I've been out of the writing mood- things I have thought about writing about but never got around to it:
1. How annoying it is for my electricity to be out for hours at a time every day this week
2. My missing mystery tooth
3. What I've learned about "Hair nest" boils
4. http://whatnottocrochet.wordpress.com/ and http://whatnottoknit.wordpress.com/
5. My new Gucci rip off rhinestone studded glasses
6. My selfmade diagnosis of "dyscalculia"
7. How dandruff effects my sight
8. Mr. Dangley 2.0
9. The frightening aspects of Buzz on the prowl
10. The ugliest scarf I ever made and what I must do to atone for this grievous lack of
judgement.

The long lost stories of Christmas 2006 . . . Heck I still haven't written about all the things I did Christmas 2005 . . .

We took an “indicar” from George’s to Munnar. Munnar is a tourist trap. It’s nestled up in the “Southern Himalayas.” Likely story- those peeks were barely foot hills in comparison, but they were beautiful nevertheless. There were miles and miles of tea plantations. Tea plantations must be the most orderly things in India. There are hillsides blanketed with perfectly trimmed, carefully placed and brilliantly colored shrubs.

There are men and woman sheathed in plastic aprons, brandishing clippers with attached bellows. Well, that’s what they looked like, really they were the collecting bags for the tea tips snipped at their peek of tastiness. I guess. I heard a nasty little rumor that all the best tea is sent to Europe or kept in country and the dredges were sent to the US- historically we are not looked well upon on account of the little “Boston Tea Party” incident- and they all figure our buds aren’t so discerning after all. The best part of the tea leaf is the tip. That’s why all the tea shrubs are perfectly trimmed.

The drive to Munnar was interesting enough- we went out of the back waters, out of the rubber plantations, out of the heat and into the cool-cool hills. Those hills were not nearly as cool as I’d heard tell, but any cool is nice when you’ve spent Christmas Day in a hammock swatting mosquitoes and gazing out at a rice patty surrounded by banana trees and palms.

About 20 kilometers out of Munnar our driver got the idea of a commission into his wee-little head and we stopped at every fancy resort he could find before we got into the “city” of Munnar. After picking us up from George’s I don’t know what would have possessed him to think we were going to pay for a resort hotel.

Being that is was peak travel time, all the nicer places were filled up. I wasn’t interested in staying out in the boonies again any way. I wanted to be able to walk to my choice of restaurant and shop for and assortment of useless shiny objects in a market. I urged him onward toward Munnar.

Once in Munnar I spotted a place mentioned in Lonely Planet as cheap but clean enough accommodation. I told the driver to go there. Suddenly everything was clandestine and he didn’t know English. He motioned us to role up the heavily tinted windows pointing at the police on the road. I told him to turn down the street toward the “Brothers Hotel.” He said it was a private car. I said “So what?” He said private cars couldn’t go down that street, and surely he would have to take us further on out of town to find a resort hotel for us. I told him to stop the car and we would walk our butts down to the Brothers and see if they had a room.

After a very little negotiation and a look at the room, we decided to stay with the Brothers. They’d been there since 1955. The rooms seemed to have the things we wanted: a bed with seemingly clean sheets, a bathroom with a shower and hot and cold taps, not to mention a hot water heater (!) Then we just had to convince the driver to drive his private car down the public street so we could unload.

Although they were adorable, we decided against eating with the Brothers. The older Brother wore an ancient looking, stretched out “monkey cap” (aka ski mask) the whole time we were there. The Brothers boasted of only one dish on their menu. It was the same dish which has been on the menu since 1955. Fish curry. I wouldn’t have doubted if was actually the very same fish curry they had been serving since 1955. I can’t believe we didn’t get a picture of the Brothers.

In Munnar I greatly enjoyed antagonizing all the salesmen at the tiny shops up and down the main road. I would go to one, unfold everything they had, try it on, debate about colors and prices and then leave. A few hours later, I’d go back and start again. I ended up buying one hot pink and gold shawl, one “luxury” bath mat (Which was, I might add a fine upgrade to our room at the Brothers.) and any number of tiny change purses with shiny elephants on them. I bought several shalwar sets, had them made up, and they turned out too small- I swear it really is beyond the tailors here that I am quite as large as I am.

We took a day tour to see things like “The Honey Bee Tree.” It was a tree with a lot of honey bees- go figure. We also saw “Echo Point” where, try as you might you would never- ever hear an echo- I’m not sure how that bit got ruined. We saw some dams and some lakes and a pretty little elephant giving rides. We went to “Top Station” which according to the brochure is the “Toppest Most Station” in the area. Good to know.

Oh the things you can see in Munnar . . .

Next time I'll tell about the way out of Munnar.

I have issues with...

anxiety food excess immortality walls

Take Word Association Test

I think Buzz is having somekind of nervous break down. He doesn't want to live on the balcony any more and acts like he will be attacked if he dares show his pointy little face out there. I wonder if a bird of prey has threatened his dog-hood.

Being bored and annoyed has given me a headache all weekend.

Things I've done today:

• Woke up to the neighbor's laundry woman slapping away at her laundry
• 
  Heard a chipmunk in heat chirping at the top of its tiny little lungs for a mate.
• 
  Found the chipmunk in heat chirping at the top of its tiny little lungs for a mate sitting on a window overhang on the next building.
• 
  Got annoyed by the incredibly loud sound of the chipmunk chirping at the top of its tiny little lungs in the corridor between two cement buildings and echoing off every other cement building for miles around just to setting in my ear and bounce around in the most annoying manner
• 
  Looked for something to throw at the chipmunk
• 
  Highly enjoyed throwing 6 cups of water (one at a time) at the chipmunk until it shut up and ran away
  
  I’ve been reading a book called Games Indians Play. It’s not about Cricket and Soccer if that’s what you’re thinking. It’s supposedly about why Indians throw trash on the street, pee on the sidewalks and always cheat. (Among other things.)
  So far the author (Indian) has made the point that although Indians are smartest people in the world, it’s their huge brains that keep them from doing the right thing. Apparently it just doesn’t make any sense to do the right thing, especially in India where nobody is doing the right thing. Now, if, let’s say you were somewhere else, where everyone does the right thing (because they are after all not so smart as Indians) doing the right thing would be smart. But even when Indians go to a place where doing the right thing would be smart, they don’t do it because they are greedy.
  Wow, right?
  No wonder I have a headache.
  
  I’ve also watched about 5 episodes of “House, MD” and knitted a tiny pink and purple sweater for my mp3 player. It’s adorable. I somewhat organized my junk, and even started packing up a few things. I’m thinking about having popcorn for dinner and watching the rest of season one of House while I knit a Christmas stocking or a sweater or a scarf or something else utterly useless at this moment in time.

If, let’s say, you wanted to go shopping in Bangalore on any given Saturday or Sunday you would feel like you were trying to wade your way through the last minutes shoppers in the mall on the day before Christmas Eve. There are humans as far as the eye can see in all directions; sifting through dupatttas and saris, bending over “imitation jewelry,” and examining all manner of sequined and gold studded sandals. They are used to each other. They bump into each other and ricochet off in all directions. They push through and push past, and they tell you to get out of the way for the V-V-VIPs.

I was looking for some elusive place to sit down and plug my ears with music and mind my own business. I wandered all around Bangalore looking for this place. Sometimes I can find these places- the corner of the book store, (crowded) the back of a café, (crowded) the outside courtyard of a fancy hotel (score!) I searched and searched and finally ended up in my own neighborhood. I walked all around the mall and hotel and located a little table on the edge of the terrace-facing the garden in the Leela Palace Hotel.

I had just plugged in the music and turned on my computer. I was settling into my fabulous new spot when a hotel employee came to me and said, “Would you mind moving into the lobby for just five minutes? We are getting a V-V-VIP.” And he didn’t have a stutter.

I’ve been spending most of my free time (which is all my time) today being annoyed about stupid crap, and this rubbed me the wrong way. I guess I don’t look good enough in my jeans and T-shirt to be sitting on the terrace when the V-V-VIP comes in. Or maybe it’s a security issue. I don’t see how that can be the case since now I’m sitting in the lobby where if I wanted to murder the Very-Very-Very Important Person I’d have an even better shot at it.

Now it’s been 30 minutes and no V-V-VIP so far.
30 minutes after that: The V-V-VIP has arrived- it’s nobody I want to murder. I bet these police with sticks are relieved that they don’t have to beat me into submission for my crime of annoyance.

Everyone (all three of you who read this) has been clamoring for MORE!

Well- here is some more.

I skipped out of work early on Friday. Real early. Like, before I usually show up. I went in for a few hours, did my work and left with my dog, who came to work with me.

We went to a Shabbat meal. I was going to crochet him a tiny a yamaka, but I knew he wouldn't wear it and I think making a dachshund wear a skull cap borders on sacrilegious.

Our host, the resident semi-practicing vegetarian gay Jew welcomed the small dog with much excitement. The party included one Canadian Hindu convert (there is debate as to if one can actually convert to Hinduism) married to an Indian, one Indian who I think was the boyfriend of the host, (but what do I know I have no gay-dar,) one American non-practicing Jew from Georgia, one American woman (whom I’m not sure what she practices, but she did say the prayer in Hebrew, suggested I read a book called –Jesus Lived in India and asked if anyone would be up for a séance,) one Canadian raised in by Hindu/Atheist parents, Buzz and me.

It was a night of many questions. “Why did your dog pee on my bed?” “Why didn’t Moses go into the Promised Land?” “Why is Easter and Passover always at the same time?” “How many more Shabbats will there be before it’s over?” And other interesting things that could have made my head explode.

It was fun.

Obviously I couldn't go back to work- you can't work once you've done Sabbath prayers with Hindus, Atheists and a dog!

Teaching about sarcasim takes all the fun out of it.

I'm teaching a one week (8 hours a day) class about American culture and communication to a set of new support engineers. Poor darlings- they are just learning how crazy Americans can be- and how it will take a long time before they really understand what it is that we really mean when we say, "I'm fine."

Actually, there's no way to know what that means, esp if it is said by a woman.

They gave presentations today, one of them was talking about facts about the USA- one of them quoted the amount of money the US military spends each year and said, "they spend an alarming amount!" That made me giggle.

Much of what Americans do is alarming to the rest of the world.

I have an announcement:

I am no longer happy little "P" I am now (unofficially) a jaded "J"!!
I'm
100% I
12% N
6%F
and
1% J!
http://www.humanmetrics.com/cgi-win/JTypes2.asp

Beneath the quiet exterior, INFJs hold deep convictions about the weightier matters of life. Those who are activists -- INFJs gravitate toward such a role -- are there for the cause, not for personal glory or political power.
INFJs are champions of the oppressed and downtrodden. They often are found in the wake of an emergency, rescuing those who are in acute distress. INFJs may fantasize about getting revenge on those who victimize the defenseless. The concept of 'poetic justice' is appealing to the INFJ.
"There's something rotten in Denmark." Accurately suspicious about others' motives, INFJs are not easily led. These are the people that you can rarely fool any of the time. Though affable and sympathetic to most, INFJs are selective about their friends. Such a friendship is a symbiotic bond that transcends mere words.
INFJs have a knack for fluency in language and facility in communication. In addition, nonverbal sensitivity enables the INFJ to know and be known by others intimately.
Writing, counseling, public service and even politics are areas where INFJs frequently find their niche.

I had a dream on Christmas Eve- maybe it was Christmas day- being on vacation made everything blur together in such a way that I cannot define whether it was a good blur or not.

I took a nap in the afternoon- I usually don’t nap and when I do I usually don’t dream, but I did on Christmas Eve/Day.

I dreamed I was lying on the floor between two arm chairs. I had apparently laid there purposefully. I had a pillow and I was comfortable as though I’d been watching TV or such.

My brother, Michael, was sitting in the chair to my left. Jonnyreb was sitting in the chair to my right. I was trying to get up, but each time I tried I felt as though I was being pushed back down. I tried several times, but I wasn’t worried that I couldn’t get up, more dismayed.

I said, “Do you ever feel like you just can’t get up or move from where you are?” My brother said, “Nope” and got up and left.

Again I was troubled because I didn’t want to ask Jonny for help. So I laid there for a while longer wondering how I was going to get up. During that time Jonny had gotten up from his chair and he was standing by a door behind his chair.

He said, “Get up and come here.” I was up and at his side in an instant. I was so surprised to be standing there in front of him, to have so effortlessly obeyed his call that I woke up.

I thought that was such a strange dream when I woke up. Strange not because if it’s messianic overtones, but more so because I’ve had those kinds of dreams before and it’s usually Michael in the part of the one reminding me, calling me, stirring my spirit.

Michael, an unlikely Messiah in life, has been coming in my dreams for years as a subtle reminder of my spirituality. And here Michael was free to do what he wanted and I was held down and waiting for a call to action.

I’m not sure how Jonny got called into the picture. Although, pk and I had been discussing a thesis she had heard and he had been brought up as a refute earlier that day, (or maybe the day before see blur above.)

She said she had been told that if a man kisses your forehead it means that he really wants to kiss your mouth. The premise is that he is expecting you to look up at him so he can have easy access to your luscious lips.

I said I didn’t think that was always the case- it could be that he was just really fond of you and an affectionate person. Maybe he was a touch-flirty kind of guy and that’s just how he greeted his female friends. Maybe he was trying to convince other people that he wanted to kiss you on the mouth- or maybe those are just my experiences.

One time a French man kissed me on the nose and when I opened my mouth to tell him that was weird he stuck his tongue in my mouth- so maybe men really do have those crazy kinds of strategies.

It was an early morning flight to Cochin- and I had to argue with the cab company to come pick us up at such an unheard of hour. Finally they over charged me and then raised the price when they had to call back three times to get directions in three different languages. I gave the guard a tip for explaining how to find the place twice and then finding someone off the street to explain in another language.

Hindi and English are the official languages of India; the problem is here in the South each state protects its regional language or languages with a vengeance. It’s their right, but it makes things difficult when business people only speak Kanada or Tamil and you want something in English (or Hindi I suppose.)

The driver from GK Homestay met us at the airport and packed us away into an old Ambassador. (Is there any other type of Ambassador?) The Ambassador was the first car made in India in 1948- It seems an entire army of 1948ish Ambassadors are still roaming streets and paths all over the subcontinent. I had no idea how long the drive would be, but I suppose I had mentally pictured it being about an hour, maybe an hour and a half- two and a half hours later we were running out of road, but we were still going.

Road trips in India are bound to be interesting, and strangely enough not fun. While every other vehicle on the road is belching out black fumes our Ambassador seemed to leaking all it’s exhaust into the car. We drove through cities and villages and when pk saw an elephant working on the side of the road (which like the camel in Bangalore had escaped my notice) she commented on it forgetting that lots of people here have at least a rudimentary understanding of English- the driver stopped for a work elephant photo op- that was the oldest elephant I’ve ever seen- but he was working away as his tiny brown human commanded- moving huge logs from one pile to another pile.

We drove through rubber plant plantations- with trees dripping latex and pale rubber sheets drying on clothes lines all around us. We drove past coconut groves and over big wide rivers and kept on driving.

Eventually the paved road became a rutted dirt road, and the dirt road became a pocked tire worn path then it became nothing more than what looked like a foot path through the jungle and on past a rice patty. Thankfully the car stopped just before we had to wind our way through the trees. We had reached the end of the road and George Kutty was there to great us.

George showed us our room in his back yard- facing the quietest, greenest, only-est rice patty I’ve ever seen. George showed us the room, how to use the chalk to ward off the ants, how to turn on the shower, and how to warm water in a bucket “only if we needed it.” We noticed the hammocks stung up between a row of coconut palms before George whisked us off to second breakfast, (we’d already had first breakfast on the plane- Indian flights are lovely in that even if you only have a one hour domestic flight, they serve drinks and a meal- even though the drink was spiced butter milk, which is one of the nastiest things I’ve put to my lips the entire time I’ve been here- it’s a nice practice.)

Second breakfast, like every other meal, involved some form of coconut- as well as pineapple and bananas.

We proceeded to go collapse in the hammocks for the rest of the afternoon- when we roused ourselves to try to eat lunch- which was good but after two breakfasts- completely unnecessary.

That evening we took a canoe tour and visited the “Snake boats.” Our guide/rower was low on the English skills so we tried to make guesses as to what his gesticulations about the boats might indicate. We guessed that the numbers painted on the boat indicated seating positions- one of the boats held over 100 people. One on each side of the longest canoe you could imagine. We understood that the boat rode very low in the water- that the metal work was gold- I think.

We rowed on past neighborhood children- beautiful girls shy and hiding behind trees and boys waving as they splashed in the water. Occasionally they would ask for pens and practice their English lessons on us. “Hello! What is your name?” They would giggle when we answered. Each house along the water way had steps down to the water. Sometimes children splashed around in the warm water, in other places men descended the steps for a quiet bath- women scrubbed laundry on nearby rocks and we floated past curious fish traps and under foot bridges held up by massive palm trunks.

The backwaters in Kerala are considered as the Venice of India. People live and work all along the water- some villages don’t even have roads or paths, as all transportation and livelihood is made on the water. It’s an area of giant tiger prawns the size of lobsters and a steady diet of fish, coconut and rice.

On Christmas day we took a ferry down to the coast. The waters and the house boats we couldn’t afford were beautiful.

Here's a picture of me graduating from Headstart.

Today I got three Christmas cards and a birthday card. The birthday card, as far as I can tell, was actually sent at the beginning of September . . . I shall not comment further on the mail system here in India.

Two of the Christmas cards are from my great aunts who I haven't heard from in - well- ever! When I got the cards I looked at where they came from and thought- who is that?!

Well when I opened them I found they are from Aunt Muriel, and Aunt Barbara my Grandpa's sisters. Apparently he's been passing around cards and pictures. Now I remember Aunt Barbara because she was my Headstart teacher (aka as Aunt Mrs. Smith) And I can't say I really remember Aunt Muriel at all aside from my mother talking about her sometimes and I'm getting a vague picture of a little lady with short hair dyed dark brown . . .

The other card and box from Blondi and the B-day stuff from Shorty- thanks everybody!

So I was walking down my street the other day when I noticed an elephant standing infront of the temple. My reaction: "I know it aint!" and I pulled out my camera. Actually there were two elephants. I snapped a few pictures and moved on thinking that to be a great addition to my "animals of Bangalore" list.

Later that evening I heard a parade coming from the temple down the street. Usually the parades are really funerals and are going towards the temple, acutally the grave yard- so I went out to see what was going on. Elephants of course! And dancing drummers, and lots of childrend with fire and some horn players who never actually played the horns.

My advice for anyone who is going to live in India for any amount of time- let's say a person who sometimes enjoys a little peace and quiet- DO NOT live 1. In a poor/low caste neighborhood I'm telling you- they are lound just for the fun of it. 2. a neighborhood with a temple a graveyard or a mosque. 3. Have lots of earplugs.

Christmas is here

All in good cheer!

My human is evil!

Happy Christmas from
Buzz and Miss Evil Owner

I can't shake the feeling that the day before yesterday was something important. December 12- is it important for something I've forgotten? I keep thinking it's important.

Yesterday I thought "It would really suck to leave my keys here and be locked out when I got home."

And I was right, because when I got home I realized I had left my keys on my desk, right after thinking that thought.

Brilliant.

I know this means nothing to you, but if it's in quotes it is something that was said in a weekly team meeting.


LS JARGON TEST

Highlight/Mark the most appropriate answer.

1. If Tony “bubbled up” to Rachel would she:
A. Slap him
B. Greet him with a smile
C. Give him a blank look
D. Call security

2. “Tighten” is to “Righten” as:
A “Short sharp” is to “options”
B. “Warm” is to “hand off”
C. “Dribble dribble” is to “Spurt Spurt”
D. All of the above.

3. On August 15, “driven” was mentioned how many times between the times of 5:30 and 6:00?
A. 6
B. 9
C. 12
D. 18

4. In this statement: “You will be as close to you business as possible.”
“business” refers to:
A. Your SEs
B. Microsoft
C. Spectrum
D. You know, your ‘busi-ness’

5. Match the Quote with the initials of the person who said it:
_____ A. “I’ve been gone for a way long time.”
_____ B. “That’s madness I say.”
_____ C. “I don’t think these parameters are . . . good.”
_____ D. “Is this meeting going to go to 100:00 o’clock?!”
_____ E. “We have things that happen to us when we’re doing stuff and things.”
_____ F. “I want you to be able to recognize the smelly stuff when it’s thrown at you.”
_____ G. “Most calls have very little information of any interest.”
_____ H. “We’re struggling against things we don’t understand”

BS JM MO SH SP TP – two sets of initials will be used more than once

6. Rank these in order from most desirable to least desirable most desirable 1 being
the least desirable and 6 being the least desirable:
_____ “A whole mess of good things”
_____ “A little bit of somethings”
_____ “A steady something- (not a big something or a small something)”
_____ “Good stuff”
_____ “Small quiet things”
_____ “The things that are moving in my head”

7. If you hear a “Giant sucking sound” you should:A. Run for your life!
B. “Align your offerings”
C. “Tighten and righten”
D. “Role up into” something
E. Look “through a glass darkly”

8. True of False: “Bubbling up to” someone is the same as “Rolling up into”
someone.

9. Which of these is actually a word?
A. “Howfor”
B. “Linkages”
C. “Standupidness”
D. All of the above
E. None of the above

10. If something is “Not what it needs to be or should be or could be” what is it?

________________________________________________________________



Bonus: Write your answer on a separate sheet of paper:
Explain the analogy of the tool box and the hammer given to the wife for the anniversary given in the November 28 meeting.

alert
sexy
dumb
HOLY COW!
Something important I discovered this week: I can alter an infant size T-shirt(about 3-6 months) to fit my barrel chested little dog perfectly. (Isn't he handsome in a V-neck?) This is revolutionary, right up there with the day we discovered we could dress Kermit in construction paper at NCH!

walkie bits
http://www.dynamism.com/walkie-bits/main.shtml

Dear Support group

First, you can’t stop me! Nobody can stop me! I am even now gathering an army of knitters- together we will knit our way into the UN with me as Queen of the Knitting Nation!

Second, you mentioned “Thou shalt not read about knitting.” I would like to let you know that is a common mistranslation. It actually reads “Thou shall not read about quiffing” Which was an ancient game played by the most wicked of people. It involved a baby pig, large forks and a vast quantity of honey. I can’t go into more detail, it’s simply too horrid.

The church of no-knit no-purl has been missing out on the many blessings of knitting (and purling) for many years. And Mr. Dangly resents the implication of being involved in such a gauche movement.

Finally I’ll have you know I’m no novice I’m right up there in upper intermediate!

I shall not engage you on this topic any further- so please be quiet about it or I’ll knit you a muzzle.