So I had this weird dream the other night. I can’t really remember most of it, but one thing stuck in my mind long after I’d woken up – for some reason, an old, wise stranger (perhaps a guru of some sort) said to me, “once you stop thinking so much, you’ll know what to do.” Now, that may not make sense to most people, but to me, it made perfect sense. I am the queen of thinking… or, rather, of OVERthinking… of overanalyzing every situation and every relationship and every choice I have to make. I think about the possible consequences of everything I do – as if I’m playing a giant life-sized chess game, and I’m desperate to avoid hearing my opponent say “checkmate”…
When I’m driving, I observe all the drivers around me and wonder if they’ll suddenly change lanes or hit their brakes… or I wonder if that poorly-secured truckload of boxes will fly out and hit my car. I plan out my route far in advance – if I know I need to be in the right lane, I’ll get over with plenty of time to spare… instead of hoping someone will let me in at the last second, as seems to be the norm with most drivers. When I email people and don’t receive a prompt reply, I spend too much time wondering if I said something I shouldn’t have, or if they’ve decided I’m too boring to carry on a conversation with, or if they’re mad at me for something I did in the past that I can no longer remember… when I SHOULD simply be assuming the lack of correspondence is a result of busy lives, or piles of other emails, or simply an unfamiliarity with the fine art of writing (because it IS an art, you know… you think this stuff is easy? :)).
I think about my life, in general… about things that happened in the past I wish I could change – knowing full well I can’t. But it doesn’t stop me from thinking about those things. And I think about what I’m doing now, and what I SHOULD be doing now, and whether I’m doing it all the right way, or if I’m doing everything wrong...
My overanalyzing tendencies even carry over into the mundane – like grocery shopping. It takes far too long for me to decide on an onion, for instance. I’ll pick them up, one by one, making nonsensical excuses for why each is not worthy of my basket. Perhaps it’s a bit of dirt, or a discoloration, or a funny shape – whatever the excuse, eventually I realize that NONE of the onions are perfect, and I must simply choose one if I ever want to add it to my pile of produce.
And since the things we dream are generated by our own minds, it’s interesting to me that my own mind was telling me not to think so much. It’s a strange kind of paradox – my mind thinks, yet my mind is telling me NOT to think too much. And of course, in TELLING me not to think too much, it was forming yet another thought. Think about it too long, and it starts to make you crazy… except I shouldn’t be thinking about it so much in the first place. (See? Crazy…) I guess that dream was my mind’s way of saying, “just give me a break once in a while, will ya?”
And keeping with that, um, thought, the next time I’m at the grocery store, I’m just going to pick up the first onion I see and buy it… maybe…
Thursday, May 31, 2007
Wednesday, May 30, 2007
Reading material...
I’ve decided that my cell phone number (which I will not reproduce here, for fear of random internet stalkers…) is much too easy to misdial. Or rather, lots of OTHER numbers are easily misdialed as MY number. I seem to receive a rather large number of calls from people who meant to dial another number. Like a few months ago, I kept getting phone calls from a woman who would leave a message, saying she was so-and-so from the YMCA and she was looking for someone named Latisha. Even though I obviously say on my voicemail, “this is Lisa.” (Does Lisa sound like Latisha?) There was one day a while ago when I kept getting calls, one right after another, from a bunch of phone numbers I didn’t recognize – so I went to Google and looked them up. They were all people who were members of some sort of Angus cow association. And apparently they thought I was, too… uh, nope. Sorry. Don’t know that much about cows. They moo. And we get milk from them. And their filet mignon parts are pretty tasty. That’s about it.
And this morning I woke up to a “missed call” on my phone. I checked the caller ID, and it was a local number I didn’t recognize. So once again I went to trusty old Google, and looked it up. Turns out it was from a Taco Bell down on Ben White Boulevard. Taco Bell? Now I’m getting phone calls from Taco Bell? I don’t even LIKE Taco Bell… in fact, I’m not sure why anyone except broke college students would like Taco Bell. I mean, if I really want roadkill in a tortilla, I can just make it myself… (Of course, I AM the pickiest eater on the face of the planet… :))
So mom and dad returned last night, and they brought me a few books from my grandfather’s house – a couple of nice hard-cover copies of Jane Eyre (one of my all-time favorite books) and Wuthering Heights (a book I keep meaning to read but haven’t yet) that were published in 1943, and a 1913 copy of Little Men. I actually already have a copy of Little Women that my Aunt Carol gave me a long time ago – it belonged to my grandmother first, and she signed her name on the inside cover. So then Aunt Carol signed her name underneath, and when she gave it to me, I signed mine, too. (It is now officially a book that must always be kept in the family… it can never be sold at a garage sale… that would be too sad…)
They also brought me an old (but nicely taken care of) German New Testament Bible that was published in Berlin in 1903. It’s written in an “old style” German type, where the lowercase s’s within words look like f’s (if the S is at the end of a word, it still looks like an S... we wouldn't want it to be too confusing, would we?), and the uppercase S’s look like G’s. So, while the first verse says, “Dies ist das Buch von der Geburt Jesu Christi, der da ist ein Sohn Davids, des Sohns Abrahams,” it LOOKS more like, “Dies ift das Buch von der Geburt Jefu Chrifti, der da ift ein Gohn Davids, des Gohns Ubrahams.” (Yeah, I just noticed the capital A’s sort of look like U’s…) You know, it’s a little weird when a Bible keeps talking about “Jefus.” It’s a strange type… takes some getting used to…
Along with the Bible, mom and dad found something called a “Christliches Vergissmeinnicht” – which, literally translated, would mean, “Christian forget-me-not.” It’s like a little devotional book with a different Bible verse printed for every day of the year. Someone wrote inside the front cover, “presented by the superintendent of Smithfield Sunday School, Rev. Fr. Ruoff, 1903.” It’s also printed in the old German type – I guess they really liked that back in 1903… Actually, it’s funny how even handwriting was more intricate and precise years and years ago. I can barely read my OWN writing half the time, but when I look at this inscription in the cover of the little German book, it looks like every letter is perfectly formed – it would’ve taken me a half hour to write something that neatly.
Well, thank goodness all this blog stuff is done with a keyboard…
And this morning I woke up to a “missed call” on my phone. I checked the caller ID, and it was a local number I didn’t recognize. So once again I went to trusty old Google, and looked it up. Turns out it was from a Taco Bell down on Ben White Boulevard. Taco Bell? Now I’m getting phone calls from Taco Bell? I don’t even LIKE Taco Bell… in fact, I’m not sure why anyone except broke college students would like Taco Bell. I mean, if I really want roadkill in a tortilla, I can just make it myself… (Of course, I AM the pickiest eater on the face of the planet… :))
So mom and dad returned last night, and they brought me a few books from my grandfather’s house – a couple of nice hard-cover copies of Jane Eyre (one of my all-time favorite books) and Wuthering Heights (a book I keep meaning to read but haven’t yet) that were published in 1943, and a 1913 copy of Little Men. I actually already have a copy of Little Women that my Aunt Carol gave me a long time ago – it belonged to my grandmother first, and she signed her name on the inside cover. So then Aunt Carol signed her name underneath, and when she gave it to me, I signed mine, too. (It is now officially a book that must always be kept in the family… it can never be sold at a garage sale… that would be too sad…)
They also brought me an old (but nicely taken care of) German New Testament Bible that was published in Berlin in 1903. It’s written in an “old style” German type, where the lowercase s’s within words look like f’s (if the S is at the end of a word, it still looks like an S... we wouldn't want it to be too confusing, would we?), and the uppercase S’s look like G’s. So, while the first verse says, “Dies ist das Buch von der Geburt Jesu Christi, der da ist ein Sohn Davids, des Sohns Abrahams,” it LOOKS more like, “Dies ift das Buch von der Geburt Jefu Chrifti, der da ift ein Gohn Davids, des Gohns Ubrahams.” (Yeah, I just noticed the capital A’s sort of look like U’s…) You know, it’s a little weird when a Bible keeps talking about “Jefus.” It’s a strange type… takes some getting used to…
Along with the Bible, mom and dad found something called a “Christliches Vergissmeinnicht” – which, literally translated, would mean, “Christian forget-me-not.” It’s like a little devotional book with a different Bible verse printed for every day of the year. Someone wrote inside the front cover, “presented by the superintendent of Smithfield Sunday School, Rev. Fr. Ruoff, 1903.” It’s also printed in the old German type – I guess they really liked that back in 1903… Actually, it’s funny how even handwriting was more intricate and precise years and years ago. I can barely read my OWN writing half the time, but when I look at this inscription in the cover of the little German book, it looks like every letter is perfectly formed – it would’ve taken me a half hour to write something that neatly.
Well, thank goodness all this blog stuff is done with a keyboard…
Monday, May 28, 2007
It's a regular zoo over there...
I’ve been taking care of the cats at mom and dad’s house while they’re up in Buffalo. They went up to start sorting through things at my grandfather’s house, and also to visit my mom’s parents – my grandmother has been sick, and in and out of the hospital this past year. And she just had a stroke – she’s back at home now, and feeling better, but apparently her short-term memory has been affected. Hopefully that will improve over time. And according to my mom, she was feeling rather happy today because she had a lot of family around – along with my mom and dad, my aunt and uncle from Tennessee were visiting, and my cousin Kevin and his wife Kristina were there with their new baby, Savannah.
So I’ve been hanging out with Kiko and Ozzie and Dusty. Plus a few other random creatures – because mom and dad’s house tends to be an oasis for various forms of wildlife. When I went over to the house last night, I noticed some kind of large brown thing floating in the water. It clearly did not belong in the pool, and I was slightly hesitant to approach the edge of the water. But as I walked closer, I was able to see it was a large turtle – no doubt an inhabitant of the pond behind my parents’ house, who had lost its way and wandered into the only body of water it could find. But I can’t imagine chlorinated water would be good for turtles (although I wouldn’t think it would be good for birds, either – and I always see birds outside dipping their beaks into my pool. Seems like they could find a better source of water somewhere… but I suppose if you’re a bird, a big, giant, blue pool looks rather inviting…).
I figured I should find a way to remove the turtle from the pool, so I got the skimming net and attempted to scoop it up. But turtles, although rather slow on land, can swim surprisingly fast. He darted to the bottom of the pool, and stubbornly sat there, presumably holding air in his tiny little turtle lungs. (Tiny little turtle lungs that can hold onto oxygen for a really long time…) And of course he settled on the bottom of the deep end, about as far away from me as he could get. I had to use the pole extender on the skimmer to get close to him. But then, instead of swimming away again, the poor turtle (who no doubt thought he was under attack from some new breed of predator) pulled himself into his shell and wouldn’t move. He was, at this point, like a big rock at the bottom of the pool, which I was able to buoy with the skimmer net and pull out of the water. That turtle was surprisingly heavy… I placed him over by the fence, in an area where there was some space underneath, and tried to point him in the direction of the marshy area behind mom and dad’s house. Of course, seeing as he refused to come out of the shell, it was hard to tell if I was pointing him head-first or tail-first… I’m pretty sure it was head-first…
And although he never DID come out of that shell while I was over at the house, he was gone this morning. And no, he wasn’t back in the pool… so I can only hope he made it back to wherever he came from in the first place. So now the only thing in the pool is a dead scorpion and bunch of worms… (we’ve had a lot of rain…)
Mom keeps cat food outside for a bunch of stray “outside cats” that have taken refuge in the backyard, so I’m always sure to refill the dishes on the porch when I’m over at the house. But this morning, after I filled the food dishes (and after I made sure the turtle was gone), another animal climbed up on the porch and helped itself to the food. It was a possum, which I thought was rather strange – aren’t possums nocturnal? Shouldn’t that possum have been sleeping somewhere, saving up its energy for a nighttime hunt? (A nighttime hunt that apparently ends with cat food at my parents’ house?) Was it a possum with insomnia? Was it cramming for some sort of possum final exam? I never know what I’m gonna see over at that house…
Which reminds me… I should take the camera over tonight… just in case…
So I’ve been hanging out with Kiko and Ozzie and Dusty. Plus a few other random creatures – because mom and dad’s house tends to be an oasis for various forms of wildlife. When I went over to the house last night, I noticed some kind of large brown thing floating in the water. It clearly did not belong in the pool, and I was slightly hesitant to approach the edge of the water. But as I walked closer, I was able to see it was a large turtle – no doubt an inhabitant of the pond behind my parents’ house, who had lost its way and wandered into the only body of water it could find. But I can’t imagine chlorinated water would be good for turtles (although I wouldn’t think it would be good for birds, either – and I always see birds outside dipping their beaks into my pool. Seems like they could find a better source of water somewhere… but I suppose if you’re a bird, a big, giant, blue pool looks rather inviting…).
I figured I should find a way to remove the turtle from the pool, so I got the skimming net and attempted to scoop it up. But turtles, although rather slow on land, can swim surprisingly fast. He darted to the bottom of the pool, and stubbornly sat there, presumably holding air in his tiny little turtle lungs. (Tiny little turtle lungs that can hold onto oxygen for a really long time…) And of course he settled on the bottom of the deep end, about as far away from me as he could get. I had to use the pole extender on the skimmer to get close to him. But then, instead of swimming away again, the poor turtle (who no doubt thought he was under attack from some new breed of predator) pulled himself into his shell and wouldn’t move. He was, at this point, like a big rock at the bottom of the pool, which I was able to buoy with the skimmer net and pull out of the water. That turtle was surprisingly heavy… I placed him over by the fence, in an area where there was some space underneath, and tried to point him in the direction of the marshy area behind mom and dad’s house. Of course, seeing as he refused to come out of the shell, it was hard to tell if I was pointing him head-first or tail-first… I’m pretty sure it was head-first…
And although he never DID come out of that shell while I was over at the house, he was gone this morning. And no, he wasn’t back in the pool… so I can only hope he made it back to wherever he came from in the first place. So now the only thing in the pool is a dead scorpion and bunch of worms… (we’ve had a lot of rain…)
Mom keeps cat food outside for a bunch of stray “outside cats” that have taken refuge in the backyard, so I’m always sure to refill the dishes on the porch when I’m over at the house. But this morning, after I filled the food dishes (and after I made sure the turtle was gone), another animal climbed up on the porch and helped itself to the food. It was a possum, which I thought was rather strange – aren’t possums nocturnal? Shouldn’t that possum have been sleeping somewhere, saving up its energy for a nighttime hunt? (A nighttime hunt that apparently ends with cat food at my parents’ house?) Was it a possum with insomnia? Was it cramming for some sort of possum final exam? I never know what I’m gonna see over at that house…
Which reminds me… I should take the camera over tonight… just in case…
Thursday, May 24, 2007
Now THAT was a good show...
Wow – Lost last night was just… wow. I was losing faith in the show at the beginning of the season, and was actually starting to consider Heroes a better show – but after watching both of the season finales, Lost took a giant leap over Heroes and has regained its place at the top of my “must watch” list. I was really disappointed in the Heroes finale on Monday – after spending the entire season talking about the “bomb” that would decimate Manhattan and how the heroes had to “save the cheerleader, save the world,” the whole thing came down to a little thirty-second face-off between Peter and Sylar. And then Nathan flew Peter out to the stratosphere so he could blow up without destroying the city. Yippee yahoo.
But Lost last night… I was glued to the TV from the first few minutes. It was easily the best episode of the season. Not only were we left with plenty of questions (it just wouldn’t be Lost if I wasn’t totally confused at the end of the show), but there were also plenty of satisfying scenes that were long overdue. I mean, there was so much that was great in the episode last night… Jack led most of the Losties away to find the radio tower, while Jin, Sayid and Bernard stayed behind to execute the “shoot the dynamite” plan. (By the way – why have we not seen a thing about Rose and Bernard this season, and NOW they pop up all of a sudden?) And when the Others show up, Sayid and Bernard are perfect shots, and BOOM! Others scattered everywhere! Yes!! Unfortunately Jin was not as accurate, and the three remaining Others capture the three Losties.
And Ben – stupid, evil, lying Ben – shows up to block the exodus to the radio tower, where he takes Jack aside and allows him to listen to the radio transmission from back at the beach, where the Others are holding the Losties at gunpoint. Ben tells Jack he has one minute to hand over Naomi’s satellite phone, or Jin, Sayid and Bernard are all dead. Jack (obviously struggling with his status as leader) refuses, and we hear three gun shots on Ben’s radio. And this is where it got REALLY good – Jack lunged at Ben, and finally, FINALLY, gave him a much deserved face-beating. I was literally sitting on my couch saying, “just kill him! Kill him!” Who knew I had such homicidal tendencies? But it was like Jack was finally getting out some of that frustration all of us Lost viewers have had all season…
But I think my favorite scene had to be after Sawyer and Juliet made the decision to go back to the beach to see if they could figure out what happened to Jin, Sayid and Bernard. Hurley comes running (well, “running” is a bit of an overstatement) up to them, and says he wants to help. And for the second time in two episodes, someone reminds poor Hurley that he’s fat and will only slow them down. So a dejected Hurley returns to join the rest of the Losties – or so it seems. After Sawyer and Juliet get to the beach (where Jin, Sayid and Bernard are still alive – I kinda figured they would be, so that wasn’t TOO much of a surprise) they realize they have no weapons to fight the three gun-totin’ Others. And it’s at that moment that Hurley comes barreling through the jungle in the old beat-up van he fixed – he plows right into one of the Others (yes! One down!) which causes enough of a distraction for Sawyer to rush over and pick up a gun. Sayid, with his hands tied behind his back, trips the second Other and snaps his neck with his ANKLES (that was hot – yes! TWO down!!). And we’re left only with Tom – the original Other, the one who used to wear the fake beard, the one who once said, “this is OUR island” and walked around like he owned the place – lying in the sand, Sawyer and Juliet holding him at gunpoint. “I surrender,” he said. But what does Sawyer do? Shoots him anyway – “that’s for taking the kid off the raft,” he says. YES!! Three down!!! And when Hurley questions why he shot him after he said he surrendered, Sawyer says, “I didn’t believe him.” Finally! Somebody has figured out that the Others always lie…
We also got to see Walt in this episode (I was practically jumping up and down with glee – I mean, I half thought the writers were just going to ignore the fact that Walt and Michael left the island a zillion years ago and we’d never see them again), and Locke, of course, wasn’t actually dead. He crawls out of that mass grave just in time to kill Naomi as she’s making a call on her satellite phone – because apparently, Naomi wasn’t who we thought she was. Locke then threatens to kill Jack if he continues making the call, but Jack makes it anyway… and Locke just walks away, back into the jungle. Locke’s bizarre commune with the island is starting to get a little creepy… And Jack DOES manage to contact someone, who says they’ll “be right there” to pick up the Losties. But it can’t be THAT easy to get off this island, right?
Especially since Charlie, down in the Looking Glass underwater station, intercepted a message from Desmond’s girlfriend Penny – who revealed that she did NOT, in fact, send a ship to look for Desmond as Naomi had said. And then everything got crazy – that one-eyed Russian guy (who Desmond had just speared through the chest – that guy just wouldn’t die…) managed to swim outside with a grenade and waved to Charlie through the porthole. And for some inexplicable reason, Charlie closed the door to the little room he was in so the whole station wouldn’t flood – even though Desmond was outside getting scuba gear. The Russian detonates the grenade (is it safe to say he’s dead NOW?) and Charlie’s little room starts to flood, just like in Desmond’s vision. But before he drowns, he manages to write “not Penny’s boat” on his hand, so Desmond can see the message. I don’t get the whole “Charlie had to die” story – he obviously could’ve made it out of the station, but apparently chose to die because he believed Desmond’s “vision.” For some reason, he felt that if he DIDN’T die, Claire would never be rescued… doesn’t make sense to me, since he managed to turn off the transmitter and everything. They’d better explain that next season…
All this, AND Crazy French Lady was finally reunited with Alex… AND Jack finally told Kate he loves her – which is exactly what every girl wants to hear right after they see you kissing someone else. And the flashbacks in this episode turned out to be flash-FORWARDS. Now THAT was a twist I didn’t see coming… All in all, there was so much in this episode that to write a real, decent recap would take several more pages. Seriously, I only covered major points here. I could keep going. The show was THAT good last night.
And I only have to wait eight months for the season premiere. Sigh…
But Lost last night… I was glued to the TV from the first few minutes. It was easily the best episode of the season. Not only were we left with plenty of questions (it just wouldn’t be Lost if I wasn’t totally confused at the end of the show), but there were also plenty of satisfying scenes that were long overdue. I mean, there was so much that was great in the episode last night… Jack led most of the Losties away to find the radio tower, while Jin, Sayid and Bernard stayed behind to execute the “shoot the dynamite” plan. (By the way – why have we not seen a thing about Rose and Bernard this season, and NOW they pop up all of a sudden?) And when the Others show up, Sayid and Bernard are perfect shots, and BOOM! Others scattered everywhere! Yes!! Unfortunately Jin was not as accurate, and the three remaining Others capture the three Losties.
And Ben – stupid, evil, lying Ben – shows up to block the exodus to the radio tower, where he takes Jack aside and allows him to listen to the radio transmission from back at the beach, where the Others are holding the Losties at gunpoint. Ben tells Jack he has one minute to hand over Naomi’s satellite phone, or Jin, Sayid and Bernard are all dead. Jack (obviously struggling with his status as leader) refuses, and we hear three gun shots on Ben’s radio. And this is where it got REALLY good – Jack lunged at Ben, and finally, FINALLY, gave him a much deserved face-beating. I was literally sitting on my couch saying, “just kill him! Kill him!” Who knew I had such homicidal tendencies? But it was like Jack was finally getting out some of that frustration all of us Lost viewers have had all season…
But I think my favorite scene had to be after Sawyer and Juliet made the decision to go back to the beach to see if they could figure out what happened to Jin, Sayid and Bernard. Hurley comes running (well, “running” is a bit of an overstatement) up to them, and says he wants to help. And for the second time in two episodes, someone reminds poor Hurley that he’s fat and will only slow them down. So a dejected Hurley returns to join the rest of the Losties – or so it seems. After Sawyer and Juliet get to the beach (where Jin, Sayid and Bernard are still alive – I kinda figured they would be, so that wasn’t TOO much of a surprise) they realize they have no weapons to fight the three gun-totin’ Others. And it’s at that moment that Hurley comes barreling through the jungle in the old beat-up van he fixed – he plows right into one of the Others (yes! One down!) which causes enough of a distraction for Sawyer to rush over and pick up a gun. Sayid, with his hands tied behind his back, trips the second Other and snaps his neck with his ANKLES (that was hot – yes! TWO down!!). And we’re left only with Tom – the original Other, the one who used to wear the fake beard, the one who once said, “this is OUR island” and walked around like he owned the place – lying in the sand, Sawyer and Juliet holding him at gunpoint. “I surrender,” he said. But what does Sawyer do? Shoots him anyway – “that’s for taking the kid off the raft,” he says. YES!! Three down!!! And when Hurley questions why he shot him after he said he surrendered, Sawyer says, “I didn’t believe him.” Finally! Somebody has figured out that the Others always lie…
We also got to see Walt in this episode (I was practically jumping up and down with glee – I mean, I half thought the writers were just going to ignore the fact that Walt and Michael left the island a zillion years ago and we’d never see them again), and Locke, of course, wasn’t actually dead. He crawls out of that mass grave just in time to kill Naomi as she’s making a call on her satellite phone – because apparently, Naomi wasn’t who we thought she was. Locke then threatens to kill Jack if he continues making the call, but Jack makes it anyway… and Locke just walks away, back into the jungle. Locke’s bizarre commune with the island is starting to get a little creepy… And Jack DOES manage to contact someone, who says they’ll “be right there” to pick up the Losties. But it can’t be THAT easy to get off this island, right?
Especially since Charlie, down in the Looking Glass underwater station, intercepted a message from Desmond’s girlfriend Penny – who revealed that she did NOT, in fact, send a ship to look for Desmond as Naomi had said. And then everything got crazy – that one-eyed Russian guy (who Desmond had just speared through the chest – that guy just wouldn’t die…) managed to swim outside with a grenade and waved to Charlie through the porthole. And for some inexplicable reason, Charlie closed the door to the little room he was in so the whole station wouldn’t flood – even though Desmond was outside getting scuba gear. The Russian detonates the grenade (is it safe to say he’s dead NOW?) and Charlie’s little room starts to flood, just like in Desmond’s vision. But before he drowns, he manages to write “not Penny’s boat” on his hand, so Desmond can see the message. I don’t get the whole “Charlie had to die” story – he obviously could’ve made it out of the station, but apparently chose to die because he believed Desmond’s “vision.” For some reason, he felt that if he DIDN’T die, Claire would never be rescued… doesn’t make sense to me, since he managed to turn off the transmitter and everything. They’d better explain that next season…
All this, AND Crazy French Lady was finally reunited with Alex… AND Jack finally told Kate he loves her – which is exactly what every girl wants to hear right after they see you kissing someone else. And the flashbacks in this episode turned out to be flash-FORWARDS. Now THAT was a twist I didn’t see coming… All in all, there was so much in this episode that to write a real, decent recap would take several more pages. Seriously, I only covered major points here. I could keep going. The show was THAT good last night.
And I only have to wait eight months for the season premiere. Sigh…
Wednesday, May 23, 2007
Happy Birthday, Eric!!!
It’s Eric’s birthday! He’s about 43, I think. We can’t be certain, of course, because his real parents (you know, the gypsies who left him on our doorstep) didn’t give us a birth certificate. So I just have to guess. He’s a lot older than me, that’s all I know…
So in honor of his birthday, here are some random Eric pictures:
So in honor of his birthday, here are some random Eric pictures:
Eric shooting stuff...
Eric looking cool...
Eric looking bored...
Eric looking mildly amused/contemplative...
Eric and Eric...
Eric and Dave....JPG)
Eric and Faisal... 
Eric and his much younger sister (who, I believe, had just taken a bite of bread and is, therefore, attempting to pretend like there's nothing in her mouth)...
Tuesday, May 22, 2007
Somebody needs to take more walks...
As dad mentioned in his comment under my last post, when we were in Honolulu we saw someone who resembled Hawaiian singer Israel Kamakawiwo’ole (thankfully known as “Iz” to his fans – so I won’t have to type that again…). Iz is best known for his rendition of “Somewhere Over the Rainbow” with a ukulele accompaniment – you’ve probably heard it about a zillion times, in various movies and television shows and commercials. It’s a rather sedate and soothing sort of song, and Iz’s voice isn’t exactly what I’d call a “powerhouse.” So if you’d never seen the guy who sang it, you might be surprised to know he looked like this:
Yes, all six-foot-something, seven-hundred-something pounds of him. Sadly, Iz died in 1997 of a weight-related respiratory illness. At least that was the story in the papers. Apparently there’s a possibility he is still hanging out on a balcony in Honolulu, as dad’s camera attested to:
Actually, this guy looks a little smaller than Iz… but I suppose it’s possible he’s been reinventing himself during his stay in the Cabin in the Middle of Nowhere. (Elvis’s cooking isn’t too good, anyway, so I’m sure most people WOULD lose some weight after hiding out for a while…) But it was interesting when we were in Hawaii to notice all the public service announcements on TV that lauded the benefits of walking. I saw several ads encouraging Hawaiians to "get out and walk" for "even 10 minutes a day!" Apparently all the people you see hanging out on the beach in bikinis and board shorts are TOURISTS -- the locals are a bunch of lazy bums who never leave their homes if it requires some sort of exertion...
Speaking of losing weight… Rick and I have been trying to walk for about a half hour around the neighborhood at night. (That’s in addition to whatever workout I do in the afternoon… so I’ve been getting lots of exercise lately…) Tonight we walked up to the Walgreens on the corner at the entrance to our neighborhood and bought a Gatorade and a Vitamin Water (you know, we had to stay hydrated because of our strenuous exercise). On our way back, we realized that part of the sidewalk ahead of us was being watered by two ill-timed and ill-aimed sprinklers. The water was arcing over the sidewalk and landing somewhere near the asphalt in the road, hopefully providing it with enough nourishment to grow into a big, strong highway. The first sprinkler was spraying close enough to the ground that we were able to hop over it pretty easily, but the second one was much higher. But hey, it was just water. I handed my Vitamin Water to Rick (hold this… I’m goin’ in… er… over…), took a couple steps back to get a running start, and leaped over the sprinkler like an Olympic hurdler. (Or maybe more like a little kid playing jump rope… I don’t know… one or the other.) Now Rick stood on the other side of the stream of wasted water, holding two drink bottles and clearly jealous of my ability to spring like a gazelle. He grasped the bottles, sized up the height of the sprinkler water, and, with determination in his eyes, strolled through the sprinkler spray like he was enjoying a day at Schlitterbahn. Well, gee – I could’ve done THAT.
But I understand – there’s no way Rick could’ve matched my obvious ballet-inspired water-leaping grace, and so to spare himself the embarrassment of falling face-first onto the sidewalk, he avoided the situation altogether. I get it... And I think I'll go drink some Vitamin Water to recover from my tiring efforts...
Saturday, May 19, 2007
Elvis never finished it...
Back in 1988, author Salman Rushdie published his book The Satanic Verses. It caused quite an uproar in the radical Islamic world, and Ayatollah Khomeini issued a fatwa calling for Rushdie’s assassination. I think, if I remember correctly, there was a million dollar bounty on his head. Needless to say, he was forced to go into hiding. I was in high school at the time, and I’d never heard of Salman Rushdie, and I didn’t know a thing about his book – but the news of this writer’s retreat to a secret location was big conversation. One afternoon, Eric came home from school and said they’d been discussing Rushdie in class that day, and when his mysterious hidden location was mentioned, someone said, “oh, you know that somewhere out there Rushdie, Elvis, Jimmy Hoffa and Hitler are all sitting around playing cards.”
Well, I thought that was rather amusing. It WOULD be funny if those four guys were all hanging out together somewhere, I thought. So one day when I was particularly bored, and “The Hunchback of Notre Dame” was the only movie on TV, I sat down and wrote a story. It was the story of how Salman Rushdie hesitantly trudged through feet of snow to make his way to the Cabin in the Middle of Nowhere, in search of sanctuary. (I used that word in the story because I’d just heard it emanating from my television set – “Sanctuary! Sanctuary!” said the hunchback…) When he reaches the cabin, Rushdie is met by Elvis (a dim-witted optimist who wants to be everyone’s friend), Jimmy Hoffa (a paranoid sissy who likes to huddle near the fireplace), and Hitler (the insult-spewing pessimist of the group, of course). He passes out copies of his book and tells everyone to enjoy it – Elvis doesn’t understand a word of it, Jimmy Hoffa throws his copy on the fire, and Hitler tosses the book across the room, after accusing Rushdie of not being a member of the master race (but Rushdie insists that he’s “really a blond at heart”). And then Rushdie settles into an armchair and begins writing his next masterpiece…
My silly little story was so well-received by my family (my mom used to carry around a copy with her… maybe she still does, who knows…) that I started writing “cabin” stories every so often, to keep up with the progression of whatever was happening in my fictional hideout. I wrote a story where Noriega hid out with the group for a short time, and another during the Gulf War where Saddam Hussein tried to gain admittance – Hitler threw him out, because he said there was only room for one dictator in the cabin. I wrote a story to explain all the “Elvis sightings” in the tabloids (he does all the grocery shopping, so he’s the only one who ever leaves…), and a story where Bill Clinton dropped by because “Hilary kicked me out again…” Eventually, I decided that no one would actually WANT to be holed up in a cabin in the middle of nowhere with Hitler, so I brought in Amelia Earhart, and Hitler was so incensed over the fact that a woman was allowed to stay that he walked out and disappeared forever into the snow drifts.
And eventually, after years of writing these stories, the death threats against Rushdie stopped, and he began appearing in public again. So the original inspiration for my stories had to be written out, leaving a distraught Elvis and Amelia Earhart – and a less distraught and more indifferent Jimmy Hoffa – behind. But even after all these stories, I had still never read one page of The Satanic Verses. I’d never looked into what all the fuss was about, or why Rushdie was forced to write subsequent books under the watchful eyes of fellow hermits. I never knew if it was a book that Elvis would really understand, or if, as I suspected, the whole thing might’ve been too complicated for him. I didn’t even know the general outline of the story. And so, my curiosity finally getting the better of me, I decided I should just BUY the book and read it for myself. So that's what I did... I started reading a couple days ago...
I’m only on page 87, but what surprises me about this book so far is how FUNNY it is. For some reason, I wasn’t expecting so much humor in a book that caused such an uproar. In fact, I’d have to say that so far, I’m quite enjoying it. Rushdie is an amazing writer – he’s reminding me a bit of James Joyce, who writes in such a way that the reader is carried along by the words… almost like reading the book is an actual journey in itself – a rollercoaster ride, or a bullet train, or a drive in a sports car. The only thing slowing me down with The Satanic Verses is Rushdie’s habit of peppering his prose with Hindi and Urdu and Arabic words, tossed in as if I’m just supposed to automatically understand them. It wasn’t bothering me too much at first, and I sort of tried to just skim over “ayah” and “bhai” and “yaar” and hoped they weren’t too terribly important. But as soon as I got to “ekdumjaldi,” I was like, “that’s IT – I have to figure out what this stuff means.” Fortunately, I found an interesting website that goes through the book page by page and not only translates any unfamiliar words, but also explains some of the imagery and metaphors.
So far I haven’t read anything that would seem to justify an assassination attempt on the author, but like I said, I’m only 87 pages into the story. I have a feeling, though, that no matter what is written in the rest of the book, it’s not going to be anything that should warrant homicidal thoughts in Rushdie’s direction. But who knows – without Salman Rushdie, there may have never been a Cabin in the Middle of Nowhere…
Well, I thought that was rather amusing. It WOULD be funny if those four guys were all hanging out together somewhere, I thought. So one day when I was particularly bored, and “The Hunchback of Notre Dame” was the only movie on TV, I sat down and wrote a story. It was the story of how Salman Rushdie hesitantly trudged through feet of snow to make his way to the Cabin in the Middle of Nowhere, in search of sanctuary. (I used that word in the story because I’d just heard it emanating from my television set – “Sanctuary! Sanctuary!” said the hunchback…) When he reaches the cabin, Rushdie is met by Elvis (a dim-witted optimist who wants to be everyone’s friend), Jimmy Hoffa (a paranoid sissy who likes to huddle near the fireplace), and Hitler (the insult-spewing pessimist of the group, of course). He passes out copies of his book and tells everyone to enjoy it – Elvis doesn’t understand a word of it, Jimmy Hoffa throws his copy on the fire, and Hitler tosses the book across the room, after accusing Rushdie of not being a member of the master race (but Rushdie insists that he’s “really a blond at heart”). And then Rushdie settles into an armchair and begins writing his next masterpiece…
My silly little story was so well-received by my family (my mom used to carry around a copy with her… maybe she still does, who knows…) that I started writing “cabin” stories every so often, to keep up with the progression of whatever was happening in my fictional hideout. I wrote a story where Noriega hid out with the group for a short time, and another during the Gulf War where Saddam Hussein tried to gain admittance – Hitler threw him out, because he said there was only room for one dictator in the cabin. I wrote a story to explain all the “Elvis sightings” in the tabloids (he does all the grocery shopping, so he’s the only one who ever leaves…), and a story where Bill Clinton dropped by because “Hilary kicked me out again…” Eventually, I decided that no one would actually WANT to be holed up in a cabin in the middle of nowhere with Hitler, so I brought in Amelia Earhart, and Hitler was so incensed over the fact that a woman was allowed to stay that he walked out and disappeared forever into the snow drifts.
And eventually, after years of writing these stories, the death threats against Rushdie stopped, and he began appearing in public again. So the original inspiration for my stories had to be written out, leaving a distraught Elvis and Amelia Earhart – and a less distraught and more indifferent Jimmy Hoffa – behind. But even after all these stories, I had still never read one page of The Satanic Verses. I’d never looked into what all the fuss was about, or why Rushdie was forced to write subsequent books under the watchful eyes of fellow hermits. I never knew if it was a book that Elvis would really understand, or if, as I suspected, the whole thing might’ve been too complicated for him. I didn’t even know the general outline of the story. And so, my curiosity finally getting the better of me, I decided I should just BUY the book and read it for myself. So that's what I did... I started reading a couple days ago...
I’m only on page 87, but what surprises me about this book so far is how FUNNY it is. For some reason, I wasn’t expecting so much humor in a book that caused such an uproar. In fact, I’d have to say that so far, I’m quite enjoying it. Rushdie is an amazing writer – he’s reminding me a bit of James Joyce, who writes in such a way that the reader is carried along by the words… almost like reading the book is an actual journey in itself – a rollercoaster ride, or a bullet train, or a drive in a sports car. The only thing slowing me down with The Satanic Verses is Rushdie’s habit of peppering his prose with Hindi and Urdu and Arabic words, tossed in as if I’m just supposed to automatically understand them. It wasn’t bothering me too much at first, and I sort of tried to just skim over “ayah” and “bhai” and “yaar” and hoped they weren’t too terribly important. But as soon as I got to “ekdumjaldi,” I was like, “that’s IT – I have to figure out what this stuff means.” Fortunately, I found an interesting website that goes through the book page by page and not only translates any unfamiliar words, but also explains some of the imagery and metaphors.
So far I haven’t read anything that would seem to justify an assassination attempt on the author, but like I said, I’m only 87 pages into the story. I have a feeling, though, that no matter what is written in the rest of the book, it’s not going to be anything that should warrant homicidal thoughts in Rushdie’s direction. But who knows – without Salman Rushdie, there may have never been a Cabin in the Middle of Nowhere…
Wednesday, May 16, 2007
And there's another episode tonight...
So last night I caught up on the two episodes of Lost I missed while traveling. You can tell it’s getting close to season finale time, because things are getting even weirder than usual. First, Locke’s con-man-attempted-murderer father shows up on the island, held captive by the Others, totally convinced he’s dead and in hell. And the strange girl who parachuted onto the island from her helicopter HAS told everyone that the wreckage of flight 815 was found, along with the bodies of all the passengers. However, the creators of Lost have repeatedly, and quite vehemently, asserted that the Losties are NOT dead – not in heaven, not in hell, not in purgatory. They are, in fact, quite alive, having improbably survived a plane crash from tens of thousands of feet in the air. So, I can only assume that the “wreckage” – or the story of the wreckage – was planted by the Others, in an effort to prevent a search for the REAL crash site.
And then Crazy Ben tells Locke that he has to kill his father if he wants to learn more about the Others’ secrets. But Locke, as much as he hates his dad, is unable to kill him. So who better to handle the task than Sawyer? And hey, guess what – it just happens to turn out that Locke’s dad is the guy Sawyer meant to kill to begin with, so it all works out fine and dandy. So Locke is able to return to Crazy Ben with his dead dad and demand to know the secrets of the island.
And this is when things start getting REALLY weird. Crazy Ben claims that he is not, in fact, the leader of the Others. No, the LEADER leader is some guy named Jacob. So Locke and Crazy Ben head off to Jacob’s place, which turns out to be a dilapidated cabin in the middle of the jungle, surrounded by some sort of grayish powdery stuff (what WAS that? Gunpowder? Volcanic ash?). And of course they show up in the middle of the night, in the soupy, scary darkness… and to make sure it STAYS dark (because what fun would a bright, sunny, dilapidated cabin be?), Crazy Ben announces that Jacob is anti-technology and they must not take flashlights into the cabin. So he lights an unreasonably dim kerosene lantern, opens the door, and introduces Locke to Jacob – who turns out to be, well, a lone vacant chair. Crazy Ben stands there talking to the empty chair in the much-too-dark cabin, and I’m pretty sure I’m not the only person who thought Crazy Ben should be committed at that point. I was like, “wow – he really IS crazy… he’s got all these people convinced that he knows what he’s talking about, but he’s just some kind of loony nut…”
That was Locke’s reaction, too, of course, so he turns to leave the strange scene. And then, all of a sudden, out of the dusty cabin darkness, a creepy voice says, “help me.” Whoa – huh? Where did the voice come from? What in the name of Jack Bauer’s missing bathroom breaks was THAT? I nearly jumped off the couch. Rick, who was watching from back in his study, hit the pause button on the Tivo and yelled out, “this is really weird.” I think he may have been afraid to hit “play” again, and when he did, more strangeness ensued – Locke turns on his flashlight, after being warned not to, and the whole cabin explodes in “Poltergeist” fashion, furniture rattling around, windows shattering, floor buckling. And for a split second – this is when it’s great to have the pause/slow motion features on Tivo – there was a person sitting in the empty chair. It was easily the creepiest episode of Lost ever…
To cap off the episode, we discover that the Others on the island now are NOT, in fact, the original “Dharma Initiative” people who created all the experiments and research. No, the Others were apparently the “natives” of the island, and they gassed all the Dharma people and threw them in a mass grave. Wow. Talk about the natives being restless… And at the end of the episode, Crazy Ben shoots Locke and he falls into the mass grave. Crazy Ben seemed quite distraught over the fact that Jacob had said “help me” to Locke. I don’t know what that was about… so now Locke is severely injured and lying in a grave, and who knows if anyone will find him there. I can’t imagine they’d kill off Locke, but who knows – they do a lot of weird stuff on this show. Just in case nobody noticed that.
And we only have to wait until 2010 before it all makes sense…
And then Crazy Ben tells Locke that he has to kill his father if he wants to learn more about the Others’ secrets. But Locke, as much as he hates his dad, is unable to kill him. So who better to handle the task than Sawyer? And hey, guess what – it just happens to turn out that Locke’s dad is the guy Sawyer meant to kill to begin with, so it all works out fine and dandy. So Locke is able to return to Crazy Ben with his dead dad and demand to know the secrets of the island.
And this is when things start getting REALLY weird. Crazy Ben claims that he is not, in fact, the leader of the Others. No, the LEADER leader is some guy named Jacob. So Locke and Crazy Ben head off to Jacob’s place, which turns out to be a dilapidated cabin in the middle of the jungle, surrounded by some sort of grayish powdery stuff (what WAS that? Gunpowder? Volcanic ash?). And of course they show up in the middle of the night, in the soupy, scary darkness… and to make sure it STAYS dark (because what fun would a bright, sunny, dilapidated cabin be?), Crazy Ben announces that Jacob is anti-technology and they must not take flashlights into the cabin. So he lights an unreasonably dim kerosene lantern, opens the door, and introduces Locke to Jacob – who turns out to be, well, a lone vacant chair. Crazy Ben stands there talking to the empty chair in the much-too-dark cabin, and I’m pretty sure I’m not the only person who thought Crazy Ben should be committed at that point. I was like, “wow – he really IS crazy… he’s got all these people convinced that he knows what he’s talking about, but he’s just some kind of loony nut…”
That was Locke’s reaction, too, of course, so he turns to leave the strange scene. And then, all of a sudden, out of the dusty cabin darkness, a creepy voice says, “help me.” Whoa – huh? Where did the voice come from? What in the name of Jack Bauer’s missing bathroom breaks was THAT? I nearly jumped off the couch. Rick, who was watching from back in his study, hit the pause button on the Tivo and yelled out, “this is really weird.” I think he may have been afraid to hit “play” again, and when he did, more strangeness ensued – Locke turns on his flashlight, after being warned not to, and the whole cabin explodes in “Poltergeist” fashion, furniture rattling around, windows shattering, floor buckling. And for a split second – this is when it’s great to have the pause/slow motion features on Tivo – there was a person sitting in the empty chair. It was easily the creepiest episode of Lost ever…
To cap off the episode, we discover that the Others on the island now are NOT, in fact, the original “Dharma Initiative” people who created all the experiments and research. No, the Others were apparently the “natives” of the island, and they gassed all the Dharma people and threw them in a mass grave. Wow. Talk about the natives being restless… And at the end of the episode, Crazy Ben shoots Locke and he falls into the mass grave. Crazy Ben seemed quite distraught over the fact that Jacob had said “help me” to Locke. I don’t know what that was about… so now Locke is severely injured and lying in a grave, and who knows if anyone will find him there. I can’t imagine they’d kill off Locke, but who knows – they do a lot of weird stuff on this show. Just in case nobody noticed that.
And we only have to wait until 2010 before it all makes sense…
Tuesday, May 15, 2007
More random Hawaii pictures...
Dad gave me a DVD of all his Hawaii pictures, so here are a few from his collection:
Rick, getting ready to snap a picture...
Rick's mom (in the pink shirt) taking a picture of my dad, who was taking a picture of everyone else. Those signs beyond the rock wall say all kinds of things like, "Uneven terrain! Don't go any further! Rocky ground! Danger, danger, Will Robinson!" but dad, always up for a challenge, jumped right over the wall to see how far he could venture out...
Rainbow outside mom and dad's hotel room -- they had a great view of the ocean from their balcony.
Me, hanging out in the rental car on one of our stops where it was particularly windy. I kept getting sand blown in my eyes, and I'm always paranoid about ending up with another corneal ulcer... (Rick, of course, likes to brag about how he got lasik and now his eyes are perfect and if I got it, too, then I wouldn't have to worry about my contact lenses trapping sand underneath them...)
A McDonald's where we stopped for lunch one day -- that's a waterfall over on the left. I wonder if any other McDonald's in the country have waterfalls, or if that's only in Hawaii...
The reason I didn't want to go swimming the last day we were on the beach. I don't know if that sign had already been out and I hadn't noticed it, or if they just put it out that day. But judging from all the other swimmers in the ocean, no one had encountered any jellyfish yet (but I still wasn't sure I wanted to risk it... I'm such a wimp...)...
A great shot of my hair -- check out how shiny it is. Seriously, I must use some kind of great conditioner. That is really shiny hair. (Actually, I think dad was trying to get that bird perched on the chair right behind me...)
Here's another picture of me and my hair... notice the movement as I whip my head around to look to the left...
And here's a picture of me flinging my hair behind my shoulders. No frizz and no split ends... ask me about my conditioner. (I'm kidding... I just thought it was funny that there were so many pictures of my hair in motion...)
Mom at dad at one of our stops along the highway...
The tiny island of Mokolii... Rick and I later discovered that it's also known as "the Chinaman's Hat."
Looking up through the atrium at the hotel...
Sunset from mom and dad's hotel balcony...
Ozzie hanging out in mom's suitcase after they got home -- I think this is his way of saying, "you are not allowed to leave again." Or perhaps, "you can leave, but I'm going with you..."
Rick, getting ready to snap a picture...
Rick's mom (in the pink shirt) taking a picture of my dad, who was taking a picture of everyone else. Those signs beyond the rock wall say all kinds of things like, "Uneven terrain! Don't go any further! Rocky ground! Danger, danger, Will Robinson!" but dad, always up for a challenge, jumped right over the wall to see how far he could venture out...
Rainbow outside mom and dad's hotel room -- they had a great view of the ocean from their balcony. 
Me, hanging out in the rental car on one of our stops where it was particularly windy. I kept getting sand blown in my eyes, and I'm always paranoid about ending up with another corneal ulcer... (Rick, of course, likes to brag about how he got lasik and now his eyes are perfect and if I got it, too, then I wouldn't have to worry about my contact lenses trapping sand underneath them...)
A McDonald's where we stopped for lunch one day -- that's a waterfall over on the left. I wonder if any other McDonald's in the country have waterfalls, or if that's only in Hawaii...
The reason I didn't want to go swimming the last day we were on the beach. I don't know if that sign had already been out and I hadn't noticed it, or if they just put it out that day. But judging from all the other swimmers in the ocean, no one had encountered any jellyfish yet (but I still wasn't sure I wanted to risk it... I'm such a wimp...)...
A great shot of my hair -- check out how shiny it is. Seriously, I must use some kind of great conditioner. That is really shiny hair. (Actually, I think dad was trying to get that bird perched on the chair right behind me...)Here's another picture of me and my hair... notice the movement as I whip my head around to look to the left...And here's a picture of me flinging my hair behind my shoulders. No frizz and no split ends... ask me about my conditioner. (I'm kidding... I just thought it was funny that there were so many pictures of my hair in motion...)
Mom at dad at one of our stops along the highway...
The tiny island of Mokolii... Rick and I later discovered that it's also known as "the Chinaman's Hat."
Looking up through the atrium at the hotel... Ozzie hanging out in mom's suitcase after they got home -- I think this is his way of saying, "you are not allowed to leave again." Or perhaps, "you can leave, but I'm going with you..."
Saturday, May 12, 2007
Weetawhat?
We’re back in Austin, attempting to readjust to the Central Time Zone. We left Hawaii at about 5:30 last night (at least I think it was last night… was it last night? Yeah, I think so…) and arrived in Austin at around 9 o’clock this morning. I took a little three hour nap this afternoon, which has prevented me from passing out yet, but I’m not sure how late I’ll want to stay up tonight…
So since our flight out of Honolulu wasn’t until 5:30, and check-out at the hotel was noon, we made our way back into Waikiki yesterday afternoon to eat lunch at Duke’s again. This time, we knew exactly what to do – we all ordered salads so we wouldn’t eat too much, and then ordered three Hula Pies for the six of us. I’m gonna miss that Hula Pie… I swear the fire goddess Pete herself created Hula Pie, just as a counterbalance to all that fiery volcano stuff… in any event, it was definitely blessed by divinity…
Well, this is a strange coincidence… I finished a book this week called The Namesake. I’ve had it in my possession for about two years, and finally decided I should go ahead and read it on my vacation. Mainly because I recently noticed they’ve made a movie based on the book. And while no one is forcing me to run out and see the movie, I didn’t want to risk accidentally stumbling upon it one day on HBO or some other movie channel and seeing a critical scene before I’d read it. I don’t like to know the entire story of a book before I’ve read it… for some reason, it doesn’t bother me as much with movies. (And besides, the book is always better, right?)
Anyway, back to the strange coincidence – there’s a character in the book who lived her childhood years in England, and at one point she is reminiscing about her time there, and about how she can remember “eating Weetabix and hot milk for breakfast.” I read that line on the plane on the way home early this morning, and fleetingly wondered what in the world “Weetabix” was. I tried not to dwell on it too long, because it wasn’t like I could pop over to the on-board internet café and do a Google search. (Although how cool would it be if planes had on-board internet cafés?) And then a few minutes ago, as I sat here clicking away on my keyboard with the TV on low volume, I was suddenly aware of a man with a British accent describing different ways to eat “Weetabix.” (You can eat it with berries! Or yogurt! Or honey! Or dried fruit!) I sat here with my remote in my hand, rewinding the commercial to make sure I’d heard correctly. It was the strangest thing… just this morning I was curious about Weetabix, and tonight I discover that Weetabix is on its way to America. And of course it makes the whole thing even more bizarre when I think about how I’ve had this book for two years and I just happened to finally read the Weetabix line TODAY, the same day I see the commercial for the first time… Like I said, strange coincidence. (And “Weetabix,” by the way, appears to be something similar to a shredded wheat biscuit… which, I’m assuming, is why it’s best to add berries or yogurt or honey or dried fruit…)
The book was really good… the kind of book where nothing spectacular or out-of-the-ordinary happens, but the author is so good at describing the ordinary that every page is transfixing. She explores themes of tradition and family expectations and the very-often random and “accidental” incidents that shape our lives. And how even when we stick to those traditions and expectations our families might have, there are no guarantees of the path we’ll end up taking. Sometimes it’s all just coincidence. Kind of like how I happened upon a commercial today for a product I’d never heard of in my life until a few hours ago…
Or perhaps it’s a sign that I should buy some Weetabix… (why couldn’t this strange coincidence have had something to do with chocolate?)
So since our flight out of Honolulu wasn’t until 5:30, and check-out at the hotel was noon, we made our way back into Waikiki yesterday afternoon to eat lunch at Duke’s again. This time, we knew exactly what to do – we all ordered salads so we wouldn’t eat too much, and then ordered three Hula Pies for the six of us. I’m gonna miss that Hula Pie… I swear the fire goddess Pete herself created Hula Pie, just as a counterbalance to all that fiery volcano stuff… in any event, it was definitely blessed by divinity…
Well, this is a strange coincidence… I finished a book this week called The Namesake. I’ve had it in my possession for about two years, and finally decided I should go ahead and read it on my vacation. Mainly because I recently noticed they’ve made a movie based on the book. And while no one is forcing me to run out and see the movie, I didn’t want to risk accidentally stumbling upon it one day on HBO or some other movie channel and seeing a critical scene before I’d read it. I don’t like to know the entire story of a book before I’ve read it… for some reason, it doesn’t bother me as much with movies. (And besides, the book is always better, right?)
Anyway, back to the strange coincidence – there’s a character in the book who lived her childhood years in England, and at one point she is reminiscing about her time there, and about how she can remember “eating Weetabix and hot milk for breakfast.” I read that line on the plane on the way home early this morning, and fleetingly wondered what in the world “Weetabix” was. I tried not to dwell on it too long, because it wasn’t like I could pop over to the on-board internet café and do a Google search. (Although how cool would it be if planes had on-board internet cafés?) And then a few minutes ago, as I sat here clicking away on my keyboard with the TV on low volume, I was suddenly aware of a man with a British accent describing different ways to eat “Weetabix.” (You can eat it with berries! Or yogurt! Or honey! Or dried fruit!) I sat here with my remote in my hand, rewinding the commercial to make sure I’d heard correctly. It was the strangest thing… just this morning I was curious about Weetabix, and tonight I discover that Weetabix is on its way to America. And of course it makes the whole thing even more bizarre when I think about how I’ve had this book for two years and I just happened to finally read the Weetabix line TODAY, the same day I see the commercial for the first time… Like I said, strange coincidence. (And “Weetabix,” by the way, appears to be something similar to a shredded wheat biscuit… which, I’m assuming, is why it’s best to add berries or yogurt or honey or dried fruit…)
The book was really good… the kind of book where nothing spectacular or out-of-the-ordinary happens, but the author is so good at describing the ordinary that every page is transfixing. She explores themes of tradition and family expectations and the very-often random and “accidental” incidents that shape our lives. And how even when we stick to those traditions and expectations our families might have, there are no guarantees of the path we’ll end up taking. Sometimes it’s all just coincidence. Kind of like how I happened upon a commercial today for a product I’d never heard of in my life until a few hours ago…
Or perhaps it’s a sign that I should buy some Weetabix… (why couldn’t this strange coincidence have had something to do with chocolate?)
Thursday, May 10, 2007
You have to learn to hula to burn off the calories...
It's about 8:30 in the morning here, and I've finally got a few minutes to post some pictures. Yesterday we went to Pearl Harbor and saw the USS Arizona memorial. I'd read different opinions about how to approach this site -- some people said, "you HAVE to show up at 7 am, as soon as they open! Otherwise you'll be waiting in line for hours!" Whereas other people said, "Don't go as soon as they open! Everyone shows up at 7 am!" We opted for the late-morning arrival. We got there at about 11:30 and had to wait an hour for our tour. Everyone who shows up is assigned a tour number, and when your tour number is called, you congregate in a small theater and watch a short film about what happened at Pearl Harbor. And then when it's finished, you file out to a boat that takes you to the memorial. And interestingly enough, when we returned from the memorial, we noticed that the visitor's center was much less crowded. Looks like lunch time is actually the best time to show up...
We ate at a great restaurant at the hotel the other night called Azul -- and it wasn't just the food that made it well-worth visiting. It was also because when I ordered a pomegranate martini, the waitress asked to see my ID. And when everyone at the table laughed and said, "you just made HER day..." the waitress said, "well, I'm sure she's not 30 yet..." And of course she's right... :)
Well, now it's 4:30 and we just got back from spending the day in Waikiki. After visiting the city, I'm glad we're staying at this hotel -- it feels a little more like "Hawaii" and less like a big city. Waikiki was nice for a day, but the beaches are crowded with tons of people and it's noisy and busy. Staying a few miles outside the city is quieter and much less crowded. We ate lunch at a place called Duke's on the Beach, which I'd heard about a million people say we HAD to visit. And at first, I wasn't really sure why -- the food was okay, but nothing remarkable. And the view was similar to any other restaurant you'd find on the beach in Hawaii. But then we ordered the Hula Pie for dessert -- a giant slice of macadamia nut ice cream on an Oreo cookie crust, covered with hot fudge, macadamia nuts and whipped cream. The Hula Pie alone would convince me to visit Duke's again some day...
A few random pictures from the last few days:
Ocean along the highway...
Waterfall outside of hotel...
Entrance to USS Arizona memorial...
Flag through the ceiling of memorial...
The remains of the Arizona -- the round part is what's left of one of the gun turrets...
Oil on the surface of the water -- they think there are still about five hundred thousand gallons of oil left in the Arizona, and around two quarts of it leak out into the water every day...
Names of the men who died...
Another part of the ship...
Duke's on the Beach...
Mmmmmm... Hula Pie...
We ate at a great restaurant at the hotel the other night called Azul -- and it wasn't just the food that made it well-worth visiting. It was also because when I ordered a pomegranate martini, the waitress asked to see my ID. And when everyone at the table laughed and said, "you just made HER day..." the waitress said, "well, I'm sure she's not 30 yet..." And of course she's right... :)
Well, now it's 4:30 and we just got back from spending the day in Waikiki. After visiting the city, I'm glad we're staying at this hotel -- it feels a little more like "Hawaii" and less like a big city. Waikiki was nice for a day, but the beaches are crowded with tons of people and it's noisy and busy. Staying a few miles outside the city is quieter and much less crowded. We ate lunch at a place called Duke's on the Beach, which I'd heard about a million people say we HAD to visit. And at first, I wasn't really sure why -- the food was okay, but nothing remarkable. And the view was similar to any other restaurant you'd find on the beach in Hawaii. But then we ordered the Hula Pie for dessert -- a giant slice of macadamia nut ice cream on an Oreo cookie crust, covered with hot fudge, macadamia nuts and whipped cream. The Hula Pie alone would convince me to visit Duke's again some day...
A few random pictures from the last few days:
Fish in the koi pond at the hotel -- every time you approach them, they gather at the edge with their mouths open. I guess they're used to the hotel guests feeding them...
Ocean along the highway...
Waterfall outside of hotel...
Entrance to USS Arizona memorial...
Flag through the ceiling of memorial...
The remains of the Arizona -- the round part is what's left of one of the gun turrets...
Oil on the surface of the water -- they think there are still about five hundred thousand gallons of oil left in the Arizona, and around two quarts of it leak out into the water every day...
Names of the men who died...
Another part of the ship...Duke's on the Beach...Mmmmmm... Hula Pie...
Tuesday, May 08, 2007
Aloha from Oahu...
We're in Oahu, on the west side of the island, about 16 miles from Honolulu. I wasn't sure we'd all want to stay at a hotel right in Honolulu, so I did some research and decided on this place -- it's outside of the city, but close enough that we can drive in whenever we want. I read a bunch of reviews for several Honolulu hotels on Trip Advisor, and a lot of people complained that the hotels in the city were crowded, noisy, and had really small beaches. This one, on the other hand, is more secluded, doesn't seem to be too crowded, and has its own protected cove beach. So far, we're all pretty happy with it.
I was a bit worried after some of the Trip Advisor reviews for this hotel mentioned the "horrible" Honolulu traffic and how difficult it was to get from the airport to the hotel... but we've had no problem at all. In fact, we spent much of the day wandering around the island exploring scenery, and we realized as we drove back this way that we'd be hitting Honolulu right at rush hour -- but I have to say that anyone who has lived in even a moderately-sized city has probably experienced much worse. The Honolulu rush hour was really not bad at all.
I'm still trying to get used to the time change... it's only about 9:45 Hawaii time, but I already feel like I should've been asleep about an hour ago. (And no doubt I'll be wide awake by 6 or 7 am.) So with no further ado (because I want to go to bed...) here are a few pictures we took while we were out today:
View of the beach from hotel balcony...
We drove up to the North Shore to see the waves and surfers (and, unfortunately, I was unable to find the set for "Lost"...) and saw these signs on the beach...
Surfer on the North Shore...
A lone tree at a state park along our drive...
We stopped at a place called "The Valley of the Temple" -- you drive through this huge cemetery, and eventually reach a Buddhist temple...
Buddhist temple...
Buddha inside the temple...
There were tons of these very tame birds around the temple, looking for food -- apparently they're quite used to tourists feeding them...
The bird was eating out of this little girl's hand...
There was also one hungry little cat...
To the cat, this must look like an all-you-can-eat buffet...
I was a bit worried after some of the Trip Advisor reviews for this hotel mentioned the "horrible" Honolulu traffic and how difficult it was to get from the airport to the hotel... but we've had no problem at all. In fact, we spent much of the day wandering around the island exploring scenery, and we realized as we drove back this way that we'd be hitting Honolulu right at rush hour -- but I have to say that anyone who has lived in even a moderately-sized city has probably experienced much worse. The Honolulu rush hour was really not bad at all.
I'm still trying to get used to the time change... it's only about 9:45 Hawaii time, but I already feel like I should've been asleep about an hour ago. (And no doubt I'll be wide awake by 6 or 7 am.) So with no further ado (because I want to go to bed...) here are a few pictures we took while we were out today:
View of the beach from hotel balcony...
We drove up to the North Shore to see the waves and surfers (and, unfortunately, I was unable to find the set for "Lost"...) and saw these signs on the beach...
Surfer on the North Shore...
A lone tree at a state park along our drive...
We stopped at a place called "The Valley of the Temple" -- you drive through this huge cemetery, and eventually reach a Buddhist temple...
Buddhist temple...
Buddha inside the temple...
There were tons of these very tame birds around the temple, looking for food -- apparently they're quite used to tourists feeding them...
The bird was eating out of this little girl's hand...
There was also one hungry little cat...
To the cat, this must look like an all-you-can-eat buffet...Saturday, May 05, 2007
Yawn...
Soooo tired… didn’t sleep much at the hotel last night, because I was having trouble finding the right temperature. I was constantly too hot, so I kept waking up after a short, fitful sleep and stumbling over to the thermostat to turn it down one more degree. I finally seemed to be comfortable when it hit 67. I didn’t have this problem the first night we arrived in Buffalo, which I can only assume was because I was so tired that night that I immediately fell asleep when my head hit the pillow. And when I DID wake up some time near dawn, I realized the air conditioner had never even been on during the night. The room temperature was still hovering near 75, and I hadn’t even noticed. So I turned it down to 70 and fell back asleep until morning…
Tomorrow we have to be up around 5:45, so we can make our way down to the airport for our morning flight out of town. Amazingly, even after our sudden trip to Buffalo and our afternoon arrival back in Austin, I am already finished packing. I believe this is because I “pre-packed” before leaving for Buffalo – I packed for Buffalo, but I also left piles of things I wanted to take to Hawaii lying around my bedroom. Which meant that I mostly just had to unpack my Buffalo things and replace them with the Hawaii things piled on my dresser. It’s a great system. I am a genius. (I am also very tired and possibly instilled with a false sense of my own greatness…)
Our trip to Buffalo was a strange mix of sadness and happiness – sadness at our reason for being there, yet happiness to see so many relatives we rarely see. There was lots of reminiscing about grandma and grandpa, lots of old pictures passed around, lots of memories in the house on Maple Street. I found a great old letter written by my dad to his parents, in his senior year of college, signed “Willie.” (And although it’s tempting, I suppose we should all promise to never call dad “Willie”… :))
We also had a chance to visit with our other grandma and grandpa – grandma is in the hospital recovering from a virus, and grandpa (who is still in amazing shape for a 92-year-old) is by her side as often as he can be. We could tell grandma was still weak, but she was also cracking jokes and smiling and is hopefully on the road to recovery.
Our visit was capped off by dinner at the Roycroft Inn last night – the very site of the “fletcherize” incident I mentioned in an earlier post. I think there were thirteen or fourteen of us at our table, and the end where Rick and I were sitting became “hot topic central.” I’m not sure how it started, but the entire dinner was overlapped with heated political discussion, mostly between my cousin Luke and my brother Robert. Rick and Eric would jump in every now and then, and eventually the discussion wended its way down the table, where my cousin Danny offered opinions when he saw fit. It was quite an interesting discussion, actually, because as the topics switched from tax codes to environmental issues to welfare to gun control to terrorism, the players in the drama would wax and wane between liberal and conservative and for and against and pro and con – it seemed that no one in our discussion was 100 percent “democrat” or 100 percent “republican.” There WAS common ground, even in the middle of the most controversial issues. (Our waitress told us this was the most interesting table she’d served in a long time… :))
But the highlight of the night had to be when Beth – who was grandpa’s caregiver – mistakenly called me Eric’s “baby sister.” She apparently just assumed that I was younger than he is. (And then I had to explain that there’s really no way to tell, because Eric was left on our doorstep by a band of traveling gypsies. So who knows HOW old he is…)
Well, I’m off to bed, even though it’s only 9:30… as I said, I’m tired (and 5:45 will be here way too soon) – so hopefully next time I post I’ll have some decent Hawaii pictures…
Tomorrow we have to be up around 5:45, so we can make our way down to the airport for our morning flight out of town. Amazingly, even after our sudden trip to Buffalo and our afternoon arrival back in Austin, I am already finished packing. I believe this is because I “pre-packed” before leaving for Buffalo – I packed for Buffalo, but I also left piles of things I wanted to take to Hawaii lying around my bedroom. Which meant that I mostly just had to unpack my Buffalo things and replace them with the Hawaii things piled on my dresser. It’s a great system. I am a genius. (I am also very tired and possibly instilled with a false sense of my own greatness…)
Our trip to Buffalo was a strange mix of sadness and happiness – sadness at our reason for being there, yet happiness to see so many relatives we rarely see. There was lots of reminiscing about grandma and grandpa, lots of old pictures passed around, lots of memories in the house on Maple Street. I found a great old letter written by my dad to his parents, in his senior year of college, signed “Willie.” (And although it’s tempting, I suppose we should all promise to never call dad “Willie”… :))
We also had a chance to visit with our other grandma and grandpa – grandma is in the hospital recovering from a virus, and grandpa (who is still in amazing shape for a 92-year-old) is by her side as often as he can be. We could tell grandma was still weak, but she was also cracking jokes and smiling and is hopefully on the road to recovery.
Our visit was capped off by dinner at the Roycroft Inn last night – the very site of the “fletcherize” incident I mentioned in an earlier post. I think there were thirteen or fourteen of us at our table, and the end where Rick and I were sitting became “hot topic central.” I’m not sure how it started, but the entire dinner was overlapped with heated political discussion, mostly between my cousin Luke and my brother Robert. Rick and Eric would jump in every now and then, and eventually the discussion wended its way down the table, where my cousin Danny offered opinions when he saw fit. It was quite an interesting discussion, actually, because as the topics switched from tax codes to environmental issues to welfare to gun control to terrorism, the players in the drama would wax and wane between liberal and conservative and for and against and pro and con – it seemed that no one in our discussion was 100 percent “democrat” or 100 percent “republican.” There WAS common ground, even in the middle of the most controversial issues. (Our waitress told us this was the most interesting table she’d served in a long time… :))
But the highlight of the night had to be when Beth – who was grandpa’s caregiver – mistakenly called me Eric’s “baby sister.” She apparently just assumed that I was younger than he is. (And then I had to explain that there’s really no way to tell, because Eric was left on our doorstep by a band of traveling gypsies. So who knows HOW old he is…)
Well, I’m off to bed, even though it’s only 9:30… as I said, I’m tired (and 5:45 will be here way too soon) – so hopefully next time I post I’ll have some decent Hawaii pictures…
Wednesday, May 02, 2007
Random old pictures...
It's been a busy few days... grandpa's funeral was today, and tomorrow we fly home just in time to pack for another trip... but this time a happier circumstance, of course -- our Hawaii vacation. But since these last few days have been filled with visits with family we don't often see and many, many perusals through old pictures, I thought I would post a few pictures I found the other day when I was taking care of mom's cat. So here, in no particular order, are a bunch of random old pictures:
Me in a purple dress probably knitted for me by grandma -- she used to knit me all kinds of purple stuff, because it's always been my favorite color...
I've told Rick about this a few times, so I thought I'd show a picture -- this is what my Uncle Charlie used to do in our pool behind our first house. He'd climb up on the garage, and then jump into the deep end... you'll notice there's a nice expanse of hard concrete between the garage and the pool... Uncle Charlie was a little bit crazy...
This is an infamous picture of me and Steve, right before I fell into the pool. Somebody snapped this picture, and then I fell in. But I guess someone jumped in to save me... that was nice of them...
Aaawwww... isn't this the cutest picture of me and Eric?
Dad holding me and Eric... I thought it was interesting to see my hand either flashing a gang sign, forming the "Hook 'em Horns" gesture, or perhaps signaling that I believed my newborn brother was the devil... I'm not sure what was going on inside my little head...
Check it out -- apparently I've ALWAYS loved baseball. I've even got the crooked hat and the attitude. And I would like to point out the obvious tan... I HAVE A TAN... so at one time in my life, it was actually possible...
Me, Kevin, Steve and Eric... I'm not sure what the occasion was, but you'll notice that all the boys have super-cool Spiderman sunglasses, and I have boring round white sunglasses. Judging from the fact that I'm half-heartedly smiling, I think maybe I wanted super-cool Spiderman sunglasses, too..
Me in a purple dress probably knitted for me by grandma -- she used to knit me all kinds of purple stuff, because it's always been my favorite color...
I've told Rick about this a few times, so I thought I'd show a picture -- this is what my Uncle Charlie used to do in our pool behind our first house. He'd climb up on the garage, and then jump into the deep end... you'll notice there's a nice expanse of hard concrete between the garage and the pool... Uncle Charlie was a little bit crazy...
This is an infamous picture of me and Steve, right before I fell into the pool. Somebody snapped this picture, and then I fell in. But I guess someone jumped in to save me... that was nice of them...
Aaawwww... isn't this the cutest picture of me and Eric?
Dad holding me and Eric... I thought it was interesting to see my hand either flashing a gang sign, forming the "Hook 'em Horns" gesture, or perhaps signaling that I believed my newborn brother was the devil... I'm not sure what was going on inside my little head...
Check it out -- apparently I've ALWAYS loved baseball. I've even got the crooked hat and the attitude. And I would like to point out the obvious tan... I HAVE A TAN... so at one time in my life, it was actually possible...
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