There came a point, not far one direction or the other in time from that fateful September, at which I was returning to this country from studying in Europe. It was summer, and I had needed a large hat in order not to burn horribly while I puttered about the European countryside. This meant that I was wearing the hat while going through customs; large hats are somewhat inconvenient to pack.
At the customs desk at the end of the line, there was a young man in his twenties or so looking bored as bored can be. I handed him my passport with some moderate trepidation (I always feel slightly nervous when dealing in Official Papers). He took it, looking me straight in the eye, then glancing up at the hat, then back to me. He took his stamp, opened the passport to the appropriate page without looking, stamped, and said, "Nice hat," somewhat derisively.
He then handed my passport back and moved on to the next person with equal boredom.
Saturday, March 20, 2010
Thursday, March 18, 2010
Hurricane
Several years ago, back in my hometown of Hell, a rather large hurricane came through. Everyone was stampeding grocery stores and outdoor goods places like a herd of spooked wildebeest with a penchant for stakeouts. Dutifully (prompted by my mother) I picked up some bottled water and canned food; I then got a couple of plastic tarps and nailed them over the giant windows in my apartment (which I thought was more likely to be useful).
The hurricane was supposed to hit from late afternoon/evening to early the next morning. I went out on the walkways of my second floor apartment during the early afternoon to watch the storm roll in. Then, as the rain started, I went back into my apartment and double checked all the plugs, the pipes, the windows. Then I settled in bed with a good book and read until I finally fell asleep to the sound of pouring rain and lashing winds.
About five in the morning, my cell phone rang. It was still pitch black, and the rain was beating at my windows with greater fury than I had ever seen. I answered the phone groggily.
"Are you all right?!" my mother asked. "It's supposed to be worst where you are!"
I took stock. Myself, undamaged but for interrupted sleep. My windows, intact. My roof, intact. My power, still on, although the clocks were flashing. "Yes, Mom, I'm fine. Are you okay?"
Apparently, about an hour earlier, the tree behind her house had started creaking mightily, and she decided it was safer to hide in the closet than her bedroom, which was rather close to said tree. She'd been up listening to the radio since, and got the idea into her head that I was in terrible danger. After reassuring her a couple more times and making sure she was okay, I went back to sleep.
When the storm cleared, it was obvious that I'd escaped any real damage. I took down the tarps; the windows hadn't cracked. My car was fine; my home was fine; my power was on. The water didn't work, but I'd planned for a day or so of that. As it turns out, I was among 4% of the entire city that still had power, and pretty much the only person I knew in town who hadn't suffered so much as a broken window or a flooded car. My mother's tree fell, but fortunately it fell in the direction it could do the least possible damage: into the pool. I ended up having three (sometimes four) friends over in an extended slumber party to keep them out of the heat.
But the funniest part? I slept through a freaking hurricane. G'night, folks.
The hurricane was supposed to hit from late afternoon/evening to early the next morning. I went out on the walkways of my second floor apartment during the early afternoon to watch the storm roll in. Then, as the rain started, I went back into my apartment and double checked all the plugs, the pipes, the windows. Then I settled in bed with a good book and read until I finally fell asleep to the sound of pouring rain and lashing winds.
About five in the morning, my cell phone rang. It was still pitch black, and the rain was beating at my windows with greater fury than I had ever seen. I answered the phone groggily.
"Are you all right?!" my mother asked. "It's supposed to be worst where you are!"
I took stock. Myself, undamaged but for interrupted sleep. My windows, intact. My roof, intact. My power, still on, although the clocks were flashing. "Yes, Mom, I'm fine. Are you okay?"
Apparently, about an hour earlier, the tree behind her house had started creaking mightily, and she decided it was safer to hide in the closet than her bedroom, which was rather close to said tree. She'd been up listening to the radio since, and got the idea into her head that I was in terrible danger. After reassuring her a couple more times and making sure she was okay, I went back to sleep.
When the storm cleared, it was obvious that I'd escaped any real damage. I took down the tarps; the windows hadn't cracked. My car was fine; my home was fine; my power was on. The water didn't work, but I'd planned for a day or so of that. As it turns out, I was among 4% of the entire city that still had power, and pretty much the only person I knew in town who hadn't suffered so much as a broken window or a flooded car. My mother's tree fell, but fortunately it fell in the direction it could do the least possible damage: into the pool. I ended up having three (sometimes four) friends over in an extended slumber party to keep them out of the heat.
But the funniest part? I slept through a freaking hurricane. G'night, folks.
Tuesday, March 16, 2010
Travels and Tribulations
Yesterday, the Walrus and I were taking the train home from a place so far that we were scheduled to be aboard said train for approximately eight hours. We had a very nice vacation; thanks for asking.
The first absolutely ridiculous thing was that the main announcer on the train was a woman who clearly did not know that her microphone was set to 11. The rest of us cringed every time an announcement was made as we tried desperately to not need that analgesic yet again. At one point, the conductor came on at normal volume and said, "Conductor to mid-train, do you read me?" to which the very loud woman replied, "I hear you just fine, but apparently you're not hearing me." The irony was not lost on our poor ringing ears.
About halfway through the trip home, we encountered one of the larger stops along the way. The train stopped just short of the station, and then the very loud woman began again. "Attention all passengers, please clear the aisle; the conductor needs to come through, and the faster he can get by the faster we can get this figured out." A few minutes went by. "Attention all passengers, please take your seats. We will be backing up the train and you must be seated for us to move." The train began to inch slowly backwards.
About ten minutes of backwards crawl later, the conductor came on. "I'm sorry folks; there's a disabled train ahead of us at the station, and we're backing up to switch to another track. We'll be out of here as soon as we can." Everyone's frowns lessened slightly and we waited some more. About five minutes passed, and yet another voice came on and announced, "It seems there's a disabled train on our track. Thanks for your patience while we back up and switch to another track." Hmm, thought I, the right hand knows not what the left does. Another five minutes of backing, and suddenly the loud woman came on. "I think what's going on is that there's a disabled train at the station. We're backing up to find another track. I repeat, there's a disabled train, and we're backing up to find another track."
Another ten minutes or so went by before we managed, evidently, to switch tracks and get into the station. The ticket takers walked through the train explaining that we had just gotten around a disabled train, and that we would shortly reach the station.
Getting back to our city (an hour late), the Walrus and I then proceeded to get on the local subway. The time there said 12:15. This being clearly wrong, we thought it must have simply been forgotten during the change of DST. We were tired, went home, and collapsed. When I awoke this morning, however, it occurred to me that this could not possibly have been the case; if they had forgotten to switch the time, it would have been 10:15. Some silly station worker must have switched the clocks twice!
The first absolutely ridiculous thing was that the main announcer on the train was a woman who clearly did not know that her microphone was set to 11. The rest of us cringed every time an announcement was made as we tried desperately to not need that analgesic yet again. At one point, the conductor came on at normal volume and said, "Conductor to mid-train, do you read me?" to which the very loud woman replied, "I hear you just fine, but apparently you're not hearing me." The irony was not lost on our poor ringing ears.
About halfway through the trip home, we encountered one of the larger stops along the way. The train stopped just short of the station, and then the very loud woman began again. "Attention all passengers, please clear the aisle; the conductor needs to come through, and the faster he can get by the faster we can get this figured out." A few minutes went by. "Attention all passengers, please take your seats. We will be backing up the train and you must be seated for us to move." The train began to inch slowly backwards.
About ten minutes of backwards crawl later, the conductor came on. "I'm sorry folks; there's a disabled train ahead of us at the station, and we're backing up to switch to another track. We'll be out of here as soon as we can." Everyone's frowns lessened slightly and we waited some more. About five minutes passed, and yet another voice came on and announced, "It seems there's a disabled train on our track. Thanks for your patience while we back up and switch to another track." Hmm, thought I, the right hand knows not what the left does. Another five minutes of backing, and suddenly the loud woman came on. "I think what's going on is that there's a disabled train at the station. We're backing up to find another track. I repeat, there's a disabled train, and we're backing up to find another track."
Another ten minutes or so went by before we managed, evidently, to switch tracks and get into the station. The ticket takers walked through the train explaining that we had just gotten around a disabled train, and that we would shortly reach the station.
Getting back to our city (an hour late), the Walrus and I then proceeded to get on the local subway. The time there said 12:15. This being clearly wrong, we thought it must have simply been forgotten during the change of DST. We were tired, went home, and collapsed. When I awoke this morning, however, it occurred to me that this could not possibly have been the case; if they had forgotten to switch the time, it would have been 10:15. Some silly station worker must have switched the clocks twice!
Saturday, March 13, 2010
Story the Fifth: Lions
A few years ago, my mother and I went on a week-long photo safari in South Africa. There are any number of remarkable events associated with this trip, including the bizarre story of how we came to go on it in the first place. These, however, are stories for another day. Today, we shall speak of lions. We were assigned a group of four other safari-ers, and the resulting group of six was assigned a guide. Our guide, who shall be known as Gerald (needless to say, this is not his name), joined the group for meals to discuss what we wanted to do and see during the day, and would drive the open truck-like vehicle from which we observed the wildlife each day. The 'hotel', for lack of a better term (it was more like a 'motel without cars, but with monkey and attached massive wooden Beowulf-style dining hall'), was located on a massive game reserve - there were no other buildings visible in any direction. Most days, we would drive about on this, at look at zebras, warthogs, giraffes, and rhinocerii. However, it was generally agreed that it would be silly to go on such a trip and not see elephants, and there were very few elephants on this particular reserve, so the chances of seeing one were low. To correct this, we planned a day-long trip the the much larger Hluhlu-Umfoluzi game reserve (this is even harder to say than it is to spell. I've probably done both wrong. Sorry). Elephants there were, in plenty. and Gerald was ebullient. "See!", he cried "You ask for elephants, I find you elephants. What do you want to see now?"
We wanted to see a lion. Even in this larger reserve, however, lions were scarce, and we were prepared to search in vain. We were lucky, however, and got a tip from another truck of tourists that there had been a lioness seen at a particular location earlier in the day. When we arrived there, there was a single large dead tree perhaps a hundred yards from the road, and in it was a lioness. This was fantastic, and we spent perhaps half an hour photographing, filming, and generally being in wonder of the big cat. Careful observation revealed two sets of ears likely belonging to more lions otherwise entirely concealed in the long grass at the base of the tree. It is at this point that things take a turn for the truly bizarre, for at this point Gerald began to climb out of the vehicle. Apparently, he wanted to convince the lion to move for us. When the lofty cat took no notice of him, he tried shouting at it. The lioness, however, was clearly quite satisfied with her location, and simply stared back, no doubt wondering what the silly apes was up to this time. Having failed to produce results by any method still in the general vicinity of sanity, Gerald picked up a rock and hurled it at the lion. I'm going to say that again, because most readers 'weirdness filter' will have prevented them from fully comprehending it. He began throwing rocks at the lion. He had an impressive arm, and the rocks were falling perhaps two thirds of the way to the tree. This was apparently enough to convince the lioness that this was no longer a sufficiently restful sunning spot, so she stood and gracefully and deliberately descended the tree and vanished into the grass.
All I can add to this is the Mythbusters Standard Disclaimer: "Don't try this at home, we're what you call 'experts'."
We wanted to see a lion. Even in this larger reserve, however, lions were scarce, and we were prepared to search in vain. We were lucky, however, and got a tip from another truck of tourists that there had been a lioness seen at a particular location earlier in the day. When we arrived there, there was a single large dead tree perhaps a hundred yards from the road, and in it was a lioness. This was fantastic, and we spent perhaps half an hour photographing, filming, and generally being in wonder of the big cat. Careful observation revealed two sets of ears likely belonging to more lions otherwise entirely concealed in the long grass at the base of the tree. It is at this point that things take a turn for the truly bizarre, for at this point Gerald began to climb out of the vehicle. Apparently, he wanted to convince the lion to move for us. When the lofty cat took no notice of him, he tried shouting at it. The lioness, however, was clearly quite satisfied with her location, and simply stared back, no doubt wondering what the silly apes was up to this time. Having failed to produce results by any method still in the general vicinity of sanity, Gerald picked up a rock and hurled it at the lion. I'm going to say that again, because most readers 'weirdness filter' will have prevented them from fully comprehending it. He began throwing rocks at the lion. He had an impressive arm, and the rocks were falling perhaps two thirds of the way to the tree. This was apparently enough to convince the lioness that this was no longer a sufficiently restful sunning spot, so she stood and gracefully and deliberately descended the tree and vanished into the grass.
All I can add to this is the Mythbusters Standard Disclaimer: "Don't try this at home, we're what you call 'experts'."
Story the Fourth: Trains
I'm a big fan of trains as a way of getting where you're going. They're safer than cars, faster than walking, and much, much freer of irritation than airplanes. Train travel places the traveller in a slightly surreal state of being: the landscape slides by, gradually changing. If you fall asleep, you awaken in a distinctly different place. Some would say an airplane does the same, but honestly one bunch of clouds that you have to dislocate your neck to see through two layers of semi-transparent material look much like any other. In any case, the unique environment of trains can lead to odd experiences, and so I shall relate one such. This event took place when I was about five. My parents and I were taking a cross-country trip, by train, to visit an aunt in California. For anyone who hasn't done this, it's a three full day trip, which means sleeping on the train at least twice. During the second night, somewhere in the wilds of the American west, we were awakened by the train crew with the news that due to heavy rainfall, a bridge somewhere farther along the line had literally fallen down. It was stated that we might well have to get off the train and get shuffled to another on the far side of the ravine by bus, but that we should 'wait and see'. For what, we weren't entirely sure. The mystery persisted for at least an hour, at which point we were informed that the Army Corps of Engineers had been dispatched and that they had erected a temporary replacement bridge. We were unaware that this was a thing, and the attitude of the train crew was less than reassuring. However, after only a few more hours the train began to inch slowly forward. It made its way over the 'temporary replacement bridge' with much groaning of metal, and we were on our way again.
Thursday, March 11, 2010
Not What It Looks Like
Back in high school, I was part of a group called JSA. For those unfamiliar, this is essentially a big political debate mock-government for high schoolers all over the country, thus Junior Statesmen of America. Normally I make a point of staying out of politics, especially in my home state, but that was the club my friends were in, and it was run by the best teacher.
One of the many odd things brought about by this club happened on one of the semiannual field trips to other parts of the region, where we, a group of crazy high schoolers, stayed together in a hotel with a bunch of other crazy high schoolers. It was getting late one evening, and my friend Cello was getting tired. She borrowed a friend's green sweater, which was so huge on her it went down past the end of her skirt, but mainly this looked cute; after all, she was very small. Then she got our friend Ozzy, a big, burly guy with rocker hair, to carry her back to where our rooms were. This involved, at one point, going down some stairs.
Perhaps you have seen where this is going. They certainly didn't.
On the second or third stair down, Ozzy tripped, dropped Cello, fell down the stairs and came to rest directly on top of her. He immediately went into a pushup position and started asking, "Are you okay?" worriedly.
After a few seconds and Cello's sleepily bemused answer that she was fine, Ozzy noticed that people were staring. He was atop her, face to face at the foot of the stairs, and she looked to be wearing nothing but a big green sweater. I think he hurt himself getting off her so quickly. I probably hurt myself laughing.
One of the many odd things brought about by this club happened on one of the semiannual field trips to other parts of the region, where we, a group of crazy high schoolers, stayed together in a hotel with a bunch of other crazy high schoolers. It was getting late one evening, and my friend Cello was getting tired. She borrowed a friend's green sweater, which was so huge on her it went down past the end of her skirt, but mainly this looked cute; after all, she was very small. Then she got our friend Ozzy, a big, burly guy with rocker hair, to carry her back to where our rooms were. This involved, at one point, going down some stairs.
Perhaps you have seen where this is going. They certainly didn't.
On the second or third stair down, Ozzy tripped, dropped Cello, fell down the stairs and came to rest directly on top of her. He immediately went into a pushup position and started asking, "Are you okay?" worriedly.
After a few seconds and Cello's sleepily bemused answer that she was fine, Ozzy noticed that people were staring. He was atop her, face to face at the foot of the stairs, and she looked to be wearing nothing but a big green sweater. I think he hurt himself getting off her so quickly. I probably hurt myself laughing.
Tuesday, March 9, 2010
Monday, March 8, 2010
Tea Party in the Park
Today (yesterday?) was my friend Alice's Unbirthday Party. The festivities were held in a large public park, an Alice-themed tea party of magnificent proportions, costumes required. Naturally, yours truly went as the Cheshire Cat, the Walrus as the Walrus. Before the party, though, my good friend Pixy wanted some help with her costume: the Oysters.
So we got some clam shells and cleaned them out and drilled some holes in them, then strung them together to make a castanet and some hand-coverings. As one does.
So, a Walrus, a Cat, and some Oysters trundled down to the park for tea.
This is a big park, so once we got there, we had a little trouble finding our friends. Luckily for us, as we meandered we encountered the March Hare and a Domino woman. "You must be on your way to the tea party!" exclaimed the March Hare.
"Why yes," I grinned, "we are indeed."
"Follow us; we know the way!" And off they skipped, arm in arm, down the path ahead. After a brief stop to dance for some onlookers, they led us directly to the festivities.
There must have been fifty people there, fully costumed and partaking in such fine activities as juggling, tumbling, and general merrymaking. There were, of course, snacks and tea. We saw the White Rabbit and his lady, Alice; there were Cards with bouquets of white roses painted red; we saw a Jabberwock, who lent her mighty steel claws to the dormouse for safekeeping; and more and more and more. I do believe I might have been the only Cheshire Cat, but that was all to the good. I went over to some friends I'd seen and took out my contact juggling ball, joining their fun.
Not long later, our attention was called by the Unbirthday Girl herself, Alice. She proclaimed that each of the four Mad Hatters must join in a battle to the death - or at least de-hatting - until only one Hatter remained. The rules were as follows: each must grab a weapon of their choice; the fight would go on until only one hat remained on; the participants must be insane; and the weapons could not be held by hands. The Hatters took to this challenge with grins on their faces and weaponry in their elbows. Two were quickly defeated. The remaining two were called for a second round. They must fight by pinwheel until only one retained his weapon! They began by holding their weapons in their teeth, but both soon tired of this. Alice proclaimed that they must resort to their knees. With mighty shouts from the crowd (Keep it UP, lads!), the battle recommenced, but soon, one Hatter moved too fast and lost his pinwheel to gravity. The remaining Hatter was declared the victor, and all other Hatters must remove their hats in tribute.
After convincing the Walrus to attempt to learn contact juggling, I relented at last and took up my poi instead. Hours of silliness, spinning, crowd-garnering attention, and conversation with friends old and new, at last it came to dusk. As it grew cold again, we packed up our things and left.
Then we met up with Pixy's husband for fried chicken and silly Youtube videos. No matter how depressing things can get, this kind of crazy day is what makes me love my life. "The dandelion has my smile..."
So we got some clam shells and cleaned them out and drilled some holes in them, then strung them together to make a castanet and some hand-coverings. As one does.
So, a Walrus, a Cat, and some Oysters trundled down to the park for tea.
This is a big park, so once we got there, we had a little trouble finding our friends. Luckily for us, as we meandered we encountered the March Hare and a Domino woman. "You must be on your way to the tea party!" exclaimed the March Hare.
"Why yes," I grinned, "we are indeed."
"Follow us; we know the way!" And off they skipped, arm in arm, down the path ahead. After a brief stop to dance for some onlookers, they led us directly to the festivities.
There must have been fifty people there, fully costumed and partaking in such fine activities as juggling, tumbling, and general merrymaking. There were, of course, snacks and tea. We saw the White Rabbit and his lady, Alice; there were Cards with bouquets of white roses painted red; we saw a Jabberwock, who lent her mighty steel claws to the dormouse for safekeeping; and more and more and more. I do believe I might have been the only Cheshire Cat, but that was all to the good. I went over to some friends I'd seen and took out my contact juggling ball, joining their fun.
Not long later, our attention was called by the Unbirthday Girl herself, Alice. She proclaimed that each of the four Mad Hatters must join in a battle to the death - or at least de-hatting - until only one Hatter remained. The rules were as follows: each must grab a weapon of their choice; the fight would go on until only one hat remained on; the participants must be insane; and the weapons could not be held by hands. The Hatters took to this challenge with grins on their faces and weaponry in their elbows. Two were quickly defeated. The remaining two were called for a second round. They must fight by pinwheel until only one retained his weapon! They began by holding their weapons in their teeth, but both soon tired of this. Alice proclaimed that they must resort to their knees. With mighty shouts from the crowd (Keep it UP, lads!), the battle recommenced, but soon, one Hatter moved too fast and lost his pinwheel to gravity. The remaining Hatter was declared the victor, and all other Hatters must remove their hats in tribute.
After convincing the Walrus to attempt to learn contact juggling, I relented at last and took up my poi instead. Hours of silliness, spinning, crowd-garnering attention, and conversation with friends old and new, at last it came to dusk. As it grew cold again, we packed up our things and left.
Then we met up with Pixy's husband for fried chicken and silly Youtube videos. No matter how depressing things can get, this kind of crazy day is what makes me love my life. "The dandelion has my smile..."
Saturday, March 6, 2010
Flying Tiger
Back to PCU. The Walrus, Fizzgig, Schmendrick and I lived together for a couple of years. Naturally, some funny things happened. Many of them centered around Schmendrick doing something silly.
Schmendrick happens to be obsessed with most things to do with WWII, and not least among these things is the board game Axis and Allies. For those not familiar, this is a Risk-like game in which each player takes on a role of one of the major powers involved in WWII: the US, the UK, Russia, Germany, or Japan. Schmendrick thought it would be fun to play a game among our housemates. He took Russia, mostly to show us how to play and then to extricate himself from the game (by the third turn, Russia had a couple of ships left), Walrus took the UK, Fizzgig took the US, and I took the Axis. I sucked as Germany, but apparently I did very well as Japan (shock, surprise).
Schmendrick stopped helping me after the third turn, giving his advice to the Allies. But he did hover over my shoulder, making comments on the historical accuracy of my moves. As I sent some air troops over China, he started going on about a squad known as the Flying Tigers who did something more or less like it.
I happen to have no real audio filters. This occasionally makes it very hard for me to concentrate on complex things, such as an Axis and Allies turn, while people are talking around me. After a few moments of waiting for Schmendrick to stop, I finally decided to stop him myself.
I turned suddenly on him, got in his face, held my hands up in claws, and roared at the top of my lungs.
Schmendrick choked on his words, turned bright red, and, eyes widening in startlement, backed away as far as he could go. Which wasn't very far, as it happened; he backed straight into a corner. And then slid down the wall. Into the trash can.
After the laughing stopped, I took my turn.
Schmendrick happens to be obsessed with most things to do with WWII, and not least among these things is the board game Axis and Allies. For those not familiar, this is a Risk-like game in which each player takes on a role of one of the major powers involved in WWII: the US, the UK, Russia, Germany, or Japan. Schmendrick thought it would be fun to play a game among our housemates. He took Russia, mostly to show us how to play and then to extricate himself from the game (by the third turn, Russia had a couple of ships left), Walrus took the UK, Fizzgig took the US, and I took the Axis. I sucked as Germany, but apparently I did very well as Japan (shock, surprise).
Schmendrick stopped helping me after the third turn, giving his advice to the Allies. But he did hover over my shoulder, making comments on the historical accuracy of my moves. As I sent some air troops over China, he started going on about a squad known as the Flying Tigers who did something more or less like it.
I happen to have no real audio filters. This occasionally makes it very hard for me to concentrate on complex things, such as an Axis and Allies turn, while people are talking around me. After a few moments of waiting for Schmendrick to stop, I finally decided to stop him myself.
I turned suddenly on him, got in his face, held my hands up in claws, and roared at the top of my lungs.
Schmendrick choked on his words, turned bright red, and, eyes widening in startlement, backed away as far as he could go. Which wasn't very far, as it happened; he backed straight into a corner. And then slid down the wall. Into the trash can.
After the laughing stopped, I took my turn.
Wednesday, March 3, 2010
The Virtuoso: Three Stories
Ever since I was very small, I have known I have a good friend out there, even if we haven't seen each other in years. The Virtuoso is the son of my mother's best friend from childhood, and every time we traveled back to the breadbasket town whence came my mother, we went to go visit. Of course, this being something in my life, most every time we have met up has been strange enough to warrant a story.
When I was scouting universities, we went to visit my parents' alma mater, which, not so incidentally, is also my mother's best friend's alma mater and employer. Of course, we visited with the family as well. The alma mater is in a place where, unlike my hometown, it snows in the winter, and it was about to be winter, but it was not supposed to snow until after we had left. I adore the snow, so I was very disappointed.
The Virtuoso and I were discussing a mutual passion, fencing, and we decided to go outside where there would be space enough to demonstrate. When we walked outside, it had begun to snow.
We promptly abandoned the idea of fencing and ran to acquire sleds. It was my first time actually sledding; we had a great time. But as we returned indoors, I realized I had lost my favorite necklace, a pendant of a cat with a purple globe. I was sad, but it was worth it; the Virtuoso, however, decided to put some time and effort into finding it. After scanning the yards and roads all along the hill we sledded down, he actually found it right in his own front yard. He put it in an envelope and sent it to me.
It never arrived.
The next oddity was about five years later. I was living back in my hometown, working and plotting ways to come back to places where it snows, when one Saturday I got a phone call from a number I didn't recognize. When I picked up the phone, who should it be but the Virtuoso?
"Hello, I am in your town visiting my girlfriend! We are going to see the Christmas Revels in an hour, and we have a spare ticket. Want to come?"
I used to go every year with my best friend; of course I was going! But I was rather shocked. I was especially shocked to realize that his girlfriend and her family lived a mere three streets away from me!
Between then and yesterday, I hadn't heard from him and didn't particularly worry about it. In that time, I moved across the country and settled in. In fact, I'd been here a full year when I noticed late the night before last that the Virtuoso's Facebucket status mentioned he would be here for an event. Naturally, I sent him a brief message, hoping we could meet up, and got a real surprise.
He wasn't coming here; he lives here. In fact, he lives about a ten minute walk from my apartment. After a few brief messages yesterday, he showed up for my weekly game night!
Who knew.
When I was scouting universities, we went to visit my parents' alma mater, which, not so incidentally, is also my mother's best friend's alma mater and employer. Of course, we visited with the family as well. The alma mater is in a place where, unlike my hometown, it snows in the winter, and it was about to be winter, but it was not supposed to snow until after we had left. I adore the snow, so I was very disappointed.
The Virtuoso and I were discussing a mutual passion, fencing, and we decided to go outside where there would be space enough to demonstrate. When we walked outside, it had begun to snow.
We promptly abandoned the idea of fencing and ran to acquire sleds. It was my first time actually sledding; we had a great time. But as we returned indoors, I realized I had lost my favorite necklace, a pendant of a cat with a purple globe. I was sad, but it was worth it; the Virtuoso, however, decided to put some time and effort into finding it. After scanning the yards and roads all along the hill we sledded down, he actually found it right in his own front yard. He put it in an envelope and sent it to me.
It never arrived.
The next oddity was about five years later. I was living back in my hometown, working and plotting ways to come back to places where it snows, when one Saturday I got a phone call from a number I didn't recognize. When I picked up the phone, who should it be but the Virtuoso?
"Hello, I am in your town visiting my girlfriend! We are going to see the Christmas Revels in an hour, and we have a spare ticket. Want to come?"
I used to go every year with my best friend; of course I was going! But I was rather shocked. I was especially shocked to realize that his girlfriend and her family lived a mere three streets away from me!
Between then and yesterday, I hadn't heard from him and didn't particularly worry about it. In that time, I moved across the country and settled in. In fact, I'd been here a full year when I noticed late the night before last that the Virtuoso's Facebucket status mentioned he would be here for an event. Naturally, I sent him a brief message, hoping we could meet up, and got a real surprise.
He wasn't coming here; he lives here. In fact, he lives about a ten minute walk from my apartment. After a few brief messages yesterday, he showed up for my weekly game night!
Who knew.
Tuesday, March 2, 2010
"Linguistics is a pile of cats"
Walrus and I have been talking again (at this hour, a sure sign of trouble/hilarity). We have just been expanding on the metaphor of languages as various kinds of house cats.
American English, we've decided, is a big, fat, orange tabby with a torn ear and no taste for new people. Japanese is a sleek gray kitty who will come investigate but doesn't like to purr or be played with. The Romance languages are purrers.
Russian is a big, angry tomcat who likes to sleep on things. "I claim this couch for RUSSIA!"
Swahili is a climbing cat, doesn't like to sit still. And the Nordic languages are the friendly ones, the ones that are almost dog-like in their affection.
Additions to the list are welcome.
American English, we've decided, is a big, fat, orange tabby with a torn ear and no taste for new people. Japanese is a sleek gray kitty who will come investigate but doesn't like to purr or be played with. The Romance languages are purrers.
Russian is a big, angry tomcat who likes to sleep on things. "I claim this couch for RUSSIA!"
Swahili is a climbing cat, doesn't like to sit still. And the Nordic languages are the friendly ones, the ones that are almost dog-like in their affection.
Additions to the list are welcome.
Monday, March 1, 2010
We Sharpen Anything!
Somewhere among the backroads around PCU there is a little shop. This shop has a little sign, very old and mostly illegible, hanging by the road. The only words that can be read on this sign are, "We sharpen anything!"
Needless to say, every time my friends and I drove past this sign, it was a real contest for who could come up with the funniest thing to take in to get sharpened.
"A banana!"
"Your hair!"
"Vermont Cheddar!"
"My wits!"
Sadly, we never did get around to taking anything odd in to get it sharpened. Perhaps someday we shall.
Needless to say, every time my friends and I drove past this sign, it was a real contest for who could come up with the funniest thing to take in to get sharpened.
"A banana!"
"Your hair!"
"Vermont Cheddar!"
"My wits!"
Sadly, we never did get around to taking anything odd in to get it sharpened. Perhaps someday we shall.
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