounce house or the games. Even when the tables got crowded and I was rushing form one to another to make sure everything was running smoothly. What made me most happy was to see that some parents still care how their kids are being raised. In fact a large chunk of my faith in parenting was restored. I've often seeing children running a muck in stores screaming, throwing tantrums and parents not giving a hoot about their child's ill behavior. But last weekend, I saw some of the most well behaved children. Kids where waiting their turn, asking if they could please have the blue glitter pin and would sweetly ask if they could have the other blue glitter pen too. The called me Miss or Ma'am and would say excuse me when trying to get my attention from another child. It was marvelous. They were genuinely interested in what was going on asking questions, wanting to know how to make the glitter in the shaker stick to the mask, can they have feathers for their mask, is it okay to leave it at the table until it dries? It was wonderful to hear all those please and thank yous.
Each little kid had their own way of doing thing. some wanted to do everything on their own and would have a scattering of media all over their project, glitter, marker, feathers, one child even glued a small prize from the game section to her creation. Others want their mothers to help and then some wanted me to help, but would get made if mom or an older sibling meddled with their art. Pink, Purple and blue feathers were the most requested, though just about every child tried to put the giant red feathers on the mask first, but when they wouldn't stay the smaller ones would only do if they were pink, purple or blue. One little girl who had to be about 6, wanted pink, purple and orange to match her dress. She was very precise on her design it had to have swirls like the print in her outfit. As demanding as she was, each request was started with a may I and followed with a sincere thanks once she had perfectly coordinated her mask to her attire.
The little boys were hilarious. We had three brothers sit down to color at once. By this time we had sacrificed a prize to become part of the craft table, a roll of pictures to tear apart and color. All three of them wanted an under the sea scene to color, but I could only find one after unrolling about 8 frames of pictures. So I was able to talk the youngest into a picture with a rhino. Then the oldest say it and wanted that one too. I didn't recall any other rhino's but we decided that the one of a zoo with lots of different animals would be just fine. About 5 minutes later the middle boy came over with a half colored-in-the-lines crab and a whale scribbled through with purple on his underwater scene, "My brother ruined it, is there a giraffe I can have instead?" five more frames and we found one. Some of the really little boys really made my day. They wanted to make masks and butterflies and use the sparkles and feathers. Oh! They were just soooo happy to be making something pretty. One little guy just squeezed all the glitter out of two pens and then dumped an entire shaker of glitter on top of that in the center of his mask. Once he was done he thought it was so cool that he needed to make one for his dad too. But this one needed feathers and massive amounts of glitter, because that way it will look like a super hero's mask.
I started the craft table about about noon. A little after two I exclaimed at this one little girl who was glittering and gluing sequence with the utmost care "Goodness you are just covered in glitter!" She replied with the sweetest little giggle, "Just like you!" I didn't think I could be as sparkly as she was, I mean I was mainly just passing glitter to the kids and maybe drawing hearts, flowers, stars, fish, or whatever was requested (one girl asked me to draw her a rose. Now I do paint and sketch and have even sculpted before, but glitter pens don't really offer the same control as most mediums... I had to ask her if she would be okay with a tulip. Once I told here that a tulip is a really pretty flower from Holland and that they can be red, pink, yellow, well just about any color, she decided a tulip would be okay if I drew it's leaves too). I had done my best to steer clear of the loose glitter, so I figured I should come out of this maybe not glitter free, but with limited added sparkle. I didn't really think much of it other than to exclaim that I was glad we were not finger painting then!
Around 4:15 I was done with my craft table duties so I decided to wander around the festival(me wander? I know that never happens now does it dear reader?). I was ravenous since I hadn't eaten since around 10am so I found the shortest line and ordered some curried goat. I had never had curried goat before, well at least not that I know of. I was alright, tasty, but a little fattier than I like. I also walked about to get a few photos for our office newsletter, since we try to cover as many festivals as we can each quarter. I wish the international events could get more coverage, but the news crews just don't care until people get sick, faint from the heat or some other calamity otherwise befalls the event (we won't pull out my news soap box here). It really was a beautiful day with so many different people out representing all walks of life with our gorgeous skyline as the back drop.
When I finally got back to my car several blocks away I had just enough time to drive home, walk Bean, and then head back into town for a friend's birthday party. When I got home I tried to shake as much glitter out of my clothes and hair and wiped down with a washcloth. I just didn't have time to take a full shower. When I arrived at my friend's Birthday party I was still coated in glitter. So much show that at one point one person greeted another friend by saying "I see that you've already said hi to Alexis," while noting the glitter that had rubbed off on him. I wash just so happy that this party was mellow. I was pooped. I was still starving. All I wanted was cake and a martini (made with proper gin not a stupid vodkatini people!). I wasn't supposed to have either since I am watching what I eat, but I had a half of someone else's cake. Oh how divine chocolate cake is when you are not supposed to eat cake! I actually don't like chocolate cake. I like red velvet best, which is technically a kind of chocolate cake... but better. Great now I want cake... Anyhow. It was a great party. We mingled and ate and talked and looked at catalogues. The birthday boy opened gifts and cards and then a bunch of us ended up on the front porch. A few choice remarks elicited some pretty biting comments about what I *really* meant by my thinly veiled snide interjection about what two people left drinking in the kitchen were up to. Oh it is great when friends can feed off what the others are saying! All in all it was a good Saturday.
Yet I still like it when I can spend a whole day watching Bean freak out about a squirrel on our back deck. That also beats three showers of scrubbing glitter out of my hair and off of my skin.
Wednesday, June 17, 2009
Ditching Myspace
I've out grown Myspace. I knew it was bound to happen, I just wasn't sure when. I can't take another glittery comment or the 20th run of a high school survey being filled out by my 30 something friends. it was fun at first, creating a profile, taking pride in the fact that I could tweak some code into creating my own layout without resorting to a layout editor, blogging about random things when I should have been reading about international poltical economies. I re-connecetd with dozens of friends cared to the far corners of the globe where only the internet and Coca-Cola connect them with Joe-six-pack sitting here in the states. But now it is just tedious. There are too many falshy whirlly gigs and friend request from "collectors" (you know, those guys that only have girls with big boobs in their top friend lists and not a single picture of themselves). I'm just through with it.
However, just because I no longer update my profile doesn't mean I'm going to scrap my page. Every now and then I still like to check out the bands there. Beisdes it really annoys me to go through my inbox and find messages I can no longer read because someone bailed on their profile and decided to delete the thing. I understand not updating it, leaving a meaage saying find me on facebook, or noting that you've given up technology and can only be reached by way of the post office. I just don't get why you must delete your profile completly.
However, just because I no longer update my profile doesn't mean I'm going to scrap my page. Every now and then I still like to check out the bands there. Beisdes it really annoys me to go through my inbox and find messages I can no longer read because someone bailed on their profile and decided to delete the thing. I understand not updating it, leaving a meaage saying find me on facebook, or noting that you've given up technology and can only be reached by way of the post office. I just don't get why you must delete your profile completly.
Howdy
Oh introductions... Yes, yes, they seem so ordinary and are very useful. Yet, for a certain portion of the population, they are anything but simple. Assuming I'm one in a million, at least 6000 people out there also dread the question "So, where are you from?" as much as I do. In fact, I'd almost rather hear "Ya ain't from around here, huh?" That one is at least easy to answer, nope I ain't.
It is difficult and nearly impossible to pin down ones origin when growing up on the move. I can't say that I identify with the city I was born in. I wish I could. The looks of envy I get when I say I was born in Honolulu really makes me wish I remembered more than splashing in the kiddy pool in the backyard. For a while I used to identify with the place I lived the longest in one stretch, around four years in Northern Virginia, but re-enacting adventures from the Goonies on the "lake" behind our house, really doesn't explain a whole lot about who I am today (maybe just my obsession with pirates and strengthened ties to Cannon Beach). I can just forget saying I'm from my new residential local. No one ever believes me if I say I'm from Charlotte. Not even when I'm not in Charlotte and talking to people who could tell you which state the city is in.
So at dinner parties, mixers and other gatherings where small talk is required I dread being asked this question. Part of the problem is that if I do admit that I'm from all over the place people want to know where exactly and then I have a choice to make. Do I give the cryptic "Oh I'm form all over or no where in particular" to do I rattle off a litany of cities in several sates and a handful of nations. Typically the more cryptic answer leads to the listing of places I've lived. very few people are content with the everywhere answer. Depending on who is present at the time, my list of homes evokes one of three typical reactions 9there are other reactions, but these are the most common). First, there is the overwhelmed look. This person stares blankly as if I was reading from some document with a subsection d, clause 2, paragraph 16. I think they are worried I'm going to quiz them later. I can just imagine it now, "Okay, you have 15 seconds to tell me where I was on December 17, 1987, find it on the map and you get extra credit if you can tell me what the number one industry there is- go!" The fact is I can't even tell you where I was in 1987 right off the top of my head.
The second type of person is the one that, if they are polite, are trying not to roll their eyes as they think, gee look at little miss show off, thinks she's so special just because she's been on a transatlantic flight. This one bothers me the most. I could understand this look if I was bragging about graduating in what used to be the court theater of the Kingdom of Two Sicilies. But this has never come up in regular conversation. typically I just say I've live all over the US and a few places overseas. If asked I say what countries and cities, but some people get all defensive-like after I say overseas.
The third is the person that wants to grill me on every town I've ever been to. I'm glad that they are interested, but sometimes I'd just like to enjoy my 2 dollar Martini (with Gin... I swear if I have ask specifically for Gin again I'm going to scream! Where do these bartenders come from!?) and hear about what someone else thinks about the election protests in Iran or why they like Ocracoke better than Bodie.
Every once in a while I run in to someone who takes it all in stride and says that's cool and we move on to what do you do for a living. However I like the atypical reactions best. The "Did you stomp on the nuts of the bull at the Galleria?" and the "Isn't it crazy that sprinkles on toast is considered an acceptable choice for a grown man's breakfast there?" folks are so much more fun to run into. It usually means that when I ask them where they are from they will come back with APO AE or DC by way of Nambia and with a slight detour in Aruba. Then I feel I've found a kindred spirit. Now we can talk about our favorite places to find shawarma and how crazy it is to see those three wheeled trucks out on the Autostrada.
've been debating saying I'm from the South. I was born in the southern most state in the Union. I've lived in various southeastern states. And even when I lived overseas I lived in the southern regions of those nations. Yet for some reason I don't think answer is going to get me off the hook, especially not in these parts. Awe well, c'est la vie.
It is difficult and nearly impossible to pin down ones origin when growing up on the move. I can't say that I identify with the city I was born in. I wish I could. The looks of envy I get when I say I was born in Honolulu really makes me wish I remembered more than splashing in the kiddy pool in the backyard. For a while I used to identify with the place I lived the longest in one stretch, around four years in Northern Virginia, but re-enacting adventures from the Goonies on the "lake" behind our house, really doesn't explain a whole lot about who I am today (maybe just my obsession with pirates and strengthened ties to Cannon Beach). I can just forget saying I'm from my new residential local. No one ever believes me if I say I'm from Charlotte. Not even when I'm not in Charlotte and talking to people who could tell you which state the city is in.
So at dinner parties, mixers and other gatherings where small talk is required I dread being asked this question. Part of the problem is that if I do admit that I'm from all over the place people want to know where exactly and then I have a choice to make. Do I give the cryptic "Oh I'm form all over or no where in particular" to do I rattle off a litany of cities in several sates and a handful of nations. Typically the more cryptic answer leads to the listing of places I've lived. very few people are content with the everywhere answer. Depending on who is present at the time, my list of homes evokes one of three typical reactions 9there are other reactions, but these are the most common). First, there is the overwhelmed look. This person stares blankly as if I was reading from some document with a subsection d, clause 2, paragraph 16. I think they are worried I'm going to quiz them later. I can just imagine it now, "Okay, you have 15 seconds to tell me where I was on December 17, 1987, find it on the map and you get extra credit if you can tell me what the number one industry there is- go!" The fact is I can't even tell you where I was in 1987 right off the top of my head.
The second type of person is the one that, if they are polite, are trying not to roll their eyes as they think, gee look at little miss show off, thinks she's so special just because she's been on a transatlantic flight. This one bothers me the most. I could understand this look if I was bragging about graduating in what used to be the court theater of the Kingdom of Two Sicilies. But this has never come up in regular conversation. typically I just say I've live all over the US and a few places overseas. If asked I say what countries and cities, but some people get all defensive-like after I say overseas.
The third is the person that wants to grill me on every town I've ever been to. I'm glad that they are interested, but sometimes I'd just like to enjoy my 2 dollar Martini (with Gin... I swear if I have ask specifically for Gin again I'm going to scream! Where do these bartenders come from!?) and hear about what someone else thinks about the election protests in Iran or why they like Ocracoke better than Bodie.
Every once in a while I run in to someone who takes it all in stride and says that's cool and we move on to what do you do for a living. However I like the atypical reactions best. The "Did you stomp on the nuts of the bull at the Galleria?" and the "Isn't it crazy that sprinkles on toast is considered an acceptable choice for a grown man's breakfast there?" folks are so much more fun to run into. It usually means that when I ask them where they are from they will come back with APO AE or DC by way of Nambia and with a slight detour in Aruba. Then I feel I've found a kindred spirit. Now we can talk about our favorite places to find shawarma and how crazy it is to see those three wheeled trucks out on the Autostrada.
've been debating saying I'm from the South. I was born in the southern most state in the Union. I've lived in various southeastern states. And even when I lived overseas I lived in the southern regions of those nations. Yet for some reason I don't think answer is going to get me off the hook, especially not in these parts. Awe well, c'est la vie.
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