Snails are not my favorite animal in the world. I wouldn't even say they make my top five. I do feel sorry for them, though, because they aren't cute, or fuzzy, or anything that would make anyone like them much. Even bugs can get some people interested in them, such as etymologists, but I have no idea what they call people who are interested in snails, because I've never heard that anyone really is.
The other day I rescued a snail that was laboring across a grocery store parking lot. He'd have gotten stepped on or rolled over for sure, so I picked him up and moved him to a little grassy plot of ground, hopefully out of harm's way. I felt good about saving a life.
A couple days after that, I personally stepped on a snail by accident, squooshing it to oblivion as I was about to get into my car and head off to work. I heard the crunch under my foot before I ever even saw the poor pathetic little thing.
The irony, far from escaping me, made me feel depressed.
Today is gray and sulky, looking like it wants to rain but won't because that's exactly what people are expecting and why should it do what everyone expects it to do? It's unseasonably cold for May in Los Angeles, my fingers are icy as I type this, and I really hope I never step on a snail ever again.
Monday, May 09, 2005
Sunday, May 08, 2005
What Can I Say?
Sometimes I have a really hard time writing this blog.
It's not the writing itself that's difficult, usually...more the issue of what to write about. I'd really like to write about serious subjects, but as I start to write, I will suddenly remember the story about, for example, the time that I threw up in front of a bullying older girl when I was in first grade, and I was kind of glad that I did, since she was acting all snotty because I'd put my school bag in the wrong place on the playground when I arrived for morning daycare, but the thing was, I was feeling really sick and didn't care, so when I ended up puking on the ground right in front of her and she ran off screaming, I didn't feel sorry at all. I was more concerned about possibly getting throw-up on my new shoes, if you want to know the truth.
Now, you'd never guess from reading the above paragraph that what I had originally intended to write was a thought-provoking piece on the Arab-Israeli conflict based on my experiences during a trip I took to the Middle East last September, would you?
And that's my trouble. This is why I will always struggle to be a great writer. When important things need to be written, I cave and fall back on the trivialities of life.
Is it fear? Writer's block? Laziness? Perhaps a combination of all three? Something else entirely?
It's hard to say.
It's not the writing itself that's difficult, usually...more the issue of what to write about. I'd really like to write about serious subjects, but as I start to write, I will suddenly remember the story about, for example, the time that I threw up in front of a bullying older girl when I was in first grade, and I was kind of glad that I did, since she was acting all snotty because I'd put my school bag in the wrong place on the playground when I arrived for morning daycare, but the thing was, I was feeling really sick and didn't care, so when I ended up puking on the ground right in front of her and she ran off screaming, I didn't feel sorry at all. I was more concerned about possibly getting throw-up on my new shoes, if you want to know the truth.
Now, you'd never guess from reading the above paragraph that what I had originally intended to write was a thought-provoking piece on the Arab-Israeli conflict based on my experiences during a trip I took to the Middle East last September, would you?
And that's my trouble. This is why I will always struggle to be a great writer. When important things need to be written, I cave and fall back on the trivialities of life.
Is it fear? Writer's block? Laziness? Perhaps a combination of all three? Something else entirely?
It's hard to say.
Thursday, May 05, 2005
My Favorite Posts...of Mine, I Mean
Well, it is nearly Friday on the west coast, and I probably won't post anything tomorrow, as I work early. Of course, I also get off early, but I think I'm going to give the frogg files a break for the day.
And, since I am feeling so lazy, I am just going to direct you to some of my favorite posts from the past however-many months. I don't know how other people felt about these, but I happen to like them. Some are funny, some are serious, and they are in no particular order. Anyway, enjoy, if you haven't already. And if you have, enjoy them again. It's all you're going to get today!
Have a great weekend.
The Single Girl
The Game, Part I
Buggin'
Getting Things Into Perspective
A Parking Misadventure
Keeping it Real
You Googling At Me?
Bear With Me
And The Winner in the You've-Got-to-be-Kidding-Me Category...
Sticking With It
Prelude to Mt Sinai
And, since I am feeling so lazy, I am just going to direct you to some of my favorite posts from the past however-many months. I don't know how other people felt about these, but I happen to like them. Some are funny, some are serious, and they are in no particular order. Anyway, enjoy, if you haven't already. And if you have, enjoy them again. It's all you're going to get today!
Have a great weekend.
The Single Girl
The Game, Part I
Buggin'
Getting Things Into Perspective
A Parking Misadventure
Keeping it Real
You Googling At Me?
Bear With Me
And The Winner in the You've-Got-to-be-Kidding-Me Category...
Sticking With It
Prelude to Mt Sinai
Wednesday, May 04, 2005
Thailand
Sometimes when I go for a walk near my house, I will catch a scent on the air that reminds me of a street in Bangkok, where I lived for three weeks in October 2002. Specifically, it reminds me of the four-block walk down to the laundromat we hauled our clothes to when we just couldn't deal with handwashing anymore. I couldn't possibly tell you why I should be reminded so strongly of that place, but some things can't be explained. That is the case more often than not.
A Thai man once said to me, "There are three seasons in Thailand: hot, very hot, and very very hot." We were there when it was hot. It was the rainy season, so it was almost unbearably humid as well. Every day felt like we were walking in a giant, inescapable sauna, yet somehow some of us would get up the energy to go jogging around the nearby university in the evenings, before teaching our English classes. Lots of people would be out at that time, jogging, doing aerobics, or playing a game that was kind of like hackey-sack, only instead of a hackey-sack, they used a hollow plastic woven ball. I played a couple times; it was fun.
Often we heard rumblings of thunder in the air during the day, though the rain didn't always come. When it did, it was tragic. One day it rained so hard, it flooded the church where we were staying, and we spent the day sloshing around in water well past our ankles, and trying to unclog one of the drains. It was a mess.
The people in Thailand smile all the time; in fact, the country is known as the land of smiles. This has a downside: you never know if a Thai person is upset with you, because they won't show it. It would be impolite, and at all costs they will be polite to you.
I liked Thailand. My favorite aspect of the country was the people, but a strong runner-up was the food. I remember one time I found a giant ant in my pad see yu (which I'm sure I've spelled frightfully wrong)--but it was still really good. I also think the Thai omelette is quite excellent. I do admit that I never sampled anything truly exotic, such as the crunchy fried grasshoppers that street vendors would often have available, and which I would see children actually clamoring for, just like kids here might jump up and down and beg mom and dad for candy.
We would eat lunch at Ramkhamhaeng University, at the canteen. We got a lot of attention, being farang (foreigners). Students liked to sit with us and practice their English. They were very friendly.
A meal in the canteen would cost about 15 baht, which was roughly equivalent to about 50 cents. The exchange rate was shocking. When we went to the markets, I didn't really have the heart to bargain, because, even though vendors were certainly ramping up their prices, it was still so very cheap. A skirt for 250 baht was something like $5.00. Was I really going to try and quibble it down a few more? Would Jesus do that? Well, I am a bad bargainer anyway.
The best haircut I ever had was in a salon at the mall in Bangkok. The girl who cut my hair didn't even speak English, but her hair was pretty cool, so I just indicated that I wanted her to do mine the same way. She did a great job. I felt beautiful for the rest of the day.
A Thai man once said to me, "There are three seasons in Thailand: hot, very hot, and very very hot." We were there when it was hot. It was the rainy season, so it was almost unbearably humid as well. Every day felt like we were walking in a giant, inescapable sauna, yet somehow some of us would get up the energy to go jogging around the nearby university in the evenings, before teaching our English classes. Lots of people would be out at that time, jogging, doing aerobics, or playing a game that was kind of like hackey-sack, only instead of a hackey-sack, they used a hollow plastic woven ball. I played a couple times; it was fun.
Often we heard rumblings of thunder in the air during the day, though the rain didn't always come. When it did, it was tragic. One day it rained so hard, it flooded the church where we were staying, and we spent the day sloshing around in water well past our ankles, and trying to unclog one of the drains. It was a mess.
The people in Thailand smile all the time; in fact, the country is known as the land of smiles. This has a downside: you never know if a Thai person is upset with you, because they won't show it. It would be impolite, and at all costs they will be polite to you.
I liked Thailand. My favorite aspect of the country was the people, but a strong runner-up was the food. I remember one time I found a giant ant in my pad see yu (which I'm sure I've spelled frightfully wrong)--but it was still really good. I also think the Thai omelette is quite excellent. I do admit that I never sampled anything truly exotic, such as the crunchy fried grasshoppers that street vendors would often have available, and which I would see children actually clamoring for, just like kids here might jump up and down and beg mom and dad for candy.
We would eat lunch at Ramkhamhaeng University, at the canteen. We got a lot of attention, being farang (foreigners). Students liked to sit with us and practice their English. They were very friendly.
A meal in the canteen would cost about 15 baht, which was roughly equivalent to about 50 cents. The exchange rate was shocking. When we went to the markets, I didn't really have the heart to bargain, because, even though vendors were certainly ramping up their prices, it was still so very cheap. A skirt for 250 baht was something like $5.00. Was I really going to try and quibble it down a few more? Would Jesus do that? Well, I am a bad bargainer anyway.
The best haircut I ever had was in a salon at the mall in Bangkok. The girl who cut my hair didn't even speak English, but her hair was pretty cool, so I just indicated that I wanted her to do mine the same way. She did a great job. I felt beautiful for the rest of the day.
Brains, anyone?
When I was in Egypt in September, I stayed in a Catholic school in Cairo. Across the street was a fast food place called, as I remember, "Three Stars." I thought this was funny, because here in America things are usually measured on a five-star scale; like a five-star restaurant would be awesome, while a three-star place would be only so-so.
"Look, they only gave themselves three stars," I said to Darren as we walked in for lunch one day. "Like they're saying, 'hey everyone! We're not great, but we're good enough!'"
Darren laughed, I think, but it was a long time ago now, and I don't know for sure. I thought it was funny, but I've also been known to nearly fall of my chair laughing at a movie where all the major characters were played by thumbs. Anyway, what I do know is that Darren eventually ordered the cow brain sandwich. I didn't, because I'd had cow brains before, and once was certainly enough.
It was at my aunt's house for Christmas Eve one year. My father's side of the family is mostly Egyptian, and this is the sort of thing that can happen to you when you are only half-Egyptian as I am: you can end up eating something like cow brains at your aunt's house and not even know it, because it would never occur to the non-Egyptian half of you that anyone might actually put cow brains on the table, for people to eat.
On that Christmas Eve, I put what I thought were chicken patties on my plate. I don't know why I didn't think it was odd that we would be having chicken patties, of all things. Not really your typical holiday fare. But my sister the cowgirl and I both tucked in, and I personally thought it wasn't terrible, but definitely odd, and had a strange mushy texture for a chicken patty. The cowgirl agreed, and then our cousin came out of the kitchen.
"So, how's the [insert Arabic word for cow brains here, which I can't spell phonetically in English and can barely say in Arabic anyway]?" he said.
"Huh?" said the cowgirl and I.
"You know," he said. "The cow brains."
"No," we said, "No way."
He laughed. "Yes. Oh yes."
We stopped eating.
(As an interesting side note, the cowgirl has since had the chance to lop off, fry up, and eat...a calf's testicles. She says they are good. And that they taste like chicken. Me, I think I'd rather have the brains over the balls, but I'll settle for neither even more happily.)
But about Three Stars in Cairo. Darren didn't get sick from the cow brain sandwich and actually he indicated that he kind of liked it. I don't know if I believed him, but he finished it, so he must not have hated it too much. As for me, I found out that they have a pretty good chicken kebab sandwich. At least, I hope it was chicken. Anyway, it was good enough to warrant another star, and possibly even two thumbs up!
"Look, they only gave themselves three stars," I said to Darren as we walked in for lunch one day. "Like they're saying, 'hey everyone! We're not great, but we're good enough!'"
Darren laughed, I think, but it was a long time ago now, and I don't know for sure. I thought it was funny, but I've also been known to nearly fall of my chair laughing at a movie where all the major characters were played by thumbs. Anyway, what I do know is that Darren eventually ordered the cow brain sandwich. I didn't, because I'd had cow brains before, and once was certainly enough.
It was at my aunt's house for Christmas Eve one year. My father's side of the family is mostly Egyptian, and this is the sort of thing that can happen to you when you are only half-Egyptian as I am: you can end up eating something like cow brains at your aunt's house and not even know it, because it would never occur to the non-Egyptian half of you that anyone might actually put cow brains on the table, for people to eat.
On that Christmas Eve, I put what I thought were chicken patties on my plate. I don't know why I didn't think it was odd that we would be having chicken patties, of all things. Not really your typical holiday fare. But my sister the cowgirl and I both tucked in, and I personally thought it wasn't terrible, but definitely odd, and had a strange mushy texture for a chicken patty. The cowgirl agreed, and then our cousin came out of the kitchen.
"So, how's the [insert Arabic word for cow brains here, which I can't spell phonetically in English and can barely say in Arabic anyway]?" he said.
"Huh?" said the cowgirl and I.
"You know," he said. "The cow brains."
"No," we said, "No way."
He laughed. "Yes. Oh yes."
We stopped eating.
(As an interesting side note, the cowgirl has since had the chance to lop off, fry up, and eat...a calf's testicles. She says they are good. And that they taste like chicken. Me, I think I'd rather have the brains over the balls, but I'll settle for neither even more happily.)
But about Three Stars in Cairo. Darren didn't get sick from the cow brain sandwich and actually he indicated that he kind of liked it. I don't know if I believed him, but he finished it, so he must not have hated it too much. As for me, I found out that they have a pretty good chicken kebab sandwich. At least, I hope it was chicken. Anyway, it was good enough to warrant another star, and possibly even two thumbs up!
Tuesday, May 03, 2005
The Weekend
Well, last weekend I left late for the Bay Area on Saturday morning, because I just had to get my eyebrows done first. I had tried to do it on Friday, but there were no appointments left, and I really was quite desperate. ("Ah vanity, speak thou a little softer, my sweet, lest you betray your presence...")
So anyway, I didn't get on the road til 10, but that was ok. I figured I would get to In-N-Out at Kettleman City (Junction 41) just in time for lunch. And I would have, if I hadn't been in some other world and entirely missed the exit; in fact, I didn't even know I missed it until I realized from the unmistakable, all-too-pervasive scent of cow manure that I was close to Harris Ranch, which meant I was no longer close to In-N-Out. I was very disappointed. I ended up settling for Subway at Santa Nella about an hour later, but it really wasn't the same at all. When your mouth is watering and your stomach is longing for a double-double with cheese, you aren't exactly thrilled by sweet onion chicken teriyaki.
And just so you know, it's really hard to eat while driving a stick-shift.
I also slaughtered something like 3.2 million butterflies during one stretch of road, and it was very upsetting. I don't know why they were all suddenly there, but there they were, and there was nothing I could do to avoid hitting them. I was depressed after that for a little while.
But eventually I made it to the Bay Area, had dinner in Berkeley, and then got to see my friends Yardley put on a show on the top floor of a building that looked more like an abandoned house than an Epic Arts Studio. From the street, we saw a red light coming out of a window, and that's where the music was coming from. On the corner was a heavily graffitied liquor store, and across the street was a park (lit by the glaring lights of the nearby Ashby BART station), where men were gathering suspiciously. I grant that perhaps they were not, in fact, dealing drugs or anything illegal; perhaps they were members of a night-time knitting club. Anything's possible, but having been held up and robbed in Berkeley once before, I confess to leaning more toward being suspicious than trustful. Besides, how many men really knit? I ask you.
But the show was great. If you didn't go, you missed out. Yardley in particular rocked, and I'm not just saying that because they are my friends. They were my favorite in a very strong, talented lineup, featuring Dawn Thomas, Amber Rubarth, and others. Great sets, all acoustic, and for only $5. Not a bad deal at all.
Speaking of music, I'm really glad that God gave music to us as a gift, because if he hadn't, I'd just have to invent it because I like it so much, but I'm not very good at inventing things, so I'd probably have to delegate it to someone else, only I'm even worse at delegating than I am at inventing, so what I'm really trying to say here is that the human race would be out of luck. And yes, I think I know I've made absolutely no sense whatsoever, but that's the sort of thing I write after spending nearly the entire day yesterday alone in my car with nothing but an iPod to keep me company.
So anyway, I didn't get on the road til 10, but that was ok. I figured I would get to In-N-Out at Kettleman City (Junction 41) just in time for lunch. And I would have, if I hadn't been in some other world and entirely missed the exit; in fact, I didn't even know I missed it until I realized from the unmistakable, all-too-pervasive scent of cow manure that I was close to Harris Ranch, which meant I was no longer close to In-N-Out. I was very disappointed. I ended up settling for Subway at Santa Nella about an hour later, but it really wasn't the same at all. When your mouth is watering and your stomach is longing for a double-double with cheese, you aren't exactly thrilled by sweet onion chicken teriyaki.
And just so you know, it's really hard to eat while driving a stick-shift.
I also slaughtered something like 3.2 million butterflies during one stretch of road, and it was very upsetting. I don't know why they were all suddenly there, but there they were, and there was nothing I could do to avoid hitting them. I was depressed after that for a little while.
But eventually I made it to the Bay Area, had dinner in Berkeley, and then got to see my friends Yardley put on a show on the top floor of a building that looked more like an abandoned house than an Epic Arts Studio. From the street, we saw a red light coming out of a window, and that's where the music was coming from. On the corner was a heavily graffitied liquor store, and across the street was a park (lit by the glaring lights of the nearby Ashby BART station), where men were gathering suspiciously. I grant that perhaps they were not, in fact, dealing drugs or anything illegal; perhaps they were members of a night-time knitting club. Anything's possible, but having been held up and robbed in Berkeley once before, I confess to leaning more toward being suspicious than trustful. Besides, how many men really knit? I ask you.
But the show was great. If you didn't go, you missed out. Yardley in particular rocked, and I'm not just saying that because they are my friends. They were my favorite in a very strong, talented lineup, featuring Dawn Thomas, Amber Rubarth, and others. Great sets, all acoustic, and for only $5. Not a bad deal at all.
Speaking of music, I'm really glad that God gave music to us as a gift, because if he hadn't, I'd just have to invent it because I like it so much, but I'm not very good at inventing things, so I'd probably have to delegate it to someone else, only I'm even worse at delegating than I am at inventing, so what I'm really trying to say here is that the human race would be out of luck. And yes, I think I know I've made absolutely no sense whatsoever, but that's the sort of thing I write after spending nearly the entire day yesterday alone in my car with nothing but an iPod to keep me company.
Monday, May 02, 2005
Heading Home
About to hit the road back to Los Angeles, and I'd just like to say that I'm glad that there are bands out there like They Might Be Giants and that they write songs like "Experimental Film."
I also think Weezer's blue album is just about one of the greatest gifts to lone, long-distance drivers ever. Too bad I don't have it anymore. Sigh...
Ok, catch ya on the south side, and I'll have more info on the weekend, because it was a really good one and I'd love to share it with you.
Until then...
I also think Weezer's blue album is just about one of the greatest gifts to lone, long-distance drivers ever. Too bad I don't have it anymore. Sigh...
Ok, catch ya on the south side, and I'll have more info on the weekend, because it was a really good one and I'd love to share it with you.
Until then...
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