Texting Can Be Hazardous to Your Health!!

I love this article. It's full of really great medical advice along the lines of "why reading a book and unicycling can be dangerous" or "why you should face forward when walking down the sidewalk" or "why you should not drink hot coffee and jumprope at the same time..."

Moving, Part IV

Motta Sant'Anastasia. We just called it Motta (pronounced mohtah), and it was a long while before i realized that wasn't its whole name. It was built around a Norman castle - a Count Roger was responsible for that - on the slopes of Mt. Etna (Sounds quite romantic, doesn't it? Living on a volcano? But just wait until you have to hang your laundry out to dry). We moved into a fourth floor apartment (Sicilian movers, like Sicilian drivers, are something else), and as we weren't supposed to drink the faucet water we had to carry all of our drinking water up. I must have run up and down those stairs several times a day, but it was simply the way things were and i counted it no hardship. I would moan horribly today. Nobody lived on the ground floor. Second floor was also an American family - the Whites. I don't remember much about them, except that they had marital issues, and that Mrs. White taught me basket-weaving. I very much enjoyed it and made several baskets, but have never done it since. Third floor up was an Italian family. They were very friendly, and invited us over a few times. However, since we didn't speak Italian and they didn't speak English, our attempts at polite conversation were somewhat limited. At that point in time, we were the top floor, but i'm sure they have since added another level. Our landlord was also very friendly. He lived a block down the street, and was in the process of finishing another floor on his own residence, for his son and family to live. This was not uncommon - most apartment buildings were owned by families, and if they ran out of room they would simply build another floor. Building-wise, this apartment is my favourite of all the places i have lived so far. Like most Europeans, Italians eschew closets, and so we had the most enchanting wardrobes. I have to say that i do miss those wardrobes. They are so much more attractive than closets, and one is much less tempted to simply throw junk in there and lose it. It also gives one much more freedom as to where one's furniture may be placed. If ever i were to build a house, i would have a pantry and a nice large linen cupboard, but no other closets. The floor was all tile - so easy to clean, though chilly in the winter. It was a point of pride between my brothers and i to never wear socks inside. My mother rolled her eyes, but said as long as we stayed a reasonable distance from the kerosene heater, we could be as cold as we liked. There were no yards, of course. But we had a narrow balcony that went around three sides (bouncy balls, as you may imagine, were in high demand), a couple of trees, and a lovely steep hill to bike down. All of the rooms except the bathroom, and my parent's bedroom, had at least one pair of large glass doors that entered onto the balcony, and which were usually covered by persianas (large, heavy wooden blinds that went on the outside) to protect from the rain or sun. And anyway, my brothers and i preferred to climb out the bathroom window. I finished out my second grade year at the DOD school on base, but going from a school of 26 to a class of 26 and a school of over 300 (which sounds small now) was slightly whelming. We were home-schooled the rest of the time we were there. I still miss that place - Mt. Etna and Catania, the gelato truck, the orchards and the aqueducts, the fresh breads and cheeses, Taormina and Siracusa, Caltagirone and Palermo, Erice and Agrigento, the markets and the ruins... We never did find out what our dog thought of those stairs. He jumped off a couch while stateside awaiting transportation and paralyzed his two back legs. They had to put him down, and it was years before we were able to get another pet. However, there were quite a few strays running around - people who would bring their dogs here, and then decide it was too much work to take them stateside and abandon them. We stayed there for just over a year, and then a house opened up on base. UPDATE: Moving, Part I (links to all the other parts available in Part I)

Grow Up!!

I turn on the tube and what do I see A whole lotta people cryin’ ’don’t blame me’ They point their crooked little fingers at everybody else Spend all their time feelin’ sorry for themselves ... You wallow in the guilt; you wallow in the pain You wave it like a flag, you wear it like a crown Got your mind in the gutter, bringin’ everybody down Complain about the present and blame it on the past I’d like to find your inner child and kick it’s little ass Get over it Get over it All this bitchin’ and moanin’ and pitchin’ a fit Get over it, get over it - the Eagles ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ It's election year here in the States. The first one in which i am old enough to vote. Which i won't. I have proclaimed myself officially apolitical during my college years. I'm proud to be apolitical. Perhaps this is rather silly of me, but i've been stupid before. If anyone thinks they have a decent argument to the contrary i'm perfectly ready to listen, and be persuaded. And it's not solely because i am lazy, or because i have completely lost track of which state i'm now a resident of, or because the greatest difference i see between the candidates is the colour of their tie (although all of these things are true). It's because of Hurricane Katrina, a council of elders, my grandfather, my seventh grade Civics/English teacher, and several other small incidents which would be of even less interest to you than these (why, you may ask, if i think these events will interest you so little, are you writing about them? well, i may answer, i've got a lotta work to avoid and i'm desperate). The year i was in the seventh grade was also an election year. Civics was in the curriculum, and my teacher Mrs. Twinkletoes thought she would get us involved. The whole Mr. Smith Goes to Washington principle - don't get me wrong, i love the movie. Maybe it would've worked better if it hadn't been small, private, Christian school. She, along with the majority of the class, supported one particular candidate. One girl stood alone against us, and while we all liked her we all also treated her as deluded. Mrs. Twinkletoes included (i had other issues with her, and i hated to agree with her, but there it was). I simply couldn't understand how anyone could think differently than my father. Anyone who did so must be incredibly stupid, or evil, or both, and were therefore frightening. This whole time, my father and grandfather were also discussing the election, from opposite points of view. They seemed to get quite het up towards each other. This, also, frightened me. I couldn't imagine talking to my dad the way he was talking to his father*, simply over the state of the Union. Over the state of the Bathroom/Laundry/[insert disagreeable task here], well, that was a different matter entirely. The war happened. My father was in the Navy at the time, and i know several other people in the Military. The huge gulf between the information i was getting (and am still getting) from the general media, and the news from the actual soldiers, increased my distrust of any news source i was not personally aquainted with. Hurricane Katrina hit. It was immediately publicized. Everything was the result of a government-wide conspiracy by the other side. Some extremists linked it to other natural disasters such as a recent tsunami, claiming that nuclear bombs set off in the middle of the ocean were the obvious cause of all of this. If only the government was more environmentally friendly, or had given more money to the levees, or had remembered school buses, or had more affirmative action plans, or had surrendered in Iraq - whatever the pet projects of that particular party were. The whole situation was reported as Lord of the Flies-like as possible. It was ridiculous. Even worse, though, were the discussions i came acrost on the internet a few days later. One particular person reported seeing a van pulled over on the side of the road. A mother, with two young children. It appeared they had left hurriedly and it was in the vicinity of Katrina. This person had been going to pull over and offer assistance, but upon seeing the bumper sticker of a candidate they disagreed with, sped up and drove off. They later expressed regret at not running the lady over, or at least snatching her two children, so they wouldn't have to be raised by such a misguided individual. Several people expressed support. Other, similar, stories circulated, and on both sides of the political spectrum. It was too prevalent to be some sick joke - whether the original story was true or not, all the comments could hardly be faked. These people really saw those ideologically opposed to them as less than human. During the next election cycle, a church group regularly attended by one of my family members, met. An ostentatious event! A man stood up and said that he did not see how anyone could vote for an opposing candidate and still remain a Christian. He firmly believed that all people in the other party were going to Hell. Since then i have heard several similar sentiments expressed, also by people from both sides of the political spectrum. My father is a pastor, and while he has very strong political convictions, he takes great care never to speak politics from the pulpit. I have found that he is the exception rather than the rule. The most gentle, generous people i know will get involved in a political discussion, and suddenly everyone is out to get them. Conspiracies worthy of X-files abound and scenarios that wouldn't make the cut for the Twilight Zone are passionately believed. The "other" side is completely doltish, ignorant and behind the times. Yet these same people, once in power, are remarkably clever, incredibly devious, and in control of oil prices, foreign potentates, weather, the courses of the planets and the seasons of the moon. Please, people. Just get over it. UPDATE: The Anchoress is much more coherent on this subject in her post on Obama's prayer. _____ *In case you're wondering, my father and grandfather loved each other very much. They just disagreed with each other's political attitudes and alignments.

ROTFLOL

We were in a hotel room channel surfing when we heard this joke on TV. I about died. My eldest brother and dad found it somewhat amusing, and my mom thought that the funniest thing about it was that i found it so funny. I expect this doesn't say much for my sense of humour. Oh well. Tell me what you think. It's much funnier when told out loud - there's a certain accent, and all that. But this is the best i can do for now. How many surrealists does it take to change a lightbulb? ... ... ... ... ... Yarn.

A Perpetuation of the Blonde Stereotype

I'm working at this historic state park place, right? The first European settlers in the area were French voyageurs, and later British troops who took over their fort and then later moved it to a nearby island. A guy is working admission on the island. I heard this story directly from his own lips, and from my own experience working admission, i find this entirely believable. A blonde woman in her late 30's comes up to the booth. After an exchange of greetings, the dialogue goes something like this... "Is this a State Park?" "Yes Ma'am." "Oh... I didn't know that France had states." "Ummm... France doesn't have states." "Oh! Then ---- State runs it for them?" "No, the park is owned by ---- State." "Oh? So, they don't have to pay rent or anything?" "No Ma'am." "Oh. When did the fort stop being French?" "It never was - this was a British Fort." "So, it isn't French?" ...

I forgot my knitting needles

I have a confession to make. (A completely unimportant, uninteresting, dull confession. In fact, it's not even really a confession as much as a statement. A rather dull and unimportant statement. But i thought it would probably be unwise to start out the post as "i have a dull and uninteresting statement to make." Of course, it's probably not very wise of me to be telling you this now, but i just couldn't bring myself to draw the wool over all ya'lls eyes, or whatever the colloquialism is. Where does that come from, anyway? Back to the statement. It does lead to not quite as dull and relatively interesting statements. Well, it tries to. Sorta. Kinda.) I buy my yarn at Walmart. Sometimes Michael's. I'm cheap. I knit often, but although i started a blanket once (it's about two feet long at the moment), i've never finished anything more complicated than a scarf that spirals. But it's a really cool scarf that spirals. So, here i am, stuck in this silly little "City" that has no Walmart, no Target, no Micheal's, or anything. Well, there is a tiny little IGA. The only place for knitting supplies is a small boutique across from one of the ferry lines. It's teal and green. There's a yard in front - fenced in, white picket. The stairs and the long handicap accessible ramp are also fenced in. Since the yard is tiny, it's already looking rather cluttered. Evidently not cluttered enough, as there are assorted shiny lawn ornaments everywhere. The ambiance is similar to that of Harry Potter's Professor Trelawney. Or that of a crow (or a jackdaw? the bird that is obsessed with "shiny!!"). Inside it looks even more like a bird's lair - a very colourful and expensive nest, and about as unorganized as such a nest would be. The insubstantial-looking proprietor greets me but she's on the phone, so I nod, smile, and duck into the first side room. There is barely room for me to turn around - yarn is piled everywhere - but with the window it is bright enough. She comes by and asks me if i knit or crochet. I say i'm a knitter, though not a very good one. She looks pleased and says she doesn't know how to crochet either. I browse, and pick up a book on crocheting. It's in poor condition, but it looks useful. She gives me approximately 45 seconds before checking up on me again. "I thought you said you didn't know how to crochet?" She sounds startled, almost betrayed. I just say that i would like to learn, and stick my nose back in the book. She won't leave. I return to the main room, and wander around. She stands by the register, staring at me. The next side room is just as small as the first, and without the window. She follows me in and starts dusting, careful to keep an eye on me through the small mirror on the wall. This behavior starts to amuse me. I really am interested in crocheting, so i decide to see if i can find any crochet hooks, and move back into the main room. She decides she has finished dusting a few seconds later and returns to the register. In fact, she never lets me out of her sight again. I had been in there for a total of 20 minutes when i left - which is, in a yarn store, like no time at all. My appearance is far from intimidating. Tell me - why??

Redemption...

and relief were evident in my roommate's eyes when i returned from a library used bookstore yesterday with over half a dozen Agatha Christie novels...

Penguins, Dante, and Pretentions

Okay, so i am slightly obsessed with Penguin Classics. I love the introductions, and the endnotes, and the commentaries, and everything. I also think they smell better than most any other brand. And so i saw Dante's Paradiso - Penguin edition - in the miserable little excuse for a bookstore they have here. (I also saw The Three Musketeers, but it turns out that was a Puffin, and abridged. Disgusting.) I bought it, since in spite of my medieval minor i have never read more than a few excerpts of the Commedia, which is really rather pathetic, i think. And since i read everything else backwards, i might as well read this backwards also. Have i mentioned how much i love Penguin? They have the Italian right across from an English translation, and although my Latin is extremely poor i still find it helpful. And it just sounds better in Italian. Anyway, so here i am, reading the ultimate Romance (or one of them, anyway, though i can't say i'm hugely fond of Milton). My roommate, who prefers to read the Romance novels that are actually in the Romance section (and i mean no slight to her intelligence, though i find her taste lacking), sees this with as much disgust as i view her romance novels. She practically sneered. It was highly entertaining, and i'm ashamed to say rather startling. Isn't that just...odd? To sneer at Dante? Of course, i suppose it is just as odd to sneer at romance novels. If i ever own a bookstore, i will reclaim the word "Romance." Jane Austen, Georgette Heyer, Elizabeth Gaskell, John Milton, Connie Willis, John Donne, Kazuo Ishiguro, Dante Alighieri, C.S. Lewis, Mark Twain, Peter Abelard...

An Entirely Subjective Description of People I May or May Not Actually Work With and Know in Real Life

So, my boss at GSRing is a guy named Ron. Fifties, mebbe? People don't like him, and i'm not really sure why. He's not really friendly, or anything, and often sounds really annoyed. But in practice he has been very generous to me, making sure i have some one to help me, walking me through things several times - i mean, the fact that i still have the job... But a couple of times my other boss has asked me about him, if i think he's mean or a creep. And so have a couple other people. He seems to have a dry sense of humour, but i don't think that can be it entirely. I believe ppl simply take him too seriously. But anyone who can put up with my stupidity and not fire me can't be a complete creep... dunno. I mean, i'm the one that's usually frightened by people, and here's a guy that intimidates everyone else, and i think he's rather nice. Weird. He used to work for the Coast Guard, and hands out lollipops. His new haircut makes his ears stick out and in spite of his height, beard, and grey hair looks like a little boy And then there's Ruth, the lead at the Lighthouse. Late fifties? She's just as reserved as Ron, but has a very friendly exterior. Loves dogs - raises greyhounds. More than one person has commented about how obsessed she is with her dogs, and how weird it is to hear her talk about bitches. Don't see why - just b/c she prefers greyhounds to popular culture and politics... Anyway, i've always found her very interesting. She almost bought a dog named Ella, after Fitzgerald, (the puppy she did buy, a brindle, is Billy, after Holiday, and was flown in tonight if all went well) and we also share aging dog stories. Her husband Art works at mill creek, and her son Vince is building them a new deck. Paints an inch think, manicures, highlights, whole nine yards. Rose is one of the assistant leads. Generally friendly, and resents having to tuck in her shirt. Been here for a coupla years. 5-6 kids, some grandkids. I believe one of her sons is Coast Guard. Peggy is another assistant lead. A very jolly sort of person; reminds one of the stereotypical physical education instructor. Eloise is a housing director here. She is taking classes at a (relatively) nearby city, and also GSR's for money. She has been married once or twice, and i believe has a son that lives in Colorado. She thinks that it's disgusting the way ppl dress up their daughters these days, and agrees that romance isn't all it's cracked up to be. A bit of a nomad, she is planning on returning to Eastern Europe once she is done getting this degree (it's in business/marketing field, as i remember - she had to take an accounting class and she hated it). Gives the impression of being continually flustered, and has a rather unflattering hair cut, although a distinctive (slavic looking) face which could be beautiful. No makeup. John is a nice enough kid - gamer type - who i think might have been trying to start a longterm dating relationship. According to gossip, he tries to date anyone who isn't outright rude to him, no matter if he or she is already involved in a relationship, and can become quite stalkerish. Helen is a pretty blue-eyed blonde. Married, with two young daughters (2 and 4, i believe). She grew up here, went to school in Minnesota, i believe. Has recently been living in Wyoming, where her husband was (is?) editor of a magazine. They are in the process of moving to Wisconsin (which she pronounces wes-consin) this summer. She is living with her sister at the moment, and i believe her husband is in Wisconsin looking for a place to live. Like my mom, she eschews (is that the right word? i think maybe it's the antonym of the word i want, and i don't even know if i spelt it right, but whatev) ownership and hopes to rent an apartment. She got her degree in some sort of developmental psych. Though she grew up Catholic, her husband didn't and so now they are both Methodists (which was, i gather, a sort of middle ground). She is hoping to get a job in the church involving children's education. Mike has a girlfriend in the nearest "city" with a Walmart, whom he fought with over Fourth of July weekend. It's her birthday this weekend, and he doesn't know what to get her. The type of person you can say practically anything to, as long as you don't take anything too seriously. I haven't actually ever worked with Louise, but she's always around. A little old lady, reminds me a little of Murgatroyd from A Murder is Announced. Beth is amazingly ugly. However, she has a boyfriend, and her future expectations revolve around four children she's going to have, the German Sheperd she's going to get for each of them, and the land they will be living on. She is also making a list of every lighthouse in the United Atates, and enjoys reading Michigan ghost stories. She's picked out her wedding dress, and has already started buying clothes for her children (though she doesn't plan on getting pregnant for another four years). My dad thinks this needs a conclusion/wrap-up of some kind. I think it's just a list, albeit (i hope) an interesting list - there's no narrative. Although i suppose i could put one in. What do you think?

The Day I Met Jane Austen

UPDATE: Welcome, AustenBloggers. Thanks very much for coming. I have read a lot of literature, from many time periods, genres, cultures, and so forth. One of my favourite authors remains Jane Austen. As with most such opinions, i am not entirely sure why. As a little child (oh, be quiet, boys - just because i'm shorter than you doesn't mean i can't still beat you up!), i used to hate going to bed. This is now incomprehensible to me, but so it was. My brothers and i would camp in the doorways of our rooms and whisper to each other across the hall, inching as far out of our rooms as we dared, so our parents could trip over on their way up to bed. I always felt especially pathetic when i knew they were watching a movie, or having a party.* I remember at least one time when i tried to stay awake all night, to convince my parents that it was cruel of them to keep me up in my room while they were having fun, since i wouldn't sleep anyways. I used any excuse to get up and join the fun. One night, my parents decided to host a murder. By the purest stroke of luck, i fell off the couch and hit my head on the table. That doesn't sound like much, but when mom found blood on her fingers, they had to take me to the emergency room to get my head stapled. I've still got a scar, under my hair (cool, eh?), and left some authentic blood on the carpet (a clue!). Once it stopped hurting, i thought it was pretty fun. I got to drink lemonade and sit at the table with them. (Where is Jane Austen, in all this mess, you ask? To be quite frank, i'm not absolutely sure, but in the next paragraph or so, i promise.) As i got older, i came up with what i thought of as a very clever plan for movie nights. i would wait, dozing, for half an hour or so for them to get settled. Then i would be thirsty. I would dawdle in the background and eventually, or so i thought, they would forget about me. Depending on the movie, and on whether it was a school night, my parents would put up with this, as i soon fell asleep anyway. I was probably about eight when i used this tactic to watch the last half of Pride and Prejudice. The BBC, Colin Firth and Jennefer Ehle, 6 hour version. Much to the bemusement of my parents, i loved it. They re-rented the first half, and i watched that too. The elegant language, the elaborate hair and dress styles, beautiful houses, and gorgeous soundtrack... In the same way i watched the last half of Emma, and then the first. This was how i learned about hypochondria, noblesse oblige, prejudice, premarital intercourse (i remember the first time my dad explained to me exactly what it was that Lydia had done, and what threatened Georgiana), inheritances, et cetera. We lived in Sicily at the time, perhaps the book wasn't available. My dad printed it off of the internet for me and put it in a black three ring binder. I didn't think it was completely perfect - how could Lydia be the tallest? That didn't even make sense. And Mr. Bingley seemed somewhat of a fool. I simply couldn't like him. It wasn't until we got back stateside that i learned of Northanger Abbey, Sense and Sensibility, Persuasion (my father's favourite), and Mansfield Park. I read them all, but Pride and Prejudice was, i decided, my favourite. I did not understand Mansfield Park at all. Eventually, although i will always have fond memories of Pride and Prejudice, i began to value the quirkiness of Emma above Pride and Prejudice. Emma was made much more aware of her faults than Lizzie, who only suffers through the actions of Lydia and Wickham. I gave Mansfield Park another try - dad seemed to pick up a copy everytime he went on cruise, so there were several copies laying around the house. It began to grow on me. The theatre scene, which for many people is completely ridiculous, was one i could completely identify with. I hated talking to people - still do. Fanny's fear and shyness, and her strength in spite of these, is something i perfectly understand. And while the impropriety of a private theatre seems incomprehensible today, with my own father often gone i could understand the evils of spending my father's money on activities he would not approve of and which would put considerable strain on already tenuous relationships. Other books are cute or amusing or probing or intellectual or adventursome or romantic or realistic. These books contain aspects of all of these, but mostly they are about Life. Her bit of ivory was nonetheless beautiful for being small. These are people one could meet (and indeed, i believe i have met) walking down the street anytime, and anywhere. Reading these books, i get the same feeling of delight as when i was a little girl and allowed to stay up past my bedtime (though without the headache). I get to catch a glimpse of a life other than my own, yet very like it - a "grown up" world, foreign and familiar, in which (in spite of appearances) I might just fit. ...... *a small clarification, as one must be careful - my dad was the pastor of a church at the time, so these parties were hardly raucous. the only alcohol was the caffeine in coffee, and the rowdiest game played was How to Host a Murder.