There is further news on Alan Johnston, the missing BBC correspondent. According to Palestinian authorities, he is alive and they "know what they have to do" to secure his release.
You can read the full article here.
More of Alan's story can be found by following the link on the right of this page.
Monday, April 30, 2007
Tuesday, April 24, 2007
Rolling Stone article - thoughts Part 3
So... basically I was expecting the article to mention Kirk, but focus on Ryan. I did not expect anything new; I did not expect what was written.
I'm not going deeply into the details, but basically the problem is that for three years I had been trying to accept that I would never know what really happened, that I would never know whether Kirk was really alive or dead. After the CID briefing, there were still many things that I did not know, but some at least that I did; including why Kirk died.
The article didn't exactly shatter that idea, but it cast things that had been black and white into shades of grey again.
Now, I suppose I have once more accepted that at the moment anyway, and probably forever, I don't really know. I don't know who was involved, I don't know who was to blame. I'm not sure how I feel about that. At the moment - mostly numb.
There is a great deal that doesn't make sense, but as always there is very little I can do about it. What we do is collect as much information as we can, try to relate it with what we know about Kirk and then...
... wait.
Maybe someday we will know more.
I'm not going deeply into the details, but basically the problem is that for three years I had been trying to accept that I would never know what really happened, that I would never know whether Kirk was really alive or dead. After the CID briefing, there were still many things that I did not know, but some at least that I did; including why Kirk died.
The article didn't exactly shatter that idea, but it cast things that had been black and white into shades of grey again.
Now, I suppose I have once more accepted that at the moment anyway, and probably forever, I don't really know. I don't know who was involved, I don't know who was to blame. I'm not sure how I feel about that. At the moment - mostly numb.
There is a great deal that doesn't make sense, but as always there is very little I can do about it. What we do is collect as much information as we can, try to relate it with what we know about Kirk and then...
... wait.
Maybe someday we will know more.
Monday, April 23, 2007
Rolling Stone Article - thoughts Part 2
So... the interview itself. It took a while to set it up actually. Originally Dan Halpern was going to come out here and talk to me in person. I have the impression that he did go to Turkey... or maybe Russia... or something, and talked to several of the other people face to face. I'm pretty sure he met with Greg Manelick, and probably the Ultra Service employee mentioned in the article. By that time I think he knew already that he wanted to spend more time on the Manelick story, and so coming out here was probably not really justified.
Finally he just called, and we talked for several hours over two evenings. It mostly ended up being a verbal version of this blog really... I don't know if he learned anything new; I did probably tell him more about what happened after Kirk went missing.
It's funny, I can't really remember much about the interview; it did seem to go fairly quickly.
It took months after that for the article to come out. By that time we had met with the CID (and I had let Daniel know what they said), and I really thought maybe the magazine had decided not to publish at all. Finally Dan contacted me and asked if I could provide some pictures. At the same time he let me know that the article would not include much about Kirk and his background; he said he was sorry, that he had fought for it, but the editors had the final say.
I did fish out a few pictures. And I told him I didn't mind about the story being cut. I assumed that Kirk would hardly be mentioned, which made sense to me since it was no longer a mystery.
Final thoughts tomorrow.
Finally he just called, and we talked for several hours over two evenings. It mostly ended up being a verbal version of this blog really... I don't know if he learned anything new; I did probably tell him more about what happened after Kirk went missing.
It's funny, I can't really remember much about the interview; it did seem to go fairly quickly.
It took months after that for the article to come out. By that time we had met with the CID (and I had let Daniel know what they said), and I really thought maybe the magazine had decided not to publish at all. Finally Dan contacted me and asked if I could provide some pictures. At the same time he let me know that the article would not include much about Kirk and his background; he said he was sorry, that he had fought for it, but the editors had the final say.
I did fish out a few pictures. And I told him I didn't mind about the story being cut. I assumed that Kirk would hardly be mentioned, which made sense to me since it was no longer a mystery.
Final thoughts tomorrow.
Friday, April 20, 2007
Rolling Stone Article - Thoughts part 1
It's taken a while to post this, partly because it took a long time to sort out my thoughts, partly because I knew it was likely to be a horribly wordy post. In fact, I think it's best to split it up into smaller, hopefully more digestible bits.
First - why I did the article.
My friends and family know how vehement I was about keeping the story secret at first. There was a logical reason for it - although I know there was also a strong, and more complicated personal reason as well - I was trying to keep Kirk safe. Even after months, even when it had become less and less likely that Kirk was alive, I still refused to let the story out. It was a means of control of course, and it made things very difficult for my family.
The problem was that after December 2003 it wasn't just our story any longer; it was now also Ryan Manelick's story. The Manelick's journey was a far different one than ours because of course they knew Ryan had been killed. They didn't know who, or why, but they did know how.
Since the two stories were linked, my stubbornness about publicity affected them as well. Ryan's father, who was working out of the country, was making enormous efforts to investigate Ryan's death, and of course this includes trying to get the press involved so people would know and care about the situation. Although he was always polite, I knew he was, at times, tremendously frustrated.
So when a friend contacted a reporter for Time Magazine, I agreed to be interviewed and even have a photographer come. This was a huge thing for me. It meant I had to tell my boss the story - before this only one person at work had known (and she knew only because she asked so many questions about my life I had to tell her or start actively lying). I had to loosen my grip on what had happened and admit that it was part of more than just my small family. It was utterly terrifying; I had no idea whether the story would be picked up and become a huge thing or not. Our experience with the media when Kirk's story first broke had left me almost unbelievably sensitive. I was relieved when nothing happened at all.
It didn't resolve anything though. It didn't help Ryan's family, it didn't get the spotlight on the situation that they, and many of Kirk's friends, wanted. I realized how selfish I was being, and I felt extremely ashamed. So when Daniel Halpern sent me an email about doing an article for Rolling Stone, I decided I should go ahead and do it.
I did write to the CID and let them know what I had decided. To my surprise, they said they wished I hadn't agreed. They knew it was my decision, but they weren't happy about it. It made me uncertain about the choice, but I had already given my word. I think some of Kirk's friends were nervous as well, about how the story would be portrayed, about the bias that might be brought, or the sub-voca hints that might be laid. These are people I love and respect; their concern added to my discomfort and fear.
More tomorrow.
First - why I did the article.
My friends and family know how vehement I was about keeping the story secret at first. There was a logical reason for it - although I know there was also a strong, and more complicated personal reason as well - I was trying to keep Kirk safe. Even after months, even when it had become less and less likely that Kirk was alive, I still refused to let the story out. It was a means of control of course, and it made things very difficult for my family.
The problem was that after December 2003 it wasn't just our story any longer; it was now also Ryan Manelick's story. The Manelick's journey was a far different one than ours because of course they knew Ryan had been killed. They didn't know who, or why, but they did know how.
Since the two stories were linked, my stubbornness about publicity affected them as well. Ryan's father, who was working out of the country, was making enormous efforts to investigate Ryan's death, and of course this includes trying to get the press involved so people would know and care about the situation. Although he was always polite, I knew he was, at times, tremendously frustrated.
So when a friend contacted a reporter for Time Magazine, I agreed to be interviewed and even have a photographer come. This was a huge thing for me. It meant I had to tell my boss the story - before this only one person at work had known (and she knew only because she asked so many questions about my life I had to tell her or start actively lying). I had to loosen my grip on what had happened and admit that it was part of more than just my small family. It was utterly terrifying; I had no idea whether the story would be picked up and become a huge thing or not. Our experience with the media when Kirk's story first broke had left me almost unbelievably sensitive. I was relieved when nothing happened at all.
It didn't resolve anything though. It didn't help Ryan's family, it didn't get the spotlight on the situation that they, and many of Kirk's friends, wanted. I realized how selfish I was being, and I felt extremely ashamed. So when Daniel Halpern sent me an email about doing an article for Rolling Stone, I decided I should go ahead and do it.
I did write to the CID and let them know what I had decided. To my surprise, they said they wished I hadn't agreed. They knew it was my decision, but they weren't happy about it. It made me uncertain about the choice, but I had already given my word. I think some of Kirk's friends were nervous as well, about how the story would be portrayed, about the bias that might be brought, or the sub-voca hints that might be laid. These are people I love and respect; their concern added to my discomfort and fear.
More tomorrow.
Thursday, April 19, 2007
Alan Johnston
There is still no news on missing BBC reporter Alan Johnston. A previously unknown organization claimed several days ago that they had killed him, but no confirmation or further information has been received.
I have added an image and link to the sidebar. Please follow the link, learn about Alan's situation, and spread the word.
I know, at least as much as I can, what his family is going through right now. I urge you to read his story, and get involved if you can. If you have a website or blog, please consider adding the image to your own site. This page explains how.
I have added an image and link to the sidebar. Please follow the link, learn about Alan's situation, and spread the word.
I know, at least as much as I can, what his family is going through right now. I urge you to read his story, and get involved if you can. If you have a website or blog, please consider adding the image to your own site. This page explains how.
Saturday, April 14, 2007
Stories for Sale
This is a slight side-step from talking about the Rolling Stone article, but it does fit a little.
Right now there's a bit of an uproar in England, a minor one maybe, because the sailors who were seized and then released by Iran have sold their stories to the media. Naturally the one female sailor has gotten the most press, and possibly the highest price, but she's not the only one who had something to tell. I'm not sure if the outrage is because the stories were sold at all, or because there was some allegation that the government was involved in the sale somehow.
Then there was another article on the BBC news website that had a quote from a newspaper editor, a man who had paid for stories throughout his career. There should, he said, be an end to this sort of thing. People should not sell their stories at all. Since this is a guy who made his living profiting from the sale of other people's stories I find this just a little hypocritical.
I'm not sure how I feel about the rest of it though, about the sailors selling their stories. I'm not entirely clear about why there is a problem with them making some money out of what must have been an horrific and terrifying experience. I also don't quite see how this differs from getting a book deal. Or is there some idea that a book deal at least entails some effort, even if it's just talking at length to a ghost writer? Of course, I live in a country where far more money is paid out for far less pain and suffering thanks to our litigious obsessions; maybe if this had happened to Americans there would not be the same righteous indignation.
There was an experiment done somewhere that involved offering people money under several carefully constructed deals. The subject was told that there were several people who would be given money, and the deals involved various distributions of the cash. Most people, it turned out, would refuse a deal that gave them a sum of money (cash we're talking, money they wouldn't otherwise get) if it seemed someone else would profit more than they would. In other words, they'd rather give up something themselves than see someone else do better.
Maybe it's like what I was told about crabs. You can keep a bunch of crabs in a bucket without trouble, or so they said, because as soon as one gets close to clambering out, the others will reach up and drag it back down. It's probably apocryphal, and even if not I doubt the crabs are thinking beyond instinctive scrabbling for any escape. Still, there are moments of pessimism when it seems all too familiar.
When Kirk first went missing I went to every length to keep the story out of the press. I thought I had to; if his story was told it could endanger his life. Of course I was aware that things might be easier for us if enough interest was raised, but there was never any question of doing that.
Since then there have been three articles - a short one in Time, the Rolling Stone article, and Susie Dow's three-part article online. I agreed to those articles for various reasons; none of them were for money. But don't give me credit for some moral integrity - I certainly did not ask to be paid, but nothing was offered either.
Still, I have no problem with those young sailors making some money from their horrific experience. I know it won't erase those memories, or solve the problems they now face. But I do hope they get some happiness out of it, even if it's short lived. There are enough crabs down here at the bottom of the bucket. I hope they make it out.
Right now there's a bit of an uproar in England, a minor one maybe, because the sailors who were seized and then released by Iran have sold their stories to the media. Naturally the one female sailor has gotten the most press, and possibly the highest price, but she's not the only one who had something to tell. I'm not sure if the outrage is because the stories were sold at all, or because there was some allegation that the government was involved in the sale somehow.
Then there was another article on the BBC news website that had a quote from a newspaper editor, a man who had paid for stories throughout his career. There should, he said, be an end to this sort of thing. People should not sell their stories at all. Since this is a guy who made his living profiting from the sale of other people's stories I find this just a little hypocritical.
I'm not sure how I feel about the rest of it though, about the sailors selling their stories. I'm not entirely clear about why there is a problem with them making some money out of what must have been an horrific and terrifying experience. I also don't quite see how this differs from getting a book deal. Or is there some idea that a book deal at least entails some effort, even if it's just talking at length to a ghost writer? Of course, I live in a country where far more money is paid out for far less pain and suffering thanks to our litigious obsessions; maybe if this had happened to Americans there would not be the same righteous indignation.
There was an experiment done somewhere that involved offering people money under several carefully constructed deals. The subject was told that there were several people who would be given money, and the deals involved various distributions of the cash. Most people, it turned out, would refuse a deal that gave them a sum of money (cash we're talking, money they wouldn't otherwise get) if it seemed someone else would profit more than they would. In other words, they'd rather give up something themselves than see someone else do better.
Maybe it's like what I was told about crabs. You can keep a bunch of crabs in a bucket without trouble, or so they said, because as soon as one gets close to clambering out, the others will reach up and drag it back down. It's probably apocryphal, and even if not I doubt the crabs are thinking beyond instinctive scrabbling for any escape. Still, there are moments of pessimism when it seems all too familiar.
When Kirk first went missing I went to every length to keep the story out of the press. I thought I had to; if his story was told it could endanger his life. Of course I was aware that things might be easier for us if enough interest was raised, but there was never any question of doing that.
Since then there have been three articles - a short one in Time, the Rolling Stone article, and Susie Dow's three-part article online. I agreed to those articles for various reasons; none of them were for money. But don't give me credit for some moral integrity - I certainly did not ask to be paid, but nothing was offered either.
Still, I have no problem with those young sailors making some money from their horrific experience. I know it won't erase those memories, or solve the problems they now face. But I do hope they get some happiness out of it, even if it's short lived. There are enough crabs down here at the bottom of the bucket. I hope they make it out.
Friday, April 13, 2007
Alan Johnston
Please take a moment to read the story of Alan Johnston, a BBC reporter who was kidnapped in the Gaza Strip on March 12th. (Thanks to Stuart Hughes from his blog Beyond Northern Iraq for the image and links)
The image above is a billboard which has been erected in central London, to draw attention to the situation.
Read the BBC article written on the three-week mark
In particular, read the poignant letter written to Alan by his family.
Monday, April 09, 2007
What About the Article
Someone asked below about the Rolling Stone article. Good question. I'm not quite sure how to answer it in fact. I've been mulling it over, and I still haven't worked out what to say. In the meantime, for those interested, the text of the article is here.
You might also be interested in the first of a three-part article about the Defense Base Act written by Susie Dow and published by ePluribus Media. Iraq, Contingency Contracting and the Defense Base Act.
I'll be back to comment on the RS article.
You might also be interested in the first of a three-part article about the Defense Base Act written by Susie Dow and published by ePluribus Media. Iraq, Contingency Contracting and the Defense Base Act.
I'll be back to comment on the RS article.
Sunday, April 08, 2007
up in the air
I like airports. I like the whole idea of that sort of extension of reality. If someone asks if you've been to Grand Rapids, and you've only been to the airport you don't answer yes (well, unless you're hoping to bump up the resume of places you've been) because you've only been to that halfway place, the purgatory of travelers. I know you're supposed to whine about layovers, but I sort of like sitting in a place where you aren't really anywhere, and (after a cursory look around to ensure that all the reasonable outlets are taken) there's nothing more pressing to do than read a book for an hour or two.
However. Things I've recently experienced while flying that might not be so charming:
1. Woman with amazingly juicy cough - the sort that makes me see lovely animations of pink and purple viruses spiraling out of her mouth and dancing around the cabin and up my nose.
1 a. Same woman saying inexplicably to me that her husband refuses to be seen carrying THIS bag - then holding up THIS bag which is filled with what looks like cedar chips and Kleenex (tm). I spent the rest of the day trying to figure out what horrible disease involved cedar chips and coughing. If you know, please email because I'm pretty sure I caught it.
2. It's a cliche - but babies. I had them, I had three of them. I traveled with them and so I feel I can complain legitimately when other people's infants howl for THREE DAMN HOURS with that sort of whiny, hiccuppy waa, waa, waa that starts to make your ears bleed after five minutes. Yes, it's petty. Yes, I know the parents probably felt more horrible than I. Yes, I almost certainly was lucky and not skillful in having children that never once cried on a plane. Still, parenthood should come with privileges and I'm claiming this one. Besides, I had been up since 5 am.
3. Smelly people. Having spent hours in three commuter sized planes in the last week I personally believe smelly people should have to be checked - you know, like oversized carry-on. There could just be a basic announcement at the start of boarding: "Those of you who have not opted to shower in the last 24 hours, or who have not yet been introduced to the wonder of deodorants will be issued a green tag at the aircraft door. Your traveling companions can claim you on deplaning."
Oh. And deplaning just sounds like it should come with a moisturizer.
However. Things I've recently experienced while flying that might not be so charming:
1. Woman with amazingly juicy cough - the sort that makes me see lovely animations of pink and purple viruses spiraling out of her mouth and dancing around the cabin and up my nose.
1 a. Same woman saying inexplicably to me that her husband refuses to be seen carrying THIS bag - then holding up THIS bag which is filled with what looks like cedar chips and Kleenex (tm). I spent the rest of the day trying to figure out what horrible disease involved cedar chips and coughing. If you know, please email because I'm pretty sure I caught it.
2. It's a cliche - but babies. I had them, I had three of them. I traveled with them and so I feel I can complain legitimately when other people's infants howl for THREE DAMN HOURS with that sort of whiny, hiccuppy waa, waa, waa that starts to make your ears bleed after five minutes. Yes, it's petty. Yes, I know the parents probably felt more horrible than I. Yes, I almost certainly was lucky and not skillful in having children that never once cried on a plane. Still, parenthood should come with privileges and I'm claiming this one. Besides, I had been up since 5 am.
3. Smelly people. Having spent hours in three commuter sized planes in the last week I personally believe smelly people should have to be checked - you know, like oversized carry-on. There could just be a basic announcement at the start of boarding: "Those of you who have not opted to shower in the last 24 hours, or who have not yet been introduced to the wonder of deodorants will be issued a green tag at the aircraft door. Your traveling companions can claim you on deplaning."
Oh. And deplaning just sounds like it should come with a moisturizer.
Saturday, April 07, 2007
Timing It
Why doesn't the world stand still? It should, I honestly believe it should. In fact, I believe it so deeply that I sort of assume it does stand still when I do something rash like go out of town or something* and so I'm always shocked at the emails and other little things that pile up while I'm away. So... yeah, I'm honestly getting back to you, I promise!
I know, what about just having the electronic world stand still, at least when I'm not able to easily access all those vital little internetty things?
*And as a totally unrelated side-note, the concept of time-zones? Very bad. I would like to have a private, brass-knuckle related moment with the time-zone genius. Sure, my way means that the lucky bastards on the coasts would have to cope with slightly bizarre sunrises and sunsets, but the positive thing (and I don't think this can be overstated) is that I would not be sitting here having gotten up at 5 a.m. (which is really 3 a.m. here, only it was there then if you know what I mean) completely exhausted but not able to go to sleep. I think I blame Ben Franklin. But that's just because I had a history prof who trained me to blame Ben Franklin for everything. I'll be fine. Just don't wake me up before 9... or is that 7? Maybe 11...
I know, what about just having the electronic world stand still, at least when I'm not able to easily access all those vital little internetty things?
*And as a totally unrelated side-note, the concept of time-zones? Very bad. I would like to have a private, brass-knuckle related moment with the time-zone genius. Sure, my way means that the lucky bastards on the coasts would have to cope with slightly bizarre sunrises and sunsets, but the positive thing (and I don't think this can be overstated) is that I would not be sitting here having gotten up at 5 a.m. (which is really 3 a.m. here, only it was there then if you know what I mean) completely exhausted but not able to go to sleep. I think I blame Ben Franklin. But that's just because I had a history prof who trained me to blame Ben Franklin for everything. I'll be fine. Just don't wake me up before 9... or is that 7? Maybe 11...
Saturday, March 31, 2007
Msing Something
So, honestly now, I'm in a bit of a quandary. Not that that would bad per se - it's a nice word really; sounds like a sort of Lewis Carrollesque* type place with improbable animals floating around and talking in mathematical riddles. Besides, it's not really a big quandary, it's just a sort of niggling one (another fine word).
*How sad am I to Google Lewis Carroll to make sure I had the correct number of r's and l's, while misspelling quandary twice? Oh, and on Carroll? I got it right all by myself.
It's filling out forms that gets me. What am I now? Not Miss... haven't been that for a very long time and I don't really want to try now. It would sort of be like putting on a pair of jeans from high-school: an uncomfortable fit, and sadly inappropriate. I know some widows (NOT a nice word) use Mrs still, but that entails explanations sometimes. So - Ms? But I don't really like Ms. It's got baggage of its own for one thing, and for another it's really pretty ugly. It looks all truncated and angry on the page, and spoken it's just a nasally buzz.
Throwing out a fourth category just for women seems a little selfish though when men have to make do with the catchall Mr. Besides, political correctness has lumbered us with too many cautious alternatives to labels and conditions and things. Still maybe it's the answer.
The question is, what?
I suggest: Msn't
*How sad am I to Google Lewis Carroll to make sure I had the correct number of r's and l's, while misspelling quandary twice? Oh, and on Carroll? I got it right all by myself.
It's filling out forms that gets me. What am I now? Not Miss... haven't been that for a very long time and I don't really want to try now. It would sort of be like putting on a pair of jeans from high-school: an uncomfortable fit, and sadly inappropriate. I know some widows (NOT a nice word) use Mrs still, but that entails explanations sometimes. So - Ms? But I don't really like Ms. It's got baggage of its own for one thing, and for another it's really pretty ugly. It looks all truncated and angry on the page, and spoken it's just a nasally buzz.
Throwing out a fourth category just for women seems a little selfish though when men have to make do with the catchall Mr. Besides, political correctness has lumbered us with too many cautious alternatives to labels and conditions and things. Still maybe it's the answer.
The question is, what?
I suggest: Msn't
Monday, March 26, 2007
Random Monday Notes
Piercings, tattoos, unwashed hair, goat-inspired facial growths and saggy black clothing even in combination still cannot overcome a genetic heritage of baby-fat cheeks and a slightly receding chin. Sorry, you just end up looking like a slightly cranky but still lovable hamster.
There is no minor sin more egregious than that of not flushing a public toilet. Just saying.*
*note... sin is magnified if the toilet stall in question is the Prime Toilet Stall, the one whose door still latches and everything.
Americans are unbelievably naive. Apparently we're all stunned that a woman who spent her adult life in a slow, very public journey of self-destruction somehow managed to die of an accidental drug overdose. I mean, who saw that coming?
I still believe BBC news headline writers are superb. Viz today's use of, "EU snaps up Gaza croc woman," to sum up the story of a Palestinian woman trying to smuggled live crocodiles under her dress.
ETA: To get credit for massive self-restraint.
I did not post on the display order of the following books:
"Wine for Dummies" "Sex for Dummies" "Potty-training for Dummies"
however, truth forces me to admit that I've changed the order...
AND I'm not really posting on the man on Antiques Roadshow from Mobile Alabama who attended an auction to buy shawtguuuuns and ended up with 'spensive blew joooars.' Well, not really....
... okay, I AM! I'm posting on this man because he's amazing! And his expensive blue jars are worth $4,000. Wonder how much he would have paid for the shawtguuuuns?
There is no minor sin more egregious than that of not flushing a public toilet. Just saying.*
*note... sin is magnified if the toilet stall in question is the Prime Toilet Stall, the one whose door still latches and everything.
Americans are unbelievably naive. Apparently we're all stunned that a woman who spent her adult life in a slow, very public journey of self-destruction somehow managed to die of an accidental drug overdose. I mean, who saw that coming?
I still believe BBC news headline writers are superb. Viz today's use of, "EU snaps up Gaza croc woman," to sum up the story of a Palestinian woman trying to smuggled live crocodiles under her dress.
ETA: To get credit for massive self-restraint.
I did not post on the display order of the following books:
"Wine for Dummies" "Sex for Dummies" "Potty-training for Dummies"
however, truth forces me to admit that I've changed the order...
AND I'm not really posting on the man on Antiques Roadshow from Mobile Alabama who attended an auction to buy shawtguuuuns and ended up with 'spensive blew joooars.' Well, not really....
... okay, I AM! I'm posting on this man because he's amazing! And his expensive blue jars are worth $4,000. Wonder how much he would have paid for the shawtguuuuns?
Friday, March 23, 2007
Cars
I couldn't believe what I saw this morning. Haven't seen one of those in years - in fact I thought there was only one in the world (who would make two?). I only saw it for a moment; it turned left and lumbered away. But it was enough to spark off the automotive memories.
We had a lot of cars in our time. Quickly adding up... 12.5 in our marriage of 15 years (the .5 is for a mini-van neither of us wanted that we drove for two weeks before finding out it had multiple-personality disorder and was also probably a bio-hazard. The kids loved it). It started before that though, and I present: The Cars We Dated In.
19-scary-something Brown Cutlass Pimp Car: First car Kirk every drove me home in. It was his father's actually since Kirk had just gotten back from Thailand and hadn't yet replaced his own car that had been stolen while he was away.
Anonymous Tan Truck: Actually, this belonged to one of Kirk's best friends, the one I called Wookie. They had thrown a lot of egg-crate foam things in the back to make it more comfortable, and spent happy afternoons four-wheeling out in the desert. Wookie's main goal was to crack the heads of the unfortunates in the back against the ceiling. He was very good. My main memory of this truck though is that with great determination we managed to kiss extensively under those circumstances. Can't imagine now how we did that - suction?
Yellow Datsun: Hideous car, constantly breaking down, and fitted out with furry gray seat covers. However, two important things about it - one, it's the car we got engaged in (Halloween night, Kirk dressed as a punk-rocker. The driver's furry gray seat was always a little purple on the head-rest after that night) two, it introduced me to Kirk's amazing ability to kill cars viz: 'Kirk, my dad's VW made that noise right before it threw a rod. Do you think we should check it?' 'Nah, it'll be fine!' *catastrophic clunk and complete engine failure* '[unmentionable verbiage]'
Green Van: Wookie replaced his truck with this. Really awful thing - a sort of avocado green with a white stripe all the way around it. But it was huge, he could throw all of his camping gear AND all of his friends into it, and it had tinted windows. We called it The Love Melon. I think I only rode in it twice - it also came with a very unusual smell.
But that's what I saw this morning - a Love Melon sailing down the main street as though it didn't know how anachronistic it was. And the first thing I thought?
I cant wait to tell Kirk I saw this thing!
I have my anachronistic moments as well.
We had a lot of cars in our time. Quickly adding up... 12.5 in our marriage of 15 years (the .5 is for a mini-van neither of us wanted that we drove for two weeks before finding out it had multiple-personality disorder and was also probably a bio-hazard. The kids loved it). It started before that though, and I present: The Cars We Dated In.
19-scary-something Brown Cutlass Pimp Car: First car Kirk every drove me home in. It was his father's actually since Kirk had just gotten back from Thailand and hadn't yet replaced his own car that had been stolen while he was away.
Anonymous Tan Truck: Actually, this belonged to one of Kirk's best friends, the one I called Wookie. They had thrown a lot of egg-crate foam things in the back to make it more comfortable, and spent happy afternoons four-wheeling out in the desert. Wookie's main goal was to crack the heads of the unfortunates in the back against the ceiling. He was very good. My main memory of this truck though is that with great determination we managed to kiss extensively under those circumstances. Can't imagine now how we did that - suction?
Yellow Datsun: Hideous car, constantly breaking down, and fitted out with furry gray seat covers. However, two important things about it - one, it's the car we got engaged in (Halloween night, Kirk dressed as a punk-rocker. The driver's furry gray seat was always a little purple on the head-rest after that night) two, it introduced me to Kirk's amazing ability to kill cars viz: 'Kirk, my dad's VW made that noise right before it threw a rod. Do you think we should check it?' 'Nah, it'll be fine!' *catastrophic clunk and complete engine failure* '[unmentionable verbiage]'
Green Van: Wookie replaced his truck with this. Really awful thing - a sort of avocado green with a white stripe all the way around it. But it was huge, he could throw all of his camping gear AND all of his friends into it, and it had tinted windows. We called it The Love Melon. I think I only rode in it twice - it also came with a very unusual smell.
But that's what I saw this morning - a Love Melon sailing down the main street as though it didn't know how anachronistic it was. And the first thing I thought?
I cant wait to tell Kirk I saw this thing!
I have my anachronistic moments as well.
Monday, March 19, 2007
Media Conspiracy
There was a while there when I was pretty sure the media was out to get me. Well, there was the day or two when they were literally out to get me, and camped outside my door and tried to film my children and shoved business cards in my friends's hands, but that was different. This is the entertainment media - specifically television.
Surely I'm not the only one who noticed, but for a bit wasn't there a time when half the schedule looked like:
"Lost!"
"Cold Case Files"
"Vanished!"
"Kidnapped!"
"Without a Trace"
Then I think there were about a dozen or so versions of CSI (CSI Tulsa! CSI Baton Rouge!) and... for heaven's sake, how many Law and Order versions are there now?
Thank goodness a lot of those didn't make the ratings and have, well, disappeared.
Now we're mostly back to the reality shows about how tough it is when someone takes away your toilet paper, because it's lots of fun to see how people cope with real trials.
Yeah. I'm pretty sure the media is out to get me.
Surely I'm not the only one who noticed, but for a bit wasn't there a time when half the schedule looked like:
"Lost!"
"Cold Case Files"
"Vanished!"
"Kidnapped!"
"Without a Trace"
Then I think there were about a dozen or so versions of CSI (CSI Tulsa! CSI Baton Rouge!) and... for heaven's sake, how many Law and Order versions are there now?
Thank goodness a lot of those didn't make the ratings and have, well, disappeared.
Now we're mostly back to the reality shows about how tough it is when someone takes away your toilet paper, because it's lots of fun to see how people cope with real trials.
Yeah. I'm pretty sure the media is out to get me.
Saturday, March 17, 2007
I Used Up My Brain At The Interviews
So I only broke down and got a cell phone recently. I finally decided that yes, regardless of all the excellent arguments to the contrary, it might be a reasonable idea to have the kids able to contact me in an emergency. Also I've found it handy when being picked up at airports and things as rides can then actually find me. Who knew?
But the whole cell phone thing isn't quite part of my psyche yet, so when packing to leave I tend to have at least four panicked moments of where's-my-cell-phone. This time I got smart though, I called myself.
Now, luckily I had taken the phone off silent (interview) mode, and returned it to just-barely-ring mode, so if I listened really really carefully I would be able to hear it. Probably. So I dialed myself. Now, I'm a reasonably thoughtful guest, and this would be a long-distance call. I didn't want it to actually go to voice mail or anything, so I had to let it ring four times and then hang up really quickly.
I spent several rounds of this wandering through the place, thinking 'is it getting louder? No, I think it was louder over here...' then wandering back again. I had definitely ruled out the kitchen, dining-room and bathroom, and was standing in the bedroom wondering if I should look under the bed for the third time, when I noticed something.
Yes, I found it.
In my pocket.
But the whole cell phone thing isn't quite part of my psyche yet, so when packing to leave I tend to have at least four panicked moments of where's-my-cell-phone. This time I got smart though, I called myself.
Now, luckily I had taken the phone off silent (interview) mode, and returned it to just-barely-ring mode, so if I listened really really carefully I would be able to hear it. Probably. So I dialed myself. Now, I'm a reasonably thoughtful guest, and this would be a long-distance call. I didn't want it to actually go to voice mail or anything, so I had to let it ring four times and then hang up really quickly.
I spent several rounds of this wandering through the place, thinking 'is it getting louder? No, I think it was louder over here...' then wandering back again. I had definitely ruled out the kitchen, dining-room and bathroom, and was standing in the bedroom wondering if I should look under the bed for the third time, when I noticed something.
Yes, I found it.
In my pocket.
Wednesday, March 14, 2007
pantyhose postscript
Does anyone know why certain airlines put pantyhose destruction booby traps on their seats?
Bad enough that the man next to me was hogging the armrest and infringing at least two inches into my personal space, but when I shift my left leg back a bit I'm suddenly struggling in the grips of a strip of super-velcro that's seized my calf and wont let go! I can either try to release the tiny hooks one by one without further damaging the pantyhose, or do one great rip (sort of like tearing off a bandaid) and resign myself to an enormous hole on my left leg. I settle for middle ground and end up with no holes or runs, but a sort of fuzzy/liney effect on my calf.
Grrrr...
The rest of the flight went well.
Until the armrest hog next to me began to snore.
Bad enough that the man next to me was hogging the armrest and infringing at least two inches into my personal space, but when I shift my left leg back a bit I'm suddenly struggling in the grips of a strip of super-velcro that's seized my calf and wont let go! I can either try to release the tiny hooks one by one without further damaging the pantyhose, or do one great rip (sort of like tearing off a bandaid) and resign myself to an enormous hole on my left leg. I settle for middle ground and end up with no holes or runs, but a sort of fuzzy/liney effect on my calf.
Grrrr...
The rest of the flight went well.
Until the armrest hog next to me began to snore.
Monday, March 12, 2007
Why I'm not going to post about pantyhose
I did think about it, and felt I should do it because I kind of sort of promised at the end of the last post, but you all don't need to know that, do you?
You don't need to know that I'm 5'7" and I weigh... I dunno... about 125 or 130 pounds or so? Which puts me right on that marginal place between one pantyhose size and the next one up.
(Which brings up the point that I think clothes manufacturers, at least those for the southerly areas of the body, go by area covered more than anything. So with my shape I have a choice between either fall-off-the-hips too big around, but long enough to cover my socks, or just fine around the waist, but flashing my knees to the world every time I sit down. I am particularly irritated that my super-cheap Costco flannel comfy pants leave my ankles to the cool breezes! Stupid clothing manufacturers...)
.... so anyway, the point is you don't really need to know that I am chronically torn between two imagined pantyhose extremes. In one, I buy the smaller size and have that horrible feeling that they'll shoot off towards my feet with a "twang!!!!" right in the middle of an important meeting. In the other, I end up with the larger size, hoisting the waistband up to my armpits in a vain attempt to avoid elephant wrinkles around my knees and ankles. Neither has ever happened, but they could, and dithering between two equally dreadful outcomes makes pantyhose buying a dreadful ordeal.
Aren't you glad I spared you?
You don't need to know that I'm 5'7" and I weigh... I dunno... about 125 or 130 pounds or so? Which puts me right on that marginal place between one pantyhose size and the next one up.
(Which brings up the point that I think clothes manufacturers, at least those for the southerly areas of the body, go by area covered more than anything. So with my shape I have a choice between either fall-off-the-hips too big around, but long enough to cover my socks, or just fine around the waist, but flashing my knees to the world every time I sit down. I am particularly irritated that my super-cheap Costco flannel comfy pants leave my ankles to the cool breezes! Stupid clothing manufacturers...)
.... so anyway, the point is you don't really need to know that I am chronically torn between two imagined pantyhose extremes. In one, I buy the smaller size and have that horrible feeling that they'll shoot off towards my feet with a "twang!!!!" right in the middle of an important meeting. In the other, I end up with the larger size, hoisting the waistband up to my armpits in a vain attempt to avoid elephant wrinkles around my knees and ankles. Neither has ever happened, but they could, and dithering between two equally dreadful outcomes makes pantyhose buying a dreadful ordeal.
Aren't you glad I spared you?
Friday, March 09, 2007
Modifying Insanity
I like to think I'm not the only crazy person out there. Surely there are others like me, others who say things like "hey! Let's completely cover a bodice with hand-beading for a six-year-old's halloween costume!" or "gee, it really does sound like a great idea to design and craft a dozen or so three-dimensional, watercolored pop-up invitations to a birthday party!"
So, I'm going to just assume that somewhere out there is someone else who decides it's a brilliant idea to cut their hair mere days before two major job interviews AND to do it themselves. For those people, the following tips:
1. Start with very long hair. This leaves much room for error.
2. Try to finish with slightly less long but still quite long hair.
3. Particularly keep #2 in mind every time you go to 'even things up' because that's the sort of perfectionism that results in unintentional mullets.
3. Cut your hair dry if possible. For those of us blessed with naturally curly hair (and let's all spare a moment now for that little girl in the Peanuts who probably only had that brief period of time to actually like her hair) straighten it if you can, if not, sigh and just do the thing wet. But dry is good since you can see at once what damage you've done.
4. Cheat. In my case this involved looking like a complete idiot while juggling scissors, comb and a metal ruler.
5. Cut small sections that are close together in both latitude and longitude - that bit should probably all be about the same length, right, and possibly around the same length as the bit next to it... and so on.
6. Nice tip is to twist the little sections tightly up, then cut on the twist. This makes the cut a little less AUGH! IT'S A HUGE STRAIGHT BOX OF HAIR!!
7. Cut on a day when you have at least three days before leaving for said interviews. That way someone else can come along and fix whatever you did.
However, if once I wash it and fuss with it it still looks like it does at the moment, I think I might have just gotten away with it this time. I look pretty good!
Tune in tomorrow. I might have really exciting tips about buying pantyhose.
So, I'm going to just assume that somewhere out there is someone else who decides it's a brilliant idea to cut their hair mere days before two major job interviews AND to do it themselves. For those people, the following tips:
1. Start with very long hair. This leaves much room for error.
2. Try to finish with slightly less long but still quite long hair.
3. Particularly keep #2 in mind every time you go to 'even things up' because that's the sort of perfectionism that results in unintentional mullets.
3. Cut your hair dry if possible. For those of us blessed with naturally curly hair (and let's all spare a moment now for that little girl in the Peanuts who probably only had that brief period of time to actually like her hair) straighten it if you can, if not, sigh and just do the thing wet. But dry is good since you can see at once what damage you've done.
4. Cheat. In my case this involved looking like a complete idiot while juggling scissors, comb and a metal ruler.
5. Cut small sections that are close together in both latitude and longitude - that bit should probably all be about the same length, right, and possibly around the same length as the bit next to it... and so on.
6. Nice tip is to twist the little sections tightly up, then cut on the twist. This makes the cut a little less AUGH! IT'S A HUGE STRAIGHT BOX OF HAIR!!
7. Cut on a day when you have at least three days before leaving for said interviews. That way someone else can come along and fix whatever you did.
However, if once I wash it and fuss with it it still looks like it does at the moment, I think I might have just gotten away with it this time. I look pretty good!
Tune in tomorrow. I might have really exciting tips about buying pantyhose.
Thursday, March 08, 2007
Ms Direction
The building in which I work (ooooh, I'm a grammar goddess! Did you see that "in which" construction?) has a few peculiarities. There is the unfortunate tendency to leak when it rains which I've mentioned before, but that's structural and apparently nothing can be done. But there's a really strange bit that no one has an explanation for. (darn it, lost goddess status by ending sentence with 'for')
When you head out of the stairwell, you're faced with two options, unsurprisingly, right and left (okay, West and East for the fussy). But someone, in their wisdom, decided that all the East offices would be odd numbered, and all the West would be even.
This has, oddly enough, caused a little bit of confusion.
So there is a large sign posted just outside of the stairs saying, in firm white text: Odd ---> and so forth. Clearly this isn't enough, because beneath it is often a paper sign shouting in bold "Odd numbered offices are to the LEFT do not remove this sign." Naturally the sign has to be replaced every few weeks or so because some bright button takes it down.
This, in theory should be enough, but at least once a day some poor lost soul with big pathetic eyes shows up at the front desk and lisps "Th'cuthe me, but I was looking for..." and has to be pointed gently in the right direction.
Note that this is three levels of intervention - two signs and a front desk gargoyle whose sole job (okay, not sole job, but part of job) is to intercept the lost and forlorn and reorient them. However, nothing overcomes the inherent cluelessness of two sub-categories: the undergraduate, and the text-book salesman.
To get to my door you have to really try. You have to go through the front door, down the hall, round two corners, all the way to the end and to the left (dang, I just led the stalkers right to me!). Yet at least once or twice a week some poor lost lamb pokes its little head around my door and bleats "is this [instructor/professor]'s office?" and then has to be firmly sent on its way.
But the undergraduates are nothing compared to the text book people. These folks have little wheely bags that either contain samples of their wares (Anthologies! Grammars! Criticisms!), or possibly bribes in unmarked bills (this honestly just now occurred to me. Believe me, I'm frisking these people thoroughly before I let them go next time.). The men all look a lot like Gil, the sad act desperate sales-guy from the Simpsons, while the women all look like the frighteningly successful real estate woman from ditto. They have a firm, we-workshopped-this-knock address to the door, and a beaming, freshly Crest-stripped smile when you answer. Most of them, when you announce that no, you actually are not someone who will be assigning a text book for an upcoming course, will give you an insincere but rapid farewell. But not the last one.
"I'm sorry, I'm the web designer."
"I see. So you don't teach any classes?"
"Well, I think they'd notice if I tried."
"Do you try?" (hopefully - hey, she might still be a target!)
"Um, no. You see, they wouldn't pay me if I did that, and no one would be in the class, so I'd just be talking to myself."
"Oh." Dejected, but trying to make the last five minutes less than a complete waste, "well, if you did teach, what would your specialty be?"
...
"Sales and marketing. I'll let you know if I decide to list the course!"
And... poor guy... he thanked me.
When you head out of the stairwell, you're faced with two options, unsurprisingly, right and left (okay, West and East for the fussy). But someone, in their wisdom, decided that all the East offices would be odd numbered, and all the West would be even.
This has, oddly enough, caused a little bit of confusion.
So there is a large sign posted just outside of the stairs saying, in firm white text: Odd ---> and so forth. Clearly this isn't enough, because beneath it is often a paper sign shouting in bold "Odd numbered offices are to the LEFT do not remove this sign." Naturally the sign has to be replaced every few weeks or so because some bright button takes it down.
This, in theory should be enough, but at least once a day some poor lost soul with big pathetic eyes shows up at the front desk and lisps "Th'cuthe me, but I was looking for..." and has to be pointed gently in the right direction.
Note that this is three levels of intervention - two signs and a front desk gargoyle whose sole job (okay, not sole job, but part of job) is to intercept the lost and forlorn and reorient them. However, nothing overcomes the inherent cluelessness of two sub-categories: the undergraduate, and the text-book salesman.
To get to my door you have to really try. You have to go through the front door, down the hall, round two corners, all the way to the end and to the left (dang, I just led the stalkers right to me!). Yet at least once or twice a week some poor lost lamb pokes its little head around my door and bleats "is this [instructor/professor]'s office?" and then has to be firmly sent on its way.
But the undergraduates are nothing compared to the text book people. These folks have little wheely bags that either contain samples of their wares (Anthologies! Grammars! Criticisms!), or possibly bribes in unmarked bills (this honestly just now occurred to me. Believe me, I'm frisking these people thoroughly before I let them go next time.). The men all look a lot like Gil, the sad act desperate sales-guy from the Simpsons, while the women all look like the frighteningly successful real estate woman from ditto. They have a firm, we-workshopped-this-knock address to the door, and a beaming, freshly Crest-stripped smile when you answer. Most of them, when you announce that no, you actually are not someone who will be assigning a text book for an upcoming course, will give you an insincere but rapid farewell. But not the last one.
"I'm sorry, I'm the web designer."
"I see. So you don't teach any classes?"
"Well, I think they'd notice if I tried."
"Do you try?" (hopefully - hey, she might still be a target!)
"Um, no. You see, they wouldn't pay me if I did that, and no one would be in the class, so I'd just be talking to myself."
"Oh." Dejected, but trying to make the last five minutes less than a complete waste, "well, if you did teach, what would your specialty be?"
...
"Sales and marketing. I'll let you know if I decide to list the course!"
And... poor guy... he thanked me.
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