China Travel Journal: Day 2-- The Forbidden City, Capitol Normal University, and Duck Dinner

So begins my first full day in China. I'm not particularly proud of this entry, but I think that the scatteredness of the piece shows exactly how exhausted I was. Instead of going into too much description, I was pretty much listing what I saw and was told. I think this changes later.

14 May 2008

8:11 PM

Beijing

Woke up at 5 AM this morning, even though our wake up call was for 7. My jetlag is such that I'm quickly fading away while writing this, so excuse any incoherence on my part. Anyway, I was startled at the smog fog that hangs over the city. Another girl assured me that this was nothing the way of pollution, but I remain unconvinced. Whatever it was dried out my throat and lips and left my contacts begging for a long soak. I hope they'll be okay for tomorrow.

Breakfast at this hotel is an odd mix of Western and Eastern foods, all shoved awkwardly into a buffet. I settled for Coco Krispies; will be more adventurous tomorrow. Perhaps the buffet staff will pick a new album to play over the loud speaker since the Backstreet Boys don't really aid in digestion.

Dr. Cai then took us the the Forbidden City, which was very impressive indeed. I suppose that it took me a little while to square myself with the fact that I was actually walking beneath that giant portrait of Mao on the Tian'amen and then walking on the same bricks on which emperors once strode. The complex seemed never ending and very, very red. I suppose anyone reading this will have to forgive me, but I have to say that I was picturing that final fight scene from Mulan the entire time.

Tian'amen and the giant portrait of Mao.

The many curved roofs in the Forbidden City.

We were told that the two lions you see traditionally guarding many doorways in the City are not both male, despite the manes. The one holding the globe on the right is the male; the one on the left holding the baby is the female. Also, where the phoenix was paired with the dragon meant that this was the place that the empress inhabited. Finally, never refer to a Chinese man as a soft-shelled turtle, as that means he's being cuckolded. I know that last bit has nothing to do with anything, but it's an interesting fact.

A male lion guarding the door of the gate. He's the big stone guy in the background.

A relief of a dragon, the emperor's special symbol.

The phoenix, the empress's special symbol. She wasn't allowed to wander about the Forbidden City, so we can pretty much tell where she might have gone based on the location of the phoenixes.

A hard-shelled turtle, which is known for tenacity and bravery. Obviously not a soft-shelled turtle.

Again, we couldn't hold still for too long or pose for our own pictures-- the Chinese would quickly jump in. A few of us were standing for a good five minutes while at least ten jumped in and out of photos. I'm not sure if I should feel flattered or like a star of a freak show. Still, I know this could get irritating after a couple of days. Dr. Cai says that we have to learn how to say "Bu" (no), but they don't give you a chance. I really need to start charging.

A scene from the Forbidden City gardens. There is really no point to me including this. I just thought it was pretty.

I learned today that I'm a sucker for a sob story and am really horrendous at bargaining. I'm sure that's not going to come and bite me in the butt later. But carrying on...

After the City, we took out bus to the Capitol Normal University to hear Dr. Shorten give a lecture about water and sanitation. His speech was enlightening, but to us and the Chinese students who listened in. We engaged in a discussion afterwards in groups, though the topics were not limited to those of pollution and water conservation. I spoke pretty extensively to a bunch of English lit students, who seemed very interested in my studies and life in the US. One thing that I hadn't realized was so prevalent was young people picking out English names. I'm not sure how I feel about that. On one hand, they do seem to pick out their own names, which gives them meaning. On the other, perhaps we should be making an effort to learn their given names. I don't see why they should have to take on new names for the benefit of the West.

Speaking of East meets West, I had my first encountered with a Chinese toilet today. It's little more than a porcelain hole in the ground that you have to squat over. I've never wished harder to be a guy in my life. Ultimately, I had to visit the facilities twice-- once to get the feel for it, another to actually do the deed. As a kid, I used to be deathly afraid of public toilets. I would have never survived in China.

Our final stop was dinner for Beijing Duck, which is basically what they call crispy duck pancakes in the UK. Our hosts were the Chinese Universities Alumni Association, though the representatives at our table didn't have much to say. They did show us how to make a tasty duck taco, though.

Our duck dinner. I think it's a little gross that they served duck meat from a duck-shaped tray. Gross and morbidly funny.

K.

The Foody Philistine

In my lonely nighttime wanderings (it's still daytime for me, you know), I've been desperately looking for something to do. At 2 AM, I was watching a Home Improvement marathon. At 5 AM, I was eating a whole box of pizza. At 7 AM, I locked myself out of the house for 45 minutes with no bra or shoes. I've done nothing constructive.

I've finally found another book to read, though, conveniently stolen from my mother's Floor Library of Books Rarely Read. It's called The United States of Arugula (I think that's a veggie) and is one of those amusingly educational tomes about how our food culture has changed in America. I've perused the first few pages and have already developed some thoughts.

I'm a regular watcher of the Food Channel, if only to see Alton Brown and Marc Summers (we go way back). I also love those Food Network Challenges were masters in their field rush against the clock to create some wonderful culinary confections. Oooh, and Ace of Cakes. I love Ace of Cakes. Call me a nerd, but I adore the Food Channel.

Still, for all the time spent in front of the television, I'm still not a gourmet. Give me the simple. Don't make my grilled cheese with artisanal bread and brie. I don't want Kobe beef. And, dear Lord, don't put truffles in anything. I'm a simple girl with simple tastes.

Not that I won't try things. I've had my fair share of haggis, I've tried the 1,000 Year Old Egg (gak!), and I'm willing to give a shot to a local speciality even if it's not at all kosher. I'll eat the food for the experience, but I probably won't make it part of my daily diet.

So I'm a foody philistine. Eager to learn, but restrained when it comes to actually eating it.

K.

China Travel Journal: Day 1, Entry 2

Well, it's 5:30 AM in North America, but it's 5:30 PM for me. So instead of sleeping, I'm going to put up my second(?) entry in my China travel journal.

13 May 2008
9:14 PM

Beijing

I think the first thing you notice about Beijing is how clean it is. This seems like a contradictory statement to the one I made in the last entry, but it's true. When we left the airport, the sune was shining, the sky was clear, and, as Sara pointed out, there wasn't a single piece of trash on the ground. This last trait doesn't happen on its own, but is maintained by orange-jumpsuited people with litter picks and wheelbarrows. You get the feeling that Beijing is one giant organizsm that breathes with the revolutions of the millions of bicycle wheels that roam the streets. These orange people are like the good bacteria in Beijing's gut, digesting and moving the poisons that occur in a living city. I would say that they were like white blood cells, but the police here have that position covered-- there is at least one on every corner.

I was wondering if Beijing's infamous smog was just a rumor spread by its detractors, but, as I discovered when we went out for dinner, it isn't. I'm not sure where it came from, but there it was. It was hazy, like dew evaporating on a really hot day, but thi was a cool, dry afternoon. I fear that some of my pictures may not come out as crisp because of it.

Dr. Cai took us to a restaurant next door to our hotel, which served us lazy Susan-style. The amount of food was overwhelming-- crispy duck, stringbeans, fried bean paste (yum!), fried rice, pork, fish, ginger chicken, etc. I got schooled by a waitress twice on how to serve noodles with chopsticks. She seemed to have a sixth sense for whenever I would reach for the noodle bowl. Dinner ended with Sara gnawing on a fried duck head. Just picture that.

Oh hey, you don't have to! Actually, upon looking longer on it, I think it's a chicken head. Sara stuck that thing in her mouth, prounced it "chewy,' then spat it out into a napkin.

After dinner, Dr. Cai led us to Tian'amen Square to see the flag being lowered. Unfortunately, we soon became the main attractions. I'm not sure why we didn't see this coming, being a group consisting of several blondes and two African Americans among others, but we soon became aware of people staring at us and secretively snapping pictures. Girls came right out and posed with some of our boys, but the men stood back and creepily tapes us with camera phones. Right now, I'd just like to ask all the Amish I've ever watched on the road to forgive me-- I didn't know how weird and uncomfortable that is until now. I wouldn't mind if someone just asked us for a picture (an Olympic volunteer did just that), but don't treat me like an animal in a zoo. The only people I don't mind staring are the kids because they smile at you if you wave. Oh well, different culture.

A police officer in front of Tian'amen at dusk.

Watched some CCTV today. Most of the coverage was on the quake in Sichuan on Monday. Apparently there is no electricity or drinking water at the moment, which will probably contribute to health issues in the next few weeks. Sad.

K.

PS. Before I continue on with these entries, know that I can't spell. That's all.

China Travel Journal: An Introduction

Since I actually took this trip to China in order to fulfill six course credits, I actually had to do some school work while I was there. One of the requirements was to keep a travel journal where you recorded your thoughts about the environment, medical facilities, school culture, and just your general experiences. So I spent quite a bit of time grinding out these entries.

However, there is something that the reader should know. Going into this trip, I knew very little about China. Yes, I read articles and books to bone up on the culture and the topics my classes covered (the environment, medicine, education, etc), but all of my opinions were distinctly American. Really, you can't expect anymore than that. After all, my information came through a Western lense. This is obvious in my first couple entries when I was trying to get a handle on China. I think that this generally changes throughout the journal, but you'll have to make that decision for yourself.

All of the opinions expressed in these entries are my own. Feel free to comment or ask questions. I will answer to the best of my ability.

And so, we begin...

13 May 2008
10:05 AM (Beijing time)
Somewhere over Russia

I'm not sure if I'm totally mentally prepared for where I'm going. One plane is much like another (excepting the food, which can make or break the whole experience), so I might as well be flying to a country that I know well rather than the unknown. And I have a feeling that no matter how much reading I do on the subject of Chinese culture, I'll be almost catatonic with culture shock. I'll survive, of course-- I always do. Still, on a plane you're given little to do but wonder.

I've tried to occupy my time by reading some of the environmental articles, but the sheer number of statistics and scientific abbreviations has blown my English major's mind. I think the meaning that I'm supposed to glean is hidden between these numbers, but I haven't found it yet. Thre is a reason that I barely passed any science classes. :) However, I've become aware of just how unstable environmentally China is. I'm surprised that the entire country just hasn't imploded in on itseld in a puff of coal dust and CFCs. Floods, landslides, dust storms, water shortages, the disappearance of rivers-- that's quite a list. I wonder what the regualr Chinese citizen thinks of all of this. Would he or she be so used to it tht it ceasese to make an impact on the general thought process? Or is her or she poised to become an international spokes person about the dangers of misused resources? Also, what the hell was the IOC thinking when they awarded the 2008 Olympics to Beijing, which apparently suffers from debilitating dust storms that limit visibility to near zero? How many athletes are going to risk their healths and athletic careers to compete here?

I suppose these questions will be answered for me at some point-- if I remember to ask them, anyway.

K.

Some Good News!

Hey all.

I just got back from China yesterday. Still rather exhausted, but I will be posting my travel journal up here, complete with pictures, very soon.

And now the good news: My poem "The Kimono" has been accepted for publication in The Swarthmore Literary Review online issue. Color me excited!

K.

Scattered Thoughts: Stressful Times

-- Going to China on Monday. And holy crap, I am not ready.

-- "Graduation" today. Okay, so I don't technically graduate until August, but I do walk across that stage today, wearing tons of bling.

-- I'm worried about my grades. I didn't do so well this semester. :(

-- Stepped on my glasses yesterday. Feeling pretty shitty about that.

-- One bright stop-- that interview in New York went really well. I hesitate to mention what the exact company is for legal and jinx-ing reasons, but it's terribly exciting.

Boo-urns. Have a great few weeks, everybody!

K.

Entertained By So Little

Possibly one of the finest sentences I have ever concocted for a college paper:

"Indeed, based on the reports of Addison and Steele, the streets must have been fairly frothing with giggling confections of silk and curled hair, wafting past more domesticated women on the breezes made by their own vibrating fans."

Verily, I am a beast.

K.

A Gentlemen's Duel

Dear Internet,

Why is this video not being shown on movie screens everywhere? Absolutely one of the best things I've seen in a long time.

Loooooove,

Kate

Miley's memoir makes me mad

Dear World,

Granted, Miley Cyrus has done quite a bit more than I have, but seriously, a memoir? The kid is fifteen-- how much can she have to say?

Until she wins the Nobel Prize, she has no reason to pen the memories of her short life and that will only happen when episodes of Hannah Montana are found to magically cure cancer and deflect asteroids hurtling towards Earth.

But, then again, Yassir Arafat managed to bag a Nobel Prize-- so I guess anything can happen on that committee.

Hugs and Kisses,

K.

An open letter to the politicans now leaving Pennsylvania

Dear politicians,

Well, another polling day over and another spotlight fading on our great state. I'm in class, but I've been spying on the CNN website for about half an hour now. Clinton is projected to win.

I'm not sure whether I like that PA is so often invaded by politicians. Sure, I've gotten to see the likes of John Edwards, John Kerry, Bill Clinton, and Barack Obama over the years, but the visits seem insincere. Tomorrow, they'll all be gone, like a one-night stand picked up from a truck stop who gives you herpes, vomits all over your bathroom, and is gone in the morning, leaving you to clean up and apply the ointment. You might look back fondly on the encounter in your weaker moments, but the persistent itching in no-no places brings you back to your senses.

So, goodbye, politicians! I'll be half-praying that we won't be a swing state this year so you don't dirty our bedsheets again.

Love,

K.

The Crappiest Catch

Dear "Deadliest Catch" guys,

Watching you guys makes me wonder whether our taste for crab is really worth the cost. I'm sure a bunch of you are adventure-seeking maniacs, but, really. I don't think Chesapeake Bay blue crab fishermen have to deal with this kind of crap-- their dangers really focus around the pollution affecting the blue population.

Do you want me to tell my brother to lay off the king crab legs? 'Cause I'll do it, if you want.

Seriously.

K.

PS. Yeah, so I doubt this will happen. I'm thinking the adventure-seeking maniacs in you are going to win out.

A Series of Political Letters

Dear Chris Matthews,

Surprisingly, you seem really nice in person. I've always thought that you are a bit of a douche on your show, but you are actually kind of cool. You have a great rapport with the audience, which I wasn't expecting. You even brought your daughter up on stage to meet Obama-- pretty cool.

Now, to business-- Chris, let me tell you, are those seriously hardball questions? Man, Obama has answered all of those questions twenty times over and he's not going to say anything new. Make him sweat, make him think. The man is terribly clever and he can totally handle it. I just would have liked to hear things that haven't been repeated over and over in the media.

Also, can you talk to your colleagues at MSNBC for me? When I came back from the show, I happened to stumble across a discussion with those talking heads, discussing the WCU taping. You were gushing about how he connected to the students, then they deleted your screen and started talking about Obama's dismal performance at the western PA bowling alley. Can he connect with the +50 voters if he can't bowl blah blah blah? Geez, guys! I don't think anybody would have given it a second thought if you all hadn't blown it all out a proportion! Honestly, I find that silly failures like that humanizing. Remember when Dubya fell off the Segway? To me, it made him seem less like an elitist asshole and more like a guy who has issues with technology. I'm still not his biggest fan, but I can at least admit that. Can we just give it a break and get back to the issues? kthanx

Sincerely,

K.


Dear Barack Obama,

I'm still undecided, but I think you did a great job. Granted, you had a few too many softball questions, but you are a consummate showman and worked this crowd of college students like a rented mule. I thought girls (and guys) were going to throw their panties up on stage.

My only complaint is that you spoke so quietly-- up here in the nosebleed seats, we heard about every fourth word. Again, not really your fault. You don't use speech volumes when you're on a question and answer program. Still :(.

Sincerely,

K.

Google is the King of April Fools'

Dear Google,

Your new April Fools' page is brilliant. May I come and work for you? Please?

Love,

K.

I Got a Crimson Ticket!

For someone who is saying that she is undecided, I certainly made quite a statement when I stood for two hours in the rain to get Obama tickets. In my defense, I quietly deflected Obama lackeys who wanted me to commit now by letting me know that I haven't made a decision-- which earned me some dirty looks. Whatever, there were Republicans behind me. Go bother them.

After a bone-chilling wait in the misty weather, I finally seized ticket number 319. I can't find my camera, so here is a reasonable facsimile of the "crimson" ticket:

And by "reasonable," I mean horrific.

Tune in on Wednesday, April 2, at 5 PM to MSNBC's "Hardball" to see me try to ask Obama a question. No, seriously, there are things I need to know!

K.

Obama Update

Confirmed!

Chris Matthews (MSNBC) is interviewing Obama at the West Chester University campus. Look for me, I'll be the one sobbing like a little girl.

K.

Squee!

Obama + my campus + secrecy = I'm sooo there!

K.

PS. Still not sure if I'm voting for him, but he has the voice of an angel.

Song Lists for My Own Entertainment

Having sort of made a commitment to at least do some lists this month, I decided to go through the 94 songs on my "To Hell With Alphabetical Order" playlist on my iPod and categorize some of them. So here they are... top five in no particular order.

Sexy songs

Hello Again --Neil Diamond
I'd Love You to Want Me --Lobo
Slow Dancing --Johnny Rivers
Lovin', Touchin', Squeezin' --Journey
My Doorbell --White Stripes

Uplifting Songs

Forever Young --Rod Stewart
We're All in This Together --Ben Lee
Beautiful World --Colin Hay
Merry-Go-Round --Antje Duvekot
New Soul --Yael Naim

Songs that have been my ringtones

Travelin' Band --CCR
Get Rhythm --Johnny Cash
Call on Me --Eric Prydz
Don't Stop Believing --Journey
Uhm, I don't have a fifth. I fail.

Songs that make me laugh every time

Mystery --Hugh Laurie
Dead Skunk in the Middle of the Road --Loudon Wainwright III
Hey Jude --Hugh Laurie and Stephen Fry
Everyone's a Little Bit Racist --Avenue Q
Long-Legged Guitar-Pickin' Man --Johnny Cash and June Carter

Songs for depression

Schadenfreude -Avenue Q
Teenage Wasteland --The Who
Sunshine (Go Away Today) --Jonathan Edwards
Operator --Jim Croce
It Don't Come Easy --Ringo Starr
Keep on Trying --Poco

Songs that make me do silly dances

Ramblin' Man --Allman Brothers Band
Sweet Transvestite --Rocky Horror Picture Show
My Maria --B. W. Stevenson
Don't Stop Believing --Journey
Girls Just Want to Have Fun --Cindy Lauper

Songs that transport me somewhere else

Back in the USSR --The Beatles
Hold On --Wilson Phillips
I Wish I Was a Punk Rocker --Sandi Thom
Rehab --Amy Winehouse
I've Been Everywhere --Johnny Cash

Songs that explain me

Cool Change --Little River Band
It Sucks to Be Me --Avenue Q
Beautiful World --Colin Hay
Doctor My Eyes --Jackson Browne
Get Rhythm --Johnny Cash

K.

Not So Revolutionary Thoughts on "John Adams"

I just finished watching the first episode of the new HBO ministry "John Adams"* and found myself pleasantly surprised. I'm not sure what I was expecting-- I grew up on the 1956 movie "Williamsburg: Story of a Patriot" from my multiple trips to the Colonial Williamsburg visitors center. It was from this film that I learned that men should not be trusted to choose ladies hats unattended, George Washington could crack a walnut between his thumb and forefinger, and the meaning of the word "pusillanimous" from that most brilliant orator, Patrick Henry**. My second Revolutionary film staple was "1776," in which I learned that Philadelphia was mighty warm that summer ("It's ninety degrees/Have mercy, John, please/'Cause it's hot as hell in Philadelphia!"), that John Adams was "obnoxious and disliked" ("Did you know that?" "I hadn't heard."), and that Mrs. Jefferson found ol' Tom's violin mighty sexy. Pretty unimportant stuff, over all.

Frankly, I'm ashamed to admit that when I picture John Adams, it's as William Daniels (aka Mr. Feeny from "Boy Meets World"). In reality, John Adams looked more like this. And between Paul Giamati and Daniels, I think Giamati has the look down a little better. Instead of the trim, nattily dressed little man from "1776," we see Adams as pudgy and with a receding hairline beneath his wig. Giamati plays him as a dispassionate man searching for justice, whether it be for his own New Englanders or representatives of the Crown. A man who refuses to choose a side until he feels that basic human dignities have been wronged. A man, in short, that we could sorely use in today's world.

The show doesn't present the Revolution we learned in elementary school. Instead of the murder of innocent Bostonians, the Boston Massacre is portrayed as instigated by a violent mob and the soldiers as scared boys who are far from home. Later, a customs officer is stripped naked, then tarred and feathered. I found this scene particularly horrific. I'm not sure what I expected-- how could I not realize that to be tarred means to having molten liquid poured on the bare skin and hardening to a shell? It seems to obvious to be now. I remember being back in elementary school learning about the practice and thinking how silly that sounded, like a bit of fun. Who wouldn't laugh at a guy covered in feathers being carried out on a log like some absurd parade float? But the agonized arch the man's body made as his skin sizzled beneath the tar has banished those airy thoughts altogether. I trust I will not be abused for admitting that I cried a little.

I think this show has something to say about our times-- that not everything is black and white. This may be the most obvious of observations, but it bears mentioning. We hear about events in far away places and it is easy to place sides in tidy boxes of right and wrong. Indeed, passion makes it even simpler to smudge the line between truth and fiction to fit a certain viewpoint. Perhaps we should be a bit more like John Adams and take the time to scrutinized both sides, witness both the beautiful and terrifying nature of each issue before making a choice. Some choices seem instinctual, but is there really a difference between instinct and primitive urges? Isn't rational thought the thing that makes us most human?

This is quite disjointed, but this blog was never meant to present precise arguments or coherent thoughts. I save those for graded assignments.

I look forward to the next episode when Adams ventures to Philadelphia. And I swear to G-d, if there is singing, someone is going to die.

K.

* This is not a review; I suck at that game.

* *The phrase "Are we so meek and pusillanimous?" became my favorite line for a period of about three years during my elementary school career. It made me very popular on the playground.

That Most Vicious Disease

It appears that my trip to China is almost a reality. But first I have to get over this horrific case of senioritis that is absolutely decimating my will to go on.

Does anyone have any tips on how to survive for a few more months?

K.

Taken Out of Context

Again, a quick note as I am in the computer lab waiting for my lunch date to show up.

I was in my Power, Politics, and Propaganda class about half an hour ago where we had just received a hand-out about tropes and figures of speech. In addition, we were given Obama's speech that he made in Philadelphia yesterday and told to analyze it for the rhetorical points we had just discussed. After we were given five minutes of reading time, we splintered into groups.

Having read and underlined bits of the speech, I turned around, confident that I would be able to discuss the piece in rhetorical terms. Unfortunately, my group never really made it that far.

"I didn't even read the damn thing," the boy behind me declared, almost proudly. "I can't stand that man." I tittered nervously, hoping to avoid a political discussion at nine in the morning, but the kid continued on, comparing Obama to Kennedy and prophesizing the candidate's clash with Russia. "Mark my words," he said, "we'll be at war with Russia in four years."

Alllllllllllright.

"Well, that aside, it was a good speech," I ventured.

"He's so charming and manipulative." This was said with a grimace of disgust. "And he's only a junior senator. I could be a junior senator tomorrow, if I wanted to!"

"Abraham Lincoln was only a junior senator," I murmured, but he ignored me. He continued on a tirade about the faults of Obama for another minute and a half. Then, as if he had forgotten something, he quickly blurted out, "Vote for Hillary."

Wait a second. Something was not right here. So I sat back, identifying tropes in the neglected speech while training my ears on his one-sided conversation. His politics didn't fit his political endorsement. A wait-and-see attitude about the war, conflicts with Russia, absolutely no mention of Hillary's record or political claims (despite throwing in a plug for her every so often)... this didn't fit the profile of a typical Hillary support, much less a Democrat.

It's my opinion that if I looked in the College Republicans' roll book, I would find this kid's name there. It makes quite a bit of sense that the Republicans on this campus feel that Hillary would not get elected if she fought directly against McCain. Therefore, it would be in their best interest if Clinton won the nomination. Ohhhhh, son, I have your number.

This blatant manipulation irritated me, but not as much as a political shouting match at a time when my brain was barely functioning. So I tried to push him away from politics and towards the speech.

"We can take this thing out of context and just analyze it. Can we please just do that?"

"You can't take it out of context," he huffed. "The context makes all of the difference!"

"No, it doesn't. Look at this part where he is repeating 'we can blah blah blah... we can blah blah blah"-- I just identified it as a rhetorical device without using the political part of the sentence!"

More blustering from him. Long story short, we never did get to analyze the speech.

I'll be so glad when this election year is over.

K.

PS. I'm still undecided, by the way. Pray that I can make a decision before April.

Here's to the American School System!

Have been absent lately, but PA's up-coming primary is bringing out all of the voter registration booths on campus. Was changing my party affiliation (closed primaries suck) when a kick came up to the table.

"Want to sign up?" the sweet young thing behind the table asked.

"Doesn't this sign me up for the war?"

Silence. The people working the registration stared. I dropped the pen. Crickets chirped.

Since no one else seemed like they wanted to say anything, squeaked, "What?"

"This signs me up for the war, right? Like, a draft?"

For some reason, I can't remember the end of the conversation, just that I wondered whether he remembered signing that piece of paper when he turned eighteen that actually did qualify him for the draft. And whether he thought the army was desperate enough to take me, the biggest wuss in America. One day in Iraq would have me the same hue as a boiled lobster, sand in my mouth, and sobbing because I've just seen a camel spider.

K.

Failed

Well, I had a post for yesterday, but it seems that the Clipper function on my Firefox browser sent it to a defunct blog I used for class only. I suppose the March Lists thing wasn't meant to be. :(

Just as well, probably.

K.

Sorry to Interrupt, But...

Suck it, Huckabee! Haaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah.

On the other hand, now I have no idea who to vote for in the PA primaries. At least there was always voting against the Huckster, but now I have to actually make a decision. Dammit, Super Tuesday, why did you fail me?

K.

A List of Today's Observations

I can't wait until March 4, 2056.

All I want to do is write 3/4/56. Of course, if I'm in some other part of the world, I'll have to wait until April.

My professor smells like old books.

It's only today that I've identified the smell. I want to follow her around all day and just sniff her hair.

There are three police cruisers sitting outside of my house, lights flashing.

It looks like an Israeli security check point out there, all for a little fender bender.

Kind of a lame post, but it's March and I need to make some damn lists.

K.

Top Five Places Where Cap'n Crunch Cereal Bits Are Currently Lodged

5. Down my shirt.

4. In the crease of my futon.

3. Between the "Q" and "tab" keys on my laptop.

2. In the pages of my textbook.

1. In my tummy. Dear G-d, too much Cap'n Crunch!

K.

Top Ten Things That Could Be Causing My Illness

10. A mix-up in medications (which is probably the correct diagnosis)

9. An overdose of toast and English muffins.

8. Too much emo over a lack of interesting television.

7. The stress of thinking of new lists to post for the month of March (notice how late this one is?)

6. An acute lack of parakeet playtime

5. Sitting in front of the microwave for a full hour while my matzah ball soup thawed (radiation!)

4. Blood clot from worrying whether I got published

3. Poisoning from the make-up I used to become an awesome Bowie-esque glam rocker on Friday

2. The price of fresh fruit these days

1. Inhalation of Febreze fumes

K.

The First

A List of Things I'd Rather Be Doing Than Sitting Around My Apartment Sick

-- Be some place sunny.

-- Keep something down for more than a few hours when I eat it.

-- Have one full night's sleep.

-- And, frankly, not making this list.

Hopefully I'll be in finer fettle tomorrow.

K.

How Many Times Do You Get to Post on Leap Day?

Once every four years, I suppose.

K.

Well, That Was Different

While I should be doing other things, I thought I would stop by and share some of the interesting happenings of the week. Normally, I try not to be so absent, but it was unavoidable. So here's a short catch up.

• You already heard about my A. Nothing makes your day like an A. They need to bottle it and sell it as an anti-depressant.

• I had an interview with an initiate yesterday that turned into a two-hour religious discussion. The kid was a Born Again and, by definition, they like to talk about their experiences in religion. I, by definition, like to listen. So I leaned my chin on my knuckles and looked pensive for a good long time. It's not that I wasn't paying attention-- it's just that I had heard it all before. I then shared my philosophy-- that I wasn't arrogant enough to say that there is no G-d (though I kept that I wasn't arrogant enough to say that there definitely was, either. Some things you just keep to yourself) and that, frankly, I have no idea about anything. And I'm happy with that. The initiate then asked me a startling question:

"But aren't you afraid?"

"Afraid of what?"

"Of what happens after you die."

That pulled me up short. I guess I had never been asked that. I know that I've never
been asked that. So I was honest. I told him that no, I was not afraid. What I didn't tell him was that he just said a lot about himself in that single question. He had just told me that, while he had been expounding the joys of G-d and Christ, he believed because he was afraid. And that made me sad.

For the record, I used to be afraid when I was younger. But I now figure that everyone I love will be wherever I am, be that Hell, blackness, or something I can't comprehend. Nobody in my life that I absolutely couldn't live without believe the same thing as this initiate, so it seems to me that whatever happens couldn't be that bad.

• In Tai Chi class, my instructor brought up "filling the well," which immediately brought to mind Chelsea Talks Smack's wonderful post about her playdate with herself. Some things are just meant to be, I suppose. Of course, my friend ruined the moment by saying that having our own playdate equaled the phrase "playing with ourselves." Real cute.

• Finally, my father was dropping a van-load of Israelis off at the Philly airport tonight and decided to drop in on me at our campus Starbucks. I knew that he was coming, but I was looking in the totally wrong direction, which meant I made that awkward squealing noise when he surprised me. Being the awesome dad that he is, he bought everyone I was with overpriced coffee drinks. I love him.

Yeah, that was my week.

K.

An A for Awesome

I had a conference with my seminar professor today to discuss my first paper and was pleasantly surprised. Turns out that I got a 94%. Yay for me.

What is interesting is that I never got this kind of grade when I wrote research papers in high school. In fact, I don't think I ever got more than an 85% on any critical paper in those days. Now, I'm pulling papers out of my butt and getting A's. Either I went to the hardest public high school in the US or I've become and paper goddess.

K.

Well, Bugger

A sight truly indicative of the day I am having:

Me, sitting alone in the student union, reading a Holocaust textbook and eating a piece of pizza.

Dear G-d, when will it end?

K.

Does This Make Me Famous By Association?

The screenshot is tiny, but that circled girl is a brother from my chapter of Phi Sigma Pi, a real peach of a girl with Broadway ambitions. The actual trailer for M. Night's newest movie is here. The scene is in the very beginning. Movie looks terrible, but I love this girl, so I will be going to see it.

Oh, and this is my 200th post. It's been an obscenely long time coming.

K.

Feeling the Blues on a Snow Day

After watching The Blue Brothers with my neighbor today, I've decided that if I ever go for my doctorate I would write my dissertation about said movie and our society's ability to ignore the extraordinary things that happen everyday. There are seventy billion explosions and wild car chases in that occur in that movie and nobody comments on them. After I mentioned it to my neighbor, she agreed that it would make a bitchin' dissertation. Now I just have to find a program that would accept it.

And now, one of my favorite clips from one of my favorite "bands":



Dance, blues man, dance!

K.

PS. Yay, snow days!

Cheese it! It's the Cops!

I wish it wasn't so cold out-- then I could walk across my parking lot to find out why there are so many police cruisers outside my building. I should be typing my paper, but when you hear someone talking over cruiser speakers, you can't just sit and think about the religious implications of Eudora Welty's short stories. No, you get up, open your window, and squint really hard at the street because you've taken out your contacts and can't be assed to put them back in for the rest of the night. Unfortunately, giant flashing blurs don't excitement make, so you go back to your computer, disappointed, and try to rub some warmth back into your figures.

Then you figure that you could read the safety report that's bound to come out of this mess and save yourself some trouble.

At least, that's what I would do.


K.

Jaw Dropping

I've been watching the television show "Bones" lately and it's occurred to me that seemingly every corpse they find has its mouth wide open. It's like the skull forced out one final, silent scream. I'm sure that this is caused by the muscles bracing the jaw bone rotting away and leaving the jaw to sway in the wind, but... eww. It just seems so undignified.

If I'm buried after my death and someone digs me up centuries later, my jaw is going to be hanging to my sternum. Does that bother anyone else?

K.

Smelling Scotland

A strange thing happened to me today.

I walked out of Main Hall and I smelled Scotland.

If it hadn't been for the push of people at my back, I probably would have followed my natural inclination and just stopped, closed my eyes, and breathe. But people have places to be, so I decided not to indulge, but walk towards Recitation Hall, sniffing.

It had rained earlier that morning. While was in class, the sun had come out briefly to warm the grass and allow the rainwater to just begin to vaporize. I think this is what I smelled: the intensely green, warm scent that only comes from a damp country with momentary peeks of sunlight.

I think if I had let a picture form in my mind to correspond with the smell, it would have been walking over the loch bridge at the University of Stirling, on my way to the bookstore, bus stop, or what have you. That view was like Scotland in my front yard-- lochs, hills, and green green green. Frankly, I'm disappointed that I didn't just stop. At the risk of sounding overly sensitive, I probably would have teared up a little. I guess I just miss my life there, even if it's far away from the people and sights that I need to survive emotionally.

For those that want to see what I see, go here. It's not exact, but you can get the idea.

I want to go home-- I'm just not sure what home I want to go to.

K.

Running Without the Benefit

Last night, I had a dream where my family and I were staying on some island that was suddenly taken over by Nazis. I know that I spent most of my dream screaming at my family, trying to get them to escape, though they insisted on staying the rest of the night and fleeing in the morning. I believe that we did actually get out alive, which is nice, I guess.

My reason for posting this dream isn't really the dream itself, but the aftermath. I often have these strange, almost violent dreams where I'm running or screaming or getting out of breath in some way. When I wake up, the covers are on the floor and I'm usually missing a pillow or two. And very, very tired.

I sometimes wonder if I've been running in my sleep, much like a hyperactive dog does while he dreams. My father has told me that once, during a vacation, I sat up in bed and screeched, "No! Stop! STOP!" (I still remember that dream, incidentally. It involved George W. Bush shooting at a bunch of us executioner-style. I even recall shouting. I don't think that this dream has any symbolic meaning-- Bush was probably on the TV right before I went to sleep. It could just have easily have been Anderson Cooper taking aim at me, which would have been much sexier.) So it seems to me that if I could have used enough muscles to sit up and scream, then I very possibly be running while horizontal.

I find this really irritating. I dislike the idea of waking up more tired than when I went to sleep. It seems like a waste of time and, frankly, counterproductive. And how exactly can I tell my professors that I've been vigorously exercising in my dreams, therefore, I can't pay attention to the implications of propaganda on our society? Nobody's going to buy it.

If you have any ideas short of drugging me to help me get a restful night's sleep, please let me know. I would hate to have a dream about running the marathon, only to find myself unable to get out bed for days because my body has run 26 miles through the bed sheets.

K.

PS. Posts until 200: 5

Digital Pick Me Ups

As you other single people know, today was Valentine's Day, which means I basically stayed inside. The only VD (is it a coincidence that Valentine's Day and venereal disease start with the same letters? I think not.) input I got was from the ever-classy Jerry Springer Show, where they had an overweight transsexual dressed as a bikini-clad cupid. That's really all I needed.

But there was one thing that made it even better... one e-mail.

"Hey kate! I wanted to wish you a happy valentine's day. The fam misses you over here in little old york. Hope to see you again soon! Your bro, A."

I think my little brother's girlfriend is a good influence on him. I still haven't decided whether he absolutely needed to write both his first name and his last name in his e-mail. I've only known him 18 years, after all. But still, it was sweet.

I also received an e-mail from the NaBloPoMo people announcing that there will be monthly NaBloPoMos, just subject related. March is list month. I just might participate, if only for my love of lists.

Anyone else?

K.

PS. Posts Until 200: 6

Scattered Thought: Ugh!

• I think that I have to accept that my parakeet is a girl bird. She doesn't talk and her cere is brown-- hallmarks of a female budgie. I know that doesn't change her personality at all, but I've already begun being more conscious of the trouble she gets herself into. Pure gender role bullshit on my part. I'm no bra-burner, but I don't want to start treating this bird differently because she now has ovaries. What a dumb thing to worry about when...

• ... I have started the job search, which already has become soul-crushing. I have a list of about 45 publishing companies, but any thought of sending out resumes and cover letters makes me want to break into hysterics. This is complicated by...

• ... the fact that my brother seems to have found a girlfriend. I'm feeling a fair amount of jealousy, which is ridiculous for an older sister, much less a 22 year old. I'm not sure whether I'm irritated that I come home so rarely and never get a chance to see the kid or that he has a relationship and I don't. Again, that's a stupid reason. I've had plenty of chances, but I suppose that it's mainly fear that has kept me single forever. I can venture to the other side of the world by myself, but I can't commit to giving up all of my time and energies to a guy. Speaking of traveling...

• ... it's pretty much certain that I'm going to China in May. My university is offering a class about global health, environmental, and education issues and, well, I need one more class to graduate. And if I can get that done in two weeks and in China, then so much the better. The whole thing, including tuition, will probably cost me up to $6,000, all of which I'll be paying by myself with savings from my birth and bat mitzvah. It's exciting, but a tad scary. Still, I'll probably never get to China on my own and I need something to look forward to. It also helps that my family is going to Israel mere weeks after I return from the Orient (probably the last family vacation we'll ever have), but...

• ... unfortunately, our Israeli friends are dealing with a seriously sick child. The poor kid is five years old and has recently had to undergo a spinal tap and hospitalization. They are thinking meningitis, but it's hard to be certain. I'm not a real believer, but these people are observant Jews and would probably appreciate a few well-placed prayers. If you feel so inclined, maybe ask the Big Guy (or Girl... or Non-Gender-Specific-Being) to consider being kind of merciful on this kid? He's sweet.

Yeah, that's it.

K.

PS. Posts left until 200: 8

Who is Going to China in May?

Oh yeah, it's me.

More information as it becomes available.

K

PS. Number of posts to 200: 9

To Podcast or Not to Podcast

When I should have been doing work, I was browsing the 'net in my favorite place on my futon and my favorite mode of dress-- no pants (and by no pants, I mean no trousers). The laptop warms my legs, you wanna make something of it?

Anyway, I came across MyPodcast.com, a hosting service for, well, podcasts. As it happens whenever I discover new things, I got exceptionally excited. My mouse was just hovering over "Create Account" button when I thought, "What the hell would I say?"

And what would I say? Here is the transcript of one possible podcast:

"Hey there! It's Kate again. And... uhm... how are you, I guess? I know you can't answer me personally, but ah I guess if you just say it out loud, it's like talking to me. I guess. Um, so... uh, it's rainy outside. Or at least it was this morning. But I slept through it, I think. I walked outside and the ground was wet and the sun was out, but there rain in the air, you know how that is? Uhm, ooooookaaaaaay. What else? Whatelesewhatelsewhatelse..."

Yep, that would be me.

See, the thing is that typing out a blog post gives me time to think. There may be some run-on sentences or random pauses, but those are mostly intentional. I don't a podcast for me would be a very good idea.

Anyone else thought about it?

K.

PS. Countdown to 200 posts: 10

One More Thing...

A conversation between two New Yorkers in the Rock Cafe at Rockefeller Square.

Woman: I can't watch the Super Bowl.

Man: How can you not watch the Super Bowl?

Woman: Can you go shoe shopping for eight hours and not by anything?

Man: Good point.

Somehow I managed to catch the New Yorkiest conversation ever.

K.

Trust the Koreans to Come Up With This

I'm not sure if I will ever eat eggs again.

K.

Snail Mail Sunday (Done on a Monday) #6

Dear blogosphere,

Do this!

Bloggers, stand up and be counted! Take the “Public and Private in the Blogosphere” Survey!

Thanks!

K.

13 Things That I Have Done That Are Pretty Awesome

Another meme, this time from A G33k Tragedy!

13 Things That I Have Done That Are Pretty Awesome

1) I have traveled to Israel and Scotland by myself and survived.
2) I've been published and am still sending out material. True, my Wall o' Rejection is growing, but that's an achievement in itself.
3) Decided to go the AWP Conference, planned most of it, and ended up going by myself (again).
4) Went to a Billy Joel concert.
5) I have friends on 5 out of 7 continents, all met on study abroad.
6) Put all of myself into the organizations I have joined.
7) Taught Israeli soldiers how to play Red Rover at a Bedouin camp under the stars.
8) Climbed Masada and seen the sun rise.
9) Had the worst travel experience ever... and survived!
10) Have survived for most of the school year in my first apartment.
11) I've kept up this blog for nearly three years more than I thought I would.
12) Planned and executed my own Burns' Night for my fraternity.
13) Got great grades at the University of Stirling, all while taking the hardest classes I've ever experienced!

Wow, that felt like filling out a resume.

I'll tag Irina, Rachel, and Gwyn. Fill it out if you wanna!

K.

A New York Post in Numbers

(This keyboard is crap, so this will be short.)

"Big Time" speakers seen at convention: 3 (John Irving, Frank McCourt, and Bill Collins)

Celebrities seen: 1 (Clay Aiken coming out of "Spamalot")

Broadway plays seen: 1 ("Avenue Q")

Blocks walked: Eleventy billion

K.

Scattered Thoughts: New York and AWP Conference

• I honestly can't get comfortable in this city. I feel like everyone knows the moves to an intricate ballet and I happened to miss the particular dance class that taught balance and self-awareness. New Yorkers seem to have an extra sense-- a sense of movement, speed, and intuition. I try not to do the typical "stare-blindly-up" neck crane that is the international sign of the tourist (though I had to do it at the Rockefeller Center-- sorry), but I still stick out.

• One thing that I will say about New York is that it's Jewapalooza here. My father and I were cramming down cold fried plantains at the 53rd Street Deli when this older couple sat beside us, excusing themselves in perfect New York accents. They then launched into a conversation to themselves-- in Hebrew. We stumbled into the Diamond District, running into Israelis and black-frocked men in a stunning array of wide-brimmed hats. Ah, my people!

• I attended two seminars today. One was on blogging and its affects on writing and the teaching of writing. I found it interesting that many older people wished to set up their own blogs as a self-marketing scheme, but had little to no idea on how to go about it. It's a strange feeling knowing more than some of these venerable gray hairs, especially those who can afford AWP memberships. Exciting, actually. The second seminar was about historical fiction, which I love to read. I now have four more books that I have to buy.

• My parents decided that I should have business cards for this event, but promptly forgot to make them. So while I was being lectured at, my father was searching for a printing service to make up some simple ones. I don't know when I'm going to use them, but it feels professional in a way.

• The Hilton has really odd-looking chairs. I suppose that it's meant to be classy, but it would be a lot classier if the gold roping was actually attached to the chair, not suspended in a plastic sheath. It rather looks like those cheap strings of light bulbs you can find in college dorm rooms. Very distracting.

• Unfortunately, the Hilton has a really awkward elevator system. I'm sure it works for them, but it's awful for me. So many people are waiting and the elevators are never there when you want them. When I was trying to get to the lobby, I pressed the 'down' button and waited. And waited. And waited... until finally, an elevator arrived. An older woman got out, but then proceeded to stand in the doorway, talking to someone still in the elevator. Politely, I waited for her to get by, but as soon as she moved, the doors began to close. With an undignified yelp, I tried to launch my arm between the closing doors, but they didn't bounce back like I expected. So the elevator I had waited so patiently for slid through my grasp. The lady must have heard my irritated sigh, because she apologized and beat a hasty retreat. She's lucky that I was in a bit of a stunned stupor; I might have popped her one otherwise.

• Going to see John Irving speak tonight. E.L. Doctorow tomorrow afternoon. Will be missing Frank McCourt on Saturday, which is sad.

• Time to pass out now.

K.

Does Going to the AWP Conference Make Me That Much More Awesome?

Yes. Yes, I think it does.

Anyone else in New York?

K.

My Travel Horror Story: Some Serious Schadenfreude

(The bloggers over at Sass Attack, And the Pursuit of Happiness, and The Hotfessional, in their infinite wisdom, have decided to sponsor a contest dealing with travel horror stories. Great, a chance to relive my nightmares.

Naw, it's awesome. Thanks guys!)

After five months studying abroad, I have racked up an unsettling amount of character-building travel stories. Whether it’s sinking calf-deep in a peat bog on the isle of Skye or spending eight hours dozing straight up in a hard seat in a Bucharest airport, my misadventures have not only given some talking points that none of my friends can match, but the confidence to know that nothing can break the girl that survived months of Scottish food. However, there is one experience that stands out, scenes of which still haunt my dreams. This is my story.

Spring was beginning to spread over Europe, its fingers just creeping into the University of Stirling, my home away from home. But I wasn’t there. No, I was roving the Continent. After a few days of reveling in the sunshine and giggling shyly at the strangely attractive young priest of Rome, my friends and I were wrapping up a rather lackluster visit to Berlin. Germany, while not possessing the manically happy national personality of Italy, had treated us well. Still, Scotland was calling us back—my two friends had finals to complete and I had lodgings to find before I was kicked out of my flat.

Our flight was leaving that evening from Frankfurt, which was a relatively short train ride from Berlin and a mere hop-skip-and-jump for three world travelers. Our confidence was such that we leisurely enjoyed our breakfast at our hostel, packed up, and wandered over to the local internet café to check on train times. J, who organized the trip, hopped on one of the computers and began tapping away as N and I lounged over our bags.

“Oh, [expletive]!” J breathed.

And that’s when we knew the [expletive] hit the fan.

It turns out that there are two Frankfurt airports in Germany—the close one and one that was seven driving hours away from Berlin. Guess which one our flight left from.

By now, it was eleven o’clock in the morning. The flight left at seven-thirty in the evening. We were, quite possibly, screwed.

We held a quick conference, J in tears over her airport mix-up. After assuring her that it was a mistake that any ignorant American could have made, we researched planes, trains, and automobiles. Finally, we figured that the surest way to reach the Frankfurt-Hahn airport was by renting a car and racing across the country. Germany had the autobahn, right? We were sure to fly.

Oh, the naiveté of youth.

We quickly reserved possibly the only automatic car in Berlin and ran about two miles into the city to claim it. After waiting for a painful half an hour for the rental office to process our order, we began our journey across a foreign country, our entire fate resting on a questionable paper map.

Though I spent most of the drive asleep (bladder issues force me either to sleep or stop every half an hour), I woke up every few hours to observe our progress. We had indeed made it to the autobahn and it was beautiful. I don’t think I had ever pictured Germany like this: rolling green hills and wee villages stapled to the countryside by a steepled church. Gray clouds brought a delicate mist and fat droplets of rain to blanket the highway. It was all beautiful in its own way—but it was less beautiful for J, the only one of us who brought her driver’s license on this trip. Every so often, I would open my eyes in response an anguished cry as J reached the upper limits of her willingness to speed down the highway, perturbed German motorists sullenly sitting on her tail. Her cries would subside to a whimper and, harmonizing with the dulcet sounds of the Phil Collins songs that seemed to be eternally on the radio, I would slumber on.

My friends decided that I might like a picture
of me sleeping. What you aren't seeing is the drool.

When we pulled into a gas station/diner a few hours later, we admitted to ourselves that we would never be able to make our flight. Discussing it over subpar pasta, we decided that we would continue our drive, then spend the night in the airport. Most airlines are required to put you on the next flight if you miss your scheduled take-off. Surely it would work the same here.

We arrived at Frankfurt-Hahn around 11 PM and returned the rental car, now affectionately referred to as “Otto.” A quick check at the airline desk proved that the entire airport was beginning to shut down for the night.

N and me, loaded down with luggage, standing in front of Otto
in the Frankfurt-Hahn Airport.

And it wasn’t a pretty picture.

For those of you who have never had the privilege of spending any time in this airport, please, let me give you a brief description. Picture, if you will, possibly the hardest, coldest floor known to man. Also, please brace yourself for the most exorbitant prices for food and entertainment (I bought a coloring book for $8 dollars) you can imagine. Finally, imagine a nice draft blasting around floor level as you try to get some sleep. Put it all together, it creates one hellish night.

About 4:30 AM, I was shaken awake from my doze by J, tears streaming down her face. The airline (let’s call it Flyin’ Air) desk had just opened and J, planner that she is, decided that she was going to get a head start on organizing our flight home. The first slap in the face was the ticket lady, the only rude German we met on our trip. At J’s inquiry, the Ticket Bitch (TB from now on—it’s only right that I nickname her after a disgusting disease) snapped that Flyin’ Air does not replace tickets on missed flights. Not only that, a ticket to Glasgow was €200, about €193 more than we had previously paid and way above our budget. Finally, TB proceeded to metaphorically kick J in the ovaries by inferring that the three of us were complete asshats for missing our flight. J slunk away, broken, bleeding, and humiliated.

It took me a few minutes to understand what was going on, but once I understood, I immediately became enraged. Who the hell did TB think she was anyway? N, J, and I all stomped over to the ticket booth, ready to unleash the full fury of three girls who had just driven cross country and had slept on the cold ground.

Lucky for her (and maybe for me), another ticket lady had joined TB and that is who I confronted. This woman was totally unlike her compatriot. With a quiet and pitying smile, she confirmed that we did in fact have to pay €200 for a ticket, but also broke it to us that there were only two tickets for the only Glasgow flight that day. Stunned and quiet, we shuffled away to regroup.

A few calls to neighboring airports proved fruitless. Any other flight would cost a hardy €600 and an interminable bus ride. Finally, with much internal wailing, I offered to potentially stay behind, hoping and praying that a ticket would become available before the flight left. After all, my friends had a final the next day; I didn't.

So let’s step back and look at what we had gone through in less than 24 hours:

• A leisurely breakfast in sweet, sweet innocence of what was to come
• An overwhelming panic when that innocence was shattered
• The renting of a car and a harrowing ride on the autobahn
• Getting fleeced out of $8 for a damn coloring book
• A less than peaceful night’s doze on a drafty floor
• Being reamed by TB
• The reemergence of that old familiar panic courtesy of the nice ticket lady
• Surrendering to possibly another hellish night in the Airport That Civilization Forgot
  
  

A pretty bleak day. For the next 15 hours, I sweated it out, quietly crying in the women’s bathroom. These were the most painful 15 hours of my life, but I was ultimately given a ticket for €240, which I snapped up immediately. I finally made it home, stomping past my confused flatmates and collapse, unconscious, for a full 24 hours.

What did I learn from this? Well, I don’t think I came away with a true lesson. I did realize a few things about myself, however. I realized that I would shell out any amount of money for childish entertainment if pushed hard enough. I realized that I would sacrifice myself to another night of agony for friends. I realized that sometimes I just need a good cry, but am too embarrassed to do so in front of a bunch of German tourists.

Good for me.

Wake Up Call

I've been seeing this meme everywhere, so I wanted to see how I came out:

1. Father went to college
2. Father finished college
3. Mother went to college
4. Mother finished college
5. Have any relative who is an attorney, physician, or professor
6. Were the same or higher class than your high school teachers.
7. Had more than 50 books in your childhood home.
8. Had more than 500 books in your childhood home.
9. Were read children’s books by a parent
10. Had lessons of any kind before you turned 18
11. Had more than two kinds of lessons before you turned 18
12. The people in the media who dress and talk like me are portrayed
13. Had a credit card with your name on it before you turned 18
14. Your parents (or a trust) paid for the majority of your college costs
15. Your parents (or a trust) paid for all of your college costs
16. Went to a private high school
17. Went to summer camp
18. Had a private tutor before you turned 18
19. Family vacations involved staying at hotels
20. Your clothing was all bought new before you turned 18
21. Your parents bought you a car that was not a hand-me-down from them
22. There was original art in your house when you were a child
23. You and your family lived in a single-family house
24. Your parent(s) owned their own house or apartment before you left home
25. You had your own room as a child
27. Participated in a SAT/ACT prep course
28. Had your own TV in your room in high school
29. Owned a mutual fund or IRA in high school or college
30. Flew anywhere on a commercial airline before you turned 16
31. Went on a cruise with your family
32. Went on more than one cruise with your family
33. Your parents took you to museums and art galleries as you grew up
34. You were unaware of how much heating bills were for your family

Well, it appears that I had a very privileged upbringing. I'm not terribly surprised, but I have to suppress a smile when I remember that many people in my high school were better off than me. Granted, my parents chose not to spend their money on outward symbols of wealth. Right now, we have three cars: a Toyota minivan, a Subaru Outback, and pretty crappy Fiat Spider cowering quietly in the garage. None of these are the Jaguars and Lexuses that were often parked outside of my temple. Our house is larger than many of my friends' houses, but nowhere near as big as those in the richest part of town. I guess that, in comparison, it was reasonable for me to have believed myself to be relatively lower middle class.

Of course, it's now reasonable for me to believe that I had been rather naive.

I now go to a pretty working-class school-- your basic state school near a big city. There are so many that don't have what I have that I feel kind of ashamed for my earlier opinions of my economic well-being. But what am I going to do? I just have to accept the fact that I was a bit of an idiot back in the day and just get on with appreciating what I have now.

Starting with finding out how much my parents pay for heat.

K.

PS. On a totally different tack, I just saw Anthony Bourdain spit on the little heart (where people were executed) outside of St. Giles Cathedral in Edinburgh. I love that nasty heart!

Snail Mail Sunday #5

Dear refrigerator,

Hey there. Now, I know that went shopping not that long ago. I have the receipts to prove it.

So where the hell did my food go?

You had better be a portal to hell or something, or else I'm going to dismantle you to see what you did with my cheese.

Don't tempt me.

Yours,

K.

Crossing One Off

Back in 2007, I mentioned that I would be taking part in the BSF 2008 challenge in an attempt to, as my tai chi instructor tells it, "honor myself." In reality, I just need impetus to get shit done.

Here is the list again:

• Actually attempt NaNoWriMo 2008, not just sign up for it and lose courage before writing a single word.
• Learn enough Hebrew to puttering around in Israel this summer and be conversational by year's end.
• Save money for a Scotland spring break. If I don't actually get to Scotland, then at least I have some money.
• Graduate college.
• Get a temporary job-- preferably with health insurance.
• Send something to get published. Poem, short story, essay, anything.
  
• Lose 10 pounds. Any more would be icing on the cake that I won't be allowing myself to have. :)

As you can see, I've crossed something off. Happily, I did in fact send two things in for submission. One of those is "To the Fruitflies in My Drain" to my university journal. Whether I get in or not isn't important-- I've already begun my Big Wall o' Rejection (Thanks, Image). The point is that I actually got off my butt and sent something. Nothing gets published if nobody sees it.

Wish me luck.

K.

PS. Just a note: You should check out Rachel's blog over at that night. She's been nominated for a 2008 Bloggie Award! So go, read, and vote!

Ani Lo Mehveena Evrit. Boo.

I was watching BBC America today and realized that I was terribly behind on one of my resolutions.

"Coupling" was on and one of the terribly inept guys was trying to pull a gorgeous girl at the bar. Typically, he was tripping over his tongue, telling her that he collects women's ears in an "ear bucket," ultimately making a fool of himself. She sits there silently, then says this:

"Blah blah blah blah slicha."

My first reaction: "Oh, she doesn't speak English."

My second reaction: "Wait, did she say 'slicha'?"

My final reaction: "Holy crap, that's Hebrew. And all I understood was 'excuse me'."

Yep, she was Israeli. And yep, I've been failing miserably in my quest to become conversational in Hebrew by the summer.

Granted, later on, I caught "Ani lo mehveena" (I don't understand), "Ani yoda'at." (I know), and a couple other phrases. And I did figure out that she entirely misunderstood the conversation. And I did find the humor of the guy running up and down the El Al terminal yelling "Shadai'im! Shadai'im!*" But I didn't get nearly enough of the conversation that I should have.

My father, on the other hand, is busy learning the ninth unit of the Pimsleur lessons. He told me that the couple is having some relationship troubles (I knew there was a story there), but won't let me in on the details. I just have to learn them for myself.

I've been taking 18 credits, with three of those credits including a load of 12 textbooks. My eyelids can barely stay open for two minutes. I just can't sit a listen to those two people natter on and on with the random interruptions by the English instructor.

Oh well, I guess I just have to soldier on.

Shalom,

K.

PS. I can't spell transliterated Hebrew. Sorry.

*"Breasts! Breasts!" He thought that was her name. Aha hah.

Oh, Heath.

Probably the last thing I expected to hear.

My sympathies to his family.

K.

Some of There Are Surprisingly True...

Yep.

clipped from www.ubersite.com Visiting Scotland? 10 Things You Have to Know! (147554 hits)

Snail Mail Sunday (You Guessed It) #4

Dear cleaning faeries,

This is just a notice to alerting you to your termination in apartment 8 of this complex. The tenant of said apartment complained of your absence upon her return from winter break. Her apartment was just as disgusting as when she left it, leading us to believe that you are not doing your job.

You can pick up your severance pay in the main office.

Sincerely,

Management

Boys, Boys, Boys

When I watch television at night, I watch the Discovery Channel.

When I watch television in the morning, I watch the Maury Show.

I suppose this channel dichotomy is because I just have more synapses firing when the sun goes down. It's when I write all my best papers, my favorite blog posts (this is being written at 11AM, so it's not looking good for this one), and most creative ideas. I'm lucky to put two words together in the morning.

So I watch something mindless-- hence, the Maury Show.

Anyone who is familiar with this show knows that it's most famous segments are DNA testing and "Who's the Daddy" controversies. Frankly, I find those rather boring. My favorite episodes involve out of control teen girls and their sexcapades. It makes me feel better when I look around my messy apartment and my swindling bank account to know that I really don't have it that bad.

But something has always interested me about these segments. There are never out of control teen boys. Now, certainly there are guys sleeping around, doing drugs, and beating people up. So where are they?

I suppose that it's the traditional player vs. slut mindset that keeps the girls in the harsh spotlight and the boys still on the streets. And that's sad, really. Sure, the baby-daddy episodes casts some light into the shadows, but it isn't proactive. There's already a baby and a teenage girl's childhood is over. The man may have to pay child support, but there's nothing to stop him running around, spreading the goods around.

In reality, these out of control boys participate in the same behaviors as the girls-- promiscuous sex, gangs, and general violence towards family and others. They will end up suffering the same consequences-- STDs, jail, and death. So why don't we have guys on the show?

Curiouser and curiouser.

K.

My Lady Bits Hurt

Currently, I'm watching a program about a family who has 13 children and the 14th on the way (I'm not sure if it's that famous family with the 17 kids or not) and, frankly, I'm kind of sickened. If you really think that you're family is "incomplete," adopt some damn kids!

There are so many children out there on the streets in our own country. How can you possibly add to the world's population so drastically when there are kids that are starving or left to rot in orphanages?

Frankly, I think that having children is an addiction to this couple, as much as drugs and alcohol are addictions to other people. I'm not saying that they don't care for their kids, but come on! Fourteen times is really pushing it.

...

I don't know why I care so much about this. Honestly, these people can do what they want and it will never affect me. The kids seem healthy, polite, and very well-loved. But all I can think about are the kids who will never have parents-- and couples who can never have kids.

Burr.

K.

Things That Make This Blogger Speechless

I don't check all of the major blogs everyday, but I'm sorry I wasn't paying attention when this entry was written.

Bestweekever.tv, one of the many sites I go to in order to indulge in my secret pop culture and celebrity gossip obsession, presented me with this little gem. Click it; I'll wait.

For those of you who clicked, you hopefully read the article. For those who decided to stay in the soothing presence of my blog instead of the flashiness that is BTW.tv, allow me to show you something:



Excuse me while I express my own feelings towards this movie trailor: WHAT?! WHAT?! WHAT?!

Aside from absolute shock, I'm not sure how I feel about this. I'm all for spoofing serious issues, but I have to wonder whether this is absolutely necessary.

Jewish comedians/writers, you know I often let you get away with this sort of thing. I hold that hypocritical view that Jewish/Israeli stereotypes are typically our domain and anyone else stepping into it earns my righteous wrath. But seriously guys, you're making the Ghetto Jew crawl out of her hole-- the Jew that wishes that other Jews wouldn't make such a big scene because it's sure to affect everyone else in some horrible way. Ghetto Jew has been out way too often; she would much rather stay curled deep in my gut than make another appearance.

On the other hand... that Hezbullah Hotline thing was kind of funny.

So I echo the BTW.tv people-- I don't know how I feel about this.

Any other opinions?

K.

PS. They mention "Sabra Price Is Right" in that post. For those of you (like me) who aren't aware of this video, I have provided a link. I think I met a couple of these people in Jerusalem.

Happy De-Lurking Week!

Apparently, it's National De-Lurking Week! If there are any of you lurking out there, speak up!

K.

Just a "Tweet" Transvestite

As some of you know, I am the proud owner of a parakeet. Tookie holds a firm place in my heart, if only because of his incredibly skilled attempts at taking apart his cage. If he had been born a human, he would have easily achieved a Master's in Engineering.

Having said that, I ask you to take a look at the picture above. After a good long study, read over the paragraph below. Notice the discrepancies?

Anyone with the least amount of parakeet experience can tell that I've been using the wrong pronoun here. Judging by Tookie's cere (the bit of flesh right above the beak), "he" is actually a "she."

However, I just can't change the pronoun so quickly. Tookie has been a "he" for about six months now and just because he decided to change "his" cere color now doesn't mean I can suddenly get comfortable with a lady bird.

Mom, in some part to humor me, has termed the bird a transvestite.

And that I can live with.

K.

PS. The Simpsons had a wonderful episode about the idiocy of the primaries. Geez, if Ralph was really in the race, he would totally have my vote. (Keep an eye out for a Jon Stewart cameo. Sigh.)

??????? in '08!

It seems that the only thing that NPR can talk about these days is the New Hampshire primary results, which results in a bad headache for me. All this does is rub in that my vote in Pennsylvania primaries might actually matter this time around and that I have to re-register.

Because PA can't have open primaries, oh no. No, they make us choose a party, guaranteeing another few years of propaganda and door-to-door visits from local candidates with that particular frozen perma-smile. I'm still getting slick campaign ads from the time I turned Republican for a primary, even though I was trying to make sure a candidate that I don't mind was going to get the nomination over a royal douchebag. The Santorum mail was unbelievable.

But it's not just that I have to pick a party-- I have to pick a candidate. My uterus is telling me to vote for Clinton, my heart for Obama, and my brain for McCain. It's unfortunate that to have my body parts take sides, especially since my crush John Edwards is trying to elbow in on Obama territory. Obama/Edwards-- what a delicious ticket that would be.

Sometimes it's hard to be more moderately inclined. Here I am, the pro-choice, anti-war, pro-gay marriage feminist liberal, awkwardly trying to balance my hawkish pro-Israel stance, plus the uneasy feeling about pulling out of Iraq too soon and leaving a vacuum of power. When I travel, I easily express my disappointment in the current government, but fly into a quiet and private rage when a non-American puts down my country too vigorously. All I want to do is to fit in somewhere-- and the proposed visions of American coming from the candidates don't seem to come complete with a Kate-shaped hole.

As much as I'm tired of hearing about the New Hampshire primaries, I am gratified to hear that McCain won the on the Republican side; his victory knocks Huckabee from the top-runner slot. If the GOP nominates Huckabee, then I will be forced to vote for whoever the Democrats put up, even if it's someone who I'm not particularly comfortable with. A salted slug for president would be better than an uber-religious politician.

The primaries would be so much easier if someone put out a version of the Star Wars Guide to the Candidates, which would be language I can understand. Oh, wait. Somebody has. The Ron Paul entry is particularly apt.

K.

PS. Well, at least The Daily Show and The Colbert Report are back. Sort of.

Taping My Glasses As We Speak

Are you? Click that button and take the test. Embrace your inner geekiness!

K.

Snail Mail Sunday (Done on a Monday... again) #3

Dear blog,

I know that after NaBloPoMo you thought our relationship was going to be different. You felt loved and warm while I was posting everyday and there were occasional comments to snuggle into. And I guess it was a rough awakening into to the cruel, cold world when I promptly resumed my old habits of maybe one post per week... on good weeks. It must have hurt.

I'm sorry for my absence, but you knew what this relationship was from the beginning. Sometimes I'm too busy/tired/lazy to post anything for days at a time, leaving you so alone. You're probably wondering if I have more than one blog, little topic-specific hoochies on the side. Well, I did, for a little. Honestly, they meant nothing to me. I haven't even posted in them since the semester ended. I only did it because people (ie. my class) expected me to have something of a trophy blog, something to present in social situations. I'm afraid that you just weren't up to par for that sort of thing.

The worst part for you is that I only seem to come back when I need comfort or to vent. I never buy you new things; I rarely update you sidebar widgets. But when I don't have anyone else to talk to, you're there. And I appreciate that. You don't hear about the good things, my triumphs, but you always listen and I guess that's what makes you such a good blog.

All I can ask is that you stick with me for a little while longer... at least until I get my life in order. I'll try my best to be the best poster you ever did see and to treat you with the respect you deserve. You know I love you, baby.

Hugs and kisses,

K.

Goodbye

I heard that my great-aunt died today-- of a stroke, apparently. I hadn't seen her in more than a year, but I was still disturbed by how little I was affected when told. I was like stone.

My great-aunt was a classy lady. My parents commented today that they found her cold... nice, but distant. I don't think I ever saw that side. Perhaps she seemed a little stand-offish with her pantsuits and her perfected coiffed hair, but I guess I never saw it. I never knew life without her, so I just accepted her for what she was-- a member of my grandparents' generation and therefore deserving of a respectful distance.

I don't think a cold woman would have told me about her experiences at the same Jewish camp that I went to, sans the pool and indoor plumbing. I think she would have hidden her fear of spiders and the dark corners of bath houses if she had a front to maintain. When I mentioned to her about a possible visit to camp, she smiled. I guess it's too late for that now.

There are times when I would rather not have the grown up relationship with my parents that I have now. If I was still a child, they would have broken the news to me gently and just let me have my own uninformed opinions of the dead.

And if I was a child, I would have cried.

K.

PS. I miss you. I should have visited more. I should be able to cry. I'm sorry.

Snail Mail Sunday (Done on Monday) #2

Dear Big, Fun, and Scary Goals 2008,

As I always need something to do in life, I've decided to join your noble crew. Here's my list for BSF 2008 awesomeness.

• Actually attempt NaNoWriMo 2008, not just sign up for it and lose courage before writing a single word.
• Learn enough Hebrew to puttering around in Israel this summer and be conversational by year's end.
• Save money for a Scotland spring break. If I don't actually get to Scotland, then at least I have some money.
• Graduate college.
• Get a temporary job-- preferably with health insurance.
• Send something to get published. Poem, short story, essay, anything.
• Lose 10 pounds. Any more would be icing on the cake that I won't be allowing myself to have. :)
• Read 17 books from the 1001 Books You Must Read Before You Die Spreadsheet. Apparently, I need to read 17 a year in order to complete all 1001, so, here's the beginning.
• Get my finances in order.

BSF 2008, I hope I'll be able to complete all the goals I set out for this year. 'Cause I want to win, dammit.

Yours truly,

K.

As I mentioned yesterday, I think I might take up the Big, Fun, Scary Goal Challenge for 2008. It's going to be a year of big changes anyway, so I might as well make it a year to remember. So here's a temporary list-- hopefully I'll have a permanent list before New Years.

• Actually attempt NaNoWriMo 2008, not just sign up for it and lose courage before writing a single word.
• Learn enough Hebrew to puttering around in Israel this summer and be conversational by year's end.
• Save money for a Scotland spring break. If I don't actually get to Scotland, then at least I have some money.
• Graduate college.
• Get a temporary job-- preferably with health insurance.
• Send something to get published. Poem, short story, essay, anything.
  
• Lose 10 pounds. Any more would be icing on the cake that I won't be allowing myself to have. :)

I'll add more as I think of it.

K.

Just What I Need

Having met a few people from NaBloPoMo, I thought maybe this challenge might be right up my/our alley.

The Big, Fun, Scary Adventure Challenge by the guy who brought you NaNoWriMo.

Since this isn't the "cancel-my-life-and-worry-about-my-internet-connection" sort of challenge, I just might take this up. Anyone else?

K.