Summer 2010 Plans - P1 - American Road Trip

And now, ladies and gentlemen, the post you've all been waiting for... a description with conceptional photos of my upcoming summer! :) It's like this:

First I'm going to lounge around Florida for a while like a couch potato, playing a lot of Final Fantasy and cooking a lot of soy/gluten/dairy free meals. And, my sister is graduating from high school and starting college! Yeah... so some of this has already happened.


Next, right after the Fourth of July, I'm heading to Missouri for a few more days of lounging around at the Lake of the Ozarks and in St. Louis, seeing some old friends mostly. And then, on July 10th, I'm driving to the STL airport to meet... Liisa! Of Finland 2008 trip fame! :D Yeps, she's coming to the good old US of A and that's when the fun really begins... we're doing a road trip that goes something like this:

St. Louis, Missouri

Cahokia Mounds, Illinois

Kansas City, Missouri/Kansas

Kansas

Denver, Colorado

Rocky Mountains...

Rocky Mountains...

Thunder Basin, Wyoming

Mount Rushmore, South Dakota

Buffalo in South Dakota

Custer State Park, South Dakota

South Dakota Badlands

South Dakota Badlands

Omaha, Nebraska

Iowa!!!!

The Lake of the Ozarks, Missouri


Then, we're flying to Florida... and the fun continues.

Clearwater Beach, Florida

St. Petersburg, Florida

Harry Potter Theme Park, Orlando, Florida

Universal Studios Orlando, Florida

And then Liisa goes home... :(

I'll have one week to do laundry and repack my bags, and then it's off to Part Two!

Spring Festivities

It's a lovely time to be alive and on campus and not such a lovely time to be bogged down in papers. Today I neglected to bring my camera with me and I was kicking myself all day.

First I passed "Captain America" with his American Flag pants and bandana, his t-shirt with an American flag logo, and the American flag poking out of his army-camouflage backpack. I saw his bike not far away - it's one of those short 'trick bikes' or whatever, all American-flag style too, with flags attached to the basket and the seat. Closest we have to a national costume, folks, look close - I hope it takes it's rightful place next to the Bunad, Kimono, Ledehosen, Sari, and Kilt soon! :)

There was also a little carnival going on at Lowry Mall, the same one I passed through when I toured Mizzou, either through luck or lack thereof (not sure how fair it is to have something like that going on for your first impression of a school!). I had my pockets full of cash from my camping-deposit refund, so I bought a number of honey sticks, (planning to send some of them to Liisa and Rinna... maybe Uni too if he likes), and two deep fried Oreos. At 2 for a dollar I thought it was worth the experience. They were kind of what you'd expect - a little moist cookie wrapped in carnival dough and abused. Strangely, although it was supposed to be sort of a Farmer's Market, there was no produce to be had - only some beef, pork, lots of honey, jam, baked goods from the Amish, (one of the girls had a mustache... I know I shouldn't laugh but it was hilarious), and potted herbs. No basil though.

On the quad there was a little bitty book sale from the Art History department. Very random selection of books. I picked up On a Pale Horse because someone recommended it to me a while ago (I'm thinking Jorge?) and it was a whole dollar.

I finished my profile for Journalism just in time, I think it was fine too even though it was way over the word limit. "Katfish Katy" proved to have a far more interesting life than I had imagined, and I'm not terrible at people writing so I was prepared and ready to work with much less. Our group project is also going well, I feel that for once I haven't helped out that much, haven't taken much of a leadership role, but then I often do in group projects and I am awfully swamped right now. Still, I keep offering my help and my two partners don't seem very bothered. The teacher says we're actually ahead of the other groups which I think reflects more poorly on them than it does well on us, but still. So, with Journalism taken care of, most of my stress right now is on Spanish. I have to whip up about 5 pages of analysis on La Casa de Bernarda Alba tonight. It's for a rough draft, but still.

I wish I could go outside and enjoy the cool breeze. :D And apparently there was an event today where you could climb the Alpine Tower for free. Ju called and invited me but regretfully I had class. ;_; Too bad, I've been meaning to get up there. One of these days/years...

Stress and Excitement

I am too busy to blog guilt-free these days. (I'm stealing time to write this in an awkward half hour between classes). I'm really too busy to do much of anything except write papers, but you know what? I have A's in all classes right now. And I'm not going to be here next year. So I need to take at least some personal time, say goodbye to friends and to Missouri. I'm going camping this weekend despite the nagging - no, threatening and trembling - voice telling me I'd be better off staying home and locking myself in. I also need to pack and blah blah blah. Luckily I am at least one step ahead because my room is cleaner than it's been most of the semester, and I'm going to really try to keep it that way.


So yeah, stressful times, but it's mostly good stress. I like most of the papers I'm doing - especially the Nihonjinron one. This can actually be sort of a problem - as much as I'd love to shut myself up for a week (or longer) with it, do field work even, come up with something publishable - it's not in the cards, it's not in the schedule. And that's okay, I guess. :) I kind of wish they would give me June to keep working on it, but less as an extension because I procrastinated and more because I want to devote my full attention to it and make it as good as it can be. And so I can procrastinate, too. ;)



The other two papers are the one for Catalan and the one for Spanish. I think the Catalan paper is going to be about Andorra - perceptions of Andorra from within and without and what it means to be Andorran and how it's shown in media and what people think about it. Again I could go much further with the topic, but in the end I'm just going to read a few books and put together 20 pages of a beginning. The Spanish paper is a bit yucky... we'd only read two plays in class when we started working on it, and I wasn't very enthusiastic about either of them. Two plays later and if I switch topics now I have more work, plus I'm only mildly enthusiastic about one of the plays out of four. I guess drama just isn't my favourite genre. If I don't switch topics, I'll be writing about The Man Who Turned into a Dog and what this means about professions and castes and blah blah blah, especially in a down economy. I'm not excited about it at all, but I could do research about how the current recession and the Great Depression were dehumanizing. If I do switch topics, I'll write about how drama is a more realistic medium than prose or poetry. Not that it's better, just more realistic because it shows us communication - and communication is all we know of people in reality. I'm more interested in that topic, especially for a shorter essay, but I actually think the first one might be easier. There's one more informal essay coming up, so I might write the informal essay about my new idea and see how that goes.



Anyway. I need to say goodbye to Ju and Prite in a manner of speaking, and I'm not going to be seeing any of the others - Zahra, Laura, Tabi, etc for another year as well. Thus the camping. It's going to be awesome and I'm very excited. I'm excited about other stuff as well - Liisa's visit this summer and Scotland and Spain. Still, it's planning and money and stress, however nice. Lucia and Allan and I got together in a three-way chat and started hammering out the 'details'. I'm a bit nervous becuase I'm not 100% when I need to report for my VISA or even what the EU entry requirements are... what if by some awful chance I won't get the VISA until late August and can't enter the EU until then? Honestly? I'd seriously consider hopping to Norway and back or something like that. What are the other non-EU countries that are close by and cheap? Ooohhh... what about Iceland? Not that it's cheap, but I'd actually love that. Well, jk, ideally I'll have the VISA tucked away neatly by the time I take off.



I would tell the details of the plan but this is an ugly stresspost and I don't want to put the details in now and create a redundancy when I repost them with glee later on. Suffice to say that it's all going to be awesome... we've booked the first element (hostel in Valencia for Tomatina)... we've planned an epic six day walk across Scotland... and Lucia won't shut up about Nessie or dressing up as Vikings. Liisa and I have a Skype Date set for tomorrow morning and I should have some idea about what distance we're heading in at that point. :)



So, basically lots of excitement and also a lot of stress. What else is new? :)

SATW and Kansas City

At the invitation of Diana Lambdin Meyer, with whom I've been corresponding for almost a year now, I spent Friday night and all day Saturday with the Society of American Travel Writers at their Central States conference in Kansas City. I thought I knew Kansas City reasonably well since two of my cousins went to college there. What a joke - I realized that the handful of walks I'd taken in the Plaza and University areas hadn't even allowed me to scratch the surface of the city.

I met most of the members at the College Basketball Experience, where we all dressed up in our college t-shirts (mine was a bit closer to the front of my closet than some of the others', I imagine ;)) and played an assortment of Basketball mini games, practicing our free throws, vertical jumps, and sports broadcasting skills.

Breakfast the next morning consisted of a quick awards ceremony within the society, and then, to my surprise, Yakov Smirnoff, the famous Russian comedian, appeared and spent the better part of an hour with us! He was just as good in 'real life' as he is on the show, everything he said was somehow hilarious and a lot of it had to be improv. I actually even got a picture with him!

Then I went on a tour through four of the neighborhoods of Kansas City - Brookside, Westport, the Plaza, and the Crossroads. In Brookside we shopped our way through two dozen stores including World's Window (ethnic clothing and jewelry), the Barkery (a gourmet pet treat store), the Reading Reptile (a children's bookstore), and Foo's Fabulous Frozen Custard, while in Westport we walked through almost two hundred years of American history, and in the Plaza we saw beautiful Spanish-inspired architecture and several of Kansas City's most famous fountains.

Our last stop, the Crossroads Art District, seemed less impressive than the others at first glance, with construction on the outskirts and more than it's share of rundown buildings. By the end of the tour, however, the Crossroads was my favourite district. One of the first shops we stopped in was Birdies, a tiny lingerie store filled with very unique (and very pricey) undergarments. From there we visited The Peruvian Connection and its racks of featherlight scarves, sweaters, and dresses woven from alpaca and vicuña wool. In Black Bamboo, an Asian furniture store, I fell in love with candle holders carved out of gypsum to look precisely like ice. I would have taken one of those home with me if we were only allowed candles in the residence halls!

The final stop on our tour was Christopher Elbow's Artisanal Chocolate Boutique. After sampling the Caramel with Fleur de Sel, I couldn't stop myself from buying four more of the truffles. Each one was so delicate, beautiful and delicious - almost as fun to look as it was to eat. The Strawberry Balsamic truffle, for example, had a deep burgundy sheen, and the Wildflower Honey truffle was button shaped and looked golden and molten.

In the evening we went to the American Jazz Museum and the Negro Leagues Baseball Museum, which share the same building. I went in the Negro Leagues side first, and spent so long in there that I had to rush through the American Jazz Museum before dinner. The Negro Leagues museum was small but densely packed with information. "This is not a black hall of fame," our tour guide told us at the beginning. "The negro leagues should never have existed." The purpose of the museum is less to showcase black athletes and more to explain the discrimination and bigotry that was rampant in all aspects of American life between the Civil War and the Civil Rights Movement.

In the evening I spent time getting to know the travel writers a bit better. They were all such wonderful people, and despite their experience and reputations I found them very easy to talk to and get along with. Of course it's a bit frightening still for me to look three or four years into the future and imagine myself as a professional, but this experience made me if anything more determined to follow my dream. I came home with a large collection of business cards and I fully plan on looking up some of my new friends over the next few years.

New Years Eve - Times Square (Part IV)

11:30 - Dancing dissolves as we grow tired and excited by the proximity of 2010. Still, there's half an hour left to wait, so our group unexpectedly find ourselves in one last, short, game of kick-the-can. The crowd has definitely filled back in, so our circle is much smaller this time around, and every time the can gets kicked out of the ring there is some doubt about whether we'll get it back again. At one point a can of pringles gets knocked into our circle... we kick it around until suddenly it pops open spraying little pringle shards everywhere, like confetti. A young couple joins our game towards the end, saying they're from Minneapolis, although they have some sort of foreign accent... and our group grows once more.

Photo: Allan and "the Young Couple" playing Kick-the-Can

Photo: Pringles Confetti

11:55 - Kick-the-can disbands once more, this time for good. The time for games has passed. The mood in the square suddenly becomes almost suffocating. Our group, which has grown to include not only Kelly, Amy, Allan and I, but also Adrienne and Michelle, the three Maryland boys, their mother, the little Canadian girls, and even the young couple, huddles close together in anticipation.

11:59 - Allan is on one side of me, Adrienne is on the other as the final countdown begins. I grab both of their hands and everyone starts counting down together, jumping up and down for the perhaps the last twenty seconds...

12:00 - The square explodes with light - fireworks, confetti... "Happy New Year 2010" on the countdown screen. In all the confusion we don't even physically see the ball-drop, but that's okay, I figure - I can mentally reconstruct it from more than 15 years of T.V. coverage. Everyone screams, then hugs each other happily. Happy New Year!!!

Photo: My Best, Crappy Picture of the New Year. Figured it had to be included...

12:02 - Just like that, it's over. We trade Facebook info with some of our new friends, and get pictures together as the square starts emptying with surprising rapidity. The Canadian girl's go to say goodbye to Allan, who picks them up and spins them around. Their mother, a bit drunk, starts shrieking, "Get a picture with him! Get a picture with him!" So they do. For probably a full two minutes on end, the girls keep running back to Allan and saying, "Happy New Year!" again. I think they would have gone on for an hour if their mother had let them.

Photo: Allan and the Canadians

Photo: "The Young Couple" and Me

12:05 - Finally it is just our original group and the two German au-pairs left. We are all headed towards Port Authority, the bus station, so they say, "We'll just follow you", and the six of us start trying to make our way through the crowd.

12:15 - We reach the center of Times Square itself, where there is a genuine deadlock of people. For a few minutes no one can move at all - we are pressed in on all sides. It's not quite scary - we can breathe - but really not much else.

12:30 - We finally reach Port Authority, bid farewell to the Germans, and Allan and I head off to the bathroom while Amy and Kelly play it cool and head straight to the bus.

12:35 - Allan and I get to the bus stop and meet them just in time to make the bus that leaves a full hour before the one we'd originally planned to make. Go us.

03:00 - We finally make it back home and into bed. Guess who comes perilously close to needing her adult diaper, after all the bravado? That's right, Kelly. :D

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Wrap Up - From going out the door to coming back in, this was a full 12 hour experience. It was exhausting and physically demanding. However, it was also awesome and completely worth it. Kelly and Amy both agreed that they would do it again.

I, on the other hand, would probably not. Why? Judging from other people's accounts, and from several serendipitous occurrences (the emptying of the pen, the first kick-the-can game), I think I had a very atypical experience. The typical experience of standing and waiting in long hours of cold, concentrated misery? That's definitely a once-in-a-lifetime trial, but even the way it worked out for us was exciting, wonderful and most of all unique. I wouldn't trade it for anything, but neither would I jeopardize the memory by attempting to repeat it.

Thanks to everyone we met that night for making it a night I'll remember forever! <3

New Years Eve - Times Square (Part I)

I hesitated until about noon, not 100% certain that I was prepared, physically, mentally, or emotionally for the Times Square experience. Most people know that the center of New York gets pretty crowded for the ball drop, but fewer know the gory details - that armed policemen shove spectators into well-named 'pens' based on when they arrive, and in the pen there is no alcohol, no large bags, no elbow room, and, most notably, no bathroom. In the end, I went for it, not least because I'm studying to be a Travel Journalist, and I can't stop running from such unpleasantries now. This is how things went, from preparation to aftermath:

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11:00 - Zahra and I have been watching the news all morning. We learn that it is snowing in Times Square on New Years Eve for the first time in some fifty years, that despite the bitter cold people are already massing at the best viewing spots, that we aren't allowed to bring backpacks, and that it's true - there is no access to bathrooms within the pens. Amy and Kelly arrive, and we make our decisions. In the end, Zahra elects to stay at home. She will have many more chances to see the ball drop. Amy, Kelly and I decide to go to the Square.

11:30 - We head out to a convenience store to buy a pack of adult diapers. They are sold in sets of twenty, so we have a few extras. We test one out with water and turmeric, and are surprised and disgusted by how much 'pee' it holds.

12:30 - We eat our 'last meal', complete with quite a bit of water. The goal, after all, is to not need the diapers. Then, we lay out all the clothes we're planning to wear, and rest up. We'll need our strength to stand for 7+ hours in the cold.

2:30 - We struggle into multiple layers of warm clothing. The cold is the one enemy we know how to keep at bay. In the end, I was up to 17 articles of clothing, and Amy and Kelly were at 19 each.

Photo: Yes, I wore all of this, and then some...

My Outfit:

Thick, Crew-Cut Socks (2 pairs)

Snow Boots

Adult Diaper (and no, I'm not ashamed)

Long Underwear Bottoms

Workout Pants

Jeans

Bra

Long Underwear Top

Long Sleeve Shirts (2, one of which extended below my hips at the bottom)

Sweat-Jacket

Sweat-Shirt

Parka

Wool Scarf (for lower neck)

Silk Scarf (for upper neck, lower face if necessary)

Thick Gloves

Silly Monkey Hat (not worn)

Photo: You might call this my under-wear.

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Homesick

It rarely happens to me that I wake up in the night, unsure of my surroundings. But it's happened here, in the darkest hours of the night, when I'm woken by rain on tile roofs and the swishing of palms on my windowpane. I stretch, am surprised by the cool metal of the home gym as my arm hits the weight machine, which comes right up to the edge of my mattress. I don't know where I expected to find myself - at home on Burgundy Lane, or back in Laws.

Laws, Mizzou, last year, is an awkward memory for me. There are moments, especially in the waking day, arguing with my family, that it's hard to believe I ever went away, and lived for a year alone, with a bunch of loveable and crazy foreigners (and even crazier Americans) in the huge concrete monstrosity of Laws hall. Mayumi, Mitsuki, Ben, Clint, Mimi, Laurence, Tomomi... Timur, Santi, Pat and Maria... even Laura, Tabi, and Jorge to a lesser extent - is it really possible that we met, lived together for a long year, and then, now, it is over? And Mayumi, having been my roommate, that is the strangest.

When I wake up at night I don't wonder about having lived there - the whole environment is absolutely present in my mind, less as a memory than as a reality. Without my eyes, I could climb out of my bed, make my way out of my room, and to the bathroom, or perhaps down the stairs. I might even get as far as Dobbs.

But no, I am here in Florida. And that's strange indeed. My family is here and all of my things. The furniture and paintings that surrounded me throughout my childhood have been transplanted to a new climate, almost a new nation. It feels like a crossover fanfiction or something, strange.

I am vaguely aware that this is one of those magical places people leave their own homes and spend loads and loads of money to come to and go to the beach rain or shine and take pictures and bring home memories. And that's strange. I've never lived in such a place before, and I always thought that if I did I should appreciate it a bit more. But the beach isn't really my scene, at least not yet.

When I walk on the beach I feel old. I feel like walking slowly and watching clouds and sunsets and seagulls and thinking about my life, maybe even writing about it. Except that I haven't hardly lived my life. It is a peaceful place - no place for me now. I am not ready for peace.

Being transplanted has had another effect on me - one that raises questions and may have long term implications. Or it may mean nothing. I am homesick for Missouri. It happens a little bit with silly things, like longing to hear "Dierbergs" and "Schnucks" instead of "Winn Dixie". And it happens more with bigger things, like Winter.

I miss it for myself, a bit. I watched a few minutes of Greys Anatomy and Meridith walked outside in a coat, the whole world grey and her breath coming out in a mist, and I felt it in my chest. I am so grateful that I am going back to Missouri in the fall - I'm not sure I could manage without the winter. Go ahead and tell me it makes no sense, I already know it.

But it gets more complex than a longing for snow - I was playing Rosetta Stone, and some of the pictures show late fall, and early winter... and in no exotic way whatsoever, but perhaps a little girl in a little coat, smiling shyly and standing in front of a suburban street with bare trees and pale grass behind, the last few leaves of fall dancing on the lawn. That street could be in my old neighborhood, that coat could come from Wal Mart or Target, that child could be my own -

I understand suddenly, this want to have your children grow up in the same way you did. It gives me a certain feeling to imagine my children growing up in colourful warm parkas, playing with scattered leaves, feeling their cheeks and ears and nose turn bright red in the cold, going door to door on halloween, going off to the woods because they know thick winter clothing makes the thorns more bearable, cracking frozen puddles with their feet, watching sleet hit the windows as they snuggle under blankets indoors...

A lot of images go through my mind. I don't require my future children to experience each and every one of them, but each one of them makes me smile and think of them. Not that we need be in Missouri - almost all of these things could happen, for example, in New England, and most of them (swapping out Wal Mart and giving up Halloween) could happen in Scandinavia (if I went far enough north I would lose the leaves, and they won't be exactly the same anywhere else).

Just some thoughts and feelings, is all. And even if I were to move off to some exotic land, there's nothing saying that I might not be able to take my kids home for a year or two for them to understand America. I am planning on shipping or accompanying them back to the states for a month most summers anyway. Still, it's imperfect - there's a difference between having Trick or Treated, and growing up doing it every year, from being carried by mommy dressed up as a pumpkin to being a little witch whose daddy follows her around holding pounds of candy to going to high school costume parties dressed as a... bunny?

And I've avoided mentioning deep winter and Christmas and New Years altogether! I've avoiding thinking about them, if you want to know the truth. If leaves falling and winter coats make me so lonesome, what will the thought of Christmas without snow or Santa do to me? :P But I'm sure I'll give it all due thought before I make any of that sort of life decision.

And one can't have everything. Even people who never leave their own small town grumble about "when I was your age", and I know my children won't have Pokemon or Pottermania as part of their childhood. So, I dunno. :)

I'm just thinking onto paper.

Best Cities To Live

http://www.forbes.com/2009/04/27/cities-best-live-lifestyle-real-estate-best-places-to-live.html?feed=rss_popstories

Rank 2009	Rank 2008	City	Country	Index 2009	Index 2008
1	2	VIENNA	AUSTRIA	108.6	107.9
2	1	ZURICH	SWITZERLAND	108	108
3	2	GENEVA	SWITZERLAND	107.9	107.9
4	4	VANCOUVER	CANADA	107.4	107.6
4	5	AUCKLAND	NEW ZEALAND	107.4	107.3
6	6	DUSSELDORF	GERMANY	107.2	107.2
7	7	MUNICH	GERMANY	107	107
8	7	FRANKFURT	GERMANY	106.8	107
9	9	BERN	SWITZERLAND	106.5	106.5
10	10	SYDNEY	AUSTRALIA	106.3	106.3
11	11	COPENHAGEN	DENMARK	106.2	106.2
12	12	WELLINGTON	NEW ZEALAND	105.9	105.8
13	13	AMSTERDAM	NETHERLANDS	105.7	105.7
14	14	BRUSSELS	BELGIUM	105.4	105.4
15	15	TORONTO	CANADA	105.3	105.3
16	19	OTTAWA	CANADA	105	104.7
16	16	BERLIN	GERMANY	105	105
18	17	MELBOURNE	AUSTRALIA	104.8	104.8
19	17	LUXEMBOURG	LUXEMBOURG	104.6	104.8
20	20	STOCKHOLM	SWEDEN	104.5	104.5

Best Cities to Live:

#1, 2, 3, 6, 7, 8, 9, and 16 are all in German speaking Countries! (I would say that they are all German speaking, but I am pretty ignorant about Switzerland, so probably one of those speaks French. XD)

# 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, (14), 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, and 20 are all in Germanic speaking Countries! (I put Brussels in parenthesis because I know it's mostly Francophone. But surely it would have rated higher if they let the Dutchies do more talking ;))

The top 3 speak German, the top 20 speak a Germanic language - that's conclusive enough evidence for me that it's speaking German that makes you happy!

Canada did very well, but I was a bit surprised that Scandinavian cities didn't do as well as might be expected given how high the countries rank for best COUNTRIES to live. Yes, Copenhagen and Stockholm both made a showing, but no Norway, etc. I thought about blaming climate, which is apparently one of the factors that they look at, but the cold didn't seem to have hurt Germany at all. I guess it's because of the lack of big cities in Scandinavia, or maybe all the happy people live outside of cities? For all the shit Norwegians give Oslo, it didn't actually do too bad. (It's 24th). America's first showing is Honolulu at 29th. The only real person I've ever heard of coming from Hawaii is Obama, and I've never met anyone from Hawaii. It just doesn't feel real to me, so I'm not sure we can count it. The next one is San Francisco at 30.

By the way, you can count Germanic-speaking countries all the way to 32 if you give Singapore wiggle room (Danial says that everyone there speaks English, and it's the ordinary language, far more than Malay), and count Swedish for Finland (which seems cruel, but oh well.) At that point, France starts popping in, as does Japan, and the list as a whole becomes far more diverse.

21	21	PERTH	AUSTRALIA	104.3	104.3
22	22	MONTREAL	CANADA	104.2	104.2
23	23	NURNBERG	GERMANY	104.1	104.1
24	24	OSLO	NORWAY	103.7	103.7
25	25	DUBLIN	IRELAND	103.6	103.5
26	32	SINGAPORE	SINGAPORE	103.5	102.9
26	25	CALGARY	CANADA	103.5	103.5
28	27	HAMBURG	GERMANY	103.4	103.4
29	28	HONOLULU, HI	UNITED STATES	103.1	103.1
30	29	SAN FRANCISCO, CA	UNITED STATES	103	103
30	29	HELSINKI	FINLAND	103	103
30	29	ADELAIDE	AUSTRALIA	103	103
33	32	PARIS	FRANCE	102.9	102.9
34	34	BRISBANE	AUSTRALIA	102.4	102.4
35	35	TOKYO	JAPAN	102.2	102.2

The numbers, btw, are comparing them to New York, which is 100.

German Essay

This is an essay I turned in on Wednesday for German class. As an essay, it's not very good. XD Probably has something to do with writing at 2 am after being up for 20 hours straight. Still, I show it mostly to record my current level in German.

The topic is materialism in the United States, and actually, it is my first 'serious' essay in German. All of the others have been 'talk about your day', or, at most, 'write your own fairy tale'.


Sind wir in den USA zu materialische? Vielleicht. Aber ich denke, dass der Materialismus ist nicht eine kulturelle Erscheinung, aber eine allgemeingültige menschliche Veranlagung. Die Leute wollen viele Dinge haben, und also kriegen sie so viele sie können. Für ihnen ist was sie haben nicht so wichtig, wie wie viel sie haben im Vergleich zu der andere in der Gesellschaft. Wann mann über dass denkt, dann scheint es, dass der Materialismus ist nicht nur in den USA.

Es ist natürlich nicht ausnahmslos – es gibt einige egalitäre Gesellschaften, und einige selbstlose Leute – aber als Ganzes denke ich das der Materialismus ist eine allgemeingültige Veranlagung, denn mann kann ihn überall finden. Wenn es gibt Waren, die meiste Leute wollen sie haben. Wenn sie sind in eine Gesellschaft, wo die Leute haben mehr, so denken sie über mehr und wollen mehr. Zum Beispiel, ein Amerikaner kann verarmt sein, und noch ein auto und ein Fernsehen haben. In viele Gesellschaften, solchen Dinge sind nur möglich für die Reiche. In eine arme Gesellschaft, mann kann sich sicher fühlen, und dass es geht ihm dut denken, wenn sie genüg Essen und ein Dach haben. Sie suchen nicht so viele mehr – alle suchen ein bisschen mehr als sie haben, aber nicht so viele mehr. Normalerweise ist es nicht dass sie wollen wenige Dinge aus dem Leben, es ist nur dass was wir haben und denken über ist so weit aus seiner Ehrfahrung, gerade wie Jachten und Diamantarmbanden sie so weit aus die Ehrfahrung der Meiste Amerikaner. Wenn jemand aus einer solcher Gesellschaft kriegt mehr Sachen, normalerweise werden sie weniger und weniger benügt, statt mehr.

Dafür ist es vollständig unfair, die Vereinigten Staaten mit den Entwicklungsländer zu vergleichen. Wenn wir denken nur über Dinge und über den Materialismus, dann mussen wir uns mit Europa vergleichen. Manchmal scheinen wir doch mehr materialische als sie, und sie haben eine ähnliche finanzielle Situation. Es ist möglich dass dies Unterschied ist kulturell. Manchmal kann die Amerikane Kultur das Machstreben und die Profitgier fördern. Der Unterschied zwischen der Armer Leute und der Reicher Leute ist größer hier als in viele europäische Länder, und dass kann mehr Wunsch, Gier, und Materialismus machen.

Es ist vielleicht eine seriöse Meinung dass die Natur der Leute zu gierig und materialische ist. Wenn mann glaubt dass, dann soll er auch dass über Amerikaner denken, weil wir nicht von dieser Schwäche befreit sind. Aber ich denke nicht, dass die Amerikaner sind so grundsätzlich mehr materialisch als die andere Gesellschaften, wenn mann über alles denkt.

Overdose of Americana

Today was my first day of The Principles of American Journalism and American Government. The two classes took place roughly at the same time as the inauguration. Both of them decided to show Obama's full speech in class. The first time it was nice. The second time I kind of felt like cutting off my head. I was also getting really hungry because I didn't eat a proper breakfast.

Nevertheless, some nice lines:

"These are the indicators of crisis, subject to data and statistics. Less measurable but no less profound is a sapping of confidence across our land -- a nagging fear that America's decline is inevitable, and that the next generation must lower its sights."

"Now, there are some who question the scale of our ambitions -- who suggest that our system cannot tolerate too many big plans. Their memories are short. For they have forgotten what this country has already done; what free men and women can achieve when imagination is joined to common purpose, and necessity to courage."

"For we know that our patchwork heritage is a strength, not a weakness. We are a nation of Christians and Muslims, Jews and Hindus -- and nonbelievers. We are shaped by every language and culture, drawn from every end of this Earth; and because we have tasted the bitter swill of civil war and segregation, and emerged from that dark chapter stronger and more united, we cannot help but believe that the old hatreds shall someday pass; that the lines of tribe shall soon dissolve; that as the world grows smaller, our common humanity shall reveal itself; and that America must play its role in ushering in a new era of peace.

To the Muslim world, we seek a new way forward, based on mutual interest and mutual respect. To those leaders around the globe who seek to sow conflict, or blame their society's ills on the West: Know that your people will judge you on what you can build, not what you destroy. To those who cling to power through corruption and deceit and the silencing of dissent, know that you are on the wrong side of history; but that we will extend a hand if you are willing to unclench your fist."

Admitting Uncertainty

When faced with big questions, with religion or politics or world relations, so many take the easy way out. So many pick a side blindly and cling to it without reason. So many feign atheism, moderation, or even apathy.

I often wish to take one of these paths and disappear along it, but there is no fooling the mind. I am always confused... so easily persuaded by a well-written article or a moving real-life example. Sometimes I tell myself, 'well, the issue must be taken on a case-by-case basis', and dismiss it for a while. Other times I almost accept that there is no easy answer, and sketch out into my mind the two well balanced sides. To put them in eloquent words holds them off for the time being, but the troubling thoughts return.

As if my opinion matters. As if I can conform the world to my will. As if I need to take a stance on every issue. I've always felt that I must know, must understand, must be able to tell right from wrong, but sometimes it is so difficult.

What shall we do about immigration?

My first instinct says that of course, be kind, be generous, let them in. They want to make a life for themselves, the majority of them - they're people too, mostly good ones. It's hardly their fault they weren't born into a better society! The fact that I know several Mexicans, legal and illegal and still in Mexico, only serves to strengthen my opinion.

And then I read an especially well written article opposing the immigration. So many of them are terrible and strike all the wrong notes - "AMERICA FOR AMERICANS!", "THEYRE TAKING OUR JOBS!". But this one looked reasonable, and I read it. It was filled with examples of a similar crisis some years back in Europe, particularly in France. The immigrants were happy to have a new life and new opportunities, were in fact hard workers and model citizens. But their children, and their children's children, have now forgotten the hard life they came from and have become ungrateful, even resentful of perceived discrimination. The article closes saying that first generation Mexicans are already resentful, even going so far as to desecrate our own flag at sporting events.

Interesting indeed...

What shall we do about the War in Iraq?

My first opinion sides with most of the world. Get out. Now. Why are we there? What are we doing in that God Forsaken Place? It's a civil war - their civil war, and we have no place in it. Besides, we went for the oil. The majority doesn't want us there. The UN doesn't even want us there... that should say everything. I hear refugees tell me that yes, Saddam was bad, but that life under the Americans has been harder.

And then I think about it. Really think about it. Humour the other side, minus the oil-hunting and lies and secrecy. And I think about Hotel Rwanda. How I was outraged that no one did anything. How could it have come to that? How could no one have helped? The UN pulled out, America protected its own and left the minority to die. That was a civil war, too. A civil war in a faraway land...

There are no easy answers. I feel the questions lie within me and twist through my stomach, and at times I feel almost nauseous. I wonder if the world was ever more clear cut, or if it's always been filled with shades of grey, and I think... If one person can be so divided, how can we blame the world for war?

To Be Called "Foreigner"

Frau Eilken said to me,

"There comes a point where you have to ask yourself...

If you're willing to never be home again,

If you want to be called 'foreigner' for the rest of your life,

And let it define you..."

Ha! I always wanted to be the 'foreigner', or something equally as strange, as mysterious. Now when the time comes, how can I be frightened of it?

I may not feel as though the United States are truly HOME, as they should be... I don't feel the spirits of my ancestors in the earth or feel this incredible sense of belonging or identity...

I chase this dream, that somewhere in the world there is a place that I can call home... but it cannot truly be. I am expecting to much from home, as I expect too much from family and even from community.

At my age, no one knows with certainty quite where they belong. Leave it to me to make a mountain out of a mole-hill, to make it a national question where most people content themselves with changing their lunch table. I'm such a shameless dreamer...

I chase this dream even knowing that if I leave America I'll leave the closest thing I have to home, imperfect as it may be. I scan everywhere and pass nowhere, except in the one place I don't scan at all, the one place I'd like to repudiate. America may already be in my blood... not deep but deep enough, deeper than aught else.

"Have you ever wondered..."

My mom said,

"If the problem isn't everyone else...

But if the problem was you..."

El Caribé

So we passed over the beautiful blue Caribbean on the way to Cozumel. I'm not a HUGE fan of the beach vacation, but I am in love with the gorgeous sea many are set in. The Caribbean Sea and the Gulf of Mexico are the bluest, warmest waters I know... in fact, their water travels up on Europe following strange currents and ends up keeping it livable, too!

Anyhow, the thought occurred to me that if I do, in fact, end up living abroad, I won't see much of the Caribbean anymore. Most of my travel will probably be over 'the pond', and when I do go on a tropical vacation, it'll most likely be to the Mediterranean or off the coast of Spain or Africa. I might even get adventurous and do Asia.

There's nothing inherently wrong with any of that. I want to experience as much as I can, so obviously that means I can't keep doing the same things over and over in my life. But still, it's strange to think about. My family's only had the means to do Caribbean vacations for a few years, and already I feel like it's such a part of my life...

I'm so spoiled! :P

IP Soundtrack Choices

These are the ones I'm contributing to our group CD. The theme is Exile or Belonging:

• A Thing Called Love (Johnny Cash - American Country)
• Amerika (Rammstein - German Rock/Metal)
• Andre Som Jeg (Norwegian Tarzan Soundtrack)
• Anima Libera (Emi - Italian Pop)
• Born to Run (Springsteen - American Rock)
• Eldamar (Heaven Trevillion - Elvish Prayer)
• Ja, Vi Elsker (Norwegian National Anthem)
• Pod Hladinou (Czech Little Mermaid Soundtrack)
• Song of Lebennin (Helen Trevillion - Elvish Song)
• Sunday Mornin' Comin' Down (Kris Kristofferson - American 'Country')
• Tasogare no Umi (See-Saw - Japanese Pop)
• Valley of Mist (.hack/ - Weird Japanese Instrumental)
• When You're Alone (Springsteen - American 'Rock')
• Wildflower (Spirit Dreams - Native American Flute Music)
• World's Apart (Springsteen - Middle-Eastern-Inspired Love Song)
• Zombie (The Cranberries - Sort of Scary, Sort of Rock IRA Protest)
  

America - A Patriotic Primer

I was putting the children’s books away when one in particular caught my eye. America, the title proudly read, and beneath: “A Patriotic Primer”. I flipped through the pages, suddenly wondering, and found myself swallowing hard. Within those pages I found an America I had almost forgotten.

There was a time when I was proud to be an American. I was very young then and my pride was born from ignorance. America tasted of Hawaiian Punch and hot dogs and hamburgers, for I had never tasted anything richer. America smelled of fireworks and fresh cut grass and gasoline, for I had never smelled anything fairer. America felt like red, white, and blue, proud and strong and free, for I had never known a culture tied together with anything stronger than the colours of a flag, or a loose commitment to ‘freedom’ and ‘equality’.

I was content then, sheltered within our constructed culture, unaware that my world was built from the fading pieces of a thousand other worlds. The Irish were to be laughed at; they were funny and irritable, prone to drunkenness, pitiably obsessed with corned beef and their green shamrocks. The English were to be remembered as our forefathers but treated as weaker brothers who clung to old-fashioned words and little white cottages. The Germans wore lederhosen and were fond of yodelling, the Italians sang Opera and ate too much spaghetti. South America was filled with brightly coloured parrots and vibrant green, Africa was hungry and hot. The Chinese worked hard to bring us Happy Meal Toys and tennis shoes, the Japanese to bring us video games and paper cranes, the Mexicans to sing to us and wear sombreros, to serve us salsa and chile con queso.

Then there was America the Great, America the Beautiful. She stood before the other nations of the world as a statue carved from cool white marble, flawless and strong. How happy I was to have grown up beneath her hand. I listened to her stories and I was proud. I knew that it was America who liberated Europe from the Germans in World War II, America who tore down the iron curtain, America whom the world looked to for justice. I forgot that it was also America who interned 110,000 of it’s own innocent citizens in Japanese “War Relocation Centers”, America who gives not even half the Earth Summits target of foreign aid, America who, along with Australia, is one of only two developed countries who have refused to ratify the Kyoto Protocol.

On September 11^th, 2001, a terrorist attack directed at the heart of New York City killed nearly three thousand American citizens. In the blood and smoke and ash that poured from every newspaper, radio, and new station in those days, I began to see a different sort of truth. It was a hard and bitter truth, but it was painted in letters that could not be denied. There was evil in this world, and it was all around us. I saw the incredible injustice and barbarity that caused the September 11^th tragedy, but I also saw the hatred behind it. And I saw how America harnessed it’s pain, how it grimly went forward with tanks and bombs and guns. I even saw my friend crying for the people, the innocent people of Afghanistan, Iraq, and beyond, who now had to face the terrible wrath of the most powerful country on earth.

Never again could I see America as I had once seen it. Never again could it shine for me with clear and brilliant light, leading the world with its rippling red, white, and blue. No, the flawless American effigy had been decisively cracked, and wind and water did the rest. Gently, by degrees, I turned away. It wasn’t that America was wretched, no; all countries are wretched, for greed and cruelty are common threads of humanity. America betrayed me with its hypocrisy, with its single-minded amour propre, with its blind and shallow patriotism.

I began to look beyond our borders, beyond our own way of life. I have tea with Mrs. Hirayoshi and she teaches me Origami and Kimono and lets me try seaweed and squid and the strange, green Japanese pumpkin. I attend an Arabic Baptist Church with my next door neighbours, and listen to the languages of our ‘enemies’, who use the same words we do: smile, love, speak, play nice with your sisters… A friend in Milan sends me a letter she wrote sitting beside an ancient ruin, her writing gentle and musical, as Italian cannot help but be. On an Internet connection that spans four thousand miles, through my pen pal Liisa’s window, I watch the midnight sun sink in the Finnish sky, hover for a moment, and slowly begin to rise again.

I turn away and I find my own white walls, a pot-roast dinner, cookie-cutter houses laid out in neat suburban rows: a culture that clings to the fading ideals of its glory days. At times I believe that I have been born into this lifestyle so that I could appreciate other lifestyles, that my culture is weak so that I can enjoy all the cultures of the world. I realize that our culture is a new one, still growing and richening, that to bring three hundred million people together as a nation where there was nothing only a few hundred years ago is something that takes time. At other times I am less optimistic. I think only of leaving, of deserting the pale life I lead here, sheltered and separated from all other people and nations. I want to live inside the world.

But where should I go? I am not Scottish, Irish, English, French, Canadian, or Native - I am a mix of all of these, as artificially constructed as my country. I am American, and I cannot deny it. Then I remember. There’s a particularly American phrase that’s been going around recently. “If you don’t like our country,” some self-avowed patriots will tell you, “then leave.” What madness. Have they forgotten that the only road to progress is through continually moving forward? Would they have said the same to the Suffragettes or to the Civil Rights activists of the centuries past? It’s words like these that can uproot an empire, and our own empire is rooted shallowly indeed.

America: A Patriotic Primer. On the very last page is a group of children, leading a little parade. Stripped bare of any real identity, dressed in plain t-shirts, the only clue as to these children’s identities rests in the insignificant details: their hair, the angle of their eyes, the shades of their skin. Their faces are crudely painted in the style of the Native Americans their own nation chased into reservations, in colours anyone could guess at. Their precious red, white, and blue look crisp and strong from a distance, but I know how watery those paints are. With a little rain, they’ll wash off completely.

I am proud to be an American. I am proud to have overcome some of the global selfishness I have inherited from it, I am grateful for the shallow roots it gives me, and I am even pleased with the material things that it makes available for me. I am privileged in this world, and I admit, I will be sad to leave my lovely suburban house, my cabin by the lake, my little red SUV, and the other signs of my growing materialism. But I don’t like our country, and if that’s the way they feel about it… I’ll leave. Because at the end of every day, when the lights go out and I lay alone and think of what I have become, there’s one thing I’m sure of.

Ego Non Habeo Patriam – I have no homeland.

Pedicured Hypocrites

From a few months ago:

I love you and I hate you as you come out of your huge SUV with your Super sized Burger shouting curse words into your cell with a smile, filling the cool air of a winter noon with the sight of your enormous red coat and flushed cheeks.

I love you and I hate you, you teenage girls with skinny, shapeless forms and five-colour-highlighted hair, whispering and smirking and staring and pointing, congregating for half an hour before you leave in a savvy hurry.

I love you and I hate you, you are my family and you are strangers. I mock you and then I follow you into Quiznos.

From a few weeks ago:

I went and got a pedicure today. I’ve never gotten a pedicure before, but I was already being a spoiled little brat going to Italy the next day, so I drove my little suv down to CeCe’s Nail Salon and went the whole nine yards. They scrubbed my feet with what looked like toilet bowl cleaner and then they painted them. Admittedly they looked pretty good. The people seemed very surprised that I had never had a pedicure before.

“What about dances?” they asked. Well, I’d never really been to one. “Well.”

“Well.”

“Who are you?”

I had a bad time after all of that. They gave me this ridiculous flip flops made out of craft foam and and I managed to get across the grimy, polluted parking lot to my car with them. But I was locked out, somehow, my keys would only unlock the trunk, and I had to crawl though to the drivers seat with those ridiculous shoes on and and it raining outside and my feet all professionally cleaned and painted with the sort of attention no one should lavish on their feet. Yeah, maybe it should have taught me a lesson.

When I got in the car I drove it half a block down to get my hair cut. I could have walked, I should have walked, but my feet were all pretty and I had a car that let me exchange money and pollution for a bit of honest exercise. I’m becoming… such a hypocrite…

At the hair cut place I suggested a cut I had heard a lot about and they told me that frankly, it would look ridiculous. They didn’t like any of my ideas but they told me I had to tell them what to do and it wasn’t like I had all day. Finally I whispered that they could just take a few inches off and they set to work.

“Can I leave early?” One employee asks. I don’t see her from under the hair my ‘stylist’ has unceremoniously thrown over my face. “Brad has to pick up the kids and I want to go out with Steve tonight.”

“Yeah,” my stylist replies. “All I have to do is blow-dry this one.”

Then she sets to work doing just that. And I’m glad. My tears evaporate before anyone can see.

A Spring Fed River

There are rivers born in mountains, high above the earth. There are rivers that spill from lakes filled with spring rain. There are rivers that flow from glaciers, snow, and rainwater, cleaving the earth before them in search of the sea.

My own river rises from the deep wells of nature, from the bedrock of Missouri. A spring fed river is cold and clear, a child of the earth. It remembers its source; its heart in the subterranean halls of stone, cradled by limestone and dolomite. Such a river has a particular smell, a particular feel; there is a memory about it, a memory it carries all the way to the ocean at the end of its path.

On the banks of my river, I set my feet in the water.

I’ve grown up on the banks of this river, making mud pies, swinging on ropes, and canoeing the length of it with coolers of bud light, hi-C, and ham sandwiches. I love the gentle sloping of the south side, the gravel and the straggly brush, filled with sun and songbirds. I love the darkness of the northern bank, where all the trees bend over, reaching for the sun, shielding the river beneath them. There are tangled tree roots twisting and blending into the dark water, there are snakes long and slender, gleaming like ebony, there are reeds and moss and tiny black butterflies flitting from shade to shade. Even the mosquitoes are sacred. I know their buzzing, their paths on the surface of the water, the strange satisfaction of their itching bite, the sickly sweet citronella candles we light as dusk falls over the water.

Today we eat our fill of country fare, loading our plates with hot dogs and baked beans, chili and hobo stew. Around the campfire, the stories are beginning. Granddaddy can remember the Great Depression and long ago County Fairs; Uncle Jim can trace our lineage all the way from Charbonneau of the Lewis and Clark Expedition. The Womacks are an old breed, with roots deep in the rich Missouri soil. You can still see traces of Indian Blood in their skin, and harsh Scottish features in their craggy faces.

The river sits behind us as the sun sinks slowly in the sky, dancing in the filtered brown of the shallows. Not far upstream a hawk flies over the water, casting a shadow that ripples and vanishes. The steady sound of the current blends with our voices; rural drawls and harsher backwoods dialect together. The tones are striking in their simple honesty, far removed from the hollow, artificial speech of West County. As the evening slowly passes I am swept away in their words, and I shed my own pale accent like a shadow.

The talk turns away from history, spreading into the realities of our lives. Cindy tells us about a guy she’s met dancing at Plumbers’, where David plays in the Timberline band and students of the Farmington School District often go to dances. Janet mentions a squirrel her husband found in a tree at the lumber mill, which she kept for years as a pet. With great passion, Uncle John tells Joe about a huge hunk of meat they came across a few weeks ago at the restaurant. The aunts, comparatively, sit together quietly: Jane looking timid and tired, Julie in her overalls, Janet smelling of cigarettes. Terry describes a recent hunt with his characteristic, bullet-like narrative. “Shot that buck right ‘tween the eyes…” He tells us, “dropped him like a stone.” Sara tells me her old black horse finally died, and that the barn cats have spawned another generation of feral kittens. Somehow the stories of my life – a Valentines Card from Norway, the Acropolis and the Ancient Agora, the Gutenberg Museum, Christmas with Curacao natives – don’t quite flow into the conversation. I do a lot of smiling and listening, fascinated by how tightly and comfortably this world is knit together.

Jim, the patriarch, was a maintenance man at the state mental hospital. David fixes the busses for the local school district. The town’s football star in his glory days, James is a social worker and a counselor at the prison. Carol’s the bank manager – she’s worked her way up from teller in a long life at the bank. Terry was a meter reader for forty years, Weedy was a mailman, and Granddaddy was the ‘city boy’ who left Farmington with Maytag. My dad has tried to explain that he’s a consultant for the automotive aftermarket industry half a dozen times, but they still don’t quite understand just what it is that he does all day.

The crickets begin to sing as things wind down, as I find a lawn chair and stare out over the river. Idly, I flip through the songs on my iPod, searching for something that fits the mood. It’s difficult to match.

“Hey,” says Little Jason, wanting to annoy me. “What are you listening to?”

“It’s called ‘Anima Libera’”, I say, hoping he’ll be confused and run along. “It’s in another language”.

“… You mean… Spanish?”

“Sort of”, I reply, nodding. “It’s Italian.”

“… You mean… like Pizza?”

“Sort of.” I say, looking away with a slow smile. I watch the river under the fast moving clouds and the darkness of the night. I watch the river flowing to the sea.

Ego Non Habeo Patriam

Time Magazine Asks: "Does sending more soldiers to Iraq make any sense?"

Bush is sending them. 21,500 of them.

We watched the speech. Protests were ringing in the background. We couldn't make out the words, but it soundedn an awful lot like "F--- Bush" to us. In the news footage afterwards, some bigshot in the media declared that the American Empire was over. My mom whimpered. It's existed a long time for her. Not a brief second in history, only a few years of my own childhood. But a long time for her.

"Miranda, can I go with you when you move to Norway?" My sister.

"Of course. Mom?"

"If both of you are there, why not!"

Then we hit the brick wall of practicalities. Mom thinks every place in the world other than the US is too cold or dangerous, with the lone exception of the UK, which is "too expensive". France was considered, but she doesn't know French. That's fine, actually. Curacao was her favourite choice - they speak English, and it's warm, and it's cheap... but she didn't want us so far away.

And it hit me, we were considering it. We still have everything here, and Dad doesn't know a word of our scheming, and nothing comes to anything, but we're considering it. And I've been considering it for a long time. And the question comes to me: Could I really do it? Could I really leave America? I'd be an ex-patriate. The idea scares me somehow. But the answer comes to me just as quickly. Harshly, in rough Latin, it etches itself across my mind.

Ego Non Habeo Patriam.

Always a Globe

I will always have a globe around the house for my children to look at, and run their fingers over, and love as I do. We'll have a big atlas, too, for specifics and close ups and colour photos of Mount Everest and Macchu Picchu, the Grand Canyon and the Snows of Kilimanjaro, Rheinfels Castle and the Fjords of Norway. The globe will be for seeing all together, perfect and real, so incomprehensibly gargantuan and yet so small, and so beautiful...

They will see it and see nature, know what they have to love and experience and know what they have to protect. They will see it and see history, know the paths that have led to their time and their country. They will see it and see humanity - see the globe as I see it, bleeding with culture. A thousand gods and a thousand dreams, a thousand signs to wish on and a thousand ways to say, "I love you".

The Parking Lot

I love you and I hate you as you come out of your huge SUV with your Supersized Burger shouting curse words into your cell with a smile, filling the cool air of a winter noon with the sight of your enormous red coat and flushed cheeks.

I love you and I hate you, you teenage girls with skinny, shapeless forms and five-colour-highlighted hair, whispering and smirking and staring and pointing, congregating for half an hour before you leave in a savvy hurry.

I love you and I hate you, you are my family and you are strangers. I mock you and then I follow you into Quiznos.