I write fan letters but I've never written one to anyone famous. Does that make sense?
Lemme explain.
I never wrote a fan letter to an actor or singer because I thought, "Well, plenty of people are writing those people. What about everyone else?"
So, I wrote letters to people like the customer service representative who took care of a problem for me, or my insurance agent (which reminds me, I need to send a letter to the adjuster that looked at our car). I even wrote a fan letter to a police officer who gave me a ticket for having a busted headlight.
I think that's a good example of a good un-famous fan letter.
In that letter I wrote something along the lines that she had a pretty thankless job, especially that part of it. That I was sure most people thought along the lines that she was just being a pill issuing the ticket and she might get comments like, "Why are you out here messing with me? Shouldn't you be catching real criminals and actually protecting people like me?" But the truth is she was protecting me. If I have a headlight out, I need to be told about it. Unfortunately, however, loads of people aren't motivated to fix things like that unless there is a penalty for not having done so. The ticket makes us fix the problem right away because we're afraid of getting another ticket. If I didn't fix that headlight and the other failed, I'd be in really big trouble. So, even though it didn't seem like it, she was protecting me and I appreciated her doing her job so well.
I try to send out letters like this on a regular basis, especially to people like that police officer because they really do important work and they really don't get much in the way of recognition for it. Sometimes you have to hunt for a person or team to thank them but I'm sure people have to hunt down addresses to which they send their fan letters for actors, etc. So, it can't be that different.
Now, I love movies. Comedies, dramas, action movies, sci-fi, whatever, I'm just a huge film fan and I get what I call star crushes. I'll find an actor or actress that impresses me and I'll pretty much go through their body of work and also find out quite a bit about their background.
I watch their films and, if I can find them, even episodes of TV series in which they've appeared. I just like watching them play different roles and am generally pleased to see them wearing these different skins so effortlessly.
For some strange reason, reading about their lives prior to their careers is interesting to me and not creepy so I do it. I have no explanation really.
Maybe I think that before they became professional actors, they were out there living without a script. They weren't pretending, they were doing and I think that the doing part of their lives can sometimes be seen in the way they act later on.
I'm not sure that's logical or makes any sense at all but it's just how I feel about it.
Anyway, I recently developed a star crush on Jonathan Rhys Meyers and it has shifted my world view. I was reading about his past, which is very colorful, but also read a few quotes attributed to him. One of which was:
"It's not about money, fame, people knowing you. It's not even about enjoying yourself and being happy. It's about achieving something that's brilliant, creating something that's brilliant, for other people. For yourself, you're always going to be unsatisfied, but if somebody comes up to me and says, 'That was a brilliant part, and I really, really got it'. That's essentially it."
I thought about that. I also thought about another Jonathan: Jonathan Brandis.
I'm going to seemingly veer off topic right now but, trust me, it's related. Please bear with me.
Ahem.
I have asthma and have had asthma since childhood. Very early on I became disgruntled with how the media portrays asthma. For example: The Goonies. It's a brilliant film and I loved it but I cried at the end and here's why.
Goonies Ending
The end of that movie showed something that made me so angry. I've put a youtube clip here. It's in German and cuts off right as it gets to the part about which I'm speaking but I'm hoping it'll still remind people. Skip to the end of the little clip and you'll see Sean Astin's character fumble for his inhaler. The part that's cut out is him pausing, looking at it for a moment and then throwing it over his shoulder in a sort of, "I don't need this crutch anymore." way.
That's generally the way I saw asthma portrayed in the movies. I remember getting upset once that my asthma was bothering me and deciding that I would just get over it, like the kids in the movies did. It was all in my head, right? I had a very bad day that day because, like an idiot, I threw away my medicine.
Then I watched Sidekicks, starring Chuck Norris and Jonathan Brandis. It was a pretty typical karate kid clone with an asthmatic kid as the main character. However, the main character had asthma the way I had asthma. He didn't wheeze as he was breathing in, he coughed and struggled to expel air. The portrayal of asthma caught me with the first attack as his teacher says something like, "Don't fight it, Barry. Just let it happen." (Which sounds oddly pervy out of context....hmm.) Anyway...
That movie also made me cry but not out of anger and frustration at having someone, once again, show me a caricature of myself. I cried because after watching the scene I plugged in below I felt like someone else understood.
Sidekicks Scene
Just in case you can't view it, it essentially shows the main character going into an attack and throwing away his inhaler in frustration and anger. He yells, "I will beat you!" I'd felt that. Like the movies and shows I'd seen were telling me that I was supposed to be able to overcome my asthma somehow.
Then Barry, the main character, has a daydream/hallucination about being tortured by an evil man who uses twisting chains to crush his lungs. Barry says at one point I think, "I can't breathe!" and the torturer replies, "What do you care, Shrimp? You sound like a bagpipe when you do anyway."
Asthma isn't a joke or a punch line. It's a potentially fatal disease that makes it difficult if not impossible to breathe and these incredibly frightening attacks can occur without notice. I live with the fact that someone could dump some kind of cleaning solution into the vents of my office building (that's happened) or step onto an elevator with a perfume to which I'm allergic (also happened) and send me into an asthmatic attack that will land me in the hospital (um, yeah, the end result of both of those scenarios).
Consistently kids with asthma in movies are portrayed as nerds who really aren't sick but hide behind inhalers rather than get involved in anything too dangerous or scary. The opposite is true.
An asthma attack impairs your ability to breathe. Water boarding is considered torture because the fear of drowning, of not being able to breathe, is so very primal. Kids with asthma face this terrifying situation knowing the best way to get through it is to remain calm and "let it happen". Yet entertainers continue to portray kids with asthma as dorky, nervous, and even cowardly.
Watching Sidekicks, which showed a kid struggling with the disease, and with the isolation and inactivity having the disease had created, was incredible. I loved the fact that in the final scenes, when Barry is at the martial arts competition and Chuck Norris miraculously joins his team (it's a cheese fest of a movie) one of those scenes begins with him sitting on the sidelines and taking a hit off his inhaler. His asthma didn't magically go away. His medicine was treated like a crutch but not one behind which Barry hid, rather one that he had to learn to use properly in order to allow him to accomplish the things his disease made difficult.
I know the acting is dodgy and the storyline cheesy but I still love that movie because it made me feel good about myself. It made me feel like it was okay that I had asthma and that my asthma wasn't just in my head. As long as I believed it was just something in my head, I felt like every time I had trouble breathing or had to use my inhaler or had an attack that I was somehow failing.
I would love to write Jonathan Brandis a letter and tell him that. I would really love to let him know how important a movie he probably only thought of as dodgy and cheesy, was to me as a kid. I can't though.
Jonathan Brandis committed suicide in late 2003 at the age of 27. Thing was, I've seen films he did as an older actor. He was good. I mean, really good.
He had a decent sized role in Ride With The Devil, one of my favorite films of all time. If you watch that movie now you see it's an all around who's who of current 'it' actors and he was incredible in it.
He stood up with then less well-known or completely un-known actors: Tobey Maguire, Jeffrey Wright, Skeet Ulrich, James Caviezel, Simon Baker, Mark Ruffalo, & Tom Wilkinson, all of them being directed by Ang-freaking-Lee (I think that's officially how you're supposed to say his name) and there was Jonathan Brandis being fan-freaking-tastic.
Oh yeah, and Jonathan Rhys Meyers (you thought I forgot about him, didn't you?) he was in that movie as well.
Jonathan Brandis was, without question, a talented actor. I knew that but I never told him.
I mean, he has a line in that movie: "Yeah, sounds like real good dirt to me." You'd think that line would be funny but he managed to make it downright poignant.
I don't presume to think that if I'd written Jonathan Brandis a fan letter as a child or later as an adult it would have somehow given him an added incentive to live. I have no idea what might have caused him to make that decision. But after reading what Jonathan Rhys Meyers had to say, I think his one time co-star, Jonathan Brandis, deserved to know how his work affected me. I thought he was a great actor and I now know that I shouldn't have assumed someone else would tell him that.
To that end, I hereby officially remove my fan letter restrictions and will start sending letters to the famous as well as the un-famous (not infamous). I think that I'll start with Mr. Jonathan Rhys Meyers.
Hmmm.
Anyone have an address for the man?
Tuesday, August 11, 2009
Monday, August 10, 2009
How Hillary Clinton Ruined My Life
When I was 15 I was a finalist in an "oral essay" competition. It was one of the strangest competitions in which I have ever been involved.
It was essentially a speech competition, except you didn't perform the speech. You recorded it on tape and sent it off. The end result was you would get these unexpected phone calls. "Hi. You've won at such-and-such level and are progressing to the next round." It was oddly disconnected and didn't seem real.
Then one day, someone calls up and says, "You're a finalist in the State Championship. Please be at such-and-such hotel in Alexandria at such-and-such time on such-and-such date." If you're me, you hang up feeling a bit dazed and shouting, "Ma!"
I also clearly remember the paperwork that arrived later saying to bring "formal attire". I borrowed a dress from a friend that didn't fit well and still turned out to look hopelessly shabby next to the other girls. I also remember telling myself I was kind of like Meg from Little Women and that actually making me feel better.
I had no hope at all of winning. They started reading off the top six places and I remember chanting in my head, "Please let me place. Please." I lost hope when they got to second place and it wasn't me. I started consoling myself. "At least you made it to State. It doesn't matter that you didn't place. You made it to State. Cat never made it to State." (Cat was my older sister who also did Speech & with whom I had a younger sibling's borderline obsessive need to beat.)
They announced the winner and I tried very hard to plaster a genuine smile on my face as I clapped politely for whoever it was. No one moved at the finalists' table. I remember looking up and down the table and wondering why whoever it was didn't get up already. Then District Four grabbed my hands and said, "They're waiting for you. Get up!"
The audience laughed. My Dad said that the surprise on my face made it really obvious that I hadn't known I'd won. I got up and nearly screamed because there was a freaking marine standing behind me to escort me to the stage. I got to the stage and realized I'd forgotten my speech and ran back to get it. When I arrived at the podium the plan had been to give me something and THEN have me give my speech but I marched right up and gave the speech immediately.
I was so nervous my hand was shaking violently. I mean, up and down a few inches each time. The stage was pretty make-shift and my shaking actually set things vibrating along the table but I gave the speech and the longer I spoke the less I shook. My voice, amazingly, didn't shake but came out clear and strong just like I'd rehearsed. That has always amazed me.
As soon as I'd finished the speech I tried to get off the stage and back to my seat. The presenter made a joke about not running away and then gave me a trophy so large; if I still had it I'd probably be using it for a hat wrack. I tried to get down again. Nope. They had a plaque for me.
Then there was some kind of memorial award for my school. Then I finally thought I was going to get to sit down and they handed me the best and most mind blowing award of the night: A trip to the finals in Washington D.C.
Wow.
That night I couldn't sleep. My Dad was preaching the next morning and we had made no plans to stay. That fact alone really hammers in that, not only did I not think it was possible I'd win, but neither did my parents. The winner was supposed to attend an event the next morning but we had no plans for that eventuality. It was decided that I would hitch a ride with a couple there who were also from my home town and Dad left me alone in the hotel room.
I remember that night so clearly. As I said, I couldn't sleep. I'd never been in a hotel room by myself, and I'd never been in one so very nice. The floor I was on was two stories higher than the tallest building in my entire hometown. I had two windows and one had a window seat. I had a coffee maker and a desk and STATIONARY. I turned on VH1 on the TV and I remember that Bang and Blame by REM and Take A Bow by Madonna played extremely often that night. To this day, either of those songs has the ability to transport me back in time to that sleepless night.
I just sat in the window seat, drinking coffee and watching the twinkling lights along the river trying to figure out what had just happened. I had the packet they'd given me at the ceremony with the information about the trip and I kept looking over the tickets and the itinerary wondering when it would hit. I just couldn't believe it.
The trip was a bit of a whirlwind. I felt an instant connection with the guy from Kentucky who, because I was from Louisiana, I was always seated near. We went to dinners, speeches, museums... This is the trip during which I met President Clinton.
The contest was run by the Veterans of Foreign Wars (VFW) and held during some kind of National get-together of theirs. President Clinton was giving a speech at one of the events and was understandably nervous. This was before the intern and the lying and one of his biggest black marks was still the accusation of draft dodging. He wasn't exactly popular with the Veterans of Foreign Wars.
I remember we kids, one from each state and territory so 54 of us in all, were sent to this large banquet room area. There were security people everywhere and a secret service agent gave a little speech about what to do and how to act so as not to appear a threat to the President. Nerve wracking.
Kentucky and I were talking when I swear a piece of the wall near the ceiling just opened up. I could see the vague outline of a head and shoulders and was a little freaked out.
I finally decided to approach one of the guys in suits. I think I said something like, "Um, hi. Can I ask you a question real quick?" He said yes, so I continued with, "The guy up there? (I pointed) He's with you right?"
The suit chuckled and said yes. I sighed and went back to the group my mind freed of visions of assassination attempts.
President Clinton arrived.
Tada!
I wasn't exactly a fan of his. It had nothing to do with him running for or being President but something to do with some stuff that went down in his Arkansas administration that adversely affected members of my extended family.
So, when everyone crushed in to shake hands, I didn't fight to get close enough. I didn't walk away or anything but I let myself get sort of bumped back. It didn't matter to me so why struggle. But then he said, "Okay, did I miss anyone."
And there was Kentucky, being all nice. "You missed Louisiana."
Clinton smiled at me. The man really is charming.
"Well, that's not very neighborly of me is it?" He said and stepped over and shook my hand.
He said a few more things and then talked about how kids like us were the future of America. Yada yada yada. We'd heard variations of that speech all week.
I'm sure America is very grateful that I am an analyst for a software company and Kentucky is a rowing coach. I mean, we're happy with our lives but that stuff about us being the future of America seems to have been overkill in my humble opinion. I mean, sheesh. All we did was write a nice speech. Anyway, doesn't matter.
Clinton went off to give his speech.
Mr. Gordon, the guy with the unenviable job of leading us kids around D.C. by the nose, took us to a place where we could watch.
I don't remember what the speech was about. I remember that several members of the audience booed when he took the stage and I remember feeling indignant that they had. I am still a firm believer in showing respect for the elected President of the country, apparently even when I think he cheated my family. It's not about respecting the man so much as respecting the office he holds.
Anyway, I was distracted from the speech by spotting another person standing off in the sidelines listening to it. Hilary Clinton. I didn't meet her. I didn't get within ten feet of her but I watched her all through that speech. People had at that time told me and continue to tell me that she didn't and doesn't care about her husband: That theirs is a marriage that is more akin to a political alliance than anything else. I don't believe it.
She never appeared before that crowd. They never saw her. There was no point in her being there other than to do what she did, lend moral support. She watched from the sidelines with obvious concern for her husband, not her meal ticket.
I think that both of these political figures, "Bill & Hillary", are real people. I saw it. I saw a wife nervous about a husband facing a difficult task. I remember the strained nervous look on her face and then the smile with which she greeted him when it was over. My fifteen year old self had a little epiphany then. I thought, "They're just people." They could have been my parents.
I lost something precious that day: The ability to demonize politicians.
It's really unfair, you know. I should be able to look at some policy or another and just rant and rave about conspiracies and how evil this or that person is. Now, instead, I have to approach politics rationally and with an even temper.
Darn you Hillary Clinton and your obviously genuine affection and concern. You ruined EVERYTHING!!!
It was essentially a speech competition, except you didn't perform the speech. You recorded it on tape and sent it off. The end result was you would get these unexpected phone calls. "Hi. You've won at such-and-such level and are progressing to the next round." It was oddly disconnected and didn't seem real.
Then one day, someone calls up and says, "You're a finalist in the State Championship. Please be at such-and-such hotel in Alexandria at such-and-such time on such-and-such date." If you're me, you hang up feeling a bit dazed and shouting, "Ma!"
I also clearly remember the paperwork that arrived later saying to bring "formal attire". I borrowed a dress from a friend that didn't fit well and still turned out to look hopelessly shabby next to the other girls. I also remember telling myself I was kind of like Meg from Little Women and that actually making me feel better.
I had no hope at all of winning. They started reading off the top six places and I remember chanting in my head, "Please let me place. Please." I lost hope when they got to second place and it wasn't me. I started consoling myself. "At least you made it to State. It doesn't matter that you didn't place. You made it to State. Cat never made it to State." (Cat was my older sister who also did Speech & with whom I had a younger sibling's borderline obsessive need to beat.)
They announced the winner and I tried very hard to plaster a genuine smile on my face as I clapped politely for whoever it was. No one moved at the finalists' table. I remember looking up and down the table and wondering why whoever it was didn't get up already. Then District Four grabbed my hands and said, "They're waiting for you. Get up!"
The audience laughed. My Dad said that the surprise on my face made it really obvious that I hadn't known I'd won. I got up and nearly screamed because there was a freaking marine standing behind me to escort me to the stage. I got to the stage and realized I'd forgotten my speech and ran back to get it. When I arrived at the podium the plan had been to give me something and THEN have me give my speech but I marched right up and gave the speech immediately.
I was so nervous my hand was shaking violently. I mean, up and down a few inches each time. The stage was pretty make-shift and my shaking actually set things vibrating along the table but I gave the speech and the longer I spoke the less I shook. My voice, amazingly, didn't shake but came out clear and strong just like I'd rehearsed. That has always amazed me.
As soon as I'd finished the speech I tried to get off the stage and back to my seat. The presenter made a joke about not running away and then gave me a trophy so large; if I still had it I'd probably be using it for a hat wrack. I tried to get down again. Nope. They had a plaque for me.
Then there was some kind of memorial award for my school. Then I finally thought I was going to get to sit down and they handed me the best and most mind blowing award of the night: A trip to the finals in Washington D.C.
Wow.
That night I couldn't sleep. My Dad was preaching the next morning and we had made no plans to stay. That fact alone really hammers in that, not only did I not think it was possible I'd win, but neither did my parents. The winner was supposed to attend an event the next morning but we had no plans for that eventuality. It was decided that I would hitch a ride with a couple there who were also from my home town and Dad left me alone in the hotel room.
I remember that night so clearly. As I said, I couldn't sleep. I'd never been in a hotel room by myself, and I'd never been in one so very nice. The floor I was on was two stories higher than the tallest building in my entire hometown. I had two windows and one had a window seat. I had a coffee maker and a desk and STATIONARY. I turned on VH1 on the TV and I remember that Bang and Blame by REM and Take A Bow by Madonna played extremely often that night. To this day, either of those songs has the ability to transport me back in time to that sleepless night.
I just sat in the window seat, drinking coffee and watching the twinkling lights along the river trying to figure out what had just happened. I had the packet they'd given me at the ceremony with the information about the trip and I kept looking over the tickets and the itinerary wondering when it would hit. I just couldn't believe it.
The trip was a bit of a whirlwind. I felt an instant connection with the guy from Kentucky who, because I was from Louisiana, I was always seated near. We went to dinners, speeches, museums... This is the trip during which I met President Clinton.
The contest was run by the Veterans of Foreign Wars (VFW) and held during some kind of National get-together of theirs. President Clinton was giving a speech at one of the events and was understandably nervous. This was before the intern and the lying and one of his biggest black marks was still the accusation of draft dodging. He wasn't exactly popular with the Veterans of Foreign Wars.
I remember we kids, one from each state and territory so 54 of us in all, were sent to this large banquet room area. There were security people everywhere and a secret service agent gave a little speech about what to do and how to act so as not to appear a threat to the President. Nerve wracking.
Kentucky and I were talking when I swear a piece of the wall near the ceiling just opened up. I could see the vague outline of a head and shoulders and was a little freaked out.
I finally decided to approach one of the guys in suits. I think I said something like, "Um, hi. Can I ask you a question real quick?" He said yes, so I continued with, "The guy up there? (I pointed) He's with you right?"
The suit chuckled and said yes. I sighed and went back to the group my mind freed of visions of assassination attempts.
President Clinton arrived.
Tada!
I wasn't exactly a fan of his. It had nothing to do with him running for or being President but something to do with some stuff that went down in his Arkansas administration that adversely affected members of my extended family.
So, when everyone crushed in to shake hands, I didn't fight to get close enough. I didn't walk away or anything but I let myself get sort of bumped back. It didn't matter to me so why struggle. But then he said, "Okay, did I miss anyone."
And there was Kentucky, being all nice. "You missed Louisiana."
Clinton smiled at me. The man really is charming.
"Well, that's not very neighborly of me is it?" He said and stepped over and shook my hand.
He said a few more things and then talked about how kids like us were the future of America. Yada yada yada. We'd heard variations of that speech all week.
I'm sure America is very grateful that I am an analyst for a software company and Kentucky is a rowing coach. I mean, we're happy with our lives but that stuff about us being the future of America seems to have been overkill in my humble opinion. I mean, sheesh. All we did was write a nice speech. Anyway, doesn't matter.
Clinton went off to give his speech.
Mr. Gordon, the guy with the unenviable job of leading us kids around D.C. by the nose, took us to a place where we could watch.
I don't remember what the speech was about. I remember that several members of the audience booed when he took the stage and I remember feeling indignant that they had. I am still a firm believer in showing respect for the elected President of the country, apparently even when I think he cheated my family. It's not about respecting the man so much as respecting the office he holds.
Anyway, I was distracted from the speech by spotting another person standing off in the sidelines listening to it. Hilary Clinton. I didn't meet her. I didn't get within ten feet of her but I watched her all through that speech. People had at that time told me and continue to tell me that she didn't and doesn't care about her husband: That theirs is a marriage that is more akin to a political alliance than anything else. I don't believe it.
She never appeared before that crowd. They never saw her. There was no point in her being there other than to do what she did, lend moral support. She watched from the sidelines with obvious concern for her husband, not her meal ticket.
I think that both of these political figures, "Bill & Hillary", are real people. I saw it. I saw a wife nervous about a husband facing a difficult task. I remember the strained nervous look on her face and then the smile with which she greeted him when it was over. My fifteen year old self had a little epiphany then. I thought, "They're just people." They could have been my parents.
I lost something precious that day: The ability to demonize politicians.
It's really unfair, you know. I should be able to look at some policy or another and just rant and rave about conspiracies and how evil this or that person is. Now, instead, I have to approach politics rationally and with an even temper.
Darn you Hillary Clinton and your obviously genuine affection and concern. You ruined EVERYTHING!!!
Wednesday, August 5, 2009
Fight Club
I was tweeting earlier today about fights. Thing is, I've a temper. I'm told that as a person of predominantly Irish decent, this is expected. I think that's stereotyping and in an unflattering way but I can't ever say anything because then I'm just proving their point about having an "Irish temper". Grrr.
Anyway, I've learned to control it.
No, really. I have.
Okay, so a coworker when she saw I was assigned as tester to a certain programmer with whom I'd never worked felt obligated to come over and warn me that he could be a prick because, as she put it, "You've got a temper and he'll push your buttons." Maybe I've said a few choice things here and there but I haven't smacked anybody, not in years.
I haven't been involved in an actual physical altercation in a decade. *pat pat*
However, I'll admit, at one time it was a little easy to goad me to blows, especially on the soccer field. I still have a scar under my left eye from a fight on the soccer field, though it is now so faint that if I wear any make up at all it's pretty much undetectable. I lost that fight. It wasn't my worst though.
The worst fight I ever had has to be the one I had with my sister the night before we went on vacation.
Shine and I shared a room and the age eleven at the time and absolutely no one could get on our respective nerves like each other. I had done something that had angered her. I can't remember what it was but I remember that she'd been nursing the grudge for days.
Shine had a smoldering temper. I had a hot temper. I'd get mad about something; scream, punch or rant and then be over it. Shine would just sit there and stew; ignoring me or giving me smoldering glares, or both.
I was a flash bang grenade. She was a crock pot.
I don't remember what I'd done to piss her off but pissed she was. She tried to get me with her psychological warfare that night. I was trying to sleep and she started making these clicking noises with her tongue. I tried to ignore her. I did.
I stuffed my pillow over my head and as far into my ears as I could manage but she just amped up the volume. She was driving me CRAZY!
I just lost it. I leaped directly from my bed on one side of the room to hers. I landed on top of her, grabbed her night shirt in my fists, pulled up her shoulders and screamed, "Just STOP IT!" directly in her face.
Shine's eyebrows went up for a second, then they went down. I went down too.
She socked me on the side of the head, mainly in the ear: her knuckles pinching the cartilage between them and the thick stony hardness of my skull. I fell off the bed and onto the floor and she was on me in seconds.
She straddled me and started punching at my face. I managed to block her pretty effectively but she got a few low velocity hits in, nothing too terrible. I hit her in the side with as much force as I could manage from flat on my back and then hit the bottom of her jaw with the heel of my palm. She bit her tongue and jerked back in reaction. It gave me just enough wiggle room to plant my right foot and roll us over with me on top.
I chose to place one knee in her gut rather than straddle. It left me more open to being rolled again but Shine had about 20 pounds on me and I was trying to inflict as much damage as fast as possible. I knew from experience that the only way I'd win was through a quick submission and retreat to mutual corners.
I tried a few blows to the face but knew her guard would be up. It was more for effect to keep her busy. Then I punched her in the breast. Shine already had small ones and though I was still flat chested, I knew they were a sensitive area. Her defenses lowered to her chest and I got a great punch into her face aiming at her nose but landing more alongside it.
Shine grabbed my long hair (always a key weakness) in a great handfull and used it in much the same way a bit is used on a horse, to pull back my head and blind me. I reached out a hand blindly toward her face hoping to aim my left fist by feel and got my right middle finger in her mouth somehow.
She bit.
HARD.
I shouted in pain which was the first noise we'd really made besides grunting after my initial eruption. Shine kept my finger locked firmly in her teeth and rolled over. She now had two hands to my one but I was still able to keep her from doing much damage. So, she grabbed my left hand with hers, sort of twisted above my head and started pounding on me with her free right. Thankfully, just having my right hand in her mouth diffused some of her momentum and the blows weren't as hard as they could have been.
That's when our Dad walked in. My poor Dad. He so very much wanted little girls with ribbons in their hair who wore pretty dresses and, I don't know, played with Barbies? Whatever it is that girly girls do, that's what he wanted.
I imagine what we must have looked like to him. Shine on top of me with my finger locked between her teeth. I had a busted lip and was bleeding slightly but she had dripped quite a bit of my and her blood onto me. Two bloody faced little girls trying to beat the ever loving crap out of each other.
My poor Dad.
He was horrified. I still remember that blank stare of utter confusion on his face when he opened the door. We had frozen in place much like cartoon characters when the open door spilled light from the hallway onto our shenanigans.
Dad yelled, "What are you DOING!?!"
We didn't have an answer. In fact, Shine hadn't even stopped biting my finger at that time.
"Get. Up!" Dad yelled in that strange 'you-are-in-so-much-trouble' punctuated way.
And she finally let go. I could feel her teeth pulling out of my skin and couldn't hold back a little yelp.
Dad took us to the bathroom and cleaned us up, threatening the whole time to find a way to leave us behind when the family left on our trip the next day.
He super glued my finger, something he and Mom had done before with small but deep cuts, and also cleaned up our mutual split lips.
I think that still ranks as my worst fight. No one, absolutely no one, has ever gone for the kill like Shine and I also found that in every other fight I've shown more restraint. For some reason, you just go for the cheap shots with siblings.
Funny thing is, years later I found a picture from that trip. It's the very next day, Shine and I have matching scabs on our lower lips, and you can see the bandage on my finger but, here's the thing, the only reason you can see it is because I've got my arm slug over her shoulder in a mutual half hug.
My Mom and Dad talk about us as kids and our crazy fights but we always got over it. Without exception, the next day it was all forgotten. Fighting never solved a problem, but somehow it still made us feel better, which makes no sense whatsoever but is absolutely 100% true.
Sometimes I think that if we could all just land a few restrained blows every once in a while we might feel a little better about losing. You know? You lost the fight but you still walked away saying, "At least I landed that sweet shot to her boob."
Anyway, I've learned to control it.
No, really. I have.
Okay, so a coworker when she saw I was assigned as tester to a certain programmer with whom I'd never worked felt obligated to come over and warn me that he could be a prick because, as she put it, "You've got a temper and he'll push your buttons." Maybe I've said a few choice things here and there but I haven't smacked anybody, not in years.
I haven't been involved in an actual physical altercation in a decade. *pat pat*
However, I'll admit, at one time it was a little easy to goad me to blows, especially on the soccer field. I still have a scar under my left eye from a fight on the soccer field, though it is now so faint that if I wear any make up at all it's pretty much undetectable. I lost that fight. It wasn't my worst though.
The worst fight I ever had has to be the one I had with my sister the night before we went on vacation.
Shine and I shared a room and the age eleven at the time and absolutely no one could get on our respective nerves like each other. I had done something that had angered her. I can't remember what it was but I remember that she'd been nursing the grudge for days.
Shine had a smoldering temper. I had a hot temper. I'd get mad about something; scream, punch or rant and then be over it. Shine would just sit there and stew; ignoring me or giving me smoldering glares, or both.
I was a flash bang grenade. She was a crock pot.
I don't remember what I'd done to piss her off but pissed she was. She tried to get me with her psychological warfare that night. I was trying to sleep and she started making these clicking noises with her tongue. I tried to ignore her. I did.
I stuffed my pillow over my head and as far into my ears as I could manage but she just amped up the volume. She was driving me CRAZY!
I just lost it. I leaped directly from my bed on one side of the room to hers. I landed on top of her, grabbed her night shirt in my fists, pulled up her shoulders and screamed, "Just STOP IT!" directly in her face.
Shine's eyebrows went up for a second, then they went down. I went down too.
She socked me on the side of the head, mainly in the ear: her knuckles pinching the cartilage between them and the thick stony hardness of my skull. I fell off the bed and onto the floor and she was on me in seconds.
She straddled me and started punching at my face. I managed to block her pretty effectively but she got a few low velocity hits in, nothing too terrible. I hit her in the side with as much force as I could manage from flat on my back and then hit the bottom of her jaw with the heel of my palm. She bit her tongue and jerked back in reaction. It gave me just enough wiggle room to plant my right foot and roll us over with me on top.
I chose to place one knee in her gut rather than straddle. It left me more open to being rolled again but Shine had about 20 pounds on me and I was trying to inflict as much damage as fast as possible. I knew from experience that the only way I'd win was through a quick submission and retreat to mutual corners.
I tried a few blows to the face but knew her guard would be up. It was more for effect to keep her busy. Then I punched her in the breast. Shine already had small ones and though I was still flat chested, I knew they were a sensitive area. Her defenses lowered to her chest and I got a great punch into her face aiming at her nose but landing more alongside it.
Shine grabbed my long hair (always a key weakness) in a great handfull and used it in much the same way a bit is used on a horse, to pull back my head and blind me. I reached out a hand blindly toward her face hoping to aim my left fist by feel and got my right middle finger in her mouth somehow.
She bit.
HARD.
I shouted in pain which was the first noise we'd really made besides grunting after my initial eruption. Shine kept my finger locked firmly in her teeth and rolled over. She now had two hands to my one but I was still able to keep her from doing much damage. So, she grabbed my left hand with hers, sort of twisted above my head and started pounding on me with her free right. Thankfully, just having my right hand in her mouth diffused some of her momentum and the blows weren't as hard as they could have been.
That's when our Dad walked in. My poor Dad. He so very much wanted little girls with ribbons in their hair who wore pretty dresses and, I don't know, played with Barbies? Whatever it is that girly girls do, that's what he wanted.
I imagine what we must have looked like to him. Shine on top of me with my finger locked between her teeth. I had a busted lip and was bleeding slightly but she had dripped quite a bit of my and her blood onto me. Two bloody faced little girls trying to beat the ever loving crap out of each other.
My poor Dad.
He was horrified. I still remember that blank stare of utter confusion on his face when he opened the door. We had frozen in place much like cartoon characters when the open door spilled light from the hallway onto our shenanigans.
Dad yelled, "What are you DOING!?!"
We didn't have an answer. In fact, Shine hadn't even stopped biting my finger at that time.
"Get. Up!" Dad yelled in that strange 'you-are-in-so-much-trouble' punctuated way.
And she finally let go. I could feel her teeth pulling out of my skin and couldn't hold back a little yelp.
Dad took us to the bathroom and cleaned us up, threatening the whole time to find a way to leave us behind when the family left on our trip the next day.
He super glued my finger, something he and Mom had done before with small but deep cuts, and also cleaned up our mutual split lips.
I think that still ranks as my worst fight. No one, absolutely no one, has ever gone for the kill like Shine and I also found that in every other fight I've shown more restraint. For some reason, you just go for the cheap shots with siblings.
Funny thing is, years later I found a picture from that trip. It's the very next day, Shine and I have matching scabs on our lower lips, and you can see the bandage on my finger but, here's the thing, the only reason you can see it is because I've got my arm slug over her shoulder in a mutual half hug.
My Mom and Dad talk about us as kids and our crazy fights but we always got over it. Without exception, the next day it was all forgotten. Fighting never solved a problem, but somehow it still made us feel better, which makes no sense whatsoever but is absolutely 100% true.
Sometimes I think that if we could all just land a few restrained blows every once in a while we might feel a little better about losing. You know? You lost the fight but you still walked away saying, "At least I landed that sweet shot to her boob."
Tuesday, July 28, 2009
Your Real Sister
Yesterday was Emmy's first day at daycare. No, I didn't cry when I dropped her off.
I was a bit concerned and nervous that she might be scared or upset, though I tried not to show it.
I tried to be very animated and excited. I made my eyes get big as I talked about the playground equipment and all the cool kids she was going to meet. I even tried to make nap time sound exciting. Epic fail, by the way.
Emmy seemed a little apprehensive as we dropped her off but Jonathan grabbed her hand and immediately began running through the building with her securely in tow yelling about this, that and the other Emmy needed to go see.
Emmy actually turned her head to me and shook her head at me as if to say, "Kids." or "Can you believe this?"
I left feeling pretty confident that things would go well. After all, Emmy had her brother with her.
When we got the kids home, they were running around talking a mile a minute about this, that and the other and I was so relieved that things seemed to have gone well.
As I was cooking dinner however, I noticed both the kids standing near the short stairs leading into the kitchen. They were whispering and eyeing me in what I'm sure they thought was a surreptitious manner.
I finally turned around and asked them what was up.
Jonathan nudged Emmy forward and she began speaking though she was looking at just about anything in the kitchen but my face.
"Mommy. Um. This boy, um, there was this boy at school and he, um, he told me, he said that, um...he said that Jonathan wasn't my brother."
Now the Monkey chimed in:
"Yeah, Mommy. He said Emmy's not my sister."
And both sets of big eyes, one a deep creamy brown and one a crackling blue are staring intently at me.
It was time to put down the spoon and just pray the food survived a few minutes pause.
I sat down on the stairs for easy eye contact and explained.
"Well, that boy was wrong. You know how sometimes you really think something? Like you see a toy and you think it's going to be really fun but it turns out it isn't? Or you see a food and you think it's going to be sweet and yummy and it isn't?"
Sage nods in reply.
"Well, I'm sure that boy might think Jonathan's not your brother and Emmy's not your sister, but he's wrong. I don't think you should fight with him about it though. One day, he might get the chance to understand that he's wrong but that doesn't matter, does it? You know that Jonathan's your brother, Emmy. Jonathan, you know that Emmy's your sister. That's all that matters, right?"
Two little faces filled with relieved smiles and Emmy immediately turned with the typical elder sibling reaction:
Emmy: See, I TOLD you.
Jonathan: Nu, uh! I told YOU.
I gave them hugs. They ran to the living room to play and dinner miraculously survived its temporary abandonment.
I haven't been able to shake a tugging brought on by the situation and the obviously deep reaction it evoked in the kids. They asked their Daddy about it at dinner, seemingly looking for more reassurance.
My hubby was surprised by how deeply the accusation seemed to have affected them. We talked about it after the munchkins were abed.
Hubby: Why does it matter what one kid thinks? Why does that little thing make them doubt they're brother and sister?
I could feel the answer but had trouble expressing it. I'm still not sure what I said made sense.
See, I've been there. I've been hanging out with my sisters and had some kid or group of kids state with utter conviction that we weren't sisters, at least, not REAL sisters.
That word real always made me so mad. Kids weren't the only ones to use it either.
Adults would often ask the hated question:
"Which are your real kids?"
Okay, ow. Sorry, sibs, you're not real.
My Dad always made a joke out of it. He'd say something like, "Well, they're all real. None of them are plastic."
Mom would just quietly fume, which is her being on her best behavior. I can still see Mom's special smile. It was more like a closed lip grimace and it's the expression she always had when someone asked that question.
Sometimes, Dad's gentle attempt to point out the hurtful nature of the inquiry would fall on deaf ears.
"No, I mean, which ones are really yours and which ones did you adopt?"
Um, Mr. Sensitivity, we're all 'really' theirs. Eventually, Dad adopted the policy of answering the question after tactfully pointing out that we were all real.
Something like this: "They're all real. None of them are plastic but (pointing) that one and that one are our only biological children."
Dad told us he was going to start saying this because he was afraid that Mom might hit someone if they kept asking the even less tactful and more hurtful follow up questions.
We had all sort of learned to smile and nod at the seemingly inevitable question but it never really lost its sting.
So, why does it bother my kids and why did it bother me and my sibs when people would imply or flatly state that adopted siblings aren't "real" siblings?
I'm not really sure, to be honest.
I've been trying to figure it out. I guess you could try to imagine what it would be like if someone said that you weren't really married. Or why most people go through the ceremony and paperwork involved in becoming married. I mean, why do gay people want the right to be married? Because that title makes you family and being family is important. Having someone threaten that relationship or the legitimacy of that relationship is hurtful.
The simple statement is an attack, really. It's attacking your relationship or the legitimacy of the relationship. It's attacking the love you have for each other.
It might have something to do with the nature of foster care and adoption. When we were in the process of adopting we attended functions and met kids. I remember at one summer picnic I met a "potential".
Parents don't go to an orphanage or group home and pick out a kid to take home. The state somehow decides what kids might be appropriate for potential parents. Then they arrange for those parents to spend time with those kids at events. I'd heard that Wanda was a potential and she had somehow heard that we were a potential family for her as well.
We met each other, as I said, at the summer picnic. I think we were six at the time. It was odd. I mean, we were almost literally circling each other, sizing each other up and asking questions. Then, click! We decided we liked each other and spent every second of the rest of the picnic together. We made plans that remind me of the parent trap on how we were going to make sure that Wanda would be my new sister.
It didn't happen. Wanda and her brother were adopted by another couple before my family made our first adoption. I cried into my pillow for days after I found out. I doubt Wanda suffered the same dejection because, of course, she had a new family to think about. Her family and mine ran in the same 'adopt older kids' (A-OK) circles, so we remained friends for a few years until we got older and developed very different interests.
On the other side of it my siblings, of course, had been placed in many foster homes before being placed with us. They had developed attachments and had them severed by the system. It was a painful thing and, even though you know the adoption is final and no one is coming to take them away, it's scary. Somewhere in the dark recesses of your brain is the idea that at one time this person you love wasn't here and maybe at one time they won't be here again.
So, when some mindless adult asks a tactless question, that little fear sends a little jolt through your system, usually resulting in a bit of a stomach ache and some compensatory brash behavior: Laughing a little too loud at something that honestly wasn't that funny, that kind of thing.
It's scary to be a kid and love someone so absolutely but at the same time have this lingering fear, no matter how tiny, that you'll lose that person. Kids shouldn't have to deal with that kind of apprehension and fear. They shouldn't go to bed at night and feel the need to ask their new Mommy, "Will you and Daddy be here when I wake up?" It breaks my heart that Emmy feels the need to ask that.
It breaks my heart that still, the first thing out of Jonathan's mouth in the morning is, "Where's Emmy?" or "Emmy's in her room?"
They love each other so much. They love being brother and sister.
So, I guess that's why someone telling them they're not "real" siblings had such an affect on them....and on me.
I was a bit concerned and nervous that she might be scared or upset, though I tried not to show it.
I tried to be very animated and excited. I made my eyes get big as I talked about the playground equipment and all the cool kids she was going to meet. I even tried to make nap time sound exciting. Epic fail, by the way.
Emmy seemed a little apprehensive as we dropped her off but Jonathan grabbed her hand and immediately began running through the building with her securely in tow yelling about this, that and the other Emmy needed to go see.
Emmy actually turned her head to me and shook her head at me as if to say, "Kids." or "Can you believe this?"
I left feeling pretty confident that things would go well. After all, Emmy had her brother with her.
When we got the kids home, they were running around talking a mile a minute about this, that and the other and I was so relieved that things seemed to have gone well.
As I was cooking dinner however, I noticed both the kids standing near the short stairs leading into the kitchen. They were whispering and eyeing me in what I'm sure they thought was a surreptitious manner.
I finally turned around and asked them what was up.
Jonathan nudged Emmy forward and she began speaking though she was looking at just about anything in the kitchen but my face.
"Mommy. Um. This boy, um, there was this boy at school and he, um, he told me, he said that, um...he said that Jonathan wasn't my brother."
Now the Monkey chimed in:
"Yeah, Mommy. He said Emmy's not my sister."
And both sets of big eyes, one a deep creamy brown and one a crackling blue are staring intently at me.
It was time to put down the spoon and just pray the food survived a few minutes pause.
I sat down on the stairs for easy eye contact and explained.
"Well, that boy was wrong. You know how sometimes you really think something? Like you see a toy and you think it's going to be really fun but it turns out it isn't? Or you see a food and you think it's going to be sweet and yummy and it isn't?"
Sage nods in reply.
"Well, I'm sure that boy might think Jonathan's not your brother and Emmy's not your sister, but he's wrong. I don't think you should fight with him about it though. One day, he might get the chance to understand that he's wrong but that doesn't matter, does it? You know that Jonathan's your brother, Emmy. Jonathan, you know that Emmy's your sister. That's all that matters, right?"
Two little faces filled with relieved smiles and Emmy immediately turned with the typical elder sibling reaction:
Emmy: See, I TOLD you.
Jonathan: Nu, uh! I told YOU.
I gave them hugs. They ran to the living room to play and dinner miraculously survived its temporary abandonment.
I haven't been able to shake a tugging brought on by the situation and the obviously deep reaction it evoked in the kids. They asked their Daddy about it at dinner, seemingly looking for more reassurance.
My hubby was surprised by how deeply the accusation seemed to have affected them. We talked about it after the munchkins were abed.
Hubby: Why does it matter what one kid thinks? Why does that little thing make them doubt they're brother and sister?
I could feel the answer but had trouble expressing it. I'm still not sure what I said made sense.
See, I've been there. I've been hanging out with my sisters and had some kid or group of kids state with utter conviction that we weren't sisters, at least, not REAL sisters.
That word real always made me so mad. Kids weren't the only ones to use it either.
Adults would often ask the hated question:
"Which are your real kids?"
Okay, ow. Sorry, sibs, you're not real.
My Dad always made a joke out of it. He'd say something like, "Well, they're all real. None of them are plastic."
Mom would just quietly fume, which is her being on her best behavior. I can still see Mom's special smile. It was more like a closed lip grimace and it's the expression she always had when someone asked that question.
Sometimes, Dad's gentle attempt to point out the hurtful nature of the inquiry would fall on deaf ears.
"No, I mean, which ones are really yours and which ones did you adopt?"
Um, Mr. Sensitivity, we're all 'really' theirs. Eventually, Dad adopted the policy of answering the question after tactfully pointing out that we were all real.
Something like this: "They're all real. None of them are plastic but (pointing) that one and that one are our only biological children."
Dad told us he was going to start saying this because he was afraid that Mom might hit someone if they kept asking the even less tactful and more hurtful follow up questions.
We had all sort of learned to smile and nod at the seemingly inevitable question but it never really lost its sting.
So, why does it bother my kids and why did it bother me and my sibs when people would imply or flatly state that adopted siblings aren't "real" siblings?
I'm not really sure, to be honest.
I've been trying to figure it out. I guess you could try to imagine what it would be like if someone said that you weren't really married. Or why most people go through the ceremony and paperwork involved in becoming married. I mean, why do gay people want the right to be married? Because that title makes you family and being family is important. Having someone threaten that relationship or the legitimacy of that relationship is hurtful.
The simple statement is an attack, really. It's attacking your relationship or the legitimacy of the relationship. It's attacking the love you have for each other.
It might have something to do with the nature of foster care and adoption. When we were in the process of adopting we attended functions and met kids. I remember at one summer picnic I met a "potential".
Parents don't go to an orphanage or group home and pick out a kid to take home. The state somehow decides what kids might be appropriate for potential parents. Then they arrange for those parents to spend time with those kids at events. I'd heard that Wanda was a potential and she had somehow heard that we were a potential family for her as well.
We met each other, as I said, at the summer picnic. I think we were six at the time. It was odd. I mean, we were almost literally circling each other, sizing each other up and asking questions. Then, click! We decided we liked each other and spent every second of the rest of the picnic together. We made plans that remind me of the parent trap on how we were going to make sure that Wanda would be my new sister.
It didn't happen. Wanda and her brother were adopted by another couple before my family made our first adoption. I cried into my pillow for days after I found out. I doubt Wanda suffered the same dejection because, of course, she had a new family to think about. Her family and mine ran in the same 'adopt older kids' (A-OK) circles, so we remained friends for a few years until we got older and developed very different interests.
On the other side of it my siblings, of course, had been placed in many foster homes before being placed with us. They had developed attachments and had them severed by the system. It was a painful thing and, even though you know the adoption is final and no one is coming to take them away, it's scary. Somewhere in the dark recesses of your brain is the idea that at one time this person you love wasn't here and maybe at one time they won't be here again.
So, when some mindless adult asks a tactless question, that little fear sends a little jolt through your system, usually resulting in a bit of a stomach ache and some compensatory brash behavior: Laughing a little too loud at something that honestly wasn't that funny, that kind of thing.
It's scary to be a kid and love someone so absolutely but at the same time have this lingering fear, no matter how tiny, that you'll lose that person. Kids shouldn't have to deal with that kind of apprehension and fear. They shouldn't go to bed at night and feel the need to ask their new Mommy, "Will you and Daddy be here when I wake up?" It breaks my heart that Emmy feels the need to ask that.
It breaks my heart that still, the first thing out of Jonathan's mouth in the morning is, "Where's Emmy?" or "Emmy's in her room?"
They love each other so much. They love being brother and sister.
So, I guess that's why someone telling them they're not "real" siblings had such an affect on them....and on me.
Thursday, July 16, 2009
Culture Shock, Journal Letters & SPAM
Journal Letters
Some people who read this know I have lived many places. I seem to have finally landed in Arkansas. I've lived here seven years, a record bested only by my childhood stay in South Louisiana (14 years).
There are definite perks to being a bouncy ball type person. For one, more often than not, you're flying! You also get to meet new and interesting people and get to know new and interesting things about new and interesting places.
There are down sides to the bouncing bit and that's the rebound. Culture shock sucks. Counter culture shock sucks even more because you don't allow yourself any rope.
When I first got back from Europe I had loads of counter culture shock.
For example, I'm riding in a car with some friends down a street in Lubbock, Texas. I see a street sign that says Utica St. and I start laughing and saying, "Utica Ulica!" I think it hilarious. No one else is laughing. So, I start trying to explain why it's funny.
Never a good sign.
See, I was pronouncing the name Utica in Slovak like this, "Ooo-tea-tsuh". Utica pronounced like that sounds very, very similar to the Slovak word for street, "Ooo-lee-tsuh", which is funny, or was to me anyway.
My friends blinked in that "you're not funny" way and one of them said, "It's pronounced 'You-ti-kuh".
Oh.
So, not that funny after all.
Then we're still driving and the Backstreet Boys song "Quit Playing Games With My Heart" comes on. I groan and say something along the lines of why are they playing that old song? It's been played to death.
Again with the blinking.
Friend: "What are you talking about? This song is brand new."
That's right folks. I changed continents with the just the right timing to get a double dose of backstreet boys. It's not that they're bad. They can sing and they're music really isn't awful but both in Europe and in the States they were played to death and I got a double dose of overexposure. What is that? Double over exposure or is it over over exposure?
Over exposure. Northern exposure. Who cares? Blah! The point is, it was just too much Backstreet Boys.
Then there were the doors.
No, not The Doors (how old do you think I am?).
I guess I should say, door handles.
In Europe there are a lot of lever like door handles. In fact, where I lived in Kosice, Slovakia that was pretty much all they had.
I developed this habit of slapping the handle down and then pushing the door open with my shoulder.
Slap. Slam.
It worked quite well.
Now imagine me returning to the United States, or as I like to call it, The Land of Doorknobs.
When you slap a doorknob, nothing happens. It does not magically retract the spring-loaded latch. It just gets slapped.
So, when you slam your shoulder into the door the only thing that happens is you bruise your shoulder...again...and again...and again.
It took me f-o-r-e-v-e-r to break that habit despite the painful incentive to cut it out. It had somehow been burned into my brain.
Slap. Slam. Slap. Slam
So, yeah. Culture shock is a definite downside and it's not limited to different countries either.
Moving from South Louisiana to West Texas is a pretty huge adjustment as well.
Cajuns are very friendly, touchy feely, huggy people. We went for a visit recently and, I'm not kidding, our waitress gave me a hug at the end of our meal. My hubby was confused.
Hubby: Do you know her?
Me: Well, sort of. She's Jessie, our waitress.
Hubby: But you don't know her from somewhere else?
Me: No, why?
Hubby: She hugged you.
Me: So?
Hubby: (rolling eyes) Cajuns.
Texans aren't huggy people. I guess with all those wide open spaces, they adopted very wide open personal spaces as well. You hug them and they get all stiff. It was a HUGE adjustment for me. Then there was the water.
If you poured water from the tap the first thing it did was get all cloudy and fizzy. I'm serious. There was some distinct fizzing going on. Then, once everything settled down, this filmy stuff formed on the top not unlike the stuff that forms on the top of warm milk when it's been left out to cool.
Ew.
You did not drink from the tap. Everyone kept these huge five gallon bottles of water in their houses or those water coolers you usually only see in offices. There were little kiosks everywhere that sold water. You'd put in your money, pick the number of gallons and then hold your bottles underneath while it spewed drinking water.
For someone raised in a place where you could practically drink the air, moving to a desert involved serious adjustments. Dust storms. Ugh. Don't get me started on dust storms. I'd come home, open the door to my apartment and there would be a line of dusty dirt that the wind had managed to blow through even the miniscule spaces left by the weather proofing.
The horizon was also just way too big. I was used to the sky being hugged by giant trees strung with Spanish moss like freaking Christmas tensile and I got huge, gigantic, down-right intimidating horizons and these poor tiny wind stunted trees that look like overgrown bushes.
Everything hugs you in SoLa (South Louisiana). The air is heavy with humidity that seems to hold you there in an ever-present hug, for crying out loud.
Texas was space, space and more space. You know why the cowboy is always riding toward the sunset in Westerns? Because it's the only freaking thing there he CAN ride toward! There is nothing else!
Like Red Skelton said. "In Texas they got miles and miles of nothing but miles and miles."
Now, don't get me wrong, once I got used to Texas I loved it. The prairie dogs were cute. The stars, oh my freaking goodness me, the STARS! You've never seen stars until you've seen them from the middle of a West Texas field.
Okay, rattlesnakes? You can keep 'em. Not a fan.
And Texans are friendly in their own special way. The friendliness is different and harder to understand when you're an outsider but it's there.
Cajuns are a touchy friendly. Texans are a wordy friendly.
The affection and friendliness is there in the y'alls and yes'ems. These almost coded messages of not just love but respect for each other. The gesture of the tipped hat (even when they're not actually wearing a hat) and "Y'all come back now, y'hear?" is the Texas version of a hug. Once you figure it out, it's just amazing.
Why am I writing about this? Because I was thinking about it. I was writing in my journal letter to a friend from Slovakia and thinking about friendships and the past and culture shock.
BTW, a journal letter is when you take a small notebook or journal and write a little bit in it everyday. You send one of these little journals once a month to a friend who is very far away and for whom mailing a daily letter or even weekly letter is cumbersome.
This is something I came up with back in the days when email wasn't quite as commonplace as it is nowadays. I, actually, only exchange journal letters with one person at this point. It can't be beat for long distance relationships and, if you have a long distance friend, I highly recommend journal letters. They take a certain amount of discipline but are totally worth it, in my humble opinion.
There is no real conclusion to this blog. Its just a blog of random reminiscing and so I will end it with random trivia.
Spam was invented by Hormel because he was tired of throwing shoulder pork away after packaging his hams. Because it had to be pulled in small pieces from the bone, no one wanted to buy it and he just thought it was wasteful.
So, he had the meat cooked pulled, ground like beef and then canned.
When it came to naming this new product though, Hormel was stumped. So, he didn't name it.
It was actually named by a friend at a party he threw to introduce it. He had a chef prepare several dishes from the ground shoulder pork product and asked his friends to come over, sample it and help him name it.
One of his friends finally said, "It's a shoulder pork ham, right? What about SPAM?"
And that is how SPAM got it's name.
Hey, I said it was random trivia.
Wednesday, July 15, 2009
Eat THIS, Morgan Spurlock!!!
Eating Good at the Drive Thru.
What? Good fast food? Isn’t that an oxymoron? I mean, we all know that fast food can taste good, but can it actually be good for you?
Um, in a word, yes.
Here are four different fast food restaurants other than Subway (because, let's face it, you don't need help eating healthy there) and at least one complete, yummy, but balanced meal from each.
So, the next time you’re running late, or maybe just feel tired and don’t want to cook. Pick up one of these diet friendly and nutritious (yes, I said nutritious) meals at the drive thru.
1. Burger King
Burger King has some real gut busters on their menu. I mean, those stackers will sure stack on the pounds, but our favorite monarch still has a nice gut friendly meal to offer.
1 Whopper Jr. (hold the mayo)
1 Side Salad w/light Italian dressing
Water to drink
7 Weight Watcher points. (305 Calories, 12g Fat, 3g Dietary Fiber)
This meal is not only low in calories and fat but provides 16g of protein, 29% DV of Vitamin A, 16% Vitamin C, 10% Calcium and 20% Iron.
It’s a good idea to specifically ask for ketchup and mustard when you have them hold the mayo. Otherwise you can end up with a completely dry burger.
Maybe the best thing about this meal is that if you get the water from a fountain or faucet the entire meal will only cost you $2 plus tax!
2. McDonald’s
I know what you’re thinking, “Didn’t they make an entire documentary about how eating at Mickey D’s could kill you?” Yeah, but Mr. Spurlock was intentionally eating only the mainstream meals. If you eat pretty much any meal with a number assigned to it, you’re not doing yourself any favors; even most of their signature salads are loaded with fat and calories. However, a regular hamburger and a side salad with one of the many low fat Newman’s Own dressings can be surprisingly good for you.
1 Hamburger
1 Side Salad w/light Italian dressing
Water to drink
7 Weight Watcher points. (330 Calories, 11.5g Fat, 3g Dietary Fiber)
This meal is low in calories and fat like the BK version. While it offers a bit less protein (only 14 grams as apposed to 16) it provides more in the way of vitamins:
Vitamin A 45% (!), Vitamin C 27%, Calcium 12%, Iron 19%.
The difference in vitamin value is most likely because the Burger King salad is almost entirely ice berg lettuce with only a skimpy two baby carrots and usually a single halved tomato slice. The McDonald’s version actually resembles something that might be related to a true salad.
3. Wendy’s
Wendy’s actually offers several different mix and match options that can result in a well balanced meal. So, I’m going to list four meals for them.
First is the Chicken Caesar meal. You are generally given two packets of dressing and croutons but we are going to only use one dressing packet and skip the croutons.
First Meal:
1 Grilled Chicken Caesar Salad
1 package of dressing
Water to drink
7 Weight Watcher’s Points. (300 Calories, 17g Fat, 3g of Dietary Fiber)
Get this, the above meal gives you 29 grams of protein (!) and the vitamin breakdown is incredible:
190% Vitamin A, 90% Vitamin C, 20% Calcium and 10% Iron.
Second Meal:
1 Small Chili
1 Side Salad with ½ a package of Italian dressing
Water to drink
5 Weight Watcher’s Points! (225 Calories, 11.5g Fat, 7g Dietary Fiber)
This meal also provides a generous portion of protein (15g) as well as an impressive amount of vitamins.
94% Vitamin A, 31% Vitamin C, 12% Calcium, 21% Iron.
Third Meal:
1 Small Chili
1 Side Caesar Salad with ½ a package of Caesar dressing
Water to drink
7 Weight Watcher’s Point. (320 Calories, 16.5g Fat, 7g Dietary Fiber)
The creamy Caesar dressing adds 2 points to the total value but adds 6g of protein and raises the vitamin values as well.
104% Vitamin A (up 10%), 41% Vitamin C (up 10%), 20% Calcium (up 8%)
21% Iron (no change).
The Fourth and final meal will be a burger, because most of the time when you’re wanting fast food what you’re really wanting is a burger.
1 Jr. Hamburger
1 Side Salad with ½ a package of Italian dressing
Water to drink
8 Weight Watcher’s Points (385 Calories, 15g Fat, 3g Dietary Fiber)
Wendy’s appears to be the worst place to get a hamburger. However, though Wendy’s (like Burger King) serves it’s hamburgers with mayo, they don’t offer nutritional information for the burger without mayo. If you take the basic nutritional info that a serving size of mayo is 1 tbsp and that tbsp contains 110 calories and 12 grams of fat (yeah, that is how much a tbsp of mayo will cost you) and then you suppose that Wendy’s puts about half a tbsp on a burger (being conservative here). Then ordering the burger without mayo would reduce the total calories by 55 and the total fat by 6 grams. (330 Calories, 9g Fat, 3g Dietary Fiber) =7 WW Pts.
I am inclined to accept this estimation as it matches up to the nutritional value of other fast food burgers that do not have mayo on them.
Vitamin Time!
Protein 16g, 90% Vitamin A, 25% Vitamin C, 8% Calcium, 26% Iron.
4. Taco Bell
Taco Bell isn’t doing us any favors by encouraging late night feasting with their fourth meal campaign but they are doing us the favor of offering the fresco menu. Now, you can get a slimmer version of old favorites without having to give them a customized do’s and don’t’s list. Because of this, and their extremely varied menu, I’m presenting four different Taco Bell meals ranging from 5 to 8 weight watcher’s points.
Remember all of these meals are the fresco versions!
First Meal:
1 7 Layer Burrito
Water to drink
5 Weight Watchers points! (248 Calories, 8g Fat, 9g Dietary Fiber)
Compared to some of the other meals mentioned the protein and vitamins offered seem a bit skimpy but it has the second highest Iron value thus far. This is also the only vegetarian fast food meal that doesn't require me to eat several side salads. So, you can guess where I go for fast food, =).
13g Protein, 6% Vitamin A, 10% Vitamin C, 15% Calcium, 25% Iron.
A single 7 layer burrito is plenty for me but I know that some others want a bit more. And by more, I mean meat. =)
Second Meal:
1 7 Layer Burrito
1 Spicy Chicken Soft Taco
Water to drink
8 Weight Watcher points. (383 Calories, 14g Fat, 11g Dietary Fiber)
Ouch! An extra 3 points for a chicken taco? However, did you see that dietary fiber go off the charts! Unfortunately, the burrito maxes out the dietary fiber values and it doesn’t do much good in the points arena, but Taco Bell looks like a good place to be a regular.
Vitamins and protein go up!
Protein 23g (!), Vitamin A 15%, Vitamin C 20%, Calcium 25%, Iron 35% (!).
Third Meal:
1 Grilled Stuffed Burrito (Chicken)
Water to drink
7 Weight Watchers Points. (318 Calories, 13g Fat, 8g Dietary Fiber)
I know that there are some carnivores out there scoffing at the vegetarian 7 layer burrito. Well, this one’s for you! The fresco version of this very large burrito is filling and fit.
Vitamins!
Protein 30g (!), Vitamin A 10%, Vitamin C 10%, Calcium 20%, Iron 35% (!)
Fourth Meal:
2 Spicy Chicken Soft Tacos
Water to drink
7 Weight Watchers points. (360 Calories, 12g Fat, 8g Dietary Fiber)
The highest Iron value we’d seen prior to visiting the Bell was 21% and this fourth and final meal is the only one to not exceed that benchmark. Taco Bell definitely seems to be one of the best drive thrus for Iron and Protein.
This meal has 20% Iron, 20% Calcium, 15% Vitamin C, 20% Vitamin A and 21g of Protein.
Conclusion:
It looks like if you’re feeling a bit scurvy-ish (I know that’s not a word) then you’re better off getting a salad at one of the burger joints. But if you’re low on fiber, iron or protein and need to pick up some fast food, Taco Bell is your one stop shopping super center.
So, you see? You can grab some fast food on the way home without going off your diet or breaking the calorie piggy bank! More importantly, you can go to a fast food restaurant and get a well balanced and nutritious meal for yourself just by making a few informed choices.
Take that, Morgan Spurlock!
What? Good fast food? Isn’t that an oxymoron? I mean, we all know that fast food can taste good, but can it actually be good for you?
Um, in a word, yes.
Here are four different fast food restaurants other than Subway (because, let's face it, you don't need help eating healthy there) and at least one complete, yummy, but balanced meal from each.
So, the next time you’re running late, or maybe just feel tired and don’t want to cook. Pick up one of these diet friendly and nutritious (yes, I said nutritious) meals at the drive thru.
1. Burger King
Burger King has some real gut busters on their menu. I mean, those stackers will sure stack on the pounds, but our favorite monarch still has a nice gut friendly meal to offer.
1 Whopper Jr. (hold the mayo)
1 Side Salad w/light Italian dressing
Water to drink
7 Weight Watcher points. (305 Calories, 12g Fat, 3g Dietary Fiber)
This meal is not only low in calories and fat but provides 16g of protein, 29% DV of Vitamin A, 16% Vitamin C, 10% Calcium and 20% Iron.
It’s a good idea to specifically ask for ketchup and mustard when you have them hold the mayo. Otherwise you can end up with a completely dry burger.
Maybe the best thing about this meal is that if you get the water from a fountain or faucet the entire meal will only cost you $2 plus tax!
2. McDonald’s
I know what you’re thinking, “Didn’t they make an entire documentary about how eating at Mickey D’s could kill you?” Yeah, but Mr. Spurlock was intentionally eating only the mainstream meals. If you eat pretty much any meal with a number assigned to it, you’re not doing yourself any favors; even most of their signature salads are loaded with fat and calories. However, a regular hamburger and a side salad with one of the many low fat Newman’s Own dressings can be surprisingly good for you.
1 Hamburger
1 Side Salad w/light Italian dressing
Water to drink
7 Weight Watcher points. (330 Calories, 11.5g Fat, 3g Dietary Fiber)
This meal is low in calories and fat like the BK version. While it offers a bit less protein (only 14 grams as apposed to 16) it provides more in the way of vitamins:
Vitamin A 45% (!), Vitamin C 27%, Calcium 12%, Iron 19%.
The difference in vitamin value is most likely because the Burger King salad is almost entirely ice berg lettuce with only a skimpy two baby carrots and usually a single halved tomato slice. The McDonald’s version actually resembles something that might be related to a true salad.
3. Wendy’s
Wendy’s actually offers several different mix and match options that can result in a well balanced meal. So, I’m going to list four meals for them.
First is the Chicken Caesar meal. You are generally given two packets of dressing and croutons but we are going to only use one dressing packet and skip the croutons.
First Meal:
1 Grilled Chicken Caesar Salad
1 package of dressing
Water to drink
7 Weight Watcher’s Points. (300 Calories, 17g Fat, 3g of Dietary Fiber)
Get this, the above meal gives you 29 grams of protein (!) and the vitamin breakdown is incredible:
190% Vitamin A, 90% Vitamin C, 20% Calcium and 10% Iron.
Second Meal:
1 Small Chili
1 Side Salad with ½ a package of Italian dressing
Water to drink
5 Weight Watcher’s Points! (225 Calories, 11.5g Fat, 7g Dietary Fiber)
This meal also provides a generous portion of protein (15g) as well as an impressive amount of vitamins.
94% Vitamin A, 31% Vitamin C, 12% Calcium, 21% Iron.
Third Meal:
1 Small Chili
1 Side Caesar Salad with ½ a package of Caesar dressing
Water to drink
7 Weight Watcher’s Point. (320 Calories, 16.5g Fat, 7g Dietary Fiber)
The creamy Caesar dressing adds 2 points to the total value but adds 6g of protein and raises the vitamin values as well.
104% Vitamin A (up 10%), 41% Vitamin C (up 10%), 20% Calcium (up 8%)
21% Iron (no change).
The Fourth and final meal will be a burger, because most of the time when you’re wanting fast food what you’re really wanting is a burger.
1 Jr. Hamburger
1 Side Salad with ½ a package of Italian dressing
Water to drink
8 Weight Watcher’s Points (385 Calories, 15g Fat, 3g Dietary Fiber)
Wendy’s appears to be the worst place to get a hamburger. However, though Wendy’s (like Burger King) serves it’s hamburgers with mayo, they don’t offer nutritional information for the burger without mayo. If you take the basic nutritional info that a serving size of mayo is 1 tbsp and that tbsp contains 110 calories and 12 grams of fat (yeah, that is how much a tbsp of mayo will cost you) and then you suppose that Wendy’s puts about half a tbsp on a burger (being conservative here). Then ordering the burger without mayo would reduce the total calories by 55 and the total fat by 6 grams. (330 Calories, 9g Fat, 3g Dietary Fiber) =7 WW Pts.
I am inclined to accept this estimation as it matches up to the nutritional value of other fast food burgers that do not have mayo on them.
Vitamin Time!
Protein 16g, 90% Vitamin A, 25% Vitamin C, 8% Calcium, 26% Iron.
4. Taco Bell
Taco Bell isn’t doing us any favors by encouraging late night feasting with their fourth meal campaign but they are doing us the favor of offering the fresco menu. Now, you can get a slimmer version of old favorites without having to give them a customized do’s and don’t’s list. Because of this, and their extremely varied menu, I’m presenting four different Taco Bell meals ranging from 5 to 8 weight watcher’s points.
Remember all of these meals are the fresco versions!
First Meal:
1 7 Layer Burrito
Water to drink
5 Weight Watchers points! (248 Calories, 8g Fat, 9g Dietary Fiber)
Compared to some of the other meals mentioned the protein and vitamins offered seem a bit skimpy but it has the second highest Iron value thus far. This is also the only vegetarian fast food meal that doesn't require me to eat several side salads. So, you can guess where I go for fast food, =).
13g Protein, 6% Vitamin A, 10% Vitamin C, 15% Calcium, 25% Iron.
A single 7 layer burrito is plenty for me but I know that some others want a bit more. And by more, I mean meat. =)
Second Meal:
1 7 Layer Burrito
1 Spicy Chicken Soft Taco
Water to drink
8 Weight Watcher points. (383 Calories, 14g Fat, 11g Dietary Fiber)
Ouch! An extra 3 points for a chicken taco? However, did you see that dietary fiber go off the charts! Unfortunately, the burrito maxes out the dietary fiber values and it doesn’t do much good in the points arena, but Taco Bell looks like a good place to be a regular.
Vitamins and protein go up!
Protein 23g (!), Vitamin A 15%, Vitamin C 20%, Calcium 25%, Iron 35% (!).
Third Meal:
1 Grilled Stuffed Burrito (Chicken)
Water to drink
7 Weight Watchers Points. (318 Calories, 13g Fat, 8g Dietary Fiber)
I know that there are some carnivores out there scoffing at the vegetarian 7 layer burrito. Well, this one’s for you! The fresco version of this very large burrito is filling and fit.
Vitamins!
Protein 30g (!), Vitamin A 10%, Vitamin C 10%, Calcium 20%, Iron 35% (!)
Fourth Meal:
2 Spicy Chicken Soft Tacos
Water to drink
7 Weight Watchers points. (360 Calories, 12g Fat, 8g Dietary Fiber)
The highest Iron value we’d seen prior to visiting the Bell was 21% and this fourth and final meal is the only one to not exceed that benchmark. Taco Bell definitely seems to be one of the best drive thrus for Iron and Protein.
This meal has 20% Iron, 20% Calcium, 15% Vitamin C, 20% Vitamin A and 21g of Protein.
Conclusion:
It looks like if you’re feeling a bit scurvy-ish (I know that’s not a word) then you’re better off getting a salad at one of the burger joints. But if you’re low on fiber, iron or protein and need to pick up some fast food, Taco Bell is your one stop shopping super center.
So, you see? You can grab some fast food on the way home without going off your diet or breaking the calorie piggy bank! More importantly, you can go to a fast food restaurant and get a well balanced and nutritious meal for yourself just by making a few informed choices.
Take that, Morgan Spurlock!
Sunday, July 12, 2009
Silly Cat Song...I mean Kitten
Sung to the tune of Bingo...though I originally posted it as sung to the tune of Old MacDonald.
[headdesk]
There was a kitten who hated mittens
Cuz she liked to scratch the sofa.
She was very cross.
I was at a loss.
So I up and tossed
The kitten out the winda.
She landed sweet on her four feet
But still she wore the mittens.
She tried to roar at me.
I said she looked silly.
Then she leaped with glee
Right back thru the winda.
She tried to scratch my eyeballs out
But still she wore the mittens.
Her paws went pat pat pat.
I said, "Silly Cat."
She took offense at that.
She sniffed, "I am a Kitten!"
Why? Why would I write such an insane song?
I wish I had an answer to that question.
I really do.
[headdesk]
There was a kitten who hated mittens
Cuz she liked to scratch the sofa.
She was very cross.
I was at a loss.
So I up and tossed
The kitten out the winda.
She landed sweet on her four feet
But still she wore the mittens.
She tried to roar at me.
I said she looked silly.
Then she leaped with glee
Right back thru the winda.
She tried to scratch my eyeballs out
But still she wore the mittens.
Her paws went pat pat pat.
I said, "Silly Cat."
She took offense at that.
She sniffed, "I am a Kitten!"
Why? Why would I write such an insane song?
I wish I had an answer to that question.
I really do.
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