My enthusiasm for The Amazing Race is beyond the realm of normal. Yesterday afternoon, I called my dad and cousin and convinced each of them to watch the show. At least, I think I convinced them - I haven't spoken with them today. I couched it as a bonding experience for all of us, despite the miles among us (and the time difference between me and them). I could say that I don't care if they liked it, I'm just glad that they gave it a chance. But that would be a lie. I want everyone to get as excited about it as I do.
I can't explain why it has such a hold over me. But there's no denying that it does. (If anyone doubts this statement, just ask Sam, who was witness to his wife taking television far-too-seriously last night.) I got pumped for the opening song - the rhythm (which compels me to beat my chest), the montage of the teams and the places they travel. I commented on the good and the bad points of the teams. I tried to figure out who would be disqualified. I tried to figure out who I wanted to be disqualified. And, when it was all over, I cried. Yes, I cried. It happened last season, too. (But, in my defense, not every episode.) I just get so drawn in, I can't help myself. I'm sad for the disqualified team, yet at the same time so happy for them that they had the experience.
... is starting again tonight! Yay! I am stoked for The Amazing Race!
To think, that in the Central and Eastern time zones, people have to wait only another 45 minutes to watch it. I must wait another at least 8 hours, until after hula class. I know I sound like a dork, but I don't think you understand the depth of my excitement for these people. Maybe it was just a one season thing. I'll find out.
You know what I thought when I read this headline?
Passer-by injured by stool tossed from school window
Sometimes fantasy is funnier than reality.
Mmmm...mmmm....
Just finished my lunch of a yummy walnut and beet burger, and potato wedges. I know, my cousin is reading this, saying, "Shokufeh, don't tell me anymore. I don't want to hear it." As she said last week when I told her about the vegan "ice cream" I'd made. But, I'm telling you, just like I told her before, it's good! Even Sam likes it.
Last night, I was getting my omnivorous husband psyched up for another vegan creation by pointing out the beauty of the uncooked burgers. Wasn't the bright red color (due to the beets) reminiscent of beef burgers? The color and smell made his mouth water. I realized the error of my color-pointing-out ways once the burgers were cooked, and still bright red. But it didn't matter, because they were yummers!
Fret not, my omnivorous friends, I haven't gone vegan. But I figure that since our meals at home (and my meals all the time) don't include meat, and we don't always want eggs and dairy, a vegan cookbook would be a good investment. So far, we're enjoying the results.
My last dream before I woke this morning involved my paternal grandfather. It's been a while since I've seen Papa in my dreams. So it was nice to hang out with him, even if just in my subconscious.
Weekend before last marked 10 years since his passing. In some ways, it doesn't seem nearly that long. In others, it seems much longer. I don't have a defining memory of the last time I saw him alive. Instead my memories associated with his leaving this world are those of the evening I found out... staring out the window of my dorm room as the sun set... my boyfriend at the time coming in, starting to tease me about the unpacked state of my room despite my approaching departure for the summer... interrupting the boyfriend to tell him the news before he embarrassed himself... sitting on my roommate's already vacated bed, cutting pictures out of magazines... thankful that I'd taken my last exam that morning.
In the months leading up to my grandfather's death, I was fearful. Not just about his loss to me, but to our whole family. I was so sure that my grandmother would die soon after, having been married to him for more than 50 years, and growing up with him prior to their marriage. And what would my dad and his siblings do without their parents? And my brothers, cousins, and I without our grandparents? Thankfully, I underestimated my grandmother's strength, and I and everyone else got another five years with her. But the loss of Papa meant more than the loss of a smiling man who squeezed my cheeks too hard and gave me sloppy kisses, who liked Tab and bargains, who allowed me a connection with my Persian heritage. It also meant the loss of a little of our family glue.
A little while ago, a few of us went out to do an errand. When we got back in the car, my nose was assaulted by the smell of skunk. I thought maybe it was outside (though now that I think about it, I'm not sure if there are skunks here), or that one of us had suddenly developed some powerful BO. So, I didn't feel like I could say anything, just in case it was the latter. How embarassing it would be if I then discovered it was my pits smelling so skunky. Or someone elses.
So then I come back to the office and kept getting whiffs of skunk. I started sniffing various body parts and realized that my left shoulder was the culprit. Once I determined that it wasn't the pits - of my body or my shirt - I thought it might be okay to ask a friend if she smelled it, too. She was able to spot what I could not - a tiny spot, goldenrod in color, on the back shoulder of my shirt.
I've tried dabbing with water and alcohol, but I can't full-on take my shirt off to clean it, so the smell still clings. This may call for a little shopping trip. Just so I can focus on my work for the last hour or so.
When I make the effort to exercise, I go to the YWCA. While its facilities are not as extensive as the gym chains, it's a good price, and there was no hard sell from someone asking me what my exercise goals are and telling me how many calories I should consume and in what form. (“Have a protein bar, have a chicken breast, have eggs, have powdered whey, have lean beef, but whatever you do, have lots of protein, preferably in animal form. Even better if you pay too much for it in our supplement store. Being a vegetarian is not healthy.”)
I like the character of the place more - it's a beautiful historic building with a courtyard and open-air stairwells and hallways. It's also across the street from ‘Iolani Palace - the former home of the last monarchs of Hawai'i. How many people in the US can say they work out across the street from a palace? I'll tell you - only those of us who work out at the YWCA of Oahu - it's the only official residence of royalty on US soil.
But, I digress. Today for lunch, I thought I'd go eat at the café at the YWCA. As I walk down the alley leading to the side entrance to the courtyard, I notice a trailer with food. I'm thinking it's some new lunch cart. Until I turn into the courtyard and see all these women wearing clothing of African fabric (not something regularly seen here - our diversity is different from that seen on the mainland). And a couple of director's chairs. One of which says Noah Wyle. It seems that the front door of the YWCA was guarded, but anyone could walk in the side gate. I am disappointed to say that I did not get to see Noah himself. Based on the costumes and vehicles I later saw, it seems that the YWCA is going to be featured on ER as maybe a hospital in a French-speaking African country.
......
Okay, I don't normally watch ER, but I will be tuning in this Thursday. Dr. Carter's going to Congo. But really, it's my gym.
This morning, as I was eating breakfast and channel-surfing, I came upon some lions (puppets, of course) energetically singing about a meat shower. Yes, that does say meat. Even you meat-eaters can admit that's a little weird.
I couldn't help but be mesmerized by all the different meats of which they sang the praises, and the cleverness of the rhymes. Their tribute to flesh was accompanied by backdrops of drawings of different meats, and some singing pork chops (or something else of similar shape).
So, what am I to do, but go online to see if maybe there are lyrics posted to this song. I didn't find lyrics, but I did find two other things:
1) The show is called Between the Lions, and the meat shower song was inspired by one of the young lions misunderstanding talk of a meteor shower.
2) In 1876, there was a meat shower in Kentucky: large pieces of meat fell from the sky in a localized area. A theory as to how the area came to be strewn with raw meat was that buzzards regurgitated a recently eaten meal while flying above.
...in my office...
"No, thank you. I'm not flatulent."
I am now the proud wearer of glasses - my first pair! Share in my joy!
Here's a picture of me and Sam, both of us sporting our new lenses.
<img alt="After.jpg" src="http://lay-c.com/hi/archives/After.jpg" width="256" height="192" border="0" />
When I saw this headline -
Many California seniors will fail exit exam
instead of thinking of high school seniors, I thought of senior citizens. Stuck in this world because they keep failing the exam to move on to the next one.
Could I have a large turkey sandwich on wheat bread? I'd appreciate it if you could rub the sleeve of your shirt on my food as you're assembling the sandwich. It would be particularly cool of you to knock the lettuce, onions, and olives off the bread with your armpit, and then just add more to that end of the sandwich while acting like you have no idea how the first helping ended up on the cutting board.
Boy, was I happy that I didn't have the appetite of the guy in front of me. The small veggiemax sufficed and didn't seem to interfere with the reach of the person behind the counter.
Generally, if I start a book, I finish it. Even if I'm not liking it, I usually keep pushing through, convinced there'll be some payoff. Even if it that payoff is just finding out what happens to the characters. But yesterday, I returned a book to the library before I even got halfway through.
I know you're not supposed to judge a book by its cover, but what else am I supposed to do when I'm choosing books from the new releases section? I think if a book is good, I will generally be able to get a hint of that from its spine - the colors, the font, the texture, the title.... Of course, I read the jacket before I commit to carrying it home, but I depend a lot on spines to get the book under consideration. I say of course, but the book I returned unfinished was a spine-only decision.
It wasn't a particularly aesthetically (try saying that three times fast) pleasing spine, but I was drawn by the title: Disturbance of the Inner Ear. I'd been having some balance and hearing issues, seemingly related to fluid in my inner ear. So I thought it would be apropos. But I couldn't get into the story, and I didn't like the way it was formatted. I like to read while walking home, but it's hard to do when I keep having to backtrack to figure out which lines belong to whom. And I wasn't understanding the motivations of the main character, and finally decided I didn't care why a young woman was sleeping with her 70-year-old-plus cello teacher. So far, I am pleased with my decision to escape into A Thing (or Two) About Curtis and Camilla.