Thursday, April 29, 2010

Juliet said, "Hey, it's Romeo. You nearly gave me a heart attack."




My bed is broken and I can't find the hole. So I pump it up each night, and in the morning chunks of my body (ie. my back) have sunk through to the floor. It looks like I am being consumed. Okay, so maybe "chunks of my body" was a strange description – it reminds me of fondue. mmm. But seriously, I feel like this isn't rocket science. There must be a hole letting the air out and I'm determined to find it. (squeezing it and listening really hard hasn't worked so far). I suppose I should be glad I don't have shears instead of fingers because that would make the situation a lot more complicated.

Actually I find that it's a good idea to watch that movie whenever your life seems complicated in other areas too.



Going with my life advice from the other day, I read some of comments below the clip and found these gems:
"Your Edward may sparkle, but MINE has scissorhands."
and
"uggh, i hate how when someone says; "edward"...most girls now automatically think "oh, edward cullen!"...i just wanna scream; "NO! edward scissorhands! not that sparkly, crappy vamp" :P"

**

My friend told me about how she knew a guy whose wife was a terrible driver and kept crashing into other cars. (This is in Oman where you buy your license.) To remedy the situation, he bought her a hummer to keep her safe. My friend ranted about how she's now this unstoppable terror on the roads.

When I first heard this story (before my friend started complaining), I thought that a hummer was a pretty good solution to the problem. Keeps her much safer – a much better buffer. And that's typical me. Typical human, for that matter. We see a problem and try to treat the symptoms instead of the underlying causes. We fix the symptoms up with a shiny new hummer which not only ignores the problem, but inflicts greater damage to everything in its path.

We try the weirdest diets to avoid eating healthy and exercising. We relativise and avoid our personality flaws by watching Dr. Phil, and Joe on the corner. We throw money at people and tell them to fix their lives. We make ourselves sick on materialism and buy new stuff to cheer ourselves up. We peddle a godless spirituality.

And then we tell ourselves that we are this way because of environmental factor A, genetic factor B, and that one guy who broke our trust when we were fifteen and looking for love in all the wrong places. (Yes, yes, that was dramatic. Shout out to TS) We see that our quick fixes haven't worked and despair that true change isn't possible. But I've been reading a book about Nelson Mandela called "Playing the Enemy," and I'm pretty sure that if one man can change an entire deeply rooted national mindset, true change is possible. (Just maybe not overnight.)

Not that I have any problems. But some of you might want to look into it.

Quote of the Day:
Abed: Jeff, I have to make some adjustments to my film, you'll play my father
Jeff: I don't want to be your father
Abed: Perfect, you already know the lines

–Community

Wednesday, April 28, 2010

I don't know but I've been told, if you keep on dancing, you never grow old


There's a little girl at Laurel Elementary School who wears a floor length black fur coat every day. Every day. It's Spring in Southern California right now, and it's warm. But she still wears it over her clothes, day after day. She has disheveled brown hair that falls into her eyes and glasses, and a quietly happy attitude as she walks around in her heavy outerwear.

I brought her up to my supervisor, Alice, mentioning how cute I thought it was that she wore the behemoth manteau every day. Alice told me that it reminded her of herself when she was little. Every Christmas she would get a pretty new coat and it made her feel like royalty. She would wear it over and over again. And I think that's why it had struck me in the first place.

It's a magical coat, a princess coat. I remember how easy it was for objects to transport me to other worlds as a child. I also distinctively remember how this "reality" felt like one of several other very real options. Book world, dream world, and thought world all competed for attention, but in the end this world turned out the most persistent. It seems like a stream of truth ran through all of them, and they were all a matter of sparks going off in my head, so I suppose the blur isn't too surprising.

**

3 strangers made my day today by acknowledging my existence.

The first was a late 20's mid 30's construction worker who smiled and said hi to me even though I was wearing my ipod and walking quickly (late...)

The second was a 3rd or 4th grader who ran up and threw her arms around me as I was sitting, correcting a test."Bye," she said, and turned and ran out of the homework room. I barely had a chance to respond with a positive "Bye!" as she disappeared. I don't even know her name or if I've actually interacted with her before.

The third one was another girl, maybe 12 years old, with a group of friends outside the junior high by my apartment. She waved at me with a huge grin on her face and shouted hello. Again, I had my headphones on.

All that to say, go yell at and hug a stranger tomorrow. It might just make their day. Or it might get you jailed.

Today's Article is entitled: "It's a sad day for happy meals in Santa Clara County."
Read it if you like, I mostly liked the headline.

Work itself was a tad depressing. My six year olds were talking and it went something like this:

Katie: How come your parents don't live together?
Evan: I don't know.
Katie: Don't they like each other?
Evan: I guess not. They always fight.
Katie: Mine fight all the time too.
Evan: Do they live together.
Katie: Yeah, but they fight all the time. I don't like it. (she sighs.)

I suppose I shouldn't still be bothered over this sort of thing, but they're just so young.

And then later Brian came over...
Brian: Miss Stewart, what's boarding school?
Me: Why do you want to know?
Brian: Just tell me.
Me: Go look it up.
Brian: It's not for homework, just tell me what's boarding school?
Me: It's a place parents send kids when they don't want them anymore.
Brian: (weird look on his face. he's almost positive I'm kidding.) No it's not.
Me: Why?
Brian: I might go there next year.
Me: Oh. Well, it's like a school that you can live at.
Brian: Do they have T.V.'s
Me: Probably.


So I kind of botched that conversation. Definitely hoping I don't get any angry parent letters (although seeing as I've made it this far, I'm hopeful.)

I fell in love with Andrew all over again today. He came over asking me to give him a spelling test and I told him I was busy, and gestured at the pile of items I had to mark.

Me: I'll give you the test when I'm done.
Andrew: Please remember. (yeah, he's dealt with me before.)
Me: Okay, I'll try to remember.

And then,
then he started singing "Try to remember" as he walked away. I almost had a conniption fit from the excitement.

Tuesday, April 27, 2010

Please don't you be very long




Today I wore a red Indian tunic type thing that I got in Egypt. It was pretty much the center of all my conversations at the tutoring center. (Oh and it doesn't really look like the above picture, but I'm too lazy to take an actual picture.)

"Miss Stewart!!! You look pretty all in reeeeed!" shouted Hannah as I walked in. She is always telling me this sort of thing. She is definitely one of my favorites (not just because of the constant compliments...I'm sure she has other qualities.)

And then, an hour later, came my favorite conversation of the day. Nathan Vo – not nefarious Nathan, a different one – looked at me and asked me very seriously if I was wearing Satan red.

"What?" I felt like I was missing something.
"Is that Satan red?" he was smiling, intent on getting an answer.
"Are you color blind?" I didn't know what else to say.
"Is it Satan red?" he insisted, ignoring my question.
"
Satan red? I don't know." At this point he realized that I found his question bizarre.
"Well, what does "s" "a" "t" "i" "n" mean?"
"
Satin? Nathan, satin is a type of material."
"Ohh. Okay, I thought it might be like the red you're wearing."
"No. This isn't satin."
"Oh. Okay." He went back to his work. I felt strange.

Other notable red tunic comments:
"Miss Stewart why are you wearing red?"
"Why aren't
you wearing red, Jason?"
"I am!" (He was.)

Andrew: Miss Stewart! Why are you wearing an Indian shirt if you're Arabic?

Andrew also asked me if I knew how to text. I gave him a withering look.
"What do you think?"
"Well last time I asked you, you asked me how old you looked."
"Oh...did I?"
"Yeah, you did."
"Well, how old do I look?"
"But I don't just want to text. I want to know all the abbreviations and slang and emoticons. You know, the little smiley faces."
"I know what emoticons are, Andrew."
"Yeah, well no one I know will teach me."
"What problem do you need help with?" I asked, glancing at his math homework.

It's so nice to have that line as a guarantee subject change. Because when you're technically never supposed to be having a casual conversation with someone, it's really easy to have an out. I'm still trying to implement this in my everyday life:

Man at gas station: Will you go out with me sometime?
Me: Have you finished your reading?

Okay, so it needs some polishing, but I think it'll be life changing.

Today's Article was shown to me by my friend Edmund who has a secret blog which he is unwilling to share with anybody. I don't actually believe it exists. The article, however does – it's about how blogging is good for your health. Like, cancer healing good for your health.

"Research shows that it improves memory and sleep, boosts immune cell activity and reduces viral load in AIDS patients, and even speeds healing after surgery."

So add that to your cheerios diet.

**
Two of my four readers happen to be named Emma. This is rather unfortunate, and I've been getting confused because both of you apparently channel your real life sarcasm onto the internet very smoothly.

Also, I've noticed an "M" theme to the places my family frequents and lives. Morocco, Michigan, Missouri, Montana. (Okay, so Montana isn't completely legit – we all have t-shirts from there!)

**

Quote of the Day:

"I never liked jazz music because jazz music doesn't resolve. But I was outside the Bagdad Theater in Portland one night when I saw a man playing the saxophone. I stood there for fifteen minutes, and he never opened his eyes.

After that I liked jazz music.

Sometimes you have to watch somebody love something before you can love it yourself. It is as if they are showing you the way.

I used to not like God because God didn't resolve. But that was before any of this happened."

– Don Miller, Blue Like Jazz

I really like Miller's writing style. I also like that this quote reminds me of "About a Boy" when Hugh Grant complains about Marcus and his mum closing their eyes while singing "Killing Me Softly." And then later he ends up onstage singing it – far too long – with his eyes closed. Beautiful.


Monday, April 26, 2010

better luck next time

This morning I thought I'd learn a little Swedish to ease my transition. I searched "Swedish lessons" on Youtube, and the first promising video was entitled "Mastering Swedish Part 1." This started confusingly but hopeful – a voice saying to repeat a sentence in Swedish. Then another, strange voice replied to the recording, desperately saying "No, no." Of course the video turned out to be a man making fun of learning Swedish. Leading me to today's life lesson:

Life Lesson: When searching for a video on Youtube, always read some of the comments at the top to get a feel for whether it is serious or not. Had I read all the comments talking about how funny it is, I probably would have moved right along. (After watching it of course.)

Today is a joyous day. Mark it down, for I am giving you not one, but two life lessons. Here's the second:

Life Lesson #2:
Old Navy closes at 9.0o pm. Every day. Or the one in Brea does anyway. I'm on a clothing hunt for Will (who is the only person who would ever ask me such a thing), and was thwarted in my attempts to shop for him last night. So I ranted about American stores shutting too early – side note, most Americans don't like it when you rant about their culture; that's their territory – and how everything was open much later in the Middle East. I neglected to mention that in the most of the countries I grew up in
everything closes between 1 and 4 every day. Probably a little more aggravating on some levels.

Seek ye first

"Seek ye first the kingdom of God and his righteousness. And all these things shall be added unto you." Matthew 6:33.

We sang this song at church today and I was reminded of:
a) how beautiful it is
b) how unobtrusively important it is
c) growing up singing it

Tonight I read the first half of Blue Like Jazz, by Donald Miller, which I'm immensely enjoying and connecting with a little too much. Miller has a lot of truths and insights, many of which I've thought about/discussed, but he's packaged them in a very approachable and revealing way. (Similar to Lewis in some ways. Not in others.) I always enjoy rediscovering truth that I take for granted – but I also find it very frustrating; can't I just learn something once and retain/appreciate forever? Must everything be so cyclical?

This writing has veered.

Today's Quote:
"I maintain that when brought out into the daylight these two things look altogether strange and unique; and that it is only in the false twilight of an imaginary period of transition that they can be made to look in the least like anything else.

The first of these is the creature called man and the second is the man called Christ."

-Chesterton, The Everlasting Man

Friday, April 23, 2010

Welcome you, Egypt


Luxor

As the transfer bus left my airplane and approached the arrivals terminal at Cairo International Airport, I smiled, feeling a sense of peace at the culmination of a 15+ hour voyage, and a growing anticipation at the prospect of arriving at what was to be my home for the next two months.

My family had moved to Egypt during my sophomore year in college, and I had visited the past three Christmases. Now it was May 2009, and I was embarking on a summer of firsts: my first summer in Egypt, my first real living experience in Egypt, and my first forage into the working world of adults.

I waded through the swarming sea of people just inside the airport’s sliding glass doors, searching for the embassy expediter holding a sign with my name on it.

“Miss Siobhan Stewart” It was the first time they’d gotten the spelling right. He was standing in a group among other men with signs; I walked over and greeted him, raising my voice to be heard. This was where it began: the crowds, the jostling, the staring, the endless span of faces.

“Welcome you, Egypt,” he smiled. It was a phrase I would hear often, despite attempted explanations that I had been here before.















Temple in Luxor

At around 31,580 people per km², Cairo is one of the most densely populated cities in the world. As the population increases, so do the heights of the myriad apartment buildings – if ground space is limited, airspace will have to work. All too often, building codes are dismissed with a bribe, and huge sections of the jammed, unending buildings are disasters waiting to happen.

Bribes are commonplace in Egypt, indelibly woven into the system as a misguided fix to the extreme dichotomy between poor and wealthy. In the same way that tips are assumed in the salaries of servers in the States, bribes and “tips” in Egypt are important supplemental income to an impoverished nation.

“Tips” are expected for every assistance: givingdirections, taking a picture for you, “helping” you find a taxi – almost any interaction. Using a toilet (hamam) in any building (museums, airports, etc.) will inevitably begin with a tip to the man or woman holding the toilet paper.


Being constantly badgered for “baksheesh” (tips) was initially frustrating; as an expat, I was not a tourist and felt entitled to being treated like a resident.

My father would occasionally remind us of the extreme poverty of the locals who surrounded us — the armed police guards who protected our house were making 300 Egyptian (54 dollars) per month. Most Egyptians made much less.

“I try to keep in mind,” my father explained, “that when I’m bargaining over a few Egyptian pounds, I’m often making a big scene over about 50 cents.”

My older brother expressed similar sentiments: “I always feel like a jerk when we arrive at our massive, walled house, and I hand the taxi-driver a few pounds.”

The Arabic Language

Still, while there was definite room for generosity, we didn’t let ourselves get taken complete advantage of.

“Eskoon fil Ma’adi!” (“I live in Ma’adi” – an expat-filled suburb of Egypt) I announced heatedly to yet another taxi-driver charging me six times the going price. He grinned and rattled off something in Arabic, exploiting my limited knowledge of the language. I smiled and shrugged helplessly. We bartered a bit more, I in my broken Arabic, he in his tourist-tailored English.

Egyptians always wanted to know where I had learned Arabic, and always told me how good I was (clearly getting carried away in their excitement). I would explain that I had grown up in the Middle East, mostly in Oman and Dubai, and had picked up some Khaleeji (Gulf) Arabic. This information would make them laugh with a new appreciation for my shaky language ability and accent – pronouncing my “g’s” as “j’s” among other differences.

There are many different dialects of Arabic, splitting off between countries and dividing further between regions. A scholar learning Classical Arabic will be understood relatively well across the spectrum, but will probably have difficulty keeping up with the local dialect – however, he/she will have a definite jumpstart on learning the dialect.

A Westerner traveling in Arab regions and speaking classical Arabic is somewhat akin to a foreigner traveling through America speaking old English, with “thee’s” and “thou’s.” However, Classical Arabic is the overarching/scholarly dialect, and isn’t a bad choice for a first attempt at the language. A second choice would be Egyptian Arabic – it is understood throughout Arab nations due to its well-loved films and soap operas.











Tourism Police

But isn’t the Middle East Dangerous?

Growing up in the Middle East and returning to America every summer, I was always assaulted with a barrage of questions from well-meaning acquaintances.

“Isn’t it, like, really dangerous?”

“So, did you grow up with the Taliban and stuff?”

“Do you live in the pyramids?” (I honestly hope that one was a joke.)

The most common question was that of safety, which was incredibly amusing to my family, considering the places we were living in. Anyone who has ever lived in Oman or Dubai knows how safe these places are. Egypt, though incredibly different than Oman and Dubai (pollution, population, history, topography, etc.) is also relatively safe.

My mother, who often lies awake at night when visiting her parents’ suburban house in Connecticut (with relatively high robbery rates), has no problem sleeping at our house in Egypt. Though part of this security comes from huge walls and a personal guardhouse – which, at any given moment, has three young military men with AK 47’s – mostly the sense of safety comes from being in a fairly safe city.














Pyramids at Giza

As a rule, Egyptians are not violent people. Crime, especially violent crime, is low in Cairo, especially considering its population and poverty. Walking around, even at night, is usually very safe. Western girls will often be verbally harassed, but this is something that is often easily ignored. Egyptians will stare, sell, and beg at foreigners, but they won’t harm them – tourism is appreciated as vital source of income for all Egyptians, and there are Tourism Police for further tourist protection at every tourist site.

It is upsetting and ironic to me when the “dangerous” label is applied as a blanket term to all Arabs or Muslims. In my experience, Arabs have always been exceedingly kind and hospitable.














Waiting for our Tour Organizer

On a visit to Luxor, instead of sending us to some overpriced tourist restaurant, our tour organizer, a sweet Egyptian woman in her late twenties, arranged for the driver to drop us at her apartment for lunch. We were dropped at a dusty courtyard, surrounded by beige old apartment buildings. She came outside, modestly dressed with a scarf covering her hair, and led us into her building.

Inside, scarf removed, she sat us down on a small couch, chatting to us with excellent English, as she bustled back and forth between kitchen and dining area.

“I’m a very good cook,” she grinned. “I made some foods that I hope you’ll like.” She had made several American dishes for us – we thanked her though, of course, we would have preferred authentic Egyptian cuisine.

She brought out plate upon plate of bread, chicken nuggets, spaghetti, and french fries. My American friend who was visiting, turned to me with panicked eyes.

“Do we have to eat all of it?” I assured her that there wouldn’t be any great offence if we didn’t finish everything in front of us. The woman’s husband arrived from work, and we began our meal.

“Eat, eat,” they pressed us, passing us the platters of food when it looked like we were slowing down. Sometimes they didn’t bother asking, simply piling more food onto out plates. “Eat, eat.” We ate.












Cairo

There is no other way to put it: I loved my summer job. Working at the Public Affairs section of the Embassy was rewarding, interesting, and all consuming. I admired the embassy’s emphasis on respecting the culture – dress modestly, be sensitive about your words and actions. I also loved working alongside the local hires; Egyptians who helped with translations, connections, and insight into the culture.

A cloud of nostalgia and exhaustion settled over me as I waited for my departing flight from Cairo. I was leaving behind a summer of paradoxes; the tiny community despite millions of people, the laid-back Egyptian mindset contrasting the frenetic barterers, the ancient, beautiful artifacts amidst the dilapidated high rises and extreme pollution.

All of these aspects culminated into an unforgettable experience, and combined they had truly “Welcome me, Egypt.”


President Obama's 2009 visit

Tips for living in Egypt:

-Dress modestly, especially women. Egypt is Muslim country; you already attract attention as a foreigner, don’t negatively add to it.

-Lucille’s Burgers in Ma’adi: Scott McLeaod of Time Magazine famously called them, “the best hamburgers in the worlds.” Well, they are pretty darn good


-Get out of Cairo. Make sure you visit Luxor, Alexandria, and Aswan. These cities are rich with ancient temples, tombs, statues (Valley of the Kings, etc.). A cruise on the Nile (see link below) is a comparatively inexpensive and wonderful way to travel.


-Take a felucca on the Nile. Feluccas are small sailboats which you can rent very cheaply by the hour. It is amazing how peaceful they can be, even in the heart of rush hour Cairo.


-Bargain wisely. If you aren’t sure you want something, walk away — you’ll definitely see it again at another store, and if you walk away, they’ll often drastically reduce their prices.


-Don’t buy souvenirs at tourist sites (the pyramids, museums, etc.). You WILL get ripped off.


-Learn a few words of Arabic. Locals will respect you more, and you’ll fit in better.


-Take the metro. It’s only 1 pound (20 cents) per trip and is fairly easy to navigate. There’s a ladies car for women. It can get really crowded, and is considered unsafe by some, but we used it for a couple years without a problem.


A few links:

State Department Internships:
http://careers.state.gov/students/

State Department Careers:
http://careers.state.gov/resources/index.html

AFS Exchange Program for Students
http://www.afsusa.org/usa_en/focus_on/high_school/26

Nile Cruise:
http://www.nilerivercruise.com/?source=google

Wednesday, April 21, 2010

so easy to say that everything is just the way it seems




Dear Internet Recipe Sharers,

When posting a recipe, please write as though your audience is a) a new cook b) a new English speaker c) below 10 years old. I've grown weary of making up steps between your oh so vague suggestions. Please tell me how much salt and pepper to use. Please define your terms (yes,
all of them). Please do not instruct me to do something "until it tastes right" or looks a certain color. Please please please include all of the ingredients in the list at the beginning and don't assume I have cream of tartar lying around just in case it shows up in the middle of a recipe. I would also appreciate it if you could give warnings - "if it starts to develop this consistency you've gone too far" – like any normal directions (If you've passed Denny's, make nearest U-turn).

In theatre, I was always taught that the audience is fundamentally stupid. You have to spell it out. I think this is even more important in internet cooking, and seeing as this is your playground, I thought I'd send my request out into your space. See, I'm using your language.

Thank you for sharing your knowledge with me,

Siobhan

P.S. And please stop giving long introductions. I don't need to read "porkchops are nature's perfect food" at the beginning of my porkchop recipe. I bought them, I don't need to have their merits extolled to my face. Go join an English class.

**

Brian's back from break and providing me with all sorts of new blog fodder, like his conversation with Miss Garcia today.

Miss Garcia: What person did you choose to do your essay on?
Brian: Islam.
Miss Garcia: Islam?
Brian (obviously): Yes.
Miss Garcia: You chose to write about the person Islam?
Brian: Yes.
Miss Garcia: You can't do that.
Brian: Why not? My teacher said I could.
Miss Garcia: You told your teacher you wanted to write on Islam for your biographical essay?
Brian: Yeah, she said I could.
Miss Garcia: No, she didn't.
Brian: Yes she did!

and on...

Oh and the "your mom" jokes have started. I don't know how we've gone this far without them. What's more painful is that they aren't even very good. So I'm not repeating them here.

**

On the bright side, I've finally chosen a career: Housewife. It's a shame I had to go through so much education before I could make this decision (IB eats your soul, people), but I'm glad I've arrived.

Not "housewife" in the typical sense – no driving children and cleaning – mostly I've decided that all of my aspirations involve me trying crazy business/solo careers that will need financial backing. My parents have gotten over the whole "oldest daughter" thing, so I figure I just need a man to fund me. A benefactor, if you will. Coincidentally I happen to live in a promising area for such a venture: Lala land. So from now on I'll include status updates from my benefactor hunt. So far I've ruled out most of the men on Craigslist (how do I know that's not a stock Lamborghini photo?)

**

An older acquaintance of mine was referring to social networking sites and said something about how all high schoolers have a "Space Page." My mother used to call FB "Facespace," (of course now she has one)...But my point is, these names are way cooler than Facebook and Myspace. Who wouldn't want a Spacepage?

I know I do.

What goes on




Once again, I have gotten an email tip from Amadeus about a man who built San Fransisco...with toothpicks.
Look at the Elmer's Glue in the picture above, it'll give you a sense of how big it is.

He started when he was 17 in the '70s and hasn't stopped. His goal is to blow people's minds with toothpicks, which, compared to others' goals is quite admirable. There are some people whose purpose in life is
Monopoly. Not only are there World Championships every year, but there's some sort of club or union out there which successfully petitioned against changing the names of Park Place and Boardwalk. Pick your battles. They picked theirs.

Monday, April 19, 2010

can you look me in the eyes


Today I decided to buy a car I found on Craigslist. I consulted a male mind (yes, I buy into stereotypes), and called my father. I have now decided not to buy said car. I also have learned several new life lessons, which I will share here:

Life Lessons:
–Don't choose a car because it was made the year you were born. (This becomes more important over time)

–Men love to give car advice. Ask and you shall find.

–They also love to give computer advice.



On a side note, I successfully used a 2003 ID today (I was around 16). This is the easiest I have ever been able to identify myself – they accepted a very old ID issued as a club membership in a different country, wherein I had different hair and a big, disturbing smile (I had decided I wanted my eyes to look bigger when I smiled, so I opened them really wide and look intensely creepy. But happy. See Hillary above.)

Today I failed at some of my own life advice/passed d
own family advice no#1: Never turn down a free meal. I did, indeed, turn down a free lunch. But I felt better when remembering family life advice #2: There's no such thing as a free dinner. (Most Stewart family advice involves food in some fashion.)

**

And I leave you with a picture and email from my younger sister, Emma.



"
this is a real animal. it just grows like this. in the wild. I don't understand it at all. its making me question everything around me."

Friday, April 16, 2010

just for this moment


(click to enlarge)

My kids eat off the floor.

And I get strange looks for calling them my kids. (Not from
them – I don't do it to their faces.) But that's what teachers do, they refer to "their" kids. It somehow makes storytelling easier. And I really shouldn't be teased by my cousin over this – she obsessively caters to her chihuahua, Evie, calling her "my little black person." At least my children have the knowledge between right and wrong, and the language to express it. (Of course, in cousin's opinion, Evie has these skills and more.)

I just looked up what Google thinks separates us from animals and humans, and I found an interesting page. Well, it's not that interesting, but I quite enjoyed number six:

"6. Anxiety over death. Humans–especially Kierkegaard–worry about what happens to them after they die."

Especially Kierkegaard, huh? Not that I'm disputing the assertion, it just seemed like they were going for more general answers. I mean, humans have opposable thumbs – especially Da Vinci.

Speaking of weird names and Google searches, apparently the latest celebrity trend is naming their children really generic names. That way they can't be tracked down as easily as, oh MoonUnit and Dweezle Zappa. I initially found this idea upsetting – I like my world properly ordered, and if I'm expected to mindlessly fawn over celebrities like they're a different species, I would prefer that they have distinctive names to add to their mystique.

**

Back to my children, though. They (or the six year olds anyways) really do prefer eating off the dubiously colored carpet at the learning center. And not on little plastic plates or containers, no, they take bags and containers of snacks and dump them out directly onto the ground. This week they gave up on any pretense of humanity and took turns begging like dogs for each other's snacks. One kid would scramble after another on his hands and knees, pretending to pant and beg for a snack. The other "human" would toss a snack for his buddy to go fetch. Yes, on the carpet. The carpet which has seen stale mushy snacks, various bug collections, pants wetting, etc.

**

A hobby of the older students is changing the names of the desktop icons. One of the kids alerted me to a completely altered desktop, and I had quite an amusing time changing the labels back. The "Internet Explorer" icon had been changed to "Brian is so fat he was baptized in Sea World." "Excel" was now "Daniel Yi likes men." You get the point.

I was telling a friend of mine some of my kids' more ridiculous shenanigans and she laughed and told me that I was the type of teacher that had driven us crazy when we were young. Yeah, probably. I'm Miss Wormwood, Mr. Feeny, etc. It's just not as fun when you aren't directly involved/held unaccountable for your actions. I guess I'm just not magical anymore.


Quote of the Day: "Fairy Tales to rummage sales, we all love a dream."

-Darden Smith, Austin singer/song writer

Tuesday, April 13, 2010

i don't know why you say goodbye i say hello














GLEE. (is back and more dramatic than ever)

This will be brief.

Random sign in Oman that just popped into my head: "Welcome to SAPCO, please come always." I don't actually remember the wording, but I'm almost positive that's what it said.

We were also down the street from a "Typical Dental Clinic" – the connotations of "typical" having been confused in translation. Naturally the "T" was rubbed off and it was simply the "Ypical Dental Clinic" for the 5 years we were there.

The kids from youthgroup came back from a field trip with a picture of a sign reading "Plastic Torture is Forbidden," which was more of a discussion piece than a sign. I think it had something to do with pollution...

My favorite though, was the warning sign near a water hole in a wadi "Diving Accidents are Now Popular."

**

Hairy Krishnmas

While I was in Texas, I happened to be in the hair dye section, and there was coincidentally a sale, and I might have accidentally picked up a box of dark red coloring. This broke my (almost entire) year of fasting from dyeing my hair – but I was actually only a month early, and I gave up stuff for lent, so I figure that bought me a month.

The kids have gotten a kick out of it.

"Miss Stewart, did you dye your hair?" was shouted at me repeatedly throughout the day. I try to avoid answering redundant questions like this (I figure responses only further stunt their intelligence), so I mostly smiled and shrugged.

When nefarious Nathan came in and asked me for the millionth time, I was tired of it.

"No I didn't. Someone shot me in the head and the blood mingled into my hair and created this color."

"Eww I don't believe you!"

"It's true. My friend shot me –"

"It was your
friend?"

"Well we're not friends anymore." and so on.

Daniel told me I looked like Mary Osbourne, many many times. David decided I looked like a waitress and got a kick out of calling me over.

"Hey waitress! What's 88-7?"

Vivian and Charlotte, a set of twins, were shocked. "I didn't see this coming," Charlotte said. "You look like Little Red Riding Hood."

This post is dedicated to my Emmas. To the hair stylist Emma Catherine, who left blondey bits in my hair which make me look cooler than I am. And to Emma Cole, a natural redhead who pulls it off much better. (A natural curly head too, for that matter...maybe brown contacts are in my future.)

Sunday, April 11, 2010

since folks here to an absurd degree...













Once again I find myself returning to blogging about my irrational fear of flying. This time with new justifications. ("Now with twice the servings!") I suppose it's somehow fitting that I would develop this phobia – I without a homebase, I with my friends spread across continents, I with my own need for travel. No solution, you say? Boats, I say! People have been traversing the world for centuries through sea travel.

As we drove to the airport today, I looked at the ominous whiteness surrounding the city and remarked, "You know, weather like this brings planes down.

"No it does not!" my mother rebuffed. "Stop saying things like that!" (She is also, if you recall, the one who told me to stop reading airdisaster.com)

"It's true. Fog like this took out the government of Poland yesterday." (Yes, I realize this was a highly inappropriate comment, but sometimes I get fixated on making my point. I apologize.)

My mother looked around. "
This is NOT fog!" she exclaimed. The rest of the car laughed at this – it was like saying that we weren't in a car, in Austin, in April. Magritte would have been proud. (See above image).

She paused. "It's mist."

Fair enough.

**

On the same airport trip, we discussed the strength of my jaw – a topic I often bring up, only because a dentist had me clench my jaw once and became very surprised. He told me that my jaw muscle was very overdeveloped and asked if it ever clicked. I told him it didn't, and he told me it would probably start, and I would probably develop TMJ.

As I told my mother this story, she pooh poohed the doctor's opinion, and told me he was probably flirting with me. (I must say, there has to be a better way to woo a woman besides telling her that her jaw is unnaturally strong. "My, what a muscely jaw you have, Ilsa. Sam, play that song again!") I pointed out that my jaw had, indeed, started clicking a few weeks later and I developed TMJ.

Her response: "He probably did something to you."

Apparently I get my need to win arguments directly from the tree.

**

Anyways, the flight itself was wonderful except for the first 30 minutes of turbulence. Oh and the TV right above me whose screws and support had come almost completely out so that it rattled and looked like it was about to fall on me the whole time. And the chunks of plastic coming loose on the armrest and overhead compartment. Honestly, if the interior of the plane is starting to disintegrate, it makes me really nervous about the rest of it.

However, everything was redeemed through my delightful seatmate. He was a UCLA grad student studying history, and was wonderfully chatty and distracting. I told him how much I hate flying (which I always do – trust me, you don't want to end up next to me on a plane), and he assured me that "hopefully we'll get through this turbulence." I didn't appreciate the "hopefully" part – I think he's one of those super honest people who need to be completely accurate and he didn't want to be called out later if the plane crashed. Like I would have thrown it back in his face. (OK maybe I would have. Might as well feel vindicated in my final moments.)

I started telling him about the Flight of Doom I was on which got struck by lightning but I didn't know it and thought an engine had exploded and the captain and flight attendants were conspicuously silent. SILENT. After a giant explosion on the wing of the plane which half the passengers saw. Oh, one attendant came down the aisle and nervously looked out the window before going back. That was all. And then Will looked out the window (we were supposed to be landing) and started muttering "We're not getting any lower. We're not getting any lower.)

Anyways, as I told him the story, my seatmate was extremely sympathetic and said I was a real trouper. A trouper – that's right. I told him about a domestic Egypt flight I had been on wherein the planes' interior lights flickered on and off the entire flight, AND there was a giant hole in the glass of my window. (There are two glass panes on airplane windows, but it was still unnerving.)

Then I told him how I had been on an Air France plane the same day another commercial AirFrance flight had mysteriously crashed into the ocean.

I also told him about airdisaster.com, and about another plane I had been on which had the "EXIT" signs light up during turbulence.

I didn't tell him about the Yemeni evacuation where we hoped the South would honor their agreement to halt antiaircraft long enough to let American evacuees out of the country.

I didn't tell him that since watching MI2, I've been freaked out by the "oxygen" masks because in the movie they're filled with poison.

I didn't tell him about my dad's family bribing their way onto the last plane out of Iran before the airport collapsed in the '70s

Anyways, I've realized that though my fear is "irrational," it is not without foundation. That's all I'm saying.

Plus, I'm a trouper.

**

Today's Smashing Story relates to the jaw topic: A man in Georgia tried to eat a giant sandwich only to have his jaw lock in place as he stretched it for the first bite. Click the link, it's pretty entertaining – his family thought he was kidding and laughed at him. They probably weren't laughing during the next 14 hours as he underwent surgery.

Today's Life Advice: The day before flying, make sure you get a severe sunburn on your shoulders so you can really feel your backpack – which is stuffed with everything you used to put in your checked bags – dig into your flesh. This ensures that you are constantly in tune with your luggage.

*This advice directly corresponds with making sure to get skin cancer in your 40's so you can be in tune with your body.


Friday, April 9, 2010

imma tell you one time


I am wary of suspiciously short showers. But I take them.
I strongly dislike lanes that end.
I also dislike the pressure of the "fast" lane.
And feeling trapped in the middle lane.
So basically just hate highways.

The day after receiving my license, my parents gave me the keys to the car and decided I would be the girls' new chauffeur. Flashes of the Blindside crash sequence danced in my head, especially as my 16-year-old sister blasted her hip-hop pop obsession Justin Bieber (who I honestly thought was a girl.)

I informed the girlies that they would need to let me know if there was a stop light or slowing car that I didn't appear to see. (Probably the number one thing you want to hear from a driver...) During my license permit period, I was used to the shotgun passenger giving me a running commentary – "Slow down. Watch your left. Slow down. SLOW DOWN. etc" and was a bit nervous about losing an adult eye.

The girlies reluctantly acquiesced to my request for help with driving, and when I came upon a red light, Alexandra was more than eager to offer advice. We waited a couple of seconds at the light, and then she somberly announced "I think it's broken. You can go ahead and go."

After that I decided that I would go ahead and make the decisions on my own.




Monday, April 5, 2010

hold on to that feeling

I am absolutely, positively, and irrevocably in love with David ?? from the Austin, Texas DMV on South Congress.

Alright, maybe love is a strong word, but people have fallen over worse reasons than finding a DMV worker who is actually pleasant to be around. But I'm getting ahead of myself.

We arrived at the DMV at around 2:30 to a relatively short line on a warm, non-trafficky afternoon. Despite these good omens, I entered with a self defeatist/nervous attitude. I had failed the test three times in two different states( (1)tried to hit a lady with a baby, 2)tried to bash in the car next to me, 3) tried to take on oncoming traffic.)

Anyways, this summer my younger sister had waltzed into a DMV in Texas (a state I hadn't tried) and returned a few minutes later with her license. She, too, had a record of near misses with pedestrians and cars, and I figured Texas was probably the next state I should try – even though it requires parallel parking (unlike CA and CT).

The moment I saw my instructor/test giver, I knew this test was going to be better: He was smiling.
And he was young, chatty and introduced himself, asking my name and how long I had been driving. My mother quickly informed him that I was a great driver but had been living overseas and so hadn't really had a chance to get a license. This was mostly true. He asked if I was good at parallel parking, and not wanting to unravel his high expectations, I answered with an emphatic YES, adding a "mostly" as an afterthought.

The test itself went alright – the instructor was
so nice and so different than any of the others I'd dealt with. He acted like he actually wanted me to pass, and talked me through my nerves. His instructions were very laid back, affirmative, and amusing – "When you're ready, go ahead and take this left turn. You're doing really well. I've seen kids pull out in front of five oncoming cars..." And the thing is, he was just a really nice person who likes to see others succeed. I seriously almost hugged him at the end.

AAAAAAnd now I have a driver's license! WHOO.

Sunday, April 4, 2010

Hear the bells ringing


They're singing "Christ is risen from the dead." Happy (late) Easter:)

Today's Article: Is a New York Times piece concerning the psychology and evolution of reading. It discusses why people love fiction and the "theory of the mind" – why we enjoy understanding others' mental states.

***
If you thought you were technologically behind...

Within the past year, I have met adults who were discovering for the first time:

- predictive texting
-digital cameras
-setting individual ringtones
-what the term "desktop" means

Skill I want:
The ability to make a cake like this:
















Video you MUST watch:

Zack Efron as Troy in High School Musical 2 singing "Bet on it."



I'm still debating which dance move is my favorite...Any opinions? I like it when he suddenly drops to the ground (0:23) and slowly comes up with new angst; but the pounding fist/release action at 0:42 is amazing too...and 2:58 is almost indescribable.

Anyways, to make the video less random, I've looked up some Zack Efron facts to supplement it.
These include:
-his dream job is being a video game tester or playing poker. Because clearly being a moviestar millionaire doesn't let him make choices like that.
-he thinks Pierce Brosnan would play him in a movie of his life. (Really? If we're going older, I would say John Travolta.)
-once, while filming a music sequence for HSM2, a desk fell on his foot and it got swollen. heh.

Quote of the Day:
"
On Career Day in high school, you don't walk around looking for the cartoon guy."
–Gary Larson