Exhibit A
Exhibit BWhich of these would you vote to be the next Village People action figure? I think they are looking for a new band member under the title "Future Guy" or "Space Man."
Friday, July 22, 2005
Thursday, July 21, 2005
Reading is my life
In case anyone has been wondering what I've been up to:
3-hour Latin exam on Monday (translating from Latin into German, eek!)
Harry Potter 6
My husband doesn't understand the way I read books: I read the book, then I reread it multiple times in a row, or at least bits of it. I may have read the equivalent of 3 HP6s over the last 2 days. And D.D. and I are reading it for her bedtime reading; we're up to Chapter 3.
That means my brain was full of Latin, but I got rid of it in favor of Harry Potter, and that's all that's in there, no independent funny, so sorry, but I will try to pull myself together soonish.
Please everyone cross your fingers that my dear friend WestTexasGirl has a wildly successful interview and gets the perfect job today. Hell, I'd be surprised if they didn't offer it to her on the way out the door (and if they don't *threatening glare*...).
3-hour Latin exam on Monday (translating from Latin into German, eek!)
Harry Potter 6
My husband doesn't understand the way I read books: I read the book, then I reread it multiple times in a row, or at least bits of it. I may have read the equivalent of 3 HP6s over the last 2 days. And D.D. and I are reading it for her bedtime reading; we're up to Chapter 3.
That means my brain was full of Latin, but I got rid of it in favor of Harry Potter, and that's all that's in there, no independent funny, so sorry, but I will try to pull myself together soonish.
Please everyone cross your fingers that my dear friend WestTexasGirl has a wildly successful interview and gets the perfect job today. Hell, I'd be surprised if they didn't offer it to her on the way out the door (and if they don't *threatening glare*...).
Friday, July 15, 2005
I'm Ba-ack!
Before my exams, my brain was like a balloon, inflated with particles of knowledge. After the exams, my brain is like a deflated balloon, period. There's not a lot floating around in there right now, but I can at least cobble together my notes from over the last week into a post. Be forewarned that is will be slightly more hodge-y, and much more podge-y, than usual.
Back when we were making our toilet-paper-tube puppets, Darling Daughter liberated some craft supplies and made a new sign for her door. It's quite nice—multicolored stars she painted in watercolors with her initial made of popsicle sticks glued on top and painted blue—but I kind of miss the old sign:
"Knock 76 times to enter!!!!"
My Lovely Husband likes to try out different foods and drinks. Our grocery store is a bit dull in the food department, so he's been throwing in a bottle of this or that wine or liquor when he thinks about it. Recently it was single-malt whiskey, knowing that a former acquaintance was quite fond of it. He wasn't impressed. When I saw him drinking some a second time, I reminded him that he had previously said it tasted like rubbing alcohol flavored with dirt. "But it's the dirt of the Scottish highlands!" was his response.
The first of the week was cool and wet-ish, with temps in the 60s and low 70s, but it has been pretty warm the last couple of days, in the low 90s. That is when I (and many other students) appreciate the coolness of the stone-and-tile basement library in the English department. Slipping off one's shoes and placing one's bare feet on the cold, cold tile is a popular pasttime while one studies.
Absurdity is the cure for grumpiness. One of my hard-core studying days last week, I was en route to Latin and in quite a bad mood. But that all changed when I spotted an elderly woman, obviously a tourist (but from where?), wearing a baby-pink vest with a matching scarf and ball cap...and hair. I almost fell off the sidewalk when I saw her. She looked like Dot's poodle at the end of PeeWee's Big Adventure.
That afternoon I saw a dog that looked amazingly like the robot dog from Battlestar Galactica (Muffit, for the geeks among you, and no, I didn't know that; I had to look it up). Except this dog didn't have the metal bands and was dark gray. I might not have noticed him, but he was walking along a 2-3 foot high wall that has a sidewalk and bus stop on one side and a 20-foot drop on the other.
Start rant. Then another day, I had a rage moment on the bridge. There is a pair of towers you have to pass between on the "historical"(=touristy) side of the bridge, and an *American* tour group was blocking the way while their guide tried to get them to gather off to one side. Yes, it was raining, lightly, and yes, the towers are connected and give some protection from the rain, but it is a narrow area, and these people all had apparently functioning umbrellas. It pisses me off to run across thoughtless tourists, and the Americans piss me off even more because they are reinforcing the "ugly American" stereotype. I'm sure jillions of *polite, quiet* American tourists grace our streets every year, but the jerky ones are the ones that get noticed and give everyone else a bad name. End rant.
I know there are lots of cultural differences between Europeans and Americans, but one I find quite interesting is that of maternity wear. From back when I and my friends and acquaintances were pregnant (starting 9 years ago), maternity wear in the US was either cutsie or plain, but it was all of the full-coverage variety. When we were in Sweden, we noticed that tight, stretchy, not-very-maternity-like-to-me clothes were the norm. And visible bellies. I think that is the case throughout Europe, but it may be gaining in America. I'm not sure. Anyhow, a preggie in one of my classes doesn't seem to be dressing at all differently from her pre-preggie state: low-rise jeans and halter tops. I know she's quite a bit younger than I am now, and is probably younger than I was when I got pregnant, but I always have the impression that after class she's going to go clubbing, belly and all. Weird.
Kenny Rogers almost broke up my marriage. L.H. had been (thank the 7 dwarfs! in the past!) stuck on a couple of ole K.R.'s songs, bad enough in itself, but he was conflating them, so the Gambler had lyrics from Coward of the County. Now, my mom had a few K.R. 8-tracks when I was a small kid, and we were big on K.R. for a while, so it pained me that he was messing them up. Oh, and also that he *would not stop singing.*
I've mentioned the sign/kiosk-thing across the street, but there are more up and down the main road, and they are all over the place throughout Germany and have been for about 150 years. Right now D.D.'s favorite sign is a big photo of a banana, labeled "kiwi." Turns out it's an ad for an exhibit on the guy who introduced them [(added to clarify) the kiosks] to Germany. But it gets your attention.
Another sign I've noticed is for the Backstreet Boys tour. Something like "Never gone." My ass. Who's heard of the BBoys since, like, my sister was in high school 10 years ago? And I would guess they're a little too old to try to pass themselves off as "boys." I mean, look at what's happened to Chris Kirkpatrick from NSYNC (however you spell it; where's the damn H?).
From the Bridal Shop of Horrors: apparently they realized something was amiss with one dress, because it was in the window one day and gone the next. It was actually quite pretty, strapless and white, except for the randomly placed silk flowers. They appeared to be white poinsettias, and they appeared to be sprouting from the armpit area. I can't imagine that's comfortable on your big day.
In other plant news, the parsley and flowers for cutting and drying that I planted from seeds are up and growing. I'm quite pleased with their progress, considering my usual lack of success with things green. The parsley is still small, but it tastes like parsley! Imagine that! I hope to have some flowers blooming by the time LMIL and PP come (31 days, D.D. informed me (if I remember correctly)).
Back when we were making our toilet-paper-tube puppets, Darling Daughter liberated some craft supplies and made a new sign for her door. It's quite nice—multicolored stars she painted in watercolors with her initial made of popsicle sticks glued on top and painted blue—but I kind of miss the old sign:
"Knock 76 times to enter!!!!"
My Lovely Husband likes to try out different foods and drinks. Our grocery store is a bit dull in the food department, so he's been throwing in a bottle of this or that wine or liquor when he thinks about it. Recently it was single-malt whiskey, knowing that a former acquaintance was quite fond of it. He wasn't impressed. When I saw him drinking some a second time, I reminded him that he had previously said it tasted like rubbing alcohol flavored with dirt. "But it's the dirt of the Scottish highlands!" was his response.
The first of the week was cool and wet-ish, with temps in the 60s and low 70s, but it has been pretty warm the last couple of days, in the low 90s. That is when I (and many other students) appreciate the coolness of the stone-and-tile basement library in the English department. Slipping off one's shoes and placing one's bare feet on the cold, cold tile is a popular pasttime while one studies.
Absurdity is the cure for grumpiness. One of my hard-core studying days last week, I was en route to Latin and in quite a bad mood. But that all changed when I spotted an elderly woman, obviously a tourist (but from where?), wearing a baby-pink vest with a matching scarf and ball cap...and hair. I almost fell off the sidewalk when I saw her. She looked like Dot's poodle at the end of PeeWee's Big Adventure.
That afternoon I saw a dog that looked amazingly like the robot dog from Battlestar Galactica (Muffit, for the geeks among you, and no, I didn't know that; I had to look it up). Except this dog didn't have the metal bands and was dark gray. I might not have noticed him, but he was walking along a 2-3 foot high wall that has a sidewalk and bus stop on one side and a 20-foot drop on the other.
Start rant. Then another day, I had a rage moment on the bridge. There is a pair of towers you have to pass between on the "historical"(=touristy) side of the bridge, and an *American* tour group was blocking the way while their guide tried to get them to gather off to one side. Yes, it was raining, lightly, and yes, the towers are connected and give some protection from the rain, but it is a narrow area, and these people all had apparently functioning umbrellas. It pisses me off to run across thoughtless tourists, and the Americans piss me off even more because they are reinforcing the "ugly American" stereotype. I'm sure jillions of *polite, quiet* American tourists grace our streets every year, but the jerky ones are the ones that get noticed and give everyone else a bad name. End rant.
I know there are lots of cultural differences between Europeans and Americans, but one I find quite interesting is that of maternity wear. From back when I and my friends and acquaintances were pregnant (starting 9 years ago), maternity wear in the US was either cutsie or plain, but it was all of the full-coverage variety. When we were in Sweden, we noticed that tight, stretchy, not-very-maternity-like-to-me clothes were the norm. And visible bellies. I think that is the case throughout Europe, but it may be gaining in America. I'm not sure. Anyhow, a preggie in one of my classes doesn't seem to be dressing at all differently from her pre-preggie state: low-rise jeans and halter tops. I know she's quite a bit younger than I am now, and is probably younger than I was when I got pregnant, but I always have the impression that after class she's going to go clubbing, belly and all. Weird.
Kenny Rogers almost broke up my marriage. L.H. had been (thank the 7 dwarfs! in the past!) stuck on a couple of ole K.R.'s songs, bad enough in itself, but he was conflating them, so the Gambler had lyrics from Coward of the County. Now, my mom had a few K.R. 8-tracks when I was a small kid, and we were big on K.R. for a while, so it pained me that he was messing them up. Oh, and also that he *would not stop singing.*
I've mentioned the sign/kiosk-thing across the street, but there are more up and down the main road, and they are all over the place throughout Germany and have been for about 150 years. Right now D.D.'s favorite sign is a big photo of a banana, labeled "kiwi." Turns out it's an ad for an exhibit on the guy who introduced them [(added to clarify) the kiosks] to Germany. But it gets your attention.
Another sign I've noticed is for the Backstreet Boys tour. Something like "Never gone." My ass. Who's heard of the BBoys since, like, my sister was in high school 10 years ago? And I would guess they're a little too old to try to pass themselves off as "boys." I mean, look at what's happened to Chris Kirkpatrick from NSYNC (however you spell it; where's the damn H?).
From the Bridal Shop of Horrors: apparently they realized something was amiss with one dress, because it was in the window one day and gone the next. It was actually quite pretty, strapless and white, except for the randomly placed silk flowers. They appeared to be white poinsettias, and they appeared to be sprouting from the armpit area. I can't imagine that's comfortable on your big day.
In other plant news, the parsley and flowers for cutting and drying that I planted from seeds are up and growing. I'm quite pleased with their progress, considering my usual lack of success with things green. The parsley is still small, but it tastes like parsley! Imagine that! I hope to have some flowers blooming by the time LMIL and PP come (31 days, D.D. informed me (if I remember correctly)).
Friday, July 08, 2005
Tuesday, July 05, 2005
Yes, that was *breast*
Sorry, I meant to include the following info and link:
The Columbia World of Quotations. 1996.
QUOTATION:
Music has charms to soothe a savage breast,To soften rocks, or bend a knotted oak.
ATTRIBUTION:
William Congreve (1670–1729), British dramatist. Almeria, in The Mourning Bride, act 1, sc. 1 (1697). Opening lines of play.
As I told Lovely Husband, I like to think of this as a "learning blog." Or rather, a "showing off blog." Same difference.
The Columbia World of Quotations. 1996.
QUOTATION:
Music has charms to soothe a savage breast,To soften rocks, or bend a knotted oak.
ATTRIBUTION:
William Congreve (1670–1729), British dramatist. Almeria, in The Mourning Bride, act 1, sc. 1 (1697). Opening lines of play.
As I told Lovely Husband, I like to think of this as a "learning blog." Or rather, a "showing off blog." Same difference.
Monday, July 04, 2005
Newsflash!
I just measured Darling Daughter, and she has topped 50 inches (50-1/4 to be exact). That means that she has grown 4-1/8 inches since we moved here (2 years in September).
Also, my husband has the cutest muffin butt. It's been a life-long blessing for him--just ask his mom. She tells the following story: when he was 9 or 10, a little girl of his acquaintance was heard to say that she liked the way his pants fit in the back. So do I, little girl, so do I.
Back to your regular programming...
Also, my husband has the cutest muffin butt. It's been a life-long blessing for him--just ask his mom. She tells the following story: when he was 9 or 10, a little girl of his acquaintance was heard to say that she liked the way his pants fit in the back. So do I, little girl, so do I.
Back to your regular programming...
Love Your Inner Hulk
Nee smash!
And not in your girly, screechy, glass-breaking way, either. I need a club.
Nee smash trees!
Nee smash bushes!
Nee smash fellow bus passengers!
Nee smash loud, inconsiderate classmates!
Nee smash girl wearing iridescent sequined flip-flops! ROAR!
Damn. D.D.'s "B-O-M-B-Y" song soothes the savage breast when I want to SMASH stuff.
Also this Ilona video creeped me out at first, but now she makes me irrationally happy. (Be patient for the it to load.) We see it in the morning on the kids' channel.
***
I don't know about that saying, "The exception proves the rule." (1) The *rule* proves the rule; for example, "nee should avoid sharp objects," proved by nee stabbing a craft knife under her fingernail while making puppet wigs. (Later that night I sliced strawberries without doing myself a mortal injury. Go me!)
(1) Actually, it's "prove" in the sense of "proofing yeast", i.e., testing it.
The puppets have been a medium success. D.D. spends too much time saying she's bored, and since I have been hoarding boxes, toilet paper tubes, bottles, and every other craft-able item for D.D.'s after-school class, I liberated a few items for "Stewart Family Puppet Theater." A laundry detergent box was transformed into a breathtaking stage, ready to present the comedic highs and tragic lows of the toilet-paper tube soccer players, as drawn by D.D. and yours truly. I dipped into my yarn stash (which takes up a whole under-the-bed craft box) and made several wigs (aka pompons) that can be easily crammed into the top of the tubes. We've had the most fun so far making the hair "grow" by pushing a popsicle stick up the tube. Stay tuned for further adventures in puppetry.
***
We had several days of pleasant weather—which is high praise from me—but a low-pressure system named "Zeus" moved in around lunchtime and put an end to it. After L.H. left to pick up D.D. from school (around 3), it started to rain. When it started to hail (pretty tiny bits), I jumped in the car to carry out my "rescue operation" as D.D. put it. I found the two of them taking shelter in the open garage of one of D.D.'s school mates. His mother drives like a bat out of hell, so they were hoping the rain would let up before she careened into her garage and crushed them. So not only did they not get pelted by hail, but I also saved them from certain death. Go me!
We got a letter from my grandmother in West Texas, and she mentioned the hot weather there. D.D. immediately grabbed some notepaper and wrote:
"Hi, Ma, don't you dare to talk about the weather! The weather is very, very super bad! Love, D.D."
Hee!
And not in your girly, screechy, glass-breaking way, either. I need a club.
Nee smash trees!
Nee smash bushes!
Nee smash fellow bus passengers!
Nee smash loud, inconsiderate classmates!
Nee smash girl wearing iridescent sequined flip-flops! ROAR!
Damn. D.D.'s "B-O-M-B-Y" song soothes the savage breast when I want to SMASH stuff.
Also this Ilona video creeped me out at first, but now she makes me irrationally happy. (Be patient for the it to load.) We see it in the morning on the kids' channel.
***
I don't know about that saying, "The exception proves the rule." (1) The *rule* proves the rule; for example, "nee should avoid sharp objects," proved by nee stabbing a craft knife under her fingernail while making puppet wigs. (Later that night I sliced strawberries without doing myself a mortal injury. Go me!)
(1) Actually, it's "prove" in the sense of "proofing yeast", i.e., testing it.
The puppets have been a medium success. D.D. spends too much time saying she's bored, and since I have been hoarding boxes, toilet paper tubes, bottles, and every other craft-able item for D.D.'s after-school class, I liberated a few items for "Stewart Family Puppet Theater." A laundry detergent box was transformed into a breathtaking stage, ready to present the comedic highs and tragic lows of the toilet-paper tube soccer players, as drawn by D.D. and yours truly. I dipped into my yarn stash (which takes up a whole under-the-bed craft box) and made several wigs (aka pompons) that can be easily crammed into the top of the tubes. We've had the most fun so far making the hair "grow" by pushing a popsicle stick up the tube. Stay tuned for further adventures in puppetry.
***
We had several days of pleasant weather—which is high praise from me—but a low-pressure system named "Zeus" moved in around lunchtime and put an end to it. After L.H. left to pick up D.D. from school (around 3), it started to rain. When it started to hail (pretty tiny bits), I jumped in the car to carry out my "rescue operation" as D.D. put it. I found the two of them taking shelter in the open garage of one of D.D.'s school mates. His mother drives like a bat out of hell, so they were hoping the rain would let up before she careened into her garage and crushed them. So not only did they not get pelted by hail, but I also saved them from certain death. Go me!
We got a letter from my grandmother in West Texas, and she mentioned the hot weather there. D.D. immediately grabbed some notepaper and wrote:
"Hi, Ma, don't you dare to talk about the weather! The weather is very, very super bad! Love, D.D."
Hee!
Friday, July 01, 2005
Shoe Envy, Muppet Love, Mitten Fate, etc.
At the end of D.D.'s ballet lesson, some teenaged girls came in the waiting/changing area to get ready for their tap class. One of them had on the !cutest! sandals. I was sorely tempted to steal them when her class started, but reality (=I have ugly feet) intruded and set me straight. The shoes were black with little wedge heels and flip-flop style straps (which I normally hate!). The straps were decorated with silver lines in a geometric pattern and had little dangly beads in dark colors. Why do you persecute me, oh cute footwear?!
It was murderously hot at the ballet studio, but one grandma dropping off a dancer was wearing a short-sleeved sweater (!). It did have camels on it, but since I'm pretty sure they're not some kind of totemic protection against the heat, I think she could have worn something lighter.
Fortunately, it has cooled off. It's been raining off and on for a couple of days, and today I don't think it got out of the 60s. It was muggy, but at least not too hot.
D.D. rediscovered the make-up she got for her birthday, so I've had a make-over or two this week, and she has gone from looking like a little girl with dark pink eyeshadow to a little girl with pink eye to a punk girl to an American Indian who only had berries to work with for his war paint. It took 2 days and several face-washings to get all the glitter off my eyes the first time, so I wouldn't let her use glitter on me the second time. It was horribly distracting to keep spotting the one piece of glitter stuck in my top lashes, or the one stuck on my bottom lashes, both on the same eye.
When we were walking to school this morning, we noticed a house where the gate was open. D.D. didn't think it was a good idea to leave it open, because maybe someone would steal their flowers. I told her I thought it unlikely, but she said, "Maybe some teenagers are nuts for flowers. Did you ever think of that? Those teenagers are crazy." There you have it.
Thanks to the power of television commercials, I had one of the crap-alicious songs in my head from the psuedo-band called Banaroo. I was trying to come up with a pun on their name but got stuck; D.D. came up with Banacrap, but she made it clear that it was a suggestion to help me out, and not an endorsement.
I got a triple dose of Muppet love today. First, I saw some bird puppets in the window of a chic toy store (no Barbies there!), and they looked a lot like the birds from Sesame Street, cute and fuzzy. Then I saw Statler and Waldorf in a magazine ad (they are pimping a bank in Germany). Then I saw them again in a poster in a shop window. Now I am complete.
No fug to report on, per se, but I saw a guy at the bus terminal who was wearing a dark blue polo-style shirt, jogging shoes with white socks—so far prototypical frat-boy wear—but with red shorts sporting bright yellow flowers. I was thinking, if a woman wore that combination, she would probably get lots of weird looks, but I doubt anyone but me looked at that guy twice. And I was thinking, "Fool!"
I'm not really a spontaneous shopper; I'm actually quite "male" in shopping style: know what I want or need, go where I think they have it, buy it, and leave. But a couple of weeks ago I was browsing the books on display outside a used book store (as I was walking by on my way to class), and they had a book of traditional Swedish mitten patterns to knit (for only 3 euros). I'm sure they were not expecting to actually sell the book, but how could they have known that a fledgling knitter whose husband has a fetish for all things old and Swedish would happen to walk by that day? It was fate, I tell you.
It was murderously hot at the ballet studio, but one grandma dropping off a dancer was wearing a short-sleeved sweater (!). It did have camels on it, but since I'm pretty sure they're not some kind of totemic protection against the heat, I think she could have worn something lighter.
Fortunately, it has cooled off. It's been raining off and on for a couple of days, and today I don't think it got out of the 60s. It was muggy, but at least not too hot.
D.D. rediscovered the make-up she got for her birthday, so I've had a make-over or two this week, and she has gone from looking like a little girl with dark pink eyeshadow to a little girl with pink eye to a punk girl to an American Indian who only had berries to work with for his war paint. It took 2 days and several face-washings to get all the glitter off my eyes the first time, so I wouldn't let her use glitter on me the second time. It was horribly distracting to keep spotting the one piece of glitter stuck in my top lashes, or the one stuck on my bottom lashes, both on the same eye.
When we were walking to school this morning, we noticed a house where the gate was open. D.D. didn't think it was a good idea to leave it open, because maybe someone would steal their flowers. I told her I thought it unlikely, but she said, "Maybe some teenagers are nuts for flowers. Did you ever think of that? Those teenagers are crazy." There you have it.
Thanks to the power of television commercials, I had one of the crap-alicious songs in my head from the psuedo-band called Banaroo. I was trying to come up with a pun on their name but got stuck; D.D. came up with Banacrap, but she made it clear that it was a suggestion to help me out, and not an endorsement.
I got a triple dose of Muppet love today. First, I saw some bird puppets in the window of a chic toy store (no Barbies there!), and they looked a lot like the birds from Sesame Street, cute and fuzzy. Then I saw Statler and Waldorf in a magazine ad (they are pimping a bank in Germany). Then I saw them again in a poster in a shop window. Now I am complete.
No fug to report on, per se, but I saw a guy at the bus terminal who was wearing a dark blue polo-style shirt, jogging shoes with white socks—so far prototypical frat-boy wear—but with red shorts sporting bright yellow flowers. I was thinking, if a woman wore that combination, she would probably get lots of weird looks, but I doubt anyone but me looked at that guy twice. And I was thinking, "Fool!"
I'm not really a spontaneous shopper; I'm actually quite "male" in shopping style: know what I want or need, go where I think they have it, buy it, and leave. But a couple of weeks ago I was browsing the books on display outside a used book store (as I was walking by on my way to class), and they had a book of traditional Swedish mitten patterns to knit (for only 3 euros). I'm sure they were not expecting to actually sell the book, but how could they have known that a fledgling knitter whose husband has a fetish for all things old and Swedish would happen to walk by that day? It was fate, I tell you.
Tuesday, June 28, 2005
Put on Your Reading Depends
I'm afraid I'm becoming a blog addict. If I don't write something for a few days, I go completely overboard when I finally get around to it. (Why doesn't this happen with my fiction writing?) So be forewarned.
We've been pretty busy recently. Last Friday—the hottest day of the year in Germany—Darling Daughter's class had an outdoor party. Fortunately, there was covered seating and cold drinks, and it started to cool off as the sun went down, so we didn't die. There were only 2 injuries, neither to our child, so it was a success!
Then on Saturday we went to a midsummer celebration thrown by the German-Swedish club, of which we are members. There was a flower bedecked May-pole, a short program by the Swedish school kids (including D.D.), and various games. Plus dancing around the May-pole. One woman with a mic was giving detailed directions before each song. (Later someone pointed out that it would have helped the German half of the German-Swedish club if she had not given all the directions in Swedish.) Most of the kids and almost half of the adults got up to dance in rings. In addition to the able-bodied dancers, I spotted a few elderly folks, 3 or 4 pregnant ladies (one heavily so), a woman with an infant strapped to her front, and a girl with a soft brace on her ankle. Swedes take their midsummer seriously!
We expected it to be hot, but a storm had blown in the night before, and we got a few sprinkles throughout the day to keep things cooled down. Just in case, I packed a lot of heat-friendly foods for our picnic, including watermelon, cantaloupe, plums, cherry tomatoes, cucumber slices, and condiment-free ham sandwiches. I'm surprised we didn't all get diarrhea after chowing down on all that water-filled good stuff.
Although the above-mentioned storm cooled things off for a day or so for us, it caused big problems in other parts of Germany, including flooding, property damage from hail and high winds, and some injuries. We had seen in the paper that there was flooding in Paris, so I guess we got lucky.
Speaking of Paris, I can now announce that my Lovely MIL and PawPaw (I thought people might get the wrong idea if I used S.D. (for StepDad)) are coming to see us in August, and we are going to take a group trip to Paris for a few days. Plane tickets have been purchased and hotel rooms reserved, so there's no backing out now, Gwamma, hahahahaha! D.D. is so excited that she declared a couple of weeks ago that if Gwamma ended up not coming, D.D. would throw away her pompoms and never dance again, except ballet. That is serious.
Unfortunately, the restaurant next door closed after, what, 7 months. So we'll have to drag them a light farther away to get some authentic German cuisine. And we ourselves had never gotten around to eating there. Oh, well, our loss.
According to the temperature gage in our village, today was just as hot as last Friday (36C=97F). I wore jeans. Of course, I could be melted into a puddle of goo, but I'd still yell, "Turn up the heat!" in my best crotchety old lady voice.
Although it is hot, that is no excuse for the 2 morons I saw diving off the bridge into the river of doom. Well, one moron made it into the water, and the other moron got talked down by two locals with some sense. I watched the whole thing from the bus stop.
At least I haven't encountered the +summer –shirt –shoes guy on the bus in a while. I take that back: I saw him wearing shorts, and vest –shirt, and some Birkenstocks that he probably slipped off but I couldn't see. The flesh, it creeps when I spot him taking up a section of 4 facing seats because no one wants to sit next to an overweight, balding, sweaty, half-naked man on a bus with no AC. Capice?
I did see Vin Diesel on the street today, but he's much shorter than I would have guessed. Shortly after that, I saw another bald-ish guy wearing almost the exact same black shirt, but he had man-boobs, so I'm positive he's not also Vin Diesel.
The bus stop gives me both pleasure and pain. Pain, because after I give up my place on the bench to some old people, they compound the imposition by starting to smoke heavily, joined by the teenaged parents hanging around nearby; and pleasure because I saw a woman who couldn't have been a day younger than 65 drinking from a *baby bottle*. Minus the nipple, of course, because she probably couldn't suck that hard, but any adult who considers a baby bottle an appropriate drink container (it looked to be tea) needs a reality check. Then I looked to my left and saw another grandmotherly type about to put a baby bottle, *full of milk and with a nipple*, in her mouth. "What in the Hell is going on today?" I thought. She was teasing her grandbaby in the stroller next to her, not having a delicious snack of formula on a hot day. Whew!
D.D. has mentioned several times today (unconvincingly) that she hopes she doesn't faint due to the heat. Every time I make her drink some more water, she points out that she probably won't faint now. The cat was out of the bag when I took her to ballet, which is un-air-conditioned: "I hope I faint!" said with a grin. I promised her that if she did, I'd drag her out of the room. Then I made her drink some more water.
I'm trying not to be paranoid about the heat, but D.D.'s little classmate didn't help things this afternoon. She walked part of the way home with us after school, and she assured us that D.D. has a "pale blister" on her neck just like the one she herself had had the time she didn't eat or drink during a heat wave. (Ok, whose parent doesn't make their kid eat, and especially drink, during hot weather?) L.H. pointed out that it's not a blister, just a white splotch, and it's most likely due to the patchy job he did of applying sunscreen to her the last time.
L.H. thinks people are trying to take advantage of me when they ask for a little help with something they've written in English, like a couple of girls in my classes. One had translated a letter of recommendation for an au pair position in England (took 5 minutes to look at, plus 10 minutes of chatting), and the other is taking a translation course in the English department, but had missed half of the semester due to surgery on her foot and her professor didn't have time to look at her assignments. So I corrected them and arranged to meet her this morning to return them. I was a few minutes late, but she didn't come, so I assumed she had a class and headed home. On the way to the bus, I stopped in a department store, on the hunt for the Perfect Gift (tm)—*whisper* but it's a secret. They didn't have it, but I looked at their cookie cutters since I need to expand my collection (all xmas and Halloween right now). People! Who wants cookies shaped like *tea pots*? Or *spoons*? Really! That store needs to find a new supplier.
So I leave the store, and I see the girl walking by. Turns out she had missed her bus into town and was just running late. So we made the swap, but then she gave me a pretty Chinese fan to say thanks. (It really came in handy at the ballet studio, too.) I feel like I'm finally building up some positive credit in my karma account after stirring up a bunch of family shit last week (which I won't go into here).
Of course, I will probably use it all up by mentioning the horrible dress my classmate was wearing last week. What is the deal with sequins lately? I don't mean a design with sequins on it (btw, Gwamma, D.D. is the talk of the second grade with her new sequined shirts); I mean a whole section of a garment covered in sequins. Think early Elton John. After the following horrifying event, I saw that a "boutique" in town had placed several partially sequined items in its window.
Anyhow, this girl was wearing a halter-top dress: the top was covered in black sequins; the bottom was a nightmare of chartreuse and white and black in a kind of Mondrian pattern. With loafers. Because nothing says "glamorous" like white leather loafers.
Thanks for hanging in there!
We've been pretty busy recently. Last Friday—the hottest day of the year in Germany—Darling Daughter's class had an outdoor party. Fortunately, there was covered seating and cold drinks, and it started to cool off as the sun went down, so we didn't die. There were only 2 injuries, neither to our child, so it was a success!
Then on Saturday we went to a midsummer celebration thrown by the German-Swedish club, of which we are members. There was a flower bedecked May-pole, a short program by the Swedish school kids (including D.D.), and various games. Plus dancing around the May-pole. One woman with a mic was giving detailed directions before each song. (Later someone pointed out that it would have helped the German half of the German-Swedish club if she had not given all the directions in Swedish.) Most of the kids and almost half of the adults got up to dance in rings. In addition to the able-bodied dancers, I spotted a few elderly folks, 3 or 4 pregnant ladies (one heavily so), a woman with an infant strapped to her front, and a girl with a soft brace on her ankle. Swedes take their midsummer seriously!
We expected it to be hot, but a storm had blown in the night before, and we got a few sprinkles throughout the day to keep things cooled down. Just in case, I packed a lot of heat-friendly foods for our picnic, including watermelon, cantaloupe, plums, cherry tomatoes, cucumber slices, and condiment-free ham sandwiches. I'm surprised we didn't all get diarrhea after chowing down on all that water-filled good stuff.
Although the above-mentioned storm cooled things off for a day or so for us, it caused big problems in other parts of Germany, including flooding, property damage from hail and high winds, and some injuries. We had seen in the paper that there was flooding in Paris, so I guess we got lucky.
Speaking of Paris, I can now announce that my Lovely MIL and PawPaw (I thought people might get the wrong idea if I used S.D. (for StepDad)) are coming to see us in August, and we are going to take a group trip to Paris for a few days. Plane tickets have been purchased and hotel rooms reserved, so there's no backing out now, Gwamma, hahahahaha! D.D. is so excited that she declared a couple of weeks ago that if Gwamma ended up not coming, D.D. would throw away her pompoms and never dance again, except ballet. That is serious.
Unfortunately, the restaurant next door closed after, what, 7 months. So we'll have to drag them a light farther away to get some authentic German cuisine. And we ourselves had never gotten around to eating there. Oh, well, our loss.
According to the temperature gage in our village, today was just as hot as last Friday (36C=97F). I wore jeans. Of course, I could be melted into a puddle of goo, but I'd still yell, "Turn up the heat!" in my best crotchety old lady voice.
Although it is hot, that is no excuse for the 2 morons I saw diving off the bridge into the river of doom. Well, one moron made it into the water, and the other moron got talked down by two locals with some sense. I watched the whole thing from the bus stop.
At least I haven't encountered the +summer –shirt –shoes guy on the bus in a while. I take that back: I saw him wearing shorts, and vest –shirt, and some Birkenstocks that he probably slipped off but I couldn't see. The flesh, it creeps when I spot him taking up a section of 4 facing seats because no one wants to sit next to an overweight, balding, sweaty, half-naked man on a bus with no AC. Capice?
I did see Vin Diesel on the street today, but he's much shorter than I would have guessed. Shortly after that, I saw another bald-ish guy wearing almost the exact same black shirt, but he had man-boobs, so I'm positive he's not also Vin Diesel.
The bus stop gives me both pleasure and pain. Pain, because after I give up my place on the bench to some old people, they compound the imposition by starting to smoke heavily, joined by the teenaged parents hanging around nearby; and pleasure because I saw a woman who couldn't have been a day younger than 65 drinking from a *baby bottle*. Minus the nipple, of course, because she probably couldn't suck that hard, but any adult who considers a baby bottle an appropriate drink container (it looked to be tea) needs a reality check. Then I looked to my left and saw another grandmotherly type about to put a baby bottle, *full of milk and with a nipple*, in her mouth. "What in the Hell is going on today?" I thought. She was teasing her grandbaby in the stroller next to her, not having a delicious snack of formula on a hot day. Whew!
D.D. has mentioned several times today (unconvincingly) that she hopes she doesn't faint due to the heat. Every time I make her drink some more water, she points out that she probably won't faint now. The cat was out of the bag when I took her to ballet, which is un-air-conditioned: "I hope I faint!" said with a grin. I promised her that if she did, I'd drag her out of the room. Then I made her drink some more water.
I'm trying not to be paranoid about the heat, but D.D.'s little classmate didn't help things this afternoon. She walked part of the way home with us after school, and she assured us that D.D. has a "pale blister" on her neck just like the one she herself had had the time she didn't eat or drink during a heat wave. (Ok, whose parent doesn't make their kid eat, and especially drink, during hot weather?) L.H. pointed out that it's not a blister, just a white splotch, and it's most likely due to the patchy job he did of applying sunscreen to her the last time.
L.H. thinks people are trying to take advantage of me when they ask for a little help with something they've written in English, like a couple of girls in my classes. One had translated a letter of recommendation for an au pair position in England (took 5 minutes to look at, plus 10 minutes of chatting), and the other is taking a translation course in the English department, but had missed half of the semester due to surgery on her foot and her professor didn't have time to look at her assignments. So I corrected them and arranged to meet her this morning to return them. I was a few minutes late, but she didn't come, so I assumed she had a class and headed home. On the way to the bus, I stopped in a department store, on the hunt for the Perfect Gift (tm)—*whisper* but it's a secret. They didn't have it, but I looked at their cookie cutters since I need to expand my collection (all xmas and Halloween right now). People! Who wants cookies shaped like *tea pots*? Or *spoons*? Really! That store needs to find a new supplier.
So I leave the store, and I see the girl walking by. Turns out she had missed her bus into town and was just running late. So we made the swap, but then she gave me a pretty Chinese fan to say thanks. (It really came in handy at the ballet studio, too.) I feel like I'm finally building up some positive credit in my karma account after stirring up a bunch of family shit last week (which I won't go into here).
Of course, I will probably use it all up by mentioning the horrible dress my classmate was wearing last week. What is the deal with sequins lately? I don't mean a design with sequins on it (btw, Gwamma, D.D. is the talk of the second grade with her new sequined shirts); I mean a whole section of a garment covered in sequins. Think early Elton John. After the following horrifying event, I saw that a "boutique" in town had placed several partially sequined items in its window.
Anyhow, this girl was wearing a halter-top dress: the top was covered in black sequins; the bottom was a nightmare of chartreuse and white and black in a kind of Mondrian pattern. With loafers. Because nothing says "glamorous" like white leather loafers.
Thanks for hanging in there!
Monday, June 27, 2005
Throwing You a Bone
For various reasons, I'm not particularly in posting mode right now, but to keep gwamma and the aunties happy, I figure I can post some oldies but goodies from D.D.'s speech log. (L.H. has been keeping notes on her language(s) development since she started talking, but about 1/4 of the entries are just cute things she said.)
Enjoy.
Age 4
(about Swedish) "That's the old stuff to talk; I like new stuff like I'm talking right now.... I don't like stuff that's junky and funky."
D.D.'s version of the Pledge of Allegiance: "...to the United States and North America and South and April and March. Very good."
"I flang it." (past tense of 'fling', don't you know)
In her Yoda phase: "Pin can you not hold in your mouth." (I had some sewing pins in my mouth.)
Why she supposedly couldn't speak Swedish anymore: "A little troll that's named Maha, he came and took the Swedish away from my heart."
D.D. wanted to tussle with L.H.: "Daddy, bend down so I can kick your butt."
When I was cleaning out the coffee pot with vinegar: "That's the worstest coffee you ever made!"
Yoda redux
me: "There are lots of buildings [in Dallas]!"
D.D.: "And big are they, too."
Age 5
During a difficult BM: "I'm gonna die!"
After I tried to comfort her: "I *want* to die!"
After visiting the grands in LA: "Fangers. That's how Pawpaw says it."
L.H.: "Why did you put a cotton ball in Barbie's dress?"
D.D.: "Because so her boobs will look bigger. Fashion style."
D.D. wanted Lucky Charms, and she promised to eat "the lucky *and* the charms."
While watching a funny movie: "This part cracks me off!"
Age 6
While watching the wedding scene at the end of Star Wars, Episode 2
me: "I think grabbing onto a metallic hand [Anakin's] would ruin the moment."
D.D.: "A can of tuna on someone's head would be a little romantic."
Inside D.D.'s brain: She was musing that the only holiday when devils like to come up to the world is Thanksgiving, because they like to see those dead turkeys.
After eating corn chips in the car: "My tummy is upset. It's upset at those Fritos because they were so salty."
While looking at some golden, bejeweled chalices in a museum: "Too much God."
To the philosophical question, "Why are we here?": So we could eat and drink and so God could watch us on his television.
Age 7
On why she had been in trouble in the recent past: "Sometimes I go far away from my right self and I do bad (stuff)."
D.D. wanted to take a knife to her hard-frozen ice cream, but her dad counseled patience.
(translated from German) "*groan* Patience takes too long."
"Daddy, I would like a thermostat for tomato soup with Mommy's homemade bread" [in her lunch box].
L.H.: "What's this device called?" [pointing to a comic strip drawing of a guillotine]
D.D.: "A head off-chopper?"
Enjoy.
Age 4
(about Swedish) "That's the old stuff to talk; I like new stuff like I'm talking right now.... I don't like stuff that's junky and funky."
D.D.'s version of the Pledge of Allegiance: "...to the United States and North America and South and April and March. Very good."
"I flang it." (past tense of 'fling', don't you know)
In her Yoda phase: "Pin can you not hold in your mouth." (I had some sewing pins in my mouth.)
Why she supposedly couldn't speak Swedish anymore: "A little troll that's named Maha, he came and took the Swedish away from my heart."
D.D. wanted to tussle with L.H.: "Daddy, bend down so I can kick your butt."
When I was cleaning out the coffee pot with vinegar: "That's the worstest coffee you ever made!"
Yoda redux
me: "There are lots of buildings [in Dallas]!"
D.D.: "And big are they, too."
Age 5
During a difficult BM: "I'm gonna die!"
After I tried to comfort her: "I *want* to die!"
After visiting the grands in LA: "Fangers. That's how Pawpaw says it."
L.H.: "Why did you put a cotton ball in Barbie's dress?"
D.D.: "Because so her boobs will look bigger. Fashion style."
D.D. wanted Lucky Charms, and she promised to eat "the lucky *and* the charms."
While watching a funny movie: "This part cracks me off!"
Age 6
While watching the wedding scene at the end of Star Wars, Episode 2
me: "I think grabbing onto a metallic hand [Anakin's] would ruin the moment."
D.D.: "A can of tuna on someone's head would be a little romantic."
Inside D.D.'s brain: She was musing that the only holiday when devils like to come up to the world is Thanksgiving, because they like to see those dead turkeys.
After eating corn chips in the car: "My tummy is upset. It's upset at those Fritos because they were so salty."
While looking at some golden, bejeweled chalices in a museum: "Too much God."
To the philosophical question, "Why are we here?": So we could eat and drink and so God could watch us on his television.
Age 7
On why she had been in trouble in the recent past: "Sometimes I go far away from my right self and I do bad (stuff)."
D.D. wanted to take a knife to her hard-frozen ice cream, but her dad counseled patience.
(translated from German) "*groan* Patience takes too long."
"Daddy, I would like a thermostat for tomato soup with Mommy's homemade bread" [in her lunch box].
L.H.: "What's this device called?" [pointing to a comic strip drawing of a guillotine]
D.D.: "A head off-chopper?"
Friday, June 24, 2005
Flip-flops and dying, etc.
I saw a woman in high-heeled mules make her way unsteadily across the cobblestone courtyard where I was studying; she then unlocked a bike and proceeded to mount it. I thought "Holy shit! She's going to kill herself!" To my relief, she dug around in her giant Gucci bag and pulled out some regular flip-flops, thereby avoiding catastrophe.
Then I saw a girl wearing turquoise rubber flip-flops...laced up the calf with matching satin ribbons. She looked completely ridiculous. What was she supposed to be, ballerina-slash-beach bum? Roman-slash-transvestite? I do not know.
Later, while crossing the bridge to the bus, I saw a man swimming in the river. He must have a death wish, because the city government's weekly newspaper recently carried a warning to stay out of the river, due to it being so filthy. (My husband has been in it once, and I made sure to read the article to him in the spirit of "I told you so.") After I got to the bus stop, I tried looking for the swimmer, but I spotted two little bunnies in the shrubbery instead. Cute! And much better than watching some guy dissolve in the river.
I know I said I drive like a granny, but really, I follow the speed limit. The only time I creep along is when I have to go down the main road in our village that has cars parked all along the down-hill side. Have I mentioned that the streets are all narrow? I thought so. Anyhow, I cruise along *at the speed limit* when I'm on the road to the grocery store, but inevitably, someone will insist on tailgating me. So when I spotted the 'falling rocks' sign recently, I thought that would be the answer to all my prayers: tailgaters crushed by falling rocks, i.e., instant karma.
The annoying pseudo-band has another annoying song: Space Cowboy. I will go on record as saying that only Elton John could pull off a song with that title. This band is definitely no Elton John, therefore they should just hang up their jocks.
The weather has been wonderfully warm—no, hot—and I am soaking it up. There were a few clouds earlier this week, but it didn't get too cold, and we've only gotten the tiniest sprinkle, so today was a bit humid. But hot! Woo! Hoo!
Then I saw a girl wearing turquoise rubber flip-flops...laced up the calf with matching satin ribbons. She looked completely ridiculous. What was she supposed to be, ballerina-slash-beach bum? Roman-slash-transvestite? I do not know.
Later, while crossing the bridge to the bus, I saw a man swimming in the river. He must have a death wish, because the city government's weekly newspaper recently carried a warning to stay out of the river, due to it being so filthy. (My husband has been in it once, and I made sure to read the article to him in the spirit of "I told you so.") After I got to the bus stop, I tried looking for the swimmer, but I spotted two little bunnies in the shrubbery instead. Cute! And much better than watching some guy dissolve in the river.
I know I said I drive like a granny, but really, I follow the speed limit. The only time I creep along is when I have to go down the main road in our village that has cars parked all along the down-hill side. Have I mentioned that the streets are all narrow? I thought so. Anyhow, I cruise along *at the speed limit* when I'm on the road to the grocery store, but inevitably, someone will insist on tailgating me. So when I spotted the 'falling rocks' sign recently, I thought that would be the answer to all my prayers: tailgaters crushed by falling rocks, i.e., instant karma.
The annoying pseudo-band has another annoying song: Space Cowboy. I will go on record as saying that only Elton John could pull off a song with that title. This band is definitely no Elton John, therefore they should just hang up their jocks.
The weather has been wonderfully warm—no, hot—and I am soaking it up. There were a few clouds earlier this week, but it didn't get too cold, and we've only gotten the tiniest sprinkle, so today was a bit humid. But hot! Woo! Hoo!
Tuesday, June 21, 2005
I'm Unappreciated
My hair is getting really long, so I've taken to wearing it up in a braid or a bun (shades of my grandmother). I like to think that when I take it down, I have luxuriant waves, but one day I noticed that my unbraided hair keeps separating itself into thin, scraggly, pseuo-dreds. Ok, I thought, screw the braid; the bun won't let me down. Last night, D.D. said I had a bunch of "crinkly little hairs", and L.H. commented that my hair looked frizzy, then corrected himself: bushy.
When L.H. was little, he had a knack for pushing people's buttons, to the point that his mother feared for his life when he started in on his older, bigger brother. He hasn't outgrown this trait. Of course, my mom says I had a smart mouth, but I—Wait, scratch that. Never mind.
I was just remembering the time in junior high when the guy who sat in front of me in math started calling a blond classmate "Goldilocks" and myself "Shitty-locks." My thirty-two-year-old self hopes my thirteen-year-old self told him he was a total dick. (He grew out of it, if I remember correctly.)
I hope that something like that doesn't happen to my beautiful, brunette daughter, but I imagine anyone who tried it would get a punch in the face for his efforts.
I finally broke down and hit the "Jeans Palace." According to the Levis site, the JP carries their jeans. I know exactly what style and size of Levis fit me (having just bought a pair while in Texas), so I thought shopping would be a snap. Encouraged by the "30% off brand-name jeans" sign, I entered the den of iniquity. Where I promptly had a heart attack and fell over. !!86 euros for Levis!! (and not even in the style I was looking for). Even with the discount, there is no way I would pay half my grocery bill for jeans. Sheesh!
I like to read fantasy novels, and I'm giving writing one a shot, but I have to admit that I feel a little silly writing a bare-bones outline of the plot; I actually used the word "ensorcel." *mental note—fire that part of my brain* I think I need to jazz things up, like use mafia-esque terms: the wizard whacked a bunch of people. Now I feel less silly.
My Lovely Husband just put out a bunch of geraniums and some plumbagos—or, as we call them around here, his "precious plumbagos." That goes back to when he had a huge wall of plumbagos growing outside our front door, and he would disappear for a while each evening in order to water and prune and rearrange his darling plants. The new flowers are in flower boxes all along both balconies (over one another on the east-ish side of the house). Since we have a kind of Bavarian-looking house, L.H. insists on the flowers to go with the look. I'll give him his prop and say that I enjoy the view out the kitchen window much more after his flower-planting orgy. So there.
When L.H. was little, he had a knack for pushing people's buttons, to the point that his mother feared for his life when he started in on his older, bigger brother. He hasn't outgrown this trait. Of course, my mom says I had a smart mouth, but I—Wait, scratch that. Never mind.
I was just remembering the time in junior high when the guy who sat in front of me in math started calling a blond classmate "Goldilocks" and myself "Shitty-locks." My thirty-two-year-old self hopes my thirteen-year-old self told him he was a total dick. (He grew out of it, if I remember correctly.)
I hope that something like that doesn't happen to my beautiful, brunette daughter, but I imagine anyone who tried it would get a punch in the face for his efforts.
I finally broke down and hit the "Jeans Palace." According to the Levis site, the JP carries their jeans. I know exactly what style and size of Levis fit me (having just bought a pair while in Texas), so I thought shopping would be a snap. Encouraged by the "30% off brand-name jeans" sign, I entered the den of iniquity. Where I promptly had a heart attack and fell over. !!86 euros for Levis!! (and not even in the style I was looking for). Even with the discount, there is no way I would pay half my grocery bill for jeans. Sheesh!
I like to read fantasy novels, and I'm giving writing one a shot, but I have to admit that I feel a little silly writing a bare-bones outline of the plot; I actually used the word "ensorcel." *mental note—fire that part of my brain* I think I need to jazz things up, like use mafia-esque terms: the wizard whacked a bunch of people. Now I feel less silly.
My Lovely Husband just put out a bunch of geraniums and some plumbagos—or, as we call them around here, his "precious plumbagos." That goes back to when he had a huge wall of plumbagos growing outside our front door, and he would disappear for a while each evening in order to water and prune and rearrange his darling plants. The new flowers are in flower boxes all along both balconies (over one another on the east-ish side of the house). Since we have a kind of Bavarian-looking house, L.H. insists on the flowers to go with the look. I'll give him his prop and say that I enjoy the view out the kitchen window much more after his flower-planting orgy. So there.
Monday, June 20, 2005
Short but Coherent
I remember that last year the pedestrian bridge was often littered with dog poop, but it's been surprisingly clean this year (knock on wood). So it was upsetting to see that a man—an American!—appeared to be encouraging his little dog to evacuate on the bridge this evening. It's a good thing his wife came and made them move along, because on behalf of all daily bridge-crossers, I would have been forced to stab him with my pen.
Outside of the occasional motor starting in the tiny parking lot outside my classroom, we hardly even notice it's there. But today someone's car must have sprung a mighty leak, because gas—not exhaust—fumes filled our room. Latin is brain-damaging enough; I don't need a side order of toxic fumes, thanks.
Lovely Husband and Darling Daughter toted some of her friends to the pool yesterday, but L.H. has a militant disregard for SKIN CANCER, so he didn't bother to put on any sunscreen, and now he's all red. HA HA! It's my wifely prerogative to mock, didn't you know?
Outside of the occasional motor starting in the tiny parking lot outside my classroom, we hardly even notice it's there. But today someone's car must have sprung a mighty leak, because gas—not exhaust—fumes filled our room. Latin is brain-damaging enough; I don't need a side order of toxic fumes, thanks.
Lovely Husband and Darling Daughter toted some of her friends to the pool yesterday, but L.H. has a militant disregard for SKIN CANCER, so he didn't bother to put on any sunscreen, and now he's all red. HA HA! It's my wifely prerogative to mock, didn't you know?
Sunday, June 19, 2005
L.H. tried to thwart my plan to educate the online public about the wonderful world of Star Wars-themed paper products by using the first paper towel off the roll, thereby throwing off the pattern so that Chewbacca's feet or head are systematically chopped off, but my patience and cunning have paid off. Chewbacca is not only friendly and unassuming, but he kicks ass at cleaning up hairballs.
Saturday, June 18, 2005
According to the front page of the regional newspaper, this is the new look for summer. Personally, I think it's a cheap rip-off of Siouxie Sioux, and she should be pissed.
[When I told him why I had the digital camera out, my "Lovely" Husband called me "e-Margie." I am putting this on the list, and if I ever decide to leave him, it will be entered as evidence of mental abuse. (ha! ha!)]
Friday, June 17, 2005
Blabbedly Blab Blab
Thursday morning I was waiting for a shop to open so I could drop off some film for developing, and to kill some time I wandered to the window of the plumbing business next door. In addition to the usual collection of sinks and fixtures, there was a toilet, with a most unusual lid. It was painted in wavy stripes that forcibly reminded me of The Scream. Now I am having all these strange associations.
I also looked in the window of the drug store, and lo and behold, there were *cotton balls*. When D.D. was having some cold-related ear problems, I needed cotton balls to keep the drops in her ears, and I could not find them anywhere in the damn drug store. Of course, I could have just asked, but I generally avoid asking questions in German. Besides, shouldn't cotton balls be with the baby supplies? Right? But no, they are by the cosmetics, so it makes perfect sense that I have never seen them before.
***
Bikes aren't allowed in the main shopping/pedestrian street in town, so they all take the parallel street that connections many of the university buildings. German bikes have bells, and people use them to warm dummies who walk 5 across while they chat to get the hell out of the way. I have to say that I feel much safer walking around here than on the UTexas campus, where I constantly feared the 2-wheeled messengers of death.
I also feel much safer on a bus. I know I have mentioned before how narrow everything is around here—the end result of living in a valley and/or an old, pre-auto town—but the buses can squeeze through the tiniest gaps without knocking off rear-view mirrors. It's actually kind of weird to be passing another bus (or a streetcar) so closely that you can tell the passengers on the other bus are also holding their breath. I wouldn't trust an Austin bus driver not to hit a traffic sign, much less pass a bicyclist on a narrow, twisty, mountain road.
***
When I take D.D. to school, we often see the man who delivers the lunches for the after-school-care kids (there's no lunch at school here otherwise). He cracks me up. He's this middle-aged, kind of dumpy man, but the radio in his truck is blasting dance music of the techno variety the whole time he's at the school. A Night at the Roxbury, anyone?
***
The grandparents and aunts and uncles will be happy to know that my Darling Daughter still says "fanger" (instead of "finger"). I believe she does it quite consciously, but it's better than no drawl whatsoever.
I also looked in the window of the drug store, and lo and behold, there were *cotton balls*. When D.D. was having some cold-related ear problems, I needed cotton balls to keep the drops in her ears, and I could not find them anywhere in the damn drug store. Of course, I could have just asked, but I generally avoid asking questions in German. Besides, shouldn't cotton balls be with the baby supplies? Right? But no, they are by the cosmetics, so it makes perfect sense that I have never seen them before.
***
Bikes aren't allowed in the main shopping/pedestrian street in town, so they all take the parallel street that connections many of the university buildings. German bikes have bells, and people use them to warm dummies who walk 5 across while they chat to get the hell out of the way. I have to say that I feel much safer walking around here than on the UTexas campus, where I constantly feared the 2-wheeled messengers of death.
I also feel much safer on a bus. I know I have mentioned before how narrow everything is around here—the end result of living in a valley and/or an old, pre-auto town—but the buses can squeeze through the tiniest gaps without knocking off rear-view mirrors. It's actually kind of weird to be passing another bus (or a streetcar) so closely that you can tell the passengers on the other bus are also holding their breath. I wouldn't trust an Austin bus driver not to hit a traffic sign, much less pass a bicyclist on a narrow, twisty, mountain road.
***
When I take D.D. to school, we often see the man who delivers the lunches for the after-school-care kids (there's no lunch at school here otherwise). He cracks me up. He's this middle-aged, kind of dumpy man, but the radio in his truck is blasting dance music of the techno variety the whole time he's at the school. A Night at the Roxbury, anyone?
***
The grandparents and aunts and uncles will be happy to know that my Darling Daughter still says "fanger" (instead of "finger"). I believe she does it quite consciously, but it's better than no drawl whatsoever.
Off the Cuff
Lovely SIL sent me an appropriate accompaniment to my toilet-reading post. Enjoy!
I met a girl! (If you thought of Cry-Baby, you are my soul mate.) Well, she's been in 2 of my classes all semester, but we just introduced ourselves briefly today. She's also American, although I didn't catch where from. Seeing how I'm so socially reluctant, it was a big deal for me.
Here are some interesting things I saw on the way home on the bus:
Neighboring houses with almost-matching, wrought-iron, birdcage-esque gazebos on the street side. One was serving as a rose arbor.
Two crows standing on some driftwood swirling in the river. They didn't seem to notice the water or the swirling.
A red hang glider circling over the abbey. He seemed to be heading for one of the fields nearby.
Otherwise, I got nuthin'.
I met a girl! (If you thought of Cry-Baby, you are my soul mate.) Well, she's been in 2 of my classes all semester, but we just introduced ourselves briefly today. She's also American, although I didn't catch where from. Seeing how I'm so socially reluctant, it was a big deal for me.
Here are some interesting things I saw on the way home on the bus:
Neighboring houses with almost-matching, wrought-iron, birdcage-esque gazebos on the street side. One was serving as a rose arbor.
Two crows standing on some driftwood swirling in the river. They didn't seem to notice the water or the swirling.
A red hang glider circling over the abbey. He seemed to be heading for one of the fields nearby.
Otherwise, I got nuthin'.
Thursday, June 16, 2005
All the News That's Not Really News
D.D. managed to injure herself twice over three days. First, she slammed her hand in the car door. She had a big bruise just below her wrist that was tender the first day. She was complaining at school that it hurt, so the secretary put an ice pack on it, then wrapped a gauze bandage around it so her friends could sign it. She managed to whip up plenty of sympathy and attention for herself with one bruise.
Then last night she flopped over the back of the couch onto the seat, a not uncommon occurrence around here, except that she managed to land with her heels on the coffee table. Ouch! She had a scrape on one ankle, but when I felt all over her foot while she watched tv, she didn't even flinch. Until she noticed what I was doing, then it was, "Oh! My foot!" I made her run cold water over her foot in the tub, which she said helped. So she's not permanently maimed.
One night this week, D.D. wanted to listen to her Soul Control cd, but we have to switch around a bunch of plugs to turn on the stereo, so I talked her into using the jambox in the kitchen. She wanted me to close it off with a makeshift curtain (no door) so we wouldn't peek, because she wanted to "dance for herself." We promised to stay in the living room, but we wondered what the neighbors downstairs thought of the rhythmic thumping coming from her jumping around and dancing in the kitchen.
D.D. has decided that bad people should have giant apple heads (but not red), for easier spotting. Like Dracoy Malfoy, for instance. He'd have a big, pale, apple head with a sprig of blond hair where the stem would be. If only life were so simple.
She has also decided to forego those pesky "idioms" and "conventions of standard English." We were watching the second LOTR movie, the scene where the Ents attack Saruman's fortress. L.H. and I were explaining what was going on to D.D., and I remarked, "How would Saruman like to get a taste of his own medicine?" D.D. corrected me: "A taste of his own *poop*. That would be much worse." And we couldn't convince her that her way wasn't the best. I can't wait to see her first school essay in English when we get back to the States.
L.H. and I have a running argument about who has the worst taste in dining: he says my instant coffee tastes like it's infused with tuna, and I point out that hot dogs wrapped in bacon is not exactly a gourmet dish. A side argument is dunking: he does, I don't. *shudder* I hate soggy food.
On Sunday we took advantage of some nice-ish weather (not too cold; overcast, but not raining) and went for a "hike." There are trails all over the place around here, so we weren't hiking in the "mountaineering" sense, but we did have a nice, long walk. At one point we came across a marshy area that is purportedly a wallowing spot for wild boars, who were thankfully absent. While standing around a tiny observation hut above the spot, we heard the *very loud*, *very disconcerting* droning of bees. We didn't see many bees except down near the water, so we think they may have been in the cane off to the side. L.H. and I started wondering if any Africanized bees have made it this far north.
We had to cross a road at one point and saw—I don't know what you call them—a three-wheeled motorcycle. (Silly me, it's called a trike. Why didn't I know that?) We've seen quite a few since the weather warmed up (comparatively speaking). During the memorable 4 days when it was nearly hot (sound like a legend in the making: "The Almost-Heat-Wave of '05"), the road that goes through our village and over the mountain to the next village was overrun with bicyclists and motorcycles, including the trikes. One day I counted from the window as a motorcycle club went up the hill; I lost track at 70, but I'm positive there were at least 100 riders.
Anyhow, when we saw the trike on Sunday, D.D. said she wanted one, hot pink, with her name written on both sides and a big 'one' on the back. My little motorcycle mama.
On the drive home, we were passed by a bicycle. Yes, I was driving, but it was a steep hill, so I was in a low gear and riding my brakes, and the dude was peddling as fast as he could go. As a matter of fact, I got stuck behind another bike that was coasting down the hill. So I'm following one bike and being tailgated by another until he had a chance to pass us both. The humiliation! (Not really. I'm an unashamed granny driver these days. "Better safe than dead" is my motto.)
Then last night she flopped over the back of the couch onto the seat, a not uncommon occurrence around here, except that she managed to land with her heels on the coffee table. Ouch! She had a scrape on one ankle, but when I felt all over her foot while she watched tv, she didn't even flinch. Until she noticed what I was doing, then it was, "Oh! My foot!" I made her run cold water over her foot in the tub, which she said helped. So she's not permanently maimed.
One night this week, D.D. wanted to listen to her Soul Control cd, but we have to switch around a bunch of plugs to turn on the stereo, so I talked her into using the jambox in the kitchen. She wanted me to close it off with a makeshift curtain (no door) so we wouldn't peek, because she wanted to "dance for herself." We promised to stay in the living room, but we wondered what the neighbors downstairs thought of the rhythmic thumping coming from her jumping around and dancing in the kitchen.
D.D. has decided that bad people should have giant apple heads (but not red), for easier spotting. Like Dracoy Malfoy, for instance. He'd have a big, pale, apple head with a sprig of blond hair where the stem would be. If only life were so simple.
She has also decided to forego those pesky "idioms" and "conventions of standard English." We were watching the second LOTR movie, the scene where the Ents attack Saruman's fortress. L.H. and I were explaining what was going on to D.D., and I remarked, "How would Saruman like to get a taste of his own medicine?" D.D. corrected me: "A taste of his own *poop*. That would be much worse." And we couldn't convince her that her way wasn't the best. I can't wait to see her first school essay in English when we get back to the States.
L.H. and I have a running argument about who has the worst taste in dining: he says my instant coffee tastes like it's infused with tuna, and I point out that hot dogs wrapped in bacon is not exactly a gourmet dish. A side argument is dunking: he does, I don't. *shudder* I hate soggy food.
On Sunday we took advantage of some nice-ish weather (not too cold; overcast, but not raining) and went for a "hike." There are trails all over the place around here, so we weren't hiking in the "mountaineering" sense, but we did have a nice, long walk. At one point we came across a marshy area that is purportedly a wallowing spot for wild boars, who were thankfully absent. While standing around a tiny observation hut above the spot, we heard the *very loud*, *very disconcerting* droning of bees. We didn't see many bees except down near the water, so we think they may have been in the cane off to the side. L.H. and I started wondering if any Africanized bees have made it this far north.
We had to cross a road at one point and saw—I don't know what you call them—a three-wheeled motorcycle. (Silly me, it's called a trike. Why didn't I know that?) We've seen quite a few since the weather warmed up (comparatively speaking). During the memorable 4 days when it was nearly hot (sound like a legend in the making: "The Almost-Heat-Wave of '05"), the road that goes through our village and over the mountain to the next village was overrun with bicyclists and motorcycles, including the trikes. One day I counted from the window as a motorcycle club went up the hill; I lost track at 70, but I'm positive there were at least 100 riders.
Anyhow, when we saw the trike on Sunday, D.D. said she wanted one, hot pink, with her name written on both sides and a big 'one' on the back. My little motorcycle mama.
On the drive home, we were passed by a bicycle. Yes, I was driving, but it was a steep hill, so I was in a low gear and riding my brakes, and the dude was peddling as fast as he could go. As a matter of fact, I got stuck behind another bike that was coasting down the hill. So I'm following one bike and being tailgated by another until he had a chance to pass us both. The humiliation! (Not really. I'm an unashamed granny driver these days. "Better safe than dead" is my motto.)
Tuesday, June 14, 2005
More Observations From Around Town
I'd like to report another sighting of the Old French Whore, in town instead of on the bus this time. She had on an acid green top and a floral-print skirt in hot pink, with a matching hot-pink sweater draped jauntily around her shoulders. I spotted her tottering across the central bus terminal on stiletto mules. Ouch! Surprisingly, the top and skirt coordinated, but caused me to lose my color vision for several minutes afterward.
Farther along in the shopping district, I spotted Simon LeBon's copycat younger brother, who apparently had just been unfrozen from his cryogenic sleep. His polo couldn't have been pinker, his loafers less sockless, or his jeans less tightly rolled at the ankle. And after sleeping through the 80s and 90s, it must have been difficult for him to lift his head with all the residual styling products weighing it down (but nevertheless leaving him with the timeless "rooster-head"). Ah...those were the days.
I found myself staring at my classmates again today. The reason was pretty straightforward in one girl's case—she had bubble-gum pink tips on her nails, set off with a silver glitter line. In all other respects, this girl was non-descript: naturally styled hair, light make-up, simple black blouse. But I guess the heart of a disco queen can beat in any of us.
The other girl looks a lot like Audrey Hepburn: small, pointy, pixie face and large eyes. Quite cute, actually, and always tastefully made up. But the clothes! Today she wore a leopard-print blouse; her hair was piled high and topped with a dusty-rose silk flower, which just happened to be the same color as her leather jacket. Unfortunately, neither matched her black cat-eye glasses or giant dangly bead earrings. I often think maybe I should glam up, but then I see this girl and realize how easily fashion-retarded people like myself can make a misstep or 12.
While crossing the bridge on my way to the bus stop, I passed a guy singing loudly *in falsetto*. People! Headphones do not make you invisible!
My Dear Friend was telling me about the series of freaks she's had to teach (at the university level), the most recent being a girl who bursts into song during class. Maybe she thinks she's in a Björk film.
There's a tanning salon around the corner from my building at the university, and the signs they have outside kill me. One poster is for the brand of tanning beds they use, and it features a woman crouching in a desert, wrapped in *tiny strips of foil*. The way she's squatting, she appears to be giving birth, and I have to wonder: to what, a baked potato?
The other poster is actually their logo, a drawing of a man in a bikini on a lounge chair soaking up some sun. It's nice to see a man used for once, except that some of the color directly above his bikini has been scratched or rubbed away, so his crotch appears to be smoking. Hee! I don't think that's really going to bring in the male customers.
Weather-bitching level: 2.5
Once again, I've been duped! Over the last 2 days, it's been gradually getting warmer...then it rained this morning, with sprinkles on and off throughout the day. Sitting in the house, it's cool, but if you have to move around outside (like to pick up your kid from school), you are instantly soaked in sweat because it is so humid. Damn you, Mother Nature!
Farther along in the shopping district, I spotted Simon LeBon's copycat younger brother, who apparently had just been unfrozen from his cryogenic sleep. His polo couldn't have been pinker, his loafers less sockless, or his jeans less tightly rolled at the ankle. And after sleeping through the 80s and 90s, it must have been difficult for him to lift his head with all the residual styling products weighing it down (but nevertheless leaving him with the timeless "rooster-head"). Ah...those were the days.
I found myself staring at my classmates again today. The reason was pretty straightforward in one girl's case—she had bubble-gum pink tips on her nails, set off with a silver glitter line. In all other respects, this girl was non-descript: naturally styled hair, light make-up, simple black blouse. But I guess the heart of a disco queen can beat in any of us.
The other girl looks a lot like Audrey Hepburn: small, pointy, pixie face and large eyes. Quite cute, actually, and always tastefully made up. But the clothes! Today she wore a leopard-print blouse; her hair was piled high and topped with a dusty-rose silk flower, which just happened to be the same color as her leather jacket. Unfortunately, neither matched her black cat-eye glasses or giant dangly bead earrings. I often think maybe I should glam up, but then I see this girl and realize how easily fashion-retarded people like myself can make a misstep or 12.
While crossing the bridge on my way to the bus stop, I passed a guy singing loudly *in falsetto*. People! Headphones do not make you invisible!
My Dear Friend was telling me about the series of freaks she's had to teach (at the university level), the most recent being a girl who bursts into song during class. Maybe she thinks she's in a Björk film.
There's a tanning salon around the corner from my building at the university, and the signs they have outside kill me. One poster is for the brand of tanning beds they use, and it features a woman crouching in a desert, wrapped in *tiny strips of foil*. The way she's squatting, she appears to be giving birth, and I have to wonder: to what, a baked potato?
The other poster is actually their logo, a drawing of a man in a bikini on a lounge chair soaking up some sun. It's nice to see a man used for once, except that some of the color directly above his bikini has been scratched or rubbed away, so his crotch appears to be smoking. Hee! I don't think that's really going to bring in the male customers.
Weather-bitching level: 2.5
Once again, I've been duped! Over the last 2 days, it's been gradually getting warmer...then it rained this morning, with sprinkles on and off throughout the day. Sitting in the house, it's cool, but if you have to move around outside (like to pick up your kid from school), you are instantly soaked in sweat because it is so humid. Damn you, Mother Nature!
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