but he spoke braid scots, when he courted me

Today's Smashing Story: Is a NYT piece about an online store retailer whose business strategy is to be rude to his customers. No, not silly Dick's Last Resort rude – more like Hannibal Lecter, graphically threatening emails, 3 am phone calls, messages with photos of the customer's house, rude.

After initially hiring a company to post positive reviews about his site to clear its image, Vitaly Borker discovered that negative reviews were actually more helpful to his revenue – the reviewers negative comments and links caused his site to be placed higher in Google search results, attracting more customers.

Or, as the article quotes him: “I never had the amount of traffic I have now since my 1st complaint. I am in heaven.”

I'm wondering if this guy has an extreme form of Empathy Deficit Disorder, or if he's a psychopath, because I'd like to think that most people wouldn't inflict severe psychological damage on strangers without some sort of mental issue.

I don't really buy into EDD – I think it's not a disorder and not necessarily a "childhood" thing. It's probably a symptom of lots of different conditions (possibly including certain personality types).


**

I had a friend who had a "one date" policy. Basically, she would go on one date with any guy, the rationale being that everyone deserves a chance to prove himself. This made for some interesting stories, and a bunch of 2nd date rejections.

I do not have this policy.

If I know I'm not interested, why waste his time and money? If he's somehow going to change my mind, I doubt one date would do it. Maybe if he wrote me a symphony. Someone once told me that upon meeting a guy, a girl immediately knows if she would ever date him. I think, on a subconscious level, this might be a fairly accurate generalization. This doesn't mean she will immediately say yes, but she might eventually agree to seeing a guy who is on the subconscious "possible" list. Guys who are initially placed on the "never" list, have an extremely slim chance of getting off of it.

And guys who try to pick you up after meeting you once? Personally, not interested. I, and many girls I know, have what I call a "context complex." We need a context – we need to have hung out a few times, shared a class, work together, etc. and gotten to see you interact in a few situations.

"I understand the courage it takes to walk across a room and try to generate a relationship out of thin air," (Hitch), but I'm not going to date a giant question mark. Even a cute one. A company won't hire an employee without asking for references and doing a background check – think of context as a relationship background check (seeing as it would be unromantic to literally ask for references.)

Naturally, all of the above spiel is based on me/my friends, and it's probable that many girls would differ in opinion. Also, I'm perennially single, so mine may not be the best approach out there.

Maybe when I'm 34 and scared of being 35 and tired of people asking when I'm going to meet someone and sick of asking the mailman for help opening spaghetti sauce jars and through with folding sheets by myself...maybe then I'll break down and try to fall in love with a guy I've never met and am not interested in. Maybe at some point it has less to do with a person than a lifestyle and a desire to have a warm, living, being to bounce thoughts off of, who tells you he prefers your voice to Barbara Streisand's, and who smiles at you when you pronounce archive with a "ch."

Until then, I'm happy with my context complex.


**
I thought this video was great, mostly because I love minesweeper, but it's such a pointless game.

sexy sadie, what have you done?

Smashing Story: 10 songs you thought were about women. This reminded me of a conversation I had with some guys in high school. One of them asserted that every song was either written about or inspired by a woman. We threw ridiculous songs his way, but he had an answer for every one. (Apparently The Wheels on the Bus was inspired by the menstrual cycle.)

**

Swedes sometimes have a problem with interchanging fun and funny. (Note: I am not making fun of their English – it's excellent and far beyond any of my language abilities). This makes for cute comments along the lines of "I'm having a good time, this is so funny." My personal favorite was in class on Monday when Tristan asked, "Why is it always so funny in English class?" he laughed. "Why is English class so funny?!" I had a hard time figuring out if he was trying to say fun or funny or both. To his credit, it probably would be a confusing concept if this wasn't my native language.

That's what I'm called in the world of ESL – a native English speaker. It makes me feel primal, interesting, specially skilled. Well, not really.

I frequently get in trouble for making up a city or state when people ask where I'm from. If I'm in one state, I choose a different one to avoid detailed questions. I generally pick one that I have some sort of connection with (Texas, Connecticut, California, Virginia, New Jersey, Florida). In Sweden, I tell people I moved here from California. I hope I'm not needlessly upsetting any stereotypes of peroxide blond hair, orange skin, and Valley girl accents. We all need to believe there's a place out there like that.

Today Amadeus informed me she told a classmate she was from L.A. She has never lived in L.A. I'm actually not sure if she's even visited. Possibly once. When I questioned her choice of city, she said, "Well dad's kind of from there." Kind of. As in, he was born in Coronado and then grew up overseas.

So I'm thinking, as long as we're lying we might as well pick a new country. Not that I'm unpatriotic – it just seems easier and would save stereotypes. Being American is like having an unauthorized biography about yourself. There are lots of truths, lots of twisted truths, a few outright lies, and people assume they know something about you before talking. Of course other countries have reputations – but their books don't sell as well (less war, money, power, scandals, etc.).

OK so I'm being silly. Prejudgment – that's life. People assume they know something about you based on your shoes, the set of your shoulders, the size of your phone. And maybe it's good to have a base to build on (or rebuild as the case may be.)

looks like you're not happy, 'less I open a vein

I need to start making friends without addictions.

Today I visited Scrap Happy Chelsey (don't click if you don't want to get really hungry)at her wonderful red home in Nacka. I will probably refer to her as ScrapCrazyChelsey – SCC – from now on. She. Is. Scrap. Crazy.

Five years ago – after relentlessly teasing her friends about their hobby – SCC made her first scrapbook, preserving memories and moments from her wedding. She was hooked. She kept scrapbooking, started her own business selling supplies online, ran monthly crops, and attended weekend retreats where they powernapped in lieu of sleeping.

In Sweden, she has a room dedicated to the hobby. It hosts shelves and cabinets of supplies – papers, tools, punches, kits, etc. Now I've caught the scrapbooking fire, and am mentally planning an ambitious Facebook photo transference project.

Smashing Story: Apparently the U.S. is spying on Sweden. Well, that isn't true – a disgruntled Norwegian worker accused the U.S. Embassy of spying (really?) in Norway, and Scandinavia generally runs on a "buy one, get all free" policy.

**

Life Advice: When you turn 20, your mother will start thinking about grandchildren.

My mother didn't strike the genetic lottery with me. She, the diplomat's wife with a fondness for afternoon tea, has always had difficulty with me. As a child, I would wiggle and whine when she brushed my hair, and I had a a complete disregard for clothing (only noticing it when it hindered running/playing in dirt or with tadpoles).

"Dress to impress. You're on the market."
"I'm not a slab of meat for sale."

These are the types of conversations we have. Scintillating, I know.

**

Have you heard about the leprechauns?
Favorite part: 10 seconds in; the expression on the male anchor's face.

silently your senses abandon their defences

Smashing Story: Awkward – TV hostess on live TV announces the wrong Australia Top Model winner.


**

Silence. Solitude. Reflection. Time.

I've never really felt a need for time. In my current, vaguely employed state, this might not be surprising information. But you'd be surprised how much there is besides "employment" to fill my life – reading, writing, socialization, photography, cooking, music, etc. Actually, you probably wouldn't be surprised, because it seems to be pretty common to have a need to fill in possible blank spaces.

For me, high school was about joining a million clubs/groups/sports, thriving on the input, socialization, and knowledge from each. I'm not exaggerating – my life sounded like a somewhat desperate college entry essay – MUN, band, choir, softball, soccer, basketball, plays, talent shows, fashion shows, student council, piano, youth group band, yearbook, all accompanied by constant reading and an active social life.

People who stressed about time always puzzled me, and when someone said they couldn't go out because they didn't have time, I generally assumed they didn't want to – after all, there is always time for the things that are important to you; and there is always so much time.

I still think that people will always make time for things that are important to them. I just think that they should reflect more on their choices of "things of importance." (And when I say "people," I mean "me.") Perhaps time isn't as bountiful as it appeared to my 17-year-old self; not when using it properly.

**

In Lifegroup tonight, one of the girls spoke about how solitary reflection can be scary because there are certain things that you might not want to confront. We spoke of God's whispering voice and the importance of stillness.

These are jarring ideas, considering the mayhem of 2010 living; traffic, radios, television, kjhagjhfdkjfhgjskdhgklj.

**

Sometimes, when I'm walking alone, I look nervously over my shoulder and quicken my pace. I then look back again, and walk even faster. This makes me feel like I'm in a John Grisham novel, or Erin Brockovich. The girl with the pearl earring, maybe. (She and Erin Brockovich share a blurry space in my mind.)

It also appears to make the people behind me uncomfortable. Casualties happen.

i'm in the corner

Nebula (National Geographic Photo).

I remember the first time I saw photos of nebulae, I couldn't believe that something so wonderfully colorful and beautiful was part of our universe. They looked like photoshopped images from an art show. I suppose this was a funny reaction considering the beauty in nature all around me.

Smashing Story: Nine day long traffic jam in Beijing. And people complain in LA...

Simply Sweden: Parking here is expensive. It makes me appreciate the "Free Parking" space in Monopoly which I had always thought of as no big deal. (Okay, house rules sticking $500 and all Chance/Community Chest fines made it a biggish deal.) Free parking is a big deal here though.

A couple Swedish Road Rules:

– Pedestrians always ALWAYS have right of way. The minute a pedestrian looks like he/she is about to step into the Zebra crossing, you must stop. The fines/repercussions are serious.

– Drinking and Driving is hardcore. BAC level is .02. (In the States it's .08). That means, a girl, I probably have to wait a couple hours after a glass of wine before driving. Penalties are severe (depending on BAC levels, suspension of driver's license, imprisonment, etc)

Though apparently being imprisoned in Sweden is a sweet deal. (That's where Saddam Hussein wanted to be interned.)

have you quit doing time for me?

Today's Smashing Story: Is actually mainly a series of vivid photographs from "failed" states. Does labeling over 60 countries as 'failed' "remove the legitimacy of the label" or is it simply the truth?

If everyone is weird, is there a need differentiate between "weird" and "normal"? Everything is made of matter and we still define it. Do these three examples relate?

**

Undeleted Texts: Today's theme is foodish.

"Sandi just laughed so hard she literally threw up."

This one was three years old, and, if I remember correctly, sent out of the blue. (Ie. I didn't send some terribly witty text that made her laugh.:))

"Never eating your clam sauce again."

This one was from my darling brother who has, in my opinion, a weak constitution, as evidenced by the fact that my clam sauce wreaked havoc on nobody else's stomach.

**

Facebook Find: A status with a few comments.

Just saw a blind man with loads of tattoo's, why would you get them if you can't see them? I thought they hurt... I'm very perplexed lol

1) How do you know he's 100% blind? And maybe he got them before he went blind?? HMMM HMMM? Lol how far away are you? x

2).............and maybe his dog appreciates art ??

6) why cant a bloke who fits blinds to windows have tattoos it seems perfectly alright to me ??

So...tattoos...If you would get one now, would you still get it if you were blind?

If you wouldn't get one now, what circumstance would have to change before you would? What's your price? If someone paid you a million dollars to tattoo a picture of something ridiculous on your forehead, would you? On your arm? back? 2 million? 3? What about a sentence containing a life philosophy you disagree with?

and if you remember, then follow (follow follow follow)

Last Thursday I went on a DMV rant in the American history class I'm auditing. In my defense, our class is discussion based, and the topic came up naturally during our conversation, so it was fairly contextual. On the other hand, I got quite passionate – to the point where I was almost interrupting myself in my (apparently) extreme need to expound upon the need for friendly service in DMVs. I think I might have also been wildly gesticulating as I diatribed (it could be a verb), but the memory is a bit of a blur.

Basically, a really sweet girl in our class said that she had thought about how she would love to be the one friendly person at the DMV, but then she realized that she would probably slow down the whole process. My response went something like this 1) you can be efficient and friendly
2) the wait-time at DMVs will not be fixed by a few faster people, the whole system needs to be overhauled, restaffed, and given to a non-government agency.
3) (this one might not have made it in – I was pretty big on no. 2) it's their job. if you work in a customer service type of job, part of the job description is being friendly. math is a part of an engineer's job, and a smile is a part of a customer service job. But let's be realistic, right? People have bad days, people get stuck in jobs that aren't suited for them, some people are shy, introverted, etc. Fine, fine, fine. But that doesn't mean you have to be outright rude/mean/vindictive. I'm going to stop now.

Most of the time I refrain from this sort of outburst (especially outside of class), because I respect myself, and it's hard to respect someone who can't control their emotions/tone of voice/body language. On the other hand, it's really hard to constantly squash down my enthusiasms (I'm quite excitable), and passion is an important part of life – and usually a strong deterrent to depression – so I'm trying to find the happy medium (keeping in mind that I don't really need to freak people out with CONSTANT ENTHUSIASM OVER EVERY TOPIC.) Also, I'm not big on talking about stuff I care about and then not doing anything. It seems wrong. But just keeping it inside and not doing anything seems just as bad, if not worse.

blah blah blah

Smashing Story: I visited my mermaid politician friend this weekend, and we hung out with her pseudo Hungarian pal, "Dancing Dan." He's always good for random information/stories, and this encounter was no different. He told us about a news story he had read in which a dog became addicted to car fumes. (With the article was an accompanying picture of a scraggly mutt with patches of hair missing.) Apparently the owner initially thought it was funny, and he would turn the car on and let the dog get its fix for the day. After a while he decided that maybe it wasn't such a good idea, and stopped allowing the dog to breathe in the fumes. The dog then went through some dramatic withdrawal symptoms. The owner no longer questions the addiction, and supplies it readily.

Alright, so that wasn't really an article. Here you go: check this. Everybody needs to know. (Spread the word).

**

On Thursday, I was helping Vivian with her math homework when I heard a little voice coming from the far right corner of the room.

"Miss Stewart!" It was 7-year-old Katie quietly calling me, and there was a hint of desperation in her voice.

I looked up. She was standing in the doorway of the girls' bathroom, partially covered by the door, but not enough to hide the fact that her pants and underwear were around her ankles.

Vivian burst into laughter and I ran over, hoping nobody else was paying attention.

"Pull your pants up," I whispered.

"I peed on them." She was really upset.

"Katie, sweetie, it happens. Don't worry about it. You can't come out like that."

"But I'm going to feel horrible."

"I'm sorry, I know. But it's okay. You have to pull them up. And don't worry about it, it happens to lots of people."

"Even people who are seven even though they're in 1st grade?"

"Yes." I tried to look reassuring.

Yup. So add potty trainer to my list of job requirements. Anyways, a couple of kids heard me say that it happens to lots of people, and made fun of me (along the lines of "how often does it happen to youuuu?). To be fair, I set myself up for that one.

**

This weekend, the mermaid and I feasted on Ethiopian food for dinner and breakfast, and afterward headed to Little Ethiopia to peruse the Ethiopian wooden crosses and buy injera. I then experienced my first Orthodox baptism which included a sort of exorcism, a mini haircut, and full immersion. After the service I hung out with the baptismee's family, which included his mother, a very devout Protestant who had spent her life translating the Bible into Cree, and kept offering her blessings and prayers on our lives. The next day, I attended a Byzantine Catholic pentecostal service which was half in Romanian. All in all a pleasant experience – kind of like visiting another (very religious) country for a few days.

Today's Life Advice: Is for the ladies. Don't ever try to play soccer in a knee length jean skirt and bulgy flip flops. Just don't.

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.

just a picture in a pothole, a puddle in the middle of the street

Today's Smashing Story is for Emma Cole. A 22-year-old was caught smuggling snakes
into Norway by taping them to his body. Underneath his clothes he had 10 pythons taped to his stomach, and 14 geckos taped to his legs (well, why not?).

And our Funky Word is: fugacious. It means momentary; fleeting; ephemeral. Peder got a fugacious thrill as he taped the snakes to his body, which later completely disappeared as he was strip searched.

Hey (hey) You (you) Get into my car!

Today's Smashing Story: An immigrants rights group is upset about one of Target's Halloween costumes. I really love the green card--it kind of pulls the whole outfit together.

here we go again

all the music of the spheres and still it's your voice I hear

Maira: "5th grade math is so hard. I hate it."
me: "Wait 'til you get to 9th grade."
Maira: (rolls eyes) "What grade are you in?"
me: "What grade do you think?"
Maira: "9th?"

This was one of many beautiful conversations I undertook with dozens of seven to 12 year-olds today. Guess I'm not old meatloaf yet, because – yes – I look like a 14-year-old. I know I put the thought in her head, but still.

I'm starting a running tally of enjoyment vs. unemployment, and giving a point to unemployment for this conversation. Current score: Enjoyment 0, Unemployment 1.

Life Lesson: Sarcasm is lost on children. Lost or purposefully ignored. Either way, it's not the best behavioral correction method.

Adolpho (throwing green slimy thing at window): "Can I break the window?"
me: "Yes, Adolpho, I'll give you permission to break the window."
Adolpho: "Sweeet!"
me: (walk away and leave real teachers to deal with him)

Smashing Story: There are "Hitler is still alive" conspiracy theorists out there. Kind of like the Elvis hopefuls but more cynical. My favorite line in this article is: "(This is) the point when Hitler conspiracy theories lose touch with reality altogether." This was referring to a theory that Hitler escaped to a secret Nazi base on the moon using hidden rocket technology. I'm all for a good conspiracy theory, but it needs to be plausible enough to really annoy someone in an argument.

Funky Word: Calumny. It means slander (and so does traducement, apparently.) This word is a pain to say, but interesting to write.

______________________________________________

Something that is fun to do with children is play Taboo. I'll never forget playing countless Taboo games with my cousins and Aunt in Boerne, Texas.

Auntie B: (frantically trying to get my cousin Bridey to guess the right word). Okay, when mommy goes on road trips, she gets really unhappy unless she has...?"
Bridey: Cymbalta!
Auntie B: (faintly horrified) No!

Oh yes, that was priceless.

screwed up eyes and screwed down hairdo

This was not the picture I envisioned accompanying this blog entry. I was looking through my photos for a picture of kids getting up to mischief, and this one made me laugh so I chose it instead. (It took us a looong time to get her up. Ah, coordination.)

Life Lesson: If you haven't been around kids for a while, you forget what they're like.

They aren't human. They're going through a very carefully structured, society-friendly program to teach them how to become human. But until then, they are visitors, newbies, aliens, who are intrigued by the world around them and often don't pick up on social cues. When you meet a rude/bizarre adult, he/she obviously didn't have the rigorous training necessary for entering the world of humans.

To illustrate the importance of child training, I was going to retell the story of a couple who only taught their baby klingon and had it taken away by Social Services (which I sympathize with, as this frequently happened to me on SIMS). I couldn't find the story online, apparently it was some sort of prevarication/myth. (If it's not on GoogleNews, it didn't happen, right?) So I've linked it to a different, equally bizarre, klingon occurence.

Funky Word: Perfidious. It means "treacherous/disloyal," according to Barron's GRE book. Snape's diabolical action was perfidious in every sense of the word. (Go read book 6 and 7 to check veracity).

Smashing Story: A carrier pigeon is faster than internet in South Africa. Basically they tied a data card to a pigeon's leg and sent it to another city, where the information on the card was downloaded. The entire pigeon process took a couple hours (including an hour of flight). Telkom, the internet carrier, had only downloaded 4 percent of the information in this timespan. (This story is a couple weeks old...but so entertaining.)

Quote of the Day:
Joon: He can really cook, can't he?
Benny: Uh, yeah. Although for grilled cheese, I mighta used a wool setting.
Joon: That's what I told him.
Benny: Really? What-what did he use?
Joon: Rayon.
Benny: Mm.
Joon: Silk would have been too soggy. Cotton would have...
Benny: Would have burned it.
Joon: Right. Fortunately, he consulted me before giving it steam. I was four square against it.

–Benny and Joon

This was after a scene where Sam, a quirky Johnny Depp character, makes grilled cheese sandwiches with an iron. It's a terrific movie.


I just realized I never completed my thoughts on children. Basically, two of my roommates are elementary ed majors doing their student hours, I've been volunteering with kids at a local school, and we've all been coming home with "guess what" stories.

Guess what Adolpho did yesterday? He told Ricardo that his (Ricardo's) mom "jiggles." Some sort of "your mom" joke variation? These 4th graders make comments like this and I always want to laugh. I told Adolpho, as sternly as I could, that his joke was inappropriate.

I just need a stick.