Movies, movies, movies

So I had to do a scraptastic post via cell yesterday - I'm just sad that my photo of Borat didn't come out!

So yes, Jamaal and I saw Borat yesterday. I hadn't heard much about Sacha Baron Cohen or the Borat character, though Jam had been kind enough to enlighten me - he actually had mentioned Borat waaay before the movie came out. He told me that he watched this show that had a zany character from Kazakhstan on it and he described the skits. It sounded funny enough, but I was sort of like "uhhh yeah, ok." When the movie came out and it got so much hype, I thought "oh honestly, how funny could this movie possibly be." Last night, as the tears of laughter were rolling down my face I realized that yes, Borat is actually THAT funny.

Don't get me wrong, there were some pretty crude parts, plus the parts where he offended everyone under the sun - but that was the beauty of it, the movie makes fun of everyone. Furthermore, it is outlandishly funny. Certain groups are very upset about the movie, saying that it's spreading lies about them, but I think that if you have a sense of humor and half a brain, you'll be amused, and if you can appreciate a little mockery, you might laugh so hard you cry.

After the movie, we decided to wind down a bit with cocktails and food. We wandered down the street towards the theater district and went back and forth a few times about where to land, but we finally chose a small Chinese food restaurant with a lounge upstairs. For a majority of the night we were the only ones there - we started out with tropical drinks and ended with strong martinis. I always get excited about using chopsticks too, and luckily Jam ordered a chicken dish that gave my chopstick skills a workout. To me, rice is the ultimate challenge, but I think I did ok. I can't use chopsticks without thinking of two things: one is Pam, with whom I went to Kenya. Her family emigrated to Taiwan from China during WWII, and then they moved on to the United States, and Pam was incredibly proud of her heritage, and willing to pass on certain things to the rest of us. She taught me the proper way to use chopsticks. The second thing is the Chinese wedding Jam and I attended about a year and a half ago - it was a bona fide Chinese wedding, complete with dress changes, 13 courses, and a bubble and snow-making machine. Oh! and a wedding cake that resembled the Great Wall of China. It was truly an event. Throughout the many courses of the meal, I struggled to properly utilize my chopsticks. Finally, I gave up to a hand cramp, and requested a fork. The waiter looked at me blankly for a minute. He rushed to the kitchen and quickly returned with a flimsy looking fork and placed it triumphantly in front of me, then proceeded to scoop large quantities of noodles onto my plate. I glanced at the spoon. It said "Aer Lingus" on it.

Anyways, after getting sufficiently drunk and using the posh bathroom, complete with paintings, two chairs and a table, we met up with my sister and her friend and my cousin's posse of friends in Faneuil Hall. We migrated to the Hong Kong, where there was much bitching about the cover charge. It was 5$ to go downstairs. It's nice enough down there, but it's super crowded and the music is provided by the crowd - you're at the mercy of a juke box. The upstairs was $10, where there's a better bar, a DJ, dance floor and less people. The group of my cousin's friends bitched about the price. My cousin loves to dance to hip hop and stuff like that, so we basically told her that upstairs was waaay better. "Cool," she said "Let's go up." Her friends pitched a fit. One girl said "we don't care what your cousins say, they make more money than us, we can't afford a $10 cover." Um ok, I understand not making a ton of money, but seriousy $5? COME ON. I guarantee you they had just spent most of their money at a liquor store to buy there "pregaming" liquor. Lame. Finally the manager was nice enough to negotiate a price, $8, cause there were 13 of us.

Let me tell you, I love the Hong Kong. They have big and strong scorpion bowls and a DJ that plays good stuff, and plenty of space for some dirty dancing, which I love (with Jamaal - there's nothing I hate more than strange men trying to grind with you!). We couldn't stay long as we were at the mercy of the T, but the dancing that was done was quali-taaaaaay - the DJ covered Fat Joe, Biggie, Kanye, and the dude who sings "Miss New Booty," a very nice mix. Though the bathrooms smelled like a horse stall, the Hong Kong is great fun. Plus you get to walk all through Faneuil on your way out of there, so you get to make fun of all of the drunken frat boys and sorority girls trying to make it home without breaking an ankle on the cobblestones. Midway through our journey to the T, my sister and I came to the consensus that our bras were driving us crazy and pulled a Girl Scout Camp take of your underwear without taking off your clothes move right in the middle of everything. It was great.

We finished our evening with some good ol' late night McDonalds, then nearly hit a deer on Rt 53, less than a mile from home, but luckily Amy's driving skills and the sweet brakes on her brand new Camry let us avoid it.

Basically the weekend was great and low key and just the thing I needed to recharge for the upcoming end of semester activities. Plus I love hanging out with Jam, we have a lot of fun together. We actually caught Casino Royale this afternoon before he headed back to New York. I loved it - while it's not going to be winning any Oscars I found it to be a great James Bond film, and thought that Daniel Craig made a fine 007 and Eva Green was a beautiful bond girl. The action was great - I guess a lot of people were complaining that in this Bond film there were less gadgets and more fist-to-fist fighting and mind games, but I have no complaints when it comes to that, maybe because the gadgets, while cool, don't interest me much because sometimes they can border on completely unrealistic (i know they're not supposed to be super-believable, but still). I loved the mind games, the action was still there, and the chase scenes were amazing. Borat and Casino Royale are two completely different and completely great films to see!

Well now it's 10pm and it's my bedtime....actually it's Jamaal phone time. Let's see how long we last, we're both wiped out! Pictures TC later.

Saturday's Mobile Post

Saturday, November 18, 2006

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So we're at the movies, jam and i. We tried getting into casino royale, but it was sold out. We settled on borat, but i wanted to see it anyways, since i heard borat chased a man through the streets of new work for his clothes. Awesome!

droooooooool

Normally I would be all pissy that the Prudential Center is already decorated for Christmas, Starbucks has its "Holiday Blend" on display, and the TV at the nail place was advertising the Boston Ballet's Nutcracker, all before Thanksgiving..............but I'm not!

This year I am really in the holiday spirit. I'm not sure why any more than any other year previous really. I suppose two years ago, I still didn't have a full time job and that was pretty stressful, and last year, I was signing my soul away to my credit card company to pay for my trip to Africa, and while worth it, the planning that had to go into that trip the month of December was positively exhausting. This year nothing is rushed or frantic - well school is, but I really see the arrival of the holidays as a release from school and stress and a time to celebrate.

I also think the ornament swap really helped me get in the mood - I was in such a funk the day I signed up for that, it seems that it was definitely the right thing to do.

Today, after getting a pedicure and chillaxin' with my sister, we headed to the Prudential Center to get our cousin a birthday present (gift card to Sephora, that lucky girl!) and on my way by Barnes and Noble, I snuck in to try and find the sewing magazine featuring a Hillary Lang ornament. Because I have slight BRAIN DAMAGE I totally forgot the name of the magazine she mentioned on her blog ("Cutting Edge", idiot!). I desperately searched through the craft section to no avail. It might not have been there but it probably was right in front of my face. I'll have to pick it up later....what I did buy, besides the People magazine featuring George Clooney (mmmm) that I spotted my sister for, were two Martha Stewart Living mags, the December issue and.....wait.....wait......the HOMEMADE HOLIDAY ISSUE!! I haven't even looked at it yet because I hadn't read the November issue, but I can't wait to crack it open. I have my holiday crafts planned already but you never know when something's gonna pop out! YAY!

Anyways, I am going to go put pants on (yup, blogging in my underwear. hey, at least my fly isn't down!) and pick up my 29-year old unlicensed therefore taking the bus from NYC but loveable nonetheless boyfriend, UNO's Menu in hand, because that's his way :) Tomorrow I'm gonna try to get him to parallel park on a dime and take him out driving just so he can have a bit of practice - it's not that he can't drive, he has assured me many times he's quite capable, but he doesn't have the opportunity to drive that often, and I am hoping he's gonna get that license soon, so high school parking lot, here we come!!

sweet relief!

It's over! whether I passed it or not, the genetics exam is over and I'm gearing up for a weekend of lowkey fun times, which will include: JAMAAL, food, crafting, pedicures, partying, scorpion bowls, football aaanddd. well. you know.

Hooray!

In other news, the eBay buttons have arrived and I'm already planning to take the day after Thanksgiving off for the sole purpose of CRAFTING and doing Christmas-y planning.

So for now, huge relief, ready to have fun, ready to bust my ass for the end of the semester. Go ME!

feelin' weary

today's post is going to be brief for real.

I am studying for a genetics exam, and I have to pass it. In fact, I would like to get an 80, which would bring my not so lustrous grade up to a not that much more lustrous grade, but one that might actually have the sheen of tarnished silver rather than one that has the glow of cement or concrete. Yeah.

It's frustrating that I am even in genetics. I'm bad at it yeah, but yesterday in talking with my advisor (not the person who forced me to take genetics upon my admission to grad school) he basically implied with my work background, I should have been able to do a project to prove my molecular bio worthiness. This made me sad because not only does it make me feel as though I'm wasting time, taking an undergrad course when I could be taking a grad course and be 1/4 done with my degree, but I'm also wasting about $4,000 to do something that I'm really bad at and I hate. I guess I have to look at it from the perspective pointed out to me by a bookclub member: you're an adult, this is what we do, things that we don't think we have to, things that we don't want to.

Actually, what pisses me off most about genetics is my own ability not to grasp the concepts and excel at it. I'm not used to failing. Oh believe me, it's totally happened before (cough cough physics final 32% what? ) It's just that I didn't anticipate failing this completely. Of course, I should try to be optimistic, there's tomorrow's test and there's the final. There's time to bring the grade up. I can do it, I think, grrr. Another thing that pisses me off is that if you really think about it, genetics is pretty f*cking mind blowing. I sit in class and think "my cells know automatically that they need to make DNA to replicate. And the enzymes know where they need to go to do this. Then they know that they need to make RNA, and all of those enzymes know where to go. Then the RNA's know they need to move out of the nucleus into the cytoplasm to make proteins, and all those nucleotides know they need to be in a special order to be translated into proteins. Chemicals in my body know what to do when making DNA and they get to the end of the chromosome. They know how to end DNA synthesis without messing up. My cells know how to fix mistakes. My body is smart. Why isn't my brain??!!"

I guess if I get anything out of this class, at least I will have a renewed appreciation of the human body's intelligent design (which is not to say I believe in the intelligent design theory, just that whoever designed this biatch, whether it be God or the aliens, or maybe there's a single celled bacteria out there I owe this all to, who knows, frickin' KNEW WHAT THEY WERE DOING.) So I learned that. And I got to watch a LOT of pretty videos. Sweet.

Hell's Gate

I am taking a very VERY brief recess from protein translation to share a story.

We didn't get a spring break when we were students in Kenya because there was a State Department Travel Warning issued the previous November after a hotel bombing in Mombasa (a travel warning that is still in effect today, and negatively affecting Kenya, in my opinion, but I digress). This made the school very nervous, plus the US was on the verge of invading Iraq, putting all of us on edge. Because of these circumstances, our spring break was cancelled and we went on one big organized trip.

I hate organized fun. Our family jokes that we all have a genetic predisposition for rebellion, given our Scots/Irish blood. I had dreamed about going down to Gombe in Tanzania to see Jane Godall or heading out to Zanzibar, the Serengeti, or Madagascar on spring break. Now I was going to be forced to do organized activities with the same group of people I'd been hanging around with non-stop for two months. Crud, I thought.

Our organized break was actually a great time. I know I would never have visited most of those places on my own - we went to Marula Game Ranch, which was peaceful. Mary Wykstra, a cheetah conservationist came to visit us one night, giving an absolutely inspirational talk. I bought a wooden cheetah for my wall from her. It hangs above my bed and I think of her every time I look at it. That night, one of the foremen went out on the ranch and shot us an impala, which was delicious. We visited Lake Nakuru and saw our first and only white rhino. I had one of my best days in Kenya visiting Naivasha, wandering in the papyrus that surrounds the lake near the Adamson homestead, finding birds with Alice and Kioko and then having lunch at the Fisherman's Club, getting drunk on vodka and eating bacon and fries for the first time in months. I was so giddy and happy that I went and bought a stack of things on from the roadside vendor and then pranced down the dock that floated on top of tea-colored water and laid there with my friends watching the fish eagles. It turned out to be glorious.

The highlight of that week, however, was our camping trip in Hell's Gate National Park. I didn't really care much about going there - all anyone ever said about it was that it was the last stronghold of the Lammergaier, a rare African vulture, that the movie "Sheena, Queen of the Jungle" was filmed there, and that it was the only National Park in Kenya where you could explore on foot, as the big cats didn't live there. Woop-dee-doo I thought. The first time we drove in, I wasn't too impressed:

Fine, the landscape was dramatic, with cliffs and gorges and geothermic vents which spewed steam from the hillside - but where were the animals, the birds, the vast lakes and vibrant sunsets of the Kenya I knew? Here there seemed to be only dust. The only good thing was that here we were promised a bit of freedom. Our student affairs manager announced the second night that despite the fact that the United States invaded Iraq that day, we would not be going home, but on a hike around a lava cone. I slouched. I hate hiking as a rule. I'll do it to see something or to experience that once in a lifetime thing, but hiking up a lava cone to see Hell's Gate? No thanks. Luckily, my tent mates, Kristie and Boma (whose real name is Kim, but let's call her Boma, it makes me nostalgic) didn't want to go hiking either, so we approached our SAM. She was a great woman from New Zealand with a quirky sense of humor and an adventurer. She said "I'll print you some maps of Hell's Gate and you can go off alone tomorrow." Sweet.The Triangle of Trouble (Kristie, Boma and I had a reputation. We called ourselve the triangle of trouble and even had a sign. Believe it) plus Sally, a sweetheart of a girl from Signal Mountain Tennessee whom we were determined to CORRUPT, set out after sunrise the next morning with two liters of water apiece and a hearty lunch, a compass and our map, as well as cameras, binoculars and field guides. We were going to EXPLORE! We plotted our route on the map: we'd head towards the geothermic hills, then around the rock tower, and up to some rolling hills where we could look out over the park. Our SAM approved the route. "Just watch for buffalo," she reminded us "remember to run, split up, and climb a tree if you get charged." Heh, buffalo schmuffalo I thought.
For about an hour, we dallied along the main dirt road in the park. Eventually it split into a bushy area, so we took that smaller road. Midway up a hill I pause. "Guys? Do you hear....something like....a herd of...um?" "BUFFALO" someone screamed and we booked it up the hill. After about a minute I looked behind us. There was nothing there, nothing. We flopped down on the ground, sweat pouring off of us. We sit in silence. There's a sound from the forest. "WHO's THERE?" demands Sally. We wait, then collapse into giggles "A cape buffalo isn't gonna answer" I say. We all cackle, and of course, I laugh so hard I have to pee. I run to the trees and whip down my shants, and as I'm peeing, I see cattle through the trees. I return to tell the group about the "fierce buffalo." We laugh about our stupidity and joke that if we really lived in Kenya, we'd surely die from stupidity, then press on up the hill.


After walking a while, we encounter a Maasai woman. "Jambo," we say brightly. "Sijambo," she answers politely. Then she says "alskdjflaweoiausofjslakd ;als jfo;aweiurcoiaweur oaisjflaskdjf;laskdk fh;laskd f has;ldkhf " aka a whole bunch of Swahili we don't understand. We look at her and say "Habari!" (basically, how are you? literally "news") "Mzuri sana, asante" she says, and then breaks into more Swahili. She looks at our perplexed expressions and switches to Maa. She shakes her head at us. "Um ok, bye, kwaheri!" we wave. She stares at us and sort of lifts her hand to wave. We trek on.
Around noon we get a hankering for lunch. We wander into a sandy bottomed canyon littered with bones. "Shit" says Boma, "the elephant graveyard." We all laugh, but all I can think of is the elephant graveyard in the Lion King and how Simba gets cornered by the hyenas there. I look around the canyon walls, which rise higher as we progress into the canyon. Finally Kristie stops us so we can give the map a glance. "Oh shit" she says, "we've hiked a kilometer out of the park." "Surely not," I say. Then as I look at the map, it all makes sense, seeing someone herding cows on the park edge, the Maasai woman trying to tell us something - probably that we were leaving the park, the canyon not marked on the map. We stand in the canyon, the sun beating down on us. "I think I can get my bearings if I climb the hill. Then we can cut over it and climb down and cut off a couple of miles/kilometers" I say, nodding towards a canyon wall. I start to hike through the brush, Kristie, Sally and Boma follow. The bushes are impenetrable though, and the canyon "hill" soon becomes verticle. We battle it for a few minutes, the sweat pouring off of us. "Al," says Kristie, "we can't do this, we're gonna have to walk out." We agree to take a rest, we have miles ahead of us. We seek the shade of a tree in the canyon and get out our lunches, now warm and soggy. We eat in silence. I had to do something to lighten the mood. It was then I picked up the bone.

"Take my picture!" I demanded, picking up the bone. Thus started the bone photo shoot. It was reviving:

The photo shoot was precisely what we needed. It killed the hottest part of the day, and when the sun had started its move to the west, we packed up our limited water and headed for camp. This part of the trip was particularly difficult. We didn't anticipate hiking that far from camp, and our water had run very low. We knew where we could get water, but that was out of the way, plus we weren't too sure about our purification tablets. We chose to press on. We told stories to keep our spirits up, I told Sally about one of my favorite books/movies "A Town Like Alice" for inspiration. As we hiked towards the final hill, the one upon which our tiny camp was set, we separated out into a straight line, Kristie pumping her arms up the hill, me, determined in my shants, Boma, thirsty and pale, and finally Sally, her cheeks aflame. We came to rest by the water pump, and held it in the on position with a rock while we crawled under it.
"where've you been today?" asks Michelle. "All over" we reply.

Not long after we returned to an empty camp (everyone else had gone to the lava cone) the sun began to set. I was grateful we had made it back before sunset, as navigating in the dark would have been more than difficult, nevermind the worry we would've put everyone through. I sat quietly on our picnic bench rehydrating. I looked out over our tent on the edge of the cliff, to the vast expanse of dry grass and rolling hills. This place wasn't so bad, I thought.

Saturday's Post

As previously forsworn, I did post Saturday from New Hampshire. Of course I never figured out how to retrieve my blog with the whole beta deal (maybe you still can't do it? I dunno!) So I ended up creating a new mobile blog. Luckily I was home on Sunday, so I didn't make multiple mobile blogs due to my technology deficiencies. Here is the Saturday post. I like the fact that the autotext on my phone makes decisions for me, like using the word "me" instead of "of." It makes for a rather funny sentence.

Saturday, November 11, 2006

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All me the sudden, i learned that i'll be leaving nh much earlier than anticipated. This is actually great because it means that my sister and i can now go to my friend rach's birthday. This also means that i must scramble to complete her birthday present, seen here

I would like to point out that I not only finished the stitching, but matted and framed it in a hand painted frame. It was my fastest work yet, made possible my a conair hairdryer with a cool setting. Ex-cell-ent. I really loved how this one turned out, hand-dyed threads are the greatest...well except when they run on the fabric, but in this case, I think the green dye that ran in the upper left corner gave the picture a bit of character. I hope Ms. Rachel enjoys it :)

PS. I am not counting this post as today's post because it's Saturday's post, DON'T WORRY!
off to Starbucks I go!

Second Monday Post Wherein I Request Niceness on the Internet

I read this lady's blog. She's frickin' hilarious too, or at least I think so.

I was sent to her blog by dooce, waaaay back around the time that whore Hurricane Katrina hit. This lady lives in the hurricane zone and her house was trashed. I found her strength of will incredible, plus it was one of the few accurate descriptions of life in post hurricanes one could find on the internet. Plus she had gratuitous shots of baby squirrels on her post.

I remained a stalker-post reader for a long time, mostly because I didn't want to be creepy and post out of nowhere, but I definitely visited her blog daily to see what she had to say, not only because she was funny and had squirrelets and kittens, but because she would post about interesting things - her Scottish pride, her struggles at work, her videos on YouTube, her life before marriage, rebuilding her house, and politics, which was great because I agree with her pretty much 100%, which given my random views on politics, is pretty hard etc etc blah blah. Today though, I had to put my foot down and comment.

Recently, she posted about being po' from rebuilding her house and insurance companies being jerkstores about money, etc. This woman's house was DESTROYED after Katrina. SHE PUT THE PICTURES ONLINE. Yes, it's more than a year after the face, but she posted about the financial difficulties and then, God forbid, asked for donations. She asked for donations. ON HER OWN BLOG.

I find the internet one of those "free spaces." Especially when it comes to blogging. Your blog is your free space to say whatever you want about whatever you want. I want to call John Kerry a jerk, I can do it here. I want to tell people I never zip my fly and fart more than the average person, I can do it here. I want to tell the world to check their boobs for irregularities because it's breast cancer awareness month, I DO IT HERE! So if this woman wants to ask for cashmoney, or allow advertising on her site to generate some income, who says she can't or shouldn't? Apparently a bunch of people, according to today's post, which is really low. If I asked for money and it made some reader uncomfortable, they should x out the screen and not visit anymore. That's the other great thing about the internet being a free space. No one is accosting you for a donation. You don't have to be rude in person. You can quietly sneak away, and no one ever knew you were there. It's anonymous. How someone can write hateful comments berating a person for something they put on their own blog is beyond me.

Anyways, if you want, click on the link and visit the blog. Click on a couple ads to help out. That'd be cool. If you don't want to, you don't have to. It's that easy. Too bad the rest of the world doesn't seem to understand that!

Baby friends so fly i can go fly

So I have a chronic problem. It's called FDS, also known as the tragic disease "Fly Down Syndrome."

It first became a part of my life in Kenya. I had these pants I wore all the time, literally ALL THE TIME. I still have them actually, one of the few pieces of clothing I couldn't bear to part with when it came time to leave Africa - I donated my monkey sheets, but dammit these pants stayed with me. They're pants from Cabela's, which automatically makes me feel hardcore, ooh, and they're MAN pants, yup, pants normally made for a man, but modified by me for a woman. They also have zip-on legs, so they can be shorts OR pants, shants, if you will. My shants are an olive green color and highly stain resistant, plus they dry in about 3 minutes. This was great while in Africa because you could wash the shants and wear them in about a 5 minute span - the quick-drying-ness fabric combined with the equatorial sun made that possible, and while people languished pantsless in their bandas, waiting for their jeans to dry on the clothesline, my shants and I would frolic in the shadow of Kilimanjaro or go on a bird watch. When we were on safari and didn't bathe or do laundry, I never had to worry about getting the shants wet or dirty - they'd dry fast and if I had to spot clean them, I could without having to worry about walking around with a wet spot on my butt all day. The shants basically kicked some ASS. Sometimes, I'd do a safari-style striptease for one of the more serious staff members. He feigned boredom at everything we did - he'd see a bird he'd never seen before and he'd shrug and be like "whatevah, is just a African golden crested tit. sigh" Kioko was particularly fun to harass, and when he was really looking bored, I'd say "Guess what's coming, SAFARI STYLE STRIPTEASE!" I'd take off my old button down, which I wore over everything in an attempt not to succumb to melanoma, and then unzip the pants portion of the shants, and dance around while swinging the pants around my head. Sometimes this would get him to crack a smile, and that alone made depantsing the shants worth it. But I digress....

Anyways, the one drawback of the shants was the fly mechanism. There was an inside button and two outside buttons as well as a a fly. See this is where you really get that they're manpants - the buttons are unnecessary as a man doesn't need to pull his pants down to pee - in fact, they're there as more of a reminder "hey pal, KEEP YOUR PANTS ON!" And the zipper is obvious, it provides the opening for peeing. For a girl, these 4 mechanisms, 3 buttons and a zipper, are just a pain in the ass, and if you're on the equator in Africa and drinking 3 liters of water a day minimum, it gets old unbuttoning, unbuttoning, unbuttoning, unzipping, zipping, buttoning buttoning buttoning all day long, but my love of the shants is what kept me going. After a while I came to realize that I had been missing a key part of the reassembling process for quite some time - the zipping.

One day I was lounging with my feet up on something, and I glanced down to notice my gaping fly and my Victoria's Secret big girl panties. "Good lord!" I said. See Kenyan men are very modest, and 99% of our staff members were men, so I knew I could walk around for days with an open fly and none of the staff would say anything, and the American students would mention it either because they thought it was THAT funny. I casually asked one of my professors "Um, so is my fly down a lot?" "AH-LEE-ZON!" he screamed, hitting the table. That's all he did, scream my name and hit the table (woah, sounds somewhat dirty, but it wasn't) and then he proceeded to giggle throughout dinner. Hmm, I thought, it must be true.

Oh how it was. You would think after that confrontation I would've been more conscientious about zipping my shants fly. Yeah, I wasn't. I had to do checks before we went out in public to make sure I wouldn't offend any Kenyans by showing them my underwear. If anyone looked at me and giggled, I automatically went for my fly. Usually it was down. It became a running joke amongst the Kenyan staff, probably because I wasn't really embarrassed about it. I'd say "Sweet Jesus, my fly is down again?" and they'd all laugh. It was funny, and not too big of a deal, I mean, and only my friends were witnessing the fly down, and this would stop being a chronic problem when I went home and wore the shants less right? Right?

WRONG. FDS is now a constant in my life. Several times since working at the hospital, I've stepped out into the sunlight of a beautiful day, my mind free and easy and clear because it's 4pm and time to go home. I start walking towards the bus stop, and if it's a good day and I took the time to match my clothing and put on nice shoes and am feeling just a little bit put together and kinda good, I'll let my booty swing just a little bit and walk with confidence down the street. The last time I did this, people were glancing my way. Heh heh, bitches!, I thought, I look good today! Today is a good day! Well I got to the street corner and noticed people were looking in that way that was not like "damn, that girl is put together" but more of a "poor disaster" way. I freeze for a moment, reading their expressions, and then I know. I look down. My zipper is not only open, but GAPING open, revealing my gold sparkly purple boyshorts to the city of Boston. Awesome.

These days I try and surreptitiously check my fly whenever I feel exposed - on the subway platform, at a meeting, at work, wherever. Of course, this presents an interesting challenge, because you can get categorized pretty fast if enough people see you touching your crotch on the subway. You have to be secretive about it, make it look like you're pulling up your pants. I've kind of become the master of this technique. Still, it's not failsafe. This morning, I went to pee after arriving at work and my fly was already down, which means I left the house without zipping it. Sweet, I thought, how many people saw my underwear (which of course are the infamous purple boyshorts) this morning? I'll probably never know, but I do hope I brightened someone's morning, made them laugh and say to themselves "heh heh she has purple underwear."

*I will try to find a shants photo and post it, I don't have old Kenya pics at work!

14

Not to go there, but the average person farts an average of 14 times day.

I try to be an above-average person. My goal for Friday was 33. I didn't even make it halfway.
This was highly unusual for me, a naturally gaseous person. I was disappointed in myself.

Yesterday I set a goal for 50 and thought that surely my lunch consisting of two dark brown ales, a reuben, potato skins, buffalo wings, and two marshmallows dipped in caramel dipped in rice krispies dipped in chocolate would get me to my goal. Oh how it worked. By bedtime I had made it to 43, a staggering number, but fell asleep before I reached 50. Perhaps I reached my fart goal in my sleep, but the fact of the matter is that I'll never know. Tragic!

Today I did not set a goal for myself, because frankly, it's sick and twisted. I did, however, have the joy of sharing my story with 13 people, all of whom were fairly surprised about the whole average person, average 14 farts deal. While I may have never fulfilled my goal, I think that I got people thinking about their own bodies. How many other people can say that about their gas? heh.

semper paratis is our guide

i don't know what just made me think of the first line of the US Coast Guard song, but I did, and there is is in honor of Veteran's Day.

As a way of thanking our veterans for fighting for our freedom many times throughout the centuries of American history, I am exercising my right to shop all weekend. I don't say this lightly, either, I am very serious about remembering the veterans while I shop - if it weren't for them I might not have to shop or have the right to shop because I'd be wearing a burqua all day. For real.

So I am heading up to New Hampshire for the weekend and am very excited about it, mostly because we're making the nearly 3-hour journey in my sister's new Camry which is hawt. Ridiculously hawt.

We're also going to make two crafty stops along the way: The Elegant Ewe, a great yarn shop in Concord, where I have vowed to behave and buy only yarn I need. Note my very loose use of the word "need." Next, we'll make our way up to Meredith to make a visit to Hunter's Needlework. It's a cozy old cross stitch/needlepoint shop complete with two furry kitties that lounge in the storefront. I would love to get some little Christmasy trinkets, but we'll have to see what catches my fancy. I love the place so much that I always make a purchase there, even if it's small.

Then we're going to go to one of my favorite restaurants of all time, The Common Man in Ashland. There are several Common Mans, but the Ashland one is the family favorite. Its so cozy in the winter, complete with fireplace and menu items such as hot toddies and french onion soup. Of course, we're having an unseasonable warm weekend and will probably want ice tea and chicken salad by the time we get up there ;)

I'm bringing the computer up there, but will probably not have internet access, so I'm going mobile with my blog - my posts won't appear hear until I transfer them, cause I can't retrieve mobile blog posts with the beta verson of blogger. I will post the alternate address here, then transfer the posts over on Sunday, so as not to break NaBloPoMo!











c

Lost

Somewhere between Monday and Tuesday, I lost my work ID badge.

Personally, I have a theory about where, when and how it happened.

Monday night I got home around 6:30 after doing a million errands. I promptly sorted my laundry (I had 5 loads to do, got through 3, not bad, plus avoided having to go to the laundromat) and then got to cleaning my room. I am 99% sure I remember transferring my ID and all important school stuff from my brown purse to my black purse.

Tuesday, of course, I sleep late, and rush to get out of the house. I make it to Braintree in time to get a parking space, by some miracle of god, and sit contentedly knitting, or trying to, because I kept having to rip stuff out. The train starts filling up at the Quincy stops, and finally at one of the last Quincy stops a woman, and forgive me for being insensitive, who should not have tried to shove herself in the space between me and the person one seat away, went ahead and did it anyways. My purse, which had been sitting on my lap, upended and the contents shifted and spilled. What really irked me is that she didn't say excuse me or sorry, she just sighed and shifted her shoulders back and forth until she had wedged herself in and then proceeded to read her romance novel. I gathered up my scattered things, shifted my purse and continued to knit.

After I transferred to the green line, I slid my hand into my bag and fished around for my ID. Nothing. I figured that it was hidden in some crevice of my oversized bag and that I just needed good light to find it. After disembarking, I decided to cut through the grounds of Harvard Medical School to get to work, not only because they are clean and peaceful, but because that would give me the best view of MedFlight's BK-117 helicopter that had just landed on top of a nearby hospital, which I think is pretty much the MOST BADASS thing I get to see while at/near work, helicopters landing on buildings. While the pilot was shutting the engine down, I paused near a marble railing and took my purse apart piece by piece. NO LUCK.

Unlike my past job where they practically scanned your retina and fingerprints to get into the buildign, no one was too upset at the hospital, but of course, they do see me everyday, multiple times a day. I breezed into work without incident, but I brooded about the location of my ID all day. Did I lose it when that lady bumped me? What about while I was at school? Did it fall out of my bag? What about on the bus? Is it in my laundry bag? WHERE IS IT?!

After two days of calling the green line, the red line, the bus line, school and the lost and found at work, I accepted my defeat and hauled my ass over to central services and paid the $10 to replace it. Sometimes paying the cash is just easier than the aggravation. The process was easy too. I figured I have to sit for a new picture and everything, but the woman in charge of ID's goes on the computer, finds your old badge and reprints it. This is good because I liked my old picture. My punishment is, however, the complete distortion of my face. In my new ID, my face has been widened in an unflattering way. Oh well, I guess that's what irresponsibility gets you....A DISTORTED FACE!

karma baby!

Please excuse the sudden disappearance of yesterday's post, I took it down in an attempt to properly insert the paint picture, but it won't work! I'm working on it though, and it will be back soon.

So as you may have seen in previous posts, I signed up for the ornament swap organized by cake+pie and freshlyblended. This is my first venture into the whole internet/blog/craft exchange world, and I'm excited but sooo nervous. The women who write/design the craft blogs I read are ridiculously talented - I don't have them all on my links list, but to the left are three favorites, luckybeans, loobylu and soulemama. These three women live all over, Zambia, Australia, and Maine, respectively, and I love reading their posts, not just because they are crafty and talented but because they're amazing moms and they are so dedicated to their children yet they still manage to bring art and color to their lives, but not in that way that makes you say "yeah right Martha Stewart, and was the nanny watching the kids while you were sewing?" I strive to be like them when the time comes to produce the tan babies, ha ha ha. Oh and like Dooce. Mean people say that she's a "bad" mom, but I say she is a "badass" mom. Ha.

Ok tangeant. Blah. ANYWAYS, I signed up for the swap and have been stressing because I wanted to have a great ornament idea and not send something lame, like a wreath made out of popsicle sticks (which is great, if you're in grade school!) I looked on marthastewarliving.com and of course, my favorite idea was on cake+pie two days later, so I thought "ha ha nevermind, 150 people are going to do that now." I thought about knitting, sewing or cross-stitching, but given the fact that I'd have to make 8-10 ornaments I figured that would just make me crazy. I had to think up something that was intricate, but not too difficult to make. Something that I could make in a weekend or so, between studying for finals. Something that would reflect my personality, something fun and quirky. After a few preliminary designs, I came up with something really good - which of course, I'm not gonna reveal til later- something that needed a lot of white buttons.

I began to hunt for white buttons a few weeks ago. I went to the button bin at Windsor Button downtown and tediously picked through thousands to get to the white ones. I filled a box (it's $5 a box there, perfect for the student budget!) but after I looked at them at home I realized that they're just too small to make good ornaments. I needed buttons that were 1-1 1/2 inches across. If I bought 30 of them in a store it would cost me nearly $40 if not MORE. I was discouraged because as much as I'm all about the ornament swap, I don't want to put that much cashmoney into them. I then thought about what my father would do in this situation - he'd look on eBay.

EBay, of course, provided me with many solutions. There were people on there selling white buttons by the POUND. Then I saw the post - 40 large white buttons for sewing, 1 1/2" diameter. PERFECT! I was giddy. The auction didn't end for four days but I didn't care, I typed my bid in and bit my nails. Two days before the auction ended, someone created an ebay account for the sole purpose of outbidding me. Ok, biatch, I thought, you're new to this game, watch how it's done. I put in a max bid of twice the original bid, hoping the newbie would be discouraged when trying to outbid me in 5 cent increments and give up eventually. For two days, I was the high bidder again. And then - tragedy....I failed to notice that the auction ended 16:30 PST. PST!!! So yesterday, when 4:30 rolled around and my name was still on top, I declared victory. You can imagine my shock when I received two emails from eBay saying "you have been outbid" and "you have lost this auction." I went back to the item and noticed PST. Realizing that I had forever lost my opportunity at these perfect 40 white buttons, I went to another "buy it now" auction and bought 25 similar white buttons for a decent price, and hoped that I wouldn't get more than 8 people in the ornament swap, because otherwise, I wouldn't have enough buttons.

Today I received my ornament swap group. I scanned the list and noticed a great group of people, including women from Singapore and Ontario! How cool! Then I counted. Nine. Shit, nine people, and I have button for eight. What to do? I figured that maybe I could scrounge up three perfectly sized buttons. I was kind of bummed though because the lot of 40 would've been quite perfect, because my sister wanted to make some ornaments too. I figured that if the worst thing that happened to me all day though was being three buttons short, it'd be an ok day though.

Strangely enough as I sat down to write my daily post, I notice an eBay email in my inbox. It says "you have a second chance at item '40 white buttons' The seller is reselling them because the winning bidder didn't pay" NO WAY! Obviously, I couldn't let them go a second time around and snatched them, so now I'm the proud owner of 65 white buttons. I know to some people it's ridiculous, but after a morning at a lousy insurance hearing with a frigid lawyer, I really feel like I won something important. Go me :)

Stay tuned for ornament previews!

photo from ebay profile runnin1023, the seller of my buttons :)

I wish more states were green

Soo it's Election Day, God spare us all. While talking to Jam last night I went on an extensive and disillusioned rant about my hatred of all politicians in America. I'll spare you the details but basically I said "Democrats, Republicans doesn't matter, all the politicians in this country care about it money and self-advancement, no one cares about us and we're going to hell."

Well I got to thinking that in spite of all the bullsh*t that's happening, I should be grateful about Election Day for several reasons.

And here are the Top Ten Reasons to be Grateful It's Election Day in Massachusetts (serious first):

10. We could live in the Congo: "The men battling for Congo's presidency in Sunday's run-off vote have much in common - both are relatively young, were educated abroad and owe their position largely to influential fathers. To the dismay of diplomats and peacekeepers trying to ensure peaceful elections, both retain sizeable private armies, leading some local papers to describe the historic poll as a choice between "plague or cholera", with neither promising the new peaceful era that so many Congolese crave." (allafrica.com) eeek.

9. We could live in Somalia, where there was no government for 16 years:

Driving 50km (30 miles) from one of the airstrips near the capital, Mogadishu, to the city, you pass seven checkpoints, each run by a different miltia

At each of these "border crossings" all passenger vehicles and goods lorries must pay an "entry fee", ranging from $3 - $300, depending on the value of the goods being carried - and what the militiamen think they can get away withThere is no pretence that any of this money goes on public services, such as health, education or roads.Much of it is spent by the militiamen on khat, an addictive stimulant, whose green leaves they can chew for hours on end. (bbcnews.com)

8. We could live in Saudi Arabia, where despite the fact that no explicit laws forbit it, women are not, as a rule, allowed to vote. It's our duty as women in the US to show the world that June 4, 1919 happened for a reason.

7. At least we can speak out against our candidates: Eritrea allows no independent media and uses draft evasion as a pretext to crack down on any dissent, spoken or otherwise. One of the poorest and smallest nations in Africa, Eritrea is now the largest prison for journalists; since 2001, fourteen journalists have been imprisoned in unknown places without a trial.Sudan, Libya, and Equatorial Guinea also have repressive laws and practices. In addition, many state radio stations (which are the primary source of news for illiterate people) are under tight control and programs, especially talk shows providing a forum to complain about the government, are often censored. (wikipedia)

6. The campaign smear ads will finally stop.

5. Look on the bright side, in a state where the gays are allowed to marry (said lovingly, btw, love the gays, LOVE THEM) even those most conservative republican is liberal compared to the conservative candidates in other parts of the country....

4. We still use the scantron/number 2 pencil method. No chads here!

3. One way or another, we're gonna make state history today by electing either the first elected female governor or the first black governor, which is pretty cool. I like that, even if I don't have 100% faith in either candidate.

2. It's the one day it's cool to use political words like "gubernatorial"

1. I can stop worrying about the governor stepping out of the state house on a windy day and mussing his hair, or being blinded by his smile




Below I present to you my artisitc rendition of the gubernatorial race in this state, and what it's been like for the common folk:

Here, Healy and Patrick have skipped guns and missiles and have gone directly to lasers. Since they're the only two engaged in real combat, we have Ross hurling ineffective insults at them, but from a flowery meadow with posies and rainbows and shit. Cause she's that type of person. Meanwhile, Mihos plays with matches and sets stuff on fire. How can he do this? Because NO ONE (serious) is paying attention to him. Sigh.

God Bless the Commonwealth indeed. We need it!

Jesus loves me this I know....

for he sent me a good dream* to compensate for the dreadful and heart-wrenching loss of the Patriots to the Colts last night, despite my humble and pleading prayers said at church, a place I hadn't visited in months....

So yeah, the Pats lost last night. Damn, I was disappointed, but I'm not gonna hate on Brady and I'm not gonna ramble on like everyone else in this city/state/region about how the Patriots "suck" blah blah blah. They lost only their second game of the season. It's early still. And though we gave Manning the satisfaction of winning on our turf, when he looks to the end zone and sees those three Superbowl Banners waving gently in the night breeze, it must go right up his pansy ass - and I love that.

While we all know that in football, every game counts, I am not ready to panic about this one. If the Pats were 9-5 for the season and going in to play the Colts for one last stab at a playoff berth maybe I'd be hyperventilating in my office chair right now as I read the stats of last night's game, but frankly, I'm not too worried. Why?

-Brady was hyped last night and let himself get a little wild. Think about it - you'd do it too if you had a 6-2 record and had a chance to beat the Colts. In Brady's wildness he got a little too excited and threw some crazy shit, which was picked off by the Colts. Brady's not sitting in his Marina Bay townhouse right now, watching the film and scratching his ass saying "what did I do wrong, I don't get it." He knows what he did, and because he's smart and HOT (ok that has nothing to do with it, but I had to throw it in there) he'll fix it and we'll move on.

-Maroney and Dillon. Ok fine, whatev, Dillon fumbled. It's not in his nature to fumble, and it made him angry. After that happened, I noticed Dillon and Maroney hanging on to the ball for dear life. Lesson learned. These guys are really great, and I think Dillon finds Maroney a slight threat to his position, so when Dillon's on the field, he goes all out - since Maroney's found the light, I think Dillon's improved, which is great.

-Our offensive line played very well last night. We got a few great sacks defensively, but Tom Brady always had plenty of time to throw the ball. I think the players in our offensive line are the unsung heroes of most of our games. I'm not sure any other QB in the league has as much protection as Brady.

-Which brings me to the defense. Asante Samuel (please teach the commentators to stop calling you "A-san-tee" Asante, it's sounds like they're referring to some sort of Port-a-john) has found his niche on the field and had some great plays. Seau is loving playing for us, probably because he gets to be on the field with Bruschi, who I think is still giddy from having a near-death experience and still being badass enough to rehab and come back to the Patriots. I love watching Seau and Bruschi on the field because you can see them set up some great blocks, but you also see their hunger for the sack. It's awesome.

-Our little rookie kicker - sure Gostowski (so the "t" is silent and not the first "s"? eh?) missed an easy fg in the 30's, but he kicked the 49 yarder. While this show inconsistency, it also shows pure ability. I don't think the 49 yarder was luck because it was strong to the end and shifted only a little to the right. This kid isn't Adam yet, but after seeing the look on Vinatieri's face when Gostowski kicked the 49 yarder, you could tell he was thinking "this kid is gonna be me one day." Yeah.

- Regardless of their win, I got to see Peyton's Pout so many times last night, they may as well have lost. I love it when he yells at his own teammates and puts on a face about botched plays or being sacked. Pissing him off is almost more fun than beating him! Plus what it says to me and what it says to the rest of America is "I am not a team player." Brady just isn't like that. When someone misses the ball he says stuff like "I could've thrown it to you better." Peyton swears at people who miss the ball. Cause he's a jerkstore.

And in the end, the only stat that really matters is the Superbowl ring stat. Sure Manning might throw more passes, cover more yards, be sacked less, throw less interceptions, make more td completions. His rating might be higher, he might be undefeated, and he might have more points under his belt than our beloved Tom Brady. But tell me, Peyton, how many Superbowl rings do you have? Oh? Did I hear you say none? Yeah, that's what I thought. Heh heh heh.

And that is my Monday morning seeing the glass half full post :)

*ooooh the dream! I was in South Africa (yup, at the hotel where the watering hole camera is located. I've been watching it too much, clearly) and I got in the shower. I had to refill the soap dispenser, so my back is turned and I'm filling it. I turn around and there is Patrick Dempsey. NAKED. IN THE SHOWER! Now I like Patrick Dempsey as much as the next girl (he's McDreamy after all) but seriously, he'd not be my number 2 choice for sharing a shower (Jam is obviously my number 1!!!!) Actually, I'm not sure who my 2 choice would be, but I don't think it'd be him. That being said, I'm not about to complain about that dream. It was pleasant, to say the very least ;)

I'd rather be kayaking

I was recently browsing through my sister's flickr page and came across a photo of me in one of our family kayaks. It made me laugh because I thought it really captured how I feel about kayaking and why I love it so much:

I really had no kayaking experience until several years ago. I can't remember the first time I sat in a kayak - I think it might have been the time our neighbors up the lake let us borrow theirs to try them out. Whether it was there or on the pond at my college, I was addicted after the first paddlestroke. I am obsessed with kayaking, and wish I had my own kayak and could go every single weekend. I can imagine myself as a biologist, literally living in a kayak everyday as I paddled through a particular area I was working with, taking plant samples, photographing wildlife, looking for birds and their nests. Just thinking about that type of thing fills me with a warm glowy feeling and almost, just ALMOST makes spending my entire Sunday afternoon studying genetics worth it.

Unlike my previous posts which Jam says I have "put my heart and soul into" I am keeping this brief so that I may master RNA and protein synthesis before the momentous Colts/Patriots game at 8:15 this evening, because I want to see it live when hot Tom crushes Peyton the tool :)

photos courtesy of Amy :)

Saturday Parrots

It's official - Jam and I made the NaBloPoMo cut and we're on the list with about a BILLION other blogs - check them out!

I really have to go and study genetics and bathe, because I have a mere 2 1/2 hours to accomplish studying and bathing and probably vacuuming before my family and I head out to a huge craft show at the Boston World Trade Center. *pause to salivate over huge convention center full of crafts......* but since I did my weekly Saturday routine today, I wanted to share.

Every Saturday morning around 8:30 or so, I get my lazy rear out of bed and head over to the local parrot shelter. Ha ha, you thought you read that wrong, didn't you? Nope, it really IS a parrot shelter, and a great place too.

I read about Foster Parrots two years ago in the local newspaper. The article was published during "the dark time of unemployment;" my seasonal job with the state had ended and I hadn't been picked up in a different department, as promised, so I found myself NOT WORKING. For an overachiever who got a job a month and a half before graduating from college, this was a great travesty. I had applied to various retail locations, but hadn't even heard from them. I was slowly losing my mind at home. You really can only clean so many times. I was desperate for something to do, something that made me feel like I was making a positive contribution to society. I gave Foster Parrots a call the next morning, and they had me scheduled for volunteer training the day after that.

Foster Parrots is a somewhat dilapidated old house on a quiet side street. They don't advertise and aren't flashy, probably to avoid birds being dumped at their door, though it still happens. When I first walked inside the house, I was completely overwhelmed. There were birds everywhere. The door to my left led to a room full of macaws, blue-greens and scarlets, hanging from large branches that were chained to the ceiling. To my right was a room full of huge cages holding goffin's cockatoos, and a floor to ceiling cage for Lola and Amadeus, two green-wing macaws. Lola is sort of the FP mascot - she's really delicate and used to suffer from seizures. She has no tail and one eye and came to FP literally broken, her skull and wings and feet all fractured. The directors lovingly nursed her back to health, and now she lives safely at FP with foam padding the bottom of her cage in case she falls.

The director, Marc, gave me the house tour. He took me through the Goffin room and pointed out two adjoining rooms to the left. "Those are the problem birds. You might want to stay out of there." He opened a door in front of him. "These are the cockatoos, Moluccan and Umbrella, there's Peanut, Peaches, George, Kiva and Adam." As we made our way through that room, Peaches flew at my face and bit me on the eyelid. "Perfect" I thought "what am I getting myself into?" Next we walked through the breezeway, where there were more cockatoos, including two sulfur-cresteds and two cheeky Goffins. Finally, we made it to the barn. For someone who is not used to being around birds, the barn is completely overwhelming. There are free-flying birds everywhere, flying and hopping from branch to branch chained to the ceiling. There were several cages lining the wall for "special needs" birds, the birds that couldn't fly well on their own, or who might be bullied by bigger birds. There were also three aviaries, built from what looked to be former horse stalls, holding love birds, cockatiels, parakeets, and small conures. The upper barn held Amazons that were caged and free flighted, depending on how aggressive they were, though there were incredibly aggressive macaws that patrolled the branches near the stairwell to the upper barn. I could tell that I was going to be challenged...A lot. Just the birds themselves took some getting used to. There were ones that had been put under such stress in their former homes that they plucked out all their feathers and couldn't stop. There were ones that had suffered emotional and physical trauma. Ones missing toes or parts of beaks. Plus there were some that were just damn cranky! I soon realized that there were endearing things about each bird in the place - Tulip hates being pet, but loves to perch on your shoulder and give you kisses, Bali likes to nuzzle your neck, the lorys like to play catch with their toys. There were funny pairs too, like Jazzmin and Clucky. Cluckie is a little monk parakeet who saw Jazzmin, a huge amazon, and had to have him. They still hang around FP, with Clucky climbing all over Jazzmin to preen him, the huge bird sitting patiently for the little parrot.

Back then I went to Foster Parrots five days a week. I had nothing else to do. Even when I started working at Ann Taylor Loft (torture! but the discount was good) I went to Foster Parrots in the morning and ATL til 10 at night. It was a great schedule, but it would only last about 4 months, until I was hired at the cancer hospital in February 2005. I thought that might end my time at FP, but I soon found that I had grown attached to so many of those birds, even the ones that bit me so hard I bled or had bruises, that I couldn't just cut myself off from volunteering. That's how my Saturday routine evolved.

This morning I was the only volunteer who showed. It's kind of sucky that people bail without warning, but I'll admit, I kind of love working alone. Most volunteers come on the weekends, so I had been used to working alone when I was a weekday person, and when I made the switch to Saturdays, I didn't always like sharing duties with other people. Today I claimed the lower barn and went right to work, using my old system. Volunteering at FP has become MUCH easier since the transfer of some unadoptable birds to permanent sanctuaries, where they'll be free-flighted and very well-cared for for the rest of their lives. Though it was incredibly sad to see them go, it's comforting knowing that they're having a grand old time flying free, plus, like I said, there are a lot less birds to looks after, fewer cages to clean, and fewer food bowls to scrub.

Today I found working alone incredibly relaxing. A little ring-necked parakeet kept perching on my shoulder while I did my work, trying to steal bits of food from the dishes or the food bucket. I scrubbed some cages and put fresh paper down - nothing makes a bird cage look nicer than fresh newspaper. I swept and and scrubbed and restored order. Maybe I love it because it caters to my neurosis of needing to bring order to chaos, but it's a zen-like experience to finish up your work and step back and look at the sanctuary. When I finished today I saw dozens of happy birds eating or preening or sitting in the sun, a clean floor and clean countertops. Perfection! Well, perfection until the birds crap all over the floor, throw out the contents of their food dishes and rip up the newspaper on the bottom of their cage, that is.

I basically wrote this post so I could say that Foster Parrots is one of the best things that ever happened to me. I love it there, and never have I met a bunch of such dedicated people. The directors, Marc and Karen, have rescued hundreds if not thousands of birds. Over the past two years, I have seen even the most disturbed birds (Sydney Rose, for example, who was afraid of LIGHT from being locked in a closet 24/7) adopted out to wonderful and loving volunteers. They've started an ecotourism venture in Guyana, that will give back to the local community enough so that they won't have to export parrots to make money. Recently, Marc and Karen used their own money to save some exotics animals from canned hunt and trophy groups. The animals were leftovers from the Catskill Game Farm that was forced to close, and while the farm promised not to auction them to someone who would kill the animals, most people knew that canned/trophy hunters and taxidermists would be bidding. Together with other animal rights activists, they managed to save a huge group of those animals, with Foster Parrots saving 4 monkeys, 2 porcupines, a patagonian cavy and a lorikeet alone. They're just amazing. My own little devilish parakeets came from FP about a year ago, and they make me smile everyday. People tell me that with my schedule, I have to cut back on things, that I should cut back on volunteering there, but seriously, how could I? Everytime I walk in there, Peaches, the one who bit my face but has now bonded with me, lifts up his foot indicating that he wants to be picked up, and nestles his head under my armpit and says "Hi PEACH-CHEZZ" as I scratch his head and under his wings. How could I possibly pass up that kind of love?

The Time the Kenyans Found Out About Jamaal

When I did Kenya Part I, back in '03, I was a single gal. That wasn't a big deal or anything, and actually, I thought it was to my benefit - I was going to be gone for four months, and the last thing I needed was to be all involved with someone and then go all those many miles across the ocean and have to write them a letter a day to prove that I loved them. I was heading to Africa unattached and unaffiliated and ready to be HARDCORE!

Of course, by the time Kenya Part II rolled around, I had already been dating boyfriend for a year. Ok, not quite a year, but nine months, and I had known him for more than a year. The good thing was that instead of going over there for four months, I was going there for a mere 10 days, and I was convinced that the time would fly by so quickly, he'd hardly have time to miss me. I made him a little journal and wrote our itinerary in it, and added a little story about each of the places, so he could follow our trip. My friend and her boyfriend have a rather intense relationship and he made her CD's and she was carrying pictures of them and there were tears and fears and worries and stresses about her going to Africa. Jam wasn't like that at all. He knew I'd been there before and that I'd be among friends. Plus he knows I'm an independent-type lady. I sort of just gave him his journal and he gave me a kiss goodbye, and that was that. No tears or wailing or rending of clothing, just a "have a good time love." I liked that.

Of course, I added our picture to my foldable photo album that I've had since Alex gave it to me in the 4th grade. It's this pink photo album that looks almost like a full-size compact mirror, but when you open it, it reveals a foldable accordion of photographs. I brought this with me the first time around and carried it everywhere, my family and friends were always readily accessible, plus it was a very manageable way to show my Kenyan friends photos of home. I slipped the sexy shot of Jam and me on the way to his friend's wedding (though not the photo I have here, because I am an ass and don't have the sexy one uploaded). "The Kenyans will get a kick out of seeing me in a dress'' I thought.Oh I had NO idea what I was in for.....

The photo album didn't make a public appearance until the last night of our trip, when my friends and I were spending the last of our Kenyan shillingi on beer and hard liquor for the staff. The three of us took it easy as we were just getting past the horrible VD (vomiting diarrhea) sickness that we picked up at a safari lodge, but watching the Kenyan staff get progressively drunker was hilarious. They were getting, ahem, a bit friendly, maybe too friendly, when I finally brought up Jamaal. "You have a boyfriend?!" One of them asked. "Yes," I said, "would you like to see his picture?" The table nodded, and I ran back to my banda to get my pink foldable album.

Some of the staff members gathered around as I opened it, and as the accordion opened, one of them grabbed the pictures, pausing at the one of me and Jamaal. "AL-LEE-ZON!!! This is your BOYFRIEND???!!!!" Salaash shouted. He then looked around the room and said "laskdjfoaweijlasdkflskdflasdkfjlaskdfjlsdkjalkdflaksdfjalksowieruaosdfjls; sjdflksdfklsjf s a=d mingi sana" which means ".....a lot of swahili words I don't know but must mean something important because the staff is knocking over chairs to get to the table." Maraka ran over and grabbed the photo and his eyes bugged out of his head. There was rapid Swahili shot back and forth between the Kenyan staff. "What?" I asked "What is it?!" Salaash says "Oh Alleezon, you ah dating the BLACK MAN!!!!" Oh. my. God. It was hilarious. Maraka (see below) immediately looks concerned "what is he? Kikuyu? Is he Kamba?" "No no no no" I say, "he's not Kenyan, he's not a tribe." Mboya looks confused "he's not a tribe? is he from where then?" I say "well you know, a lot of black people in American aren't sure where they came from" "Oh" replies Mboya, "he is one of those black Americans. ok." Salaash is still giggling over his Tusker 'Alleezon, you came to Kenya and we taught you about the black men!" He cackles again. "So" Mboya continues, "Is he from Nigeria then?" "No! He doesn't know. You know, because of slavery and all..." Mboya (see below) interrupts me with a wave of his hand "Oh ok. Yeah I know about slavery and the boats and all that. So he's a black American. Ok." All I can hear is Salaash's "heee heeee heeee" in the background and rapid Swahili. Maraka is holding the picture of us to his face and studying it intently. "Well. He looks nice," comments Maraka, who once promised to kill any man who was "bad" to me. "Yes!!! He's wonderful!" I say quickly. The atmosphere starts to settle down a bit and the Kenyans sit at the table and begin passing around the photos so everyone can have a good look. There is a lot of talk about the picture of the two of us, all in Swahili, and I can't even catch the gist of it.

I started to wonder why me being white and Jam being black would be so shocking, and then I realized the Kenyan dynamic between white and black people is completely different than ours. On the whole, and I do realize there are some exceptions, you really wouldn't find mix-raced couples in Kenya, and even though the country has a small subset of non-African peoples, the races don't seem to mix, socially at least. The white people who are not there as peace corps or missionaries or volunteers are the left-overs from the colonial days, mostly British and quite wealthy, and therefore have their own exclusive circle. They employ black people, yes, but unless they are part of an elitist circle, they don't intermingle with them. I once thought I saw an interracial couple at a Nairobi supermarket. They were older, and I thought that they went together because they were in the same age range, and I had noticed that most of the servants employed by white people were youngish. This man was gray at the temples and had fine age lines crossing his face. As I got closer to the woman, she was having him reach the things high up on the shelf. How sweet, I thought, but then I heard her 'you put that in the cart and you go get me some milk. then you need to get me some of that, and then when we're through and after you've put away my groceries, I need you to drive me into town...." I shrunk away from her. Not only was she with a person that looked to be in at least his 60's, if not older, who did not need to be ordered around like that, she was disrespectful too, talking to this man as if he were an inanimate object, or a pet. I figured most Kenyans didn't see a black/white relationship were both members saw themselves to be completely equal. No wonder I had caused such scandal.

Lost in my thoughts, Salaash leaned over and tapped me on the shoulder. He had somehow procured a cigar and my friend's sunglasses and was enjoying both with his tusker. "You know something, Alleezon," he said, quite gravely. "Mixing is good." He looked at me intently. I sat back in my chair and looked at him and smiled. "Well I certainly think so," I answered. We are, after all, just 23 pairs of chromosomes expressing themselves differently.

NaBloPoMo

So I tried to get into that whole "National Blog Posting Month" but I think the lady in charge was inundated with like a billion emails at once saying "CAN I JOIN, PUHLEEEEZE?" and was just said "f*ck you all, November is here, TOO LATE" which I completely understand as there are nearly 500 blogs in the NaBloPoMo. Even if it's not official, I am rising to the challenge and attempting to post every day in November, and I've even linked the cell to blogger to allow for posts on the fly, when I'm in NH and away from a computer so I can stay dedicated to the challenge.

Today I had a flashback to my days on Allen's Pond, a beach in the farthest reaches of Southern Massachusetts (but don't you DARE call that the Cape, because it's NOT, or so I was harshly informed one time when a "native Cape Codder" asked me "had I ever been to the Cape? Which I might add, is like asking a person from Brooklyn if they'd ever been to Manhattan. If you've lived your life on the South Shore, you probably went to the Cape on a FIELD TRIP!) I don't know what it was that got me to thinking about it really. I remembered driving in the pouring rain to get there, field surveys in all kinds of weather, the feeling of being outside and loving it - anyways all those things have led to the following post....

When I got back from Kenya, I was totally out of it. I kind of didn't know how to function and was all sad a depressed and sh*T. Africa does that to you, if you really love it. It sucks you in, and if you're like me, and you know you can't stay but feel in your bones that you actually have place there, it messes with your head to leave. I cried for almost the entire 16 hour plane trip home. Fo' realz, I was a hot mess on the plane, so bad that the man sitting next to me from London to Boston stared at me for most of the flight. At one point I turned to him and said "I've just come from Kenya, you see, and I've been there for almost four months and....and...I just.... *commence sniffling, pathetic, sad sniffling" He looked at me horrified and adjusted his Red Sox cap and just goes "It's ok." Ha! It's ok. OK MY ASS! I thought at the time.

After moping around my house for a week marvelling at novelties such as ice and flush toilets I figured I should try and get a job. My problem was that I was rather anti-social. When I got called by the Audubon Society to be a plover monitor I was certainly interested, but what really clinched it was that I'd be working on a beach that had been hit by a massive oil slick from a tanker that had run aground in Buzzard's Bay. Therefore the beach would be closed, as in DEVOID OF PEOPLE. Perfect, I thought, me and the birds and my dark and twisty and angsty thoughts, just perfect.

All day long I'd walk the beach watching my little plovers. One horribly rainy cold day in July, a day so cold and wet that I had to wear snow pants, my winter parka and gloves to stay warm, I discoverd a nest we thought we'd lost to predators. A few days before we notcied the eggs were gone and we couldn't locate the parents. Nest #4 had been the best nest all year - it had four perfect eggs in it, which is the largest clutch a piping plover can lay. It was in a great location, behind a salt pond against a marsh, situated in such a way that it was protected from wind and from the ATV's the oil cleanup crews were driving on the beach, plus you could only access that nest at low tide, when it was safe to cross the channel connecting the sea and the salt pond - the currents were fierce otherwise. The parents were incredibly attentive and would do a dramatica death scene whenever I approached. Plovers are much like killdeer and will feign a broken wing to lure predators away from nests. The nest 4 plovers took it to a whole new level of feigning. As soon as I approached, on would run off the nest down the beach and do its little broken wing dance.

If I continued to approach the nest, a second bird would flop at my feet, stretch out its wing at an awkward angle, then bend its neck backwards and open its beak and make a sound as if it were being strangled. I didn't even know birds could make sounds like that. I used to just stand there, looking at the tiny bird at my feet going through his mock death throes just to protect his four perfect eggs.
If provoked further, the birds would even attack my feet - I probably should've taken my job more seriously and written a paper on that population of plovers and their unique behaviors, because surely no one has ever observed an attack plover before.

Naturally I was shocked when I found an empty nest 4 and two missing parents. We'd had missing parents before. We were positive that the nest 1 male had succumbed to poisoning from trying to preen the oil off of his body. We'd had bad eggs before, too, even ones that refused to hatch, like nest 2, whose mother tried to incubate them but was unsuccessful because she kept having to get off her nest to run away from passing ATVs. Chicks were predated here and there by merciless gulls and hungry fox and coyote, but nest 4, the valedictorian of plover nests? How could this be? I received the news on a cold and rainy Monday that the previous Friday, nest 4 and its inhabitants had disappeared - eggs, parents, everything. The theory was that the chicks hatched and attracted some sort of large mammal, maybe a skunk, coyote or maybe a fox, and the animal had eaten the small chicks and then finished off the parents that were so desperately trying to defend them. I sat in the sanctuary's headquarters, a small house overlooking the marsh and beach and was overcome with disappointment. I was always sad when we lost a nest, but nest 4 was my favorite, and I felt like I had failed those birds somehow.

I went out to do my survey in the rainy cold. I had to - the birds had to be accounted for every day, and the weather down there was so unpredictable anyways, that you might as well just go out - the saying about New England "If you don't like the weather, wait five minutes" - was never more accurately applied to an environment as it was down in Buzzard's Bay, so I went out on bad days with the hope that soon, it'd clear up. Usually this happened, but of course, not this day. I walked to the farthest edge of the beach and began to work my way westward, back towards the house. I crossed the channel to see where nest 4 used to be. It was pointless to look for prints, the rain had washed them away. I did find the small depression in the sand, lined with shell bits and dried seaweed where the plovers had so lovingly incubated their four little eggs. I sat there for a moment, pretty bummed that my favorite birds weren't there to greet me. Then, lo and behold, I heard a plover peep. We had other nests back there, but I thought 'what if...' There, just ahead of me in the driving rain, stood male #4, and in the distance, female #4. As if that wasn't enough excitement, male #4 adjusted his stance to reveal four tiny and helpless round balls of fluff, four perfect baby plovers. "Awww YES" I said, doing a fist pump. There was our #4 family perfectly intact.

I ran back to our base house and burst in the door - "I FOUND NEST FOUR!" I screamed. My boss looked at me incredulously. "It was predated, I thought" she said. "Nope," I replied "they left the nest. I don't know why they moved everyone out of the nest, but they're out there, all huddled together under their parents, safe and dry and warm." We were all so happy, another victory for our plovers.

Over the next week, our plovers became mini-celebrities.
Because of the oil spill, US Fish and Wildlife kept a close eye on us, even though Audubon controlled the land on which the plovers nested, and when I faxed the daily reports over, they were shocked to hear about the birds that had "come back from the dead." They were our banner nest, the true test to see if the Allen's Pond population could make it through the oil spill and fledge and fly on to bigger and better things - and so they did. Towards the end of the season, the chicks found their wings.

I would chase them down the beach (a plover's instinct is to run first, fly later) to try and encourage them to fly as much as possible. One day, as is the nature of migrating birds, they were just gone, gone to Florida, gone to the Carolinas, we'll never know, but surely, on to bigger and better things.

What, it's November? For real?

Sooo November is here. I can't say that I feel too bad about its arrival. September and October flew by, yes, but I'm not going to complain when it's November 1st and it's 59 degrees out! Welcome November!

So I believe there are 8 weeks left until Christmas. Yikes! I am actually not stressed about this at the moment because I have other things to worry about: exams and projects. The semester is 2/3rds of the way over *takes moment to kneel and thank baby Jesus* and that means it's test and project time - I am working on my first ecological modeling take home tomorrow with my partner, and have successfully recruited an engineering to work on my project, something about which I am extremely excited and happy. :) I also found out that I have 9 days more than I thought before my next genetics exam, a relief. Now if only my insurance hearing goes well.....

Anyways, October was an exciting month and there were so many things I meant to blog about but didn't. Here is a flashback:

Salem - Jam and I went to Salem the second week in October. He was reading I Tituba, Black Witch of Salem for bookclub and that piqued his interest in that area of the world. I was certainly agreeable as I've only been to Salem once and it was in February and bitterly cold. We set off on a Saturday morning, but first we stopped at Babson to take a peak at the campus. Let's put it this way, they don't call it "Swellsley" for nothing, holy crap that place was beautiful! I loved how the campus was in its own little niche in the pine trees too.
We then toughed out the traffic into Salem, and Jam was generous to throw in $20 to park at a bootleg lot so we didn't have to fight the traffic to the parking garage. We wandered looking for a bathroom and got sucked into "Baobab" an African store. That's the thing about Salem, as much as it's full of witches and goblins and such, Salem in its heydey was a major trading port: "By 1790, Salem was the sixth largest city in the country, and a world famous seaport -- particularly in the China trade. Codfish was exported to the West Indies and Europe. Sugar and molasses were imported from the West Indies, tea from China, and pepper from Sumatra. Salem ships also visited Africa, Russia, Japan and Australia" (courtesy of Wikipedia)so a diversity of goods are hanging around Salem if you know where to look, beyond the touristy fringes. Baobab was beyond the touristy fringes by far, across the street from disgusting public bathrooms, but I'm glad we found it, as Jam and I purchased tiny wooden carved elephants for his goddaughter. Of course we had to mix history with our shopping, so we visited the Witch Dungeon and the Witch History Museum. Both have mannequins in their display that Disney would scoff at, but I think the point was expressed just fine. The dungeon was so creepy, and though many people learn about the witch trials, I'm not sure the conditions are always discussed as openly, and the Witch Dungeon illustrated how deplorable the prison really was. The Witch History Museum gave a nice timeline for the witch trials with some exhibits that were interesting to look at. Actually, I find Salem a rather sad place. Sure the festivities are fun and all, but when you go to the museums and learn about the witch trials, it's plain to see how painfully narrow-minded and ignorant the Puritans of that time and location really were. On the other hand, I suppose it is a sign of progress that we've come from hanging "witches" to making it lawful for gay couples to marry, LOL. After the museums and revelry down the main drag, Jam and I walked to the House of Seven Gables, a bit of a hike from the downtown area. This just proved that we have to visit again because it's absolutely gorgeous down there. Salem can be a good winter trip if you're brave enough to bear the cold when you dash from place to place, and I think I'd be up for a visit to the Peabody Essex Museum, which is filled with relics from the China Trade, and the House of Seven Gables. It was a great day.

The very next weekend I headed to NYC to see Madama Butterfly with my friends EE and Melu. They actually gave me a little certificate for my 23rd birthday, but we didn't get the chance to see that specific opera til October. It was the chance of a lifetime though, because it was directed by Anthony Minghella of English Patient, Cold Mountain, and The Talented Mr. Ripley fame, and of course I already new that the music was glorious, plus you just can't beat The Met. The set was great, I thought. There was a huge mirror towards the back of the stage, which made you feel as though the stage was much larger than it actually was, and as if you were really looking at the top of the hill where Madame Butterfly lived. The mirror was well-used to amplify effects such as japanese laterns on stage at the end of the first act and the origami birds at the beginning of the third. I also loved seeing the reflection of the characters mounting the steps to come onto stage. The costume was brilliant, and used a long red piece of fabric that wrapped around Butterfly as an obi, but could be unravelled for effect, and the unwinding made the death scene particularly moving. I thought the characters were well-sung too - their expressiveness defined their roles- in this opera, I loved Butterfly, she was sweet and naive and passionate, and I loved Suzuki, because she was wise and knowing, but protected Butterfly. Pinkerton was an ass, and the consul tried so hard to be diplomatic despite the fact he knew the true nature of Pinkerton. As little as she was on stage, I hated Pinkerton's American wife. Ugh, just the line "Tell her she must trust me" UGH! BOOOOOO! To have those emotions during the singing of an opera proves, to me, that the opera is outstandingly performed. I never had those emotions seeing Carmen or War and Peace or as good as it was even Tosca. There were moments in those other operas that took my breath away, yes - at the end of the first act of Carmen the applause were so so thunderous that the curtain was raised again to allow the audience a second glimpse at the positions of the singers - it looked like a tableau that David would've painted, absolutely glorious. The end of Tosca was incredible, almost armrest-clutching material, and delightfully horrifying. When the world was on fire in War and Peace it was a true feast for the senses, but no opera has ever made me sigh for the beauty of it all like did. A bonus was the fact that during intermission, delicious sushi was served. True we spent the entire intermission in line, but wolfing spicy tuna rolls and pounding champagne was never so delightful, as was the pizza we had afterwards :)


And finally, Halloween marked the culmination of October. My day was pretty low key, rushing around at work, getting coffee, going to a meeting, and then scrambling to genetics. When I got home I donned a wig and witches hat, some scary makeup and striped tights and went out into the yard to hand out candy. The kids were few but very sweet. Our pumpkins glowed on the stoop and my mom had festively lit candles in the living room and on the window sill. The house looked enchanting. The weather was gorgeous too, and the kids could mill around without coats on. I fixed myself an apple martini and enjoyed the sights.





November indeed.