is it just me?

From the one.org holiday thank you note:

"Thank you for being one of the first 2 million of us crazy enough to say America won't stand for global AIDS and stupid poverty. And thank you to the people who joined campaigns in other countries to make their governments come to the table and do more for the world's poor."

And in conclusion:
"Beating AIDS and extreme, stupid poverty, this is our moon shot. This is our generation's civil rights struggle, our anti-apartheid movement. This is what the history books will remember our generation for — or blame us for, if we fail. We can't afford to fail nor will we."

In summary, AIDS:bad, poverty: stupid.

What does that mean 'stupid poverty'? And who decided to adopt it as their catchphrase? Perhaps it was some misguided notion designed to appeal to MTV kids or something, but it really doesn't come off sounding very intelligent. Stupid poverty - you ruin everything! The message was accompanied by a very cheesy picture of Bono that my husband thought looked like a Sears portrait.

Speaking of Christmas cards, although I don't send them I love to get them. Especially the ones with pictures. So some old friends of my in-laws sent us theirs. They have two adult children, but still send a photo card. It was sort of a montage. There was a photoshopped picture of the mom and one of the daughters surfing, and a picture of the dad in a Hawaiian shirt. And then there was the other daughter. In her bathing suit, with her boob featured somewhat prominently and her thighs looking extremely unflattering. I looked at it and thought "dear god, how did that happen." Surely she did not approve this edition of the card. She cannot possibly have looked at that photo and thought "Yes! That's the one to send to everyone mom and dad know! It's perfect!" But how can her mother possibly have done that to her without asking? Does she not love her? What? I mean, in group photos some people often end up looking less than their best. But this photo is just her. Scantily clad. Looking unfortunate. All I can say is that if that were me, my whole family would be dead now and I would be going door to door across the country taking all the cards back and burning them ritualistically, while vowing to get in shape.

potlucky
I hate potlucks. I don't like to bring things, I don't like the weird selection, the mismatched tastes. But here in Wisconsin, people loooooove potlucks. They have them for everything. They even have potluck weddings. So tomorrow at work some crazy lady suggested we have a building potluck. We're all supposed to bring something and eat down in the conference room. I cannot think of anything that sounds less appealing than this. (Well, okay, if forced, I can.) But why? Why must we engage in some forced, weird camraderie only because Christmas is near? And why a potluck? Can't we all just pay $5 and order some pizzas? One lady is bringing meatballs. Another guy is bringing some sushi-like product that involves seaweed, rice, and wasabi but no fish. And that, in a nutshell, is what is wrong with potlucks. Not only am I supposed to figure something out that can be cooked tonight and tasted good at 11:45 tomorrow morning without being reheated, but then I am supposed to stand around and make awkward conversation while eating meatballs and sushi. No thanks. I think I'm busy.

Today I remembered that I forgot to tell you a funny story from my trip. It happened at the very beginning so I guess it's not that surprising. On my way to Budapest I experienced some delays which resulted in me spending some quality time in the Amsterdam airport. It is certainly one of the world's lovelier airports, and I highly recommend it. There are only two bad things: the transfer desk (which will forever remain a mystery to me and is unfailingly chaotic) and the holding pens where you wait for your flight. I was taking a small plane to Budapest so they put you down in this weird empty areas to wait. As we're sitting there, two women get to talking. If you have not already realized, eavesdropping is one of my favorite hobbies. So, of course I start listening. One is from Houston, and the other is from New York. They are both on their way to meet their boyfriends in Budapest. Houston's boyfriend is currenlty in Oslo on business, and will be meeting her there in a few days. New York's boyfriend is in a band, currently on European tour, and is traveling to Budapest from Germany via van. Their van broke down so she's not sure when he'll get there. Houston is staying at the Four Seasons because "the website looked the nicest". No shit. It's the Four Seasons. New York is staying somewhere that was arranged for her by the club where her boyfriend's band is playing. Good luck with that. Houston is wearing extreme amounts of expensive jewelry (no great surprise there) and once her boyfriend (who I now suspect is probably 30 years older than her and very very rich) gets there they are going to stay at a castle for three days and go pheasant hunting. That is the primary reason for their trip. New York's boyfriend's band plays "gypsy jazz" (Houston asked her, and upon that reply gave a very vague "oh" as if to say, whatever the hell that hippy shit is. We certainly don't have any of that in Texas.) They have absolutely nothing in common except for the fact that they are both headed to Budapest alone. And that's what is great about international travel - that one small fact makes them fast friends, and they chat on and on. Upon arrival in Budapest, Houston asks a man to pass her a garment bag, from which she extracts the most stunningly large, fluffy fur coat I have ever seen, and one is sure that no fewer than 43 animals must have died for it. While us lowly penny pinchers sit and wait for the airport minibus, she saunters out to the taxi stand. Meanwhile, New York will tell anyone who will listen that she has "no idea what's going on". It's really not that complicated, and saying things like that only makes people want to steal your wallet. Ah, airports. One of the most entertaining places on earth. The end.

santa claus is coming to town

the other day I'm walking down the street with my friend, and there's a guy walking towards us in a sort of Santa hat that at the top is this springy-spiral thing with a pom pom on top. (Okay, apparently I need a camera phone). Anyway, as he gets closer, it is clear that he is missing more than a few teeth and could really use a shower. We're laughing about his hat, so my friend says "nice hat" and he says "do you girls want my phone number?" you bet your life we do, santa. merry christmas.

remember that song? It always makes me think of the 8th grade.

Anyway, last night we went to this old school steak house/supper club (a term with which you are probably not familiar if you live outside the midwest) called Smoky's Club. The hostesses are each like 80 years old, as are almost all of the customers, and some of the staff. It's a hilarious old place with crazy crazy holiday decorations on top of all the wacky shit that is regularly on the wall. But we start looking around, and behind our table there's a picture of a baby fox (what's that, a kit?) with a caption that says "I must be special because I am God's creation." So then we start looking more closely, and there are no fewer than 20 posters hung around the place with handwritten messages (in handwriting that looks like generic grandma handwriting - how is is that they all write alike?) on poster board about being a good christian. It was very entertaining. But my favorite of all the signs was the one that said in big letters "No Profanity Allowed". Ha ha. I had to be on my best behaviour. Fortunately I am pretty sure that the lady who wrote all the signs was probably too deaf to hear what we said.

So, I came in to work today, and there is a small paper sign inside a plastic envelope that says "Please keep the door closed during cold weather." This is Wisconsin. It's winter. No one leaves the door open. But these signs are becoming an epidemic. We got a new staff person and she's crazy about signs. There's one at the water fountain telling you not to dump things down it, and there's one by the thermostats telling you not to turn them too high (or too low). They are everywhwere. We also get emails. Emails telling us to wipe our feet so we don't track in snow. Emails telling us not to forget that trash only gets collected on Wednesday. Emails telling us the lightbulb in Room 215 is out. It's horrible. And they all say "Questions? See Dawn in Room 400." I am going to start going to her and saying "Yeah, I have a question about closing the door. I don't really understand what you mean." My friend said it feels like working at your parents house with all the rules. A colleague updated that to say it's like a cross between your parents house and a psychiatric hospital. Yes, boys and girls, that's where I get to work. This place slowly makes you crazy. And turns you in to a bad dresser. It's a proven fact.

The theme song for this post is "Keep off the Grass" by Todd Snider. If you don't listen to Todd Snider, you're missing out. Good times.

Has it really been a month already? Well, I apologize for that. After traveling to Philly, I got a surprise trip to Napa Valley for my birthday. I didn’t know where I was going until we got to the gate for our connecting flight. We met up with a good old friend of mine, and spent the weekend gallivanting around the countryside. It was very nice weather out there and we drank a lot of wine and generally enjoyed the impending doom of turning 30. While there we went to a spa that advertises “cedar enzyme baths”. They are almost as weird as they sound. Actually, they are weirder. The bath involves no water. You sit in this giant wooden box (kind of like a deep sandbox) filled with wood chips. It’s hot because they’re fermenting. (I told you it was weird.) If you can get over the smell it’s actually kind of enjoyable. You are completely submerged (except your head of course) in this hot wood (it’s more like sawdust really). It’s kind of relaxing, though it is a bitch to rinse off. Then we had massages and after that I actually felt like I was dangerously relaxed. So relaxed that I might wander into traffic or accept bags from and unknown person at the airport. However, if you are in the Sonoma area and up for a different type experience, you should check out Osmosis.

So that was fun, and then I was back in Madison very briefly before Thanksgiving, which was uneventful. The day after I actually turned 30, which was also uneventful. And a few days after that I went to Budapest. I had a conference there for work, which involved a bunch of people from the former Soviet republics sitting around talking about how things still don’t work in their countries. I listened to most of this in simultaneous translation making it even more boring. There was this big old guy from Ukraine who I guess is sort of important. He was sitting there clicking his pen down and then watching it bounce up, you know, like you do when you’re really bored and you forget how loud that actually is. It’s slowly driving everyone mad, but people are kind of afraid to say anything. So finally, in a moment of genius, the guy next to him asks to borrow his pen. Ha! Perfect. He pretends to write things down. But not 10 seconds later, the Ukrainian picks up a bottle cap and starts spinning it and watching it fall. The pen borrower now has a dilemma. He can’t decide which is more annoying. He decides to return the pen, and the Ukrainian immediately goes back to clicking, until an American (you knew it would be) told him to stop. The end.

The problem with conferences that are translated is that humor and improvisation really don’t translate well. And everyone knows this, so they stick to a basic script which means all the presentations are boring. As proof that you should not try to make jokes, one guy did and the translation went something like this “There was a joke that Csaki told….something about geese….(silence until the speaker gets back on topic).” Wow. Now THAT’S funny.

Anyway, Budapest is nice. It has some lovely old buildings along the river. I went to the baths. To be honest, I was a little disappointed. I don’t really know what I expected, but not lukewarm water filled with naked old Hungarian ladies. I wasn’t sure if you were supposed to wear a bathing suit, and I saw a bunch of people wearing them, so I wore mine. But most people don’t it turns out. Truthfully, it makes sense not to since it is mineral water and is supposed to have curative properties so you don’t want to block it with lycra. Anyway, they say that the people at the bath I went to speak English, but they don’t really. I mean, they know only the words they need to conduct their job. Do not stray from the script. When I was done, I wanted a towel. They did not want to give me one until they were absolutely sure I was finished and would not be going in any more water. The four foot tall Hungarian giving them away kept looking at me and saying “Swimming pool NO. Swimming pool NO.” I had no intentions of going in a swimming pool, so I snatched the towel and ran. After a bit more walking around in the rain I headed to Paris.

My sister lives in Paris in a fabulous apartment in a fancy part of town. Paris is very civilized. And very expensive. We walked around and shopped and ate good food and went to a grand total of zero tourist attractions. I saw the e Eiffel Tower from very far away, and I saw Notre Dame from not that far away. And of course the river. And that was about it. Unfortunately, this time of year it rains a lot in Europe, so I am not sure it was the best time to visit. BUT my plane on the way home was more than half empty, so that means it IS a good time to go to Europe. Much better than the trip there where I was seated next to a hapless young mother and her 18 month old who she had no way to either restrain or entertain, making for a very long flight.

Speaking of flights, it seems that all the stewardesses on other airlines are, in general, younger, more attractive, and much nicer than those on US flights. We have a bunch of disgruntled middle aged women who seem decidedly uninterested in service (I know they say they are primarily there for your safety, but let’s be honest with ourselves), whereas all the other airlines have hot young women. Take KLM. It’s all pretty, young, blond Dutch women who are unfailingly nice. In fact, there was a belligerent guy on one of my flights who was being a pain about something and the stewardess kept saying “Can you please try to be a little bit kind, sir. Please. Try to be a little bit kind.” I have a feeling those are NOT the words that would have come out of the mouths of the ladies working my Northwest flight from Minneapolis to Amsterdam. And, they lost my luggage and gave me: a kit filled with toiletries, socks and a new clean t-shirt, AND coupons for miles, food in the airport and a discount on my next flight. All this and they only lost my luggage for a matter of hours. Last Christmas my luggage was lost for 12 days and I am not even sure I got an apology. The lesson here: move to the Netherlands. And, if you find an airline with hotter flight attendants than LAN Chile let me know.

Anyway, that’s the speed version of the last month. More later.