Merry Christmas

Lord, make us instruments of Thy peace.

Where there is hatred, let us sow love; where there is injury, pardon; 

where there is doubt, faith;

where there is despair, hope;

where there is darkness, light; 

where there is sadness, joy. 

O Divine Master grant that we may not so much seek to be consoled as to console;

to be understood as to understand; 

to be loved as to love. 

For it is in giving that we receive, it is in pardoning that we are pardoned; 

it is in dying that we are born to eternal life.

- Prayer of St. Francis of Assisi

Merry Christmas! 

sounds of the season

Christmas isn't Christmas to me without music. But I have a few favorites that I just can't live without. Like this one:

Or this one:

Or this one:

What's yours?

food for the 1%

Now that I work in the Real World where people go to their offices every day and work like drones until 5 or sometimes 6 and then march home only to wait to start it all over again, I've discovered that office buildings around here throw Christmas holiday parties as a way to treat their tenants to something nice (or in my case, a way to placate us because they only turn the heat on once a week and, naturally, that makes us a little angry). Our building isn't super fancy and I doubt we have the highest rent in the neighborhood. Here is a selection from our menu:

bacon-wrapped scallops; meatballs; vegetable spring rolls; a cheese platter and crackers (with pepperjack, cheddar, and mozzarella); shrimp and crab dip; assorted cakes and pastries

It was nice, but nothing too spectacular, as was the quality/flavor of the food. Now let's look at T-rav's building party, which, might I add, was serenaded by a live harpist:

individual lamb shanks; duck and mango kebobs; a cheese platter (with fancy cheese); mushroom stuffed phyllo wraps; assorted tarts, pastries, and other delectables; an open bar with drinks all around

Let's just say Trav's was definitely a step up from mine. So is his building (in addition to the party, the partners in his company each received a holiday ham). I don't know if they would be considered part of the 1%...maybe the 5% (on a side note, isn't it interesting that 6 months ago, me saying "the 1%" would have had little to no meaning without context, but now it's common jargon for everyone in America! I love how language changes!), but as nice as it is to have a party (and I do like a party), I couldn't help but wonder if the world wouldn't be a better place if they donated all this extra money they have floating around rather than waste it on duck on lamb shanks. Surely the building budgets these extravagances into their leasing prices and part of what makes their building more desirable than others is their extravagance.

I just find it frustrating that so much money goes into a party "celebrating" a holiday that people are afraid to name when there are/were people protesting the economic gap a few blocks away, the national debt is rising, and people are starving in Africa. And Afghanistan. And China. And America.

And this is where T-rav jumps in and calls me a communist.

Scottish Christmas Walk (aka dog parade)

Old Town Alexandria does a parade every year, which, in my opinion, included all the things a successful parade needs: bagpipes, old cars, candy, and dogs. No floats, no baton twirlers, just pipers wearing kilts and every variety of terrier imaginable with a few hounds, setters, and sheepdogs thrown in the mix.

Sadly my camera battery died before I could photograph all the dogs I hope to adopt. For those of you who know Mr. T, just imagine 100 lil Towsers wearing their family's tartan, marching down the street to the beat of the drums. Yes. It was Fantastic.

T-rav thinks it's creepy that grown men, successful businessmen or politicians or whatever, dress up in elaborate costumes with big fuzzy hats and wolf head purses and parade through the streets waving sticks in the air or shooting off rifles every few hundred feet. What's so strange about that?

I, on the other hand, dream of doing historical reenactment. Madrigal dinners/concerts are my favorite. And then there's the whole Irish dancing thing--donning a curly wig, short skirt, and lots and lots of glitter and sparkles--I guess he'll just have to get used to it.

29.

Today I am 29.

Twenty-nine. And I still look about the same as my 8-year-old self. Except, sadly, my nose has grown. I should go find those old glasses...

So I have now entered the last year of my twenties. The end of life as I know it? Quite possibly. I'm trying to work out some way to come to grips with getting older...I'll let you know if I come up with anything. In the meantime, here's an interesting list of some of those who share my birthday.

1667 Jonathan Swift

1768 Jędrzej Śniadecki (I've never actually heard of him, but I wanted to type a coolies Polish name. Try and say it. Apparently he's a writer/physician/chemist/biologist)

1835 Mark Twain, aka Samuel Clemens

1874 Sir Winston Churchill

1929 Dick Clark

1955 Billy Idol

Other random facts about 30 November (thank you Wikipedia):

• The first international football match took place between Scotland and England in 1872.
• Oscar Wilde died in 1900.
• My saint is Andrew, a warrior saint and invoked against injustice, sterility, gout, dysentery, and, of course, wry neck. He is also the patron saint of Greece, Romania, Russia, Ukraine, and the Ecumenical Patrarchate of Constantinople.
• Barbados and South Yemen celebrate their independence from the UK today.
• Lucille Ball married Desi Arnaz in 1940.
• Ken Jennings finally lost a Jeopardy match in 2004.

Happy birthday to me!

ma'am or miss

While standing in the metro waiting for my train, a noticed a man standing nearly in my bubble of personal space. "Excuse me, ma'am" Who on earth could he be talking to? "Ma'am, do you have a dollar? I'm down to 80 cents on my train fare and didn't bring any cash with me." I think he's talking to me. But ma'am? Since when do I look like a ma'am? 

Which brings me to the question: which do you prefer, ma'am or miss? Or neither? I've always thought of ma'am as the title reserved for WOMEN. Moms. Grandmas. Miss is for young women who look like they might be in college. Or teenage girls. People like me. But apparently I look like I'm getting on in years, at least enough to be called ma'am. Or perhaps, as I prefer to think, miss is simply falling out of fashion. For example, I know that in German the charming word fraulein is falling out of use to be replaced across the board by the more dignified and all-encompassing frau. Is the same thing happening in French? Portuguese? Spanish? (I should know the answer to this in Italian, but it's been too long). Is this a conscious politically-correct thing to do (we don't know if someone is unmarried or young, so we'll call everyone ma'am to avoid potential mistakes) or something else? 

Whatever the case, ma'am just makes me feel so old. 

gratitude

I have been an ungrateful, cynical wretch the past few months. But mostly I'm impatient. After nearly 8 years of schooling between the two of us, many short-term jobs or career changes, and very little direction in our lives, I'm antsy, to put it mildly, for a little stability (note- I'm not antsy to settle down. That's a terrifying prospect), especially of the financial variety. I dream not of huge houses or fancy electronics or cars we can buy, but of having two incomes (that have no end date in sight) and a savings. I dream of hoarding my money.

I suppose all of this should have taught me patience, but it hasn't. Instead I've been more impatient and irritated when things haven't gone the way I planned. Or hoped. Or demanded. So in order to remind myself of all the things I do have, especially considering the approaching holiday, here's a short list of my blessings, in no particular order.

I have a job. It pays my bills.
I get to teach at G-town, and next semester I'm even scheduled for two classes. Here's to the start of me slowly weaseling my way into a full-time position...(cross your fingers, please!)
I'm married to the most patient, understanding, and generally considerate person I've ever met.
My parents.
My kitchen is huge. And our apartment is reasonably priced in a great neighborhood close to everything.
I live closer to my family and can easily go home and visit.
I have some of the best friends in the world who, even though they're far away, are still my best friends.
I live in one of the most beautiful, historic, lively cities in the US. There's always an adventure waiting.
I get to eat delicious and healthy food every day.
Democracy.
My body is strong and healthy (knock on wood, this is not an invitation to tempt fate).
I have health insurance.
Sweet potatoes.
I get to travel.
I live in a country where it's ok for my Muslim co-workers to take time out of their day for prayers, and I can leave for Christmas or Easter.
Sisters.
I finally found an armchair for my living room which is perfect for rainy afternoons and a book.
I work in a multi-cultural environment and learn about faraway places every day.
Saffron, cinnamon, cloves, rosemary, garlic, lemon, chocolate, thyme, vanilla...
Harry Potter and my secret books. Let's be honest- really all books in general.
My in-laws.
Google.
Holidays.

And with that, I wish you all a Happy Thanksgiving.

25 ways to wear a scarf

Watch this. Don't you think this girl is adorable? 

And when you're finished, you can click on a specific style and watch the tutorial in regular speed.

reality check

I have a good imagination. And I'm overly curious (nosy, you say?), so as I pass people on the street, I like to concoct a story of who they are, where they're from, and what they're doing out and about. In my mind, they are unfailingly foreign, speaking a language that I also just happen to speak. I work out an entire conversation in my head, generally beginning with a look of desperation in their eyes, begging me to say something in a friendly tongue, and ending with me helping them on their way in perfectly communicable (but not perfect- I'm not that conceited even in my day dreams) Russian or German or Italian or wherever I decide they should be from. I am never nervous or bashful speaking their language; my grammar is correct and my accent decent. And best of all, my words do not fail me.

Enter reality. Let me replay a recent conversation T-rav and I had at the Russian Cultural Center:

We walk into the building on a Saturday afternoon. The door is open and there's a very-Russian looking guy (skinny, round face with angular features, thin hair) standing in the middle of a room that would make a better ballroom than space for a receptionist's desk. Trav says hello and asks about language classes. The Russian guy says something very fast in Russian. Ooo, I think I caught something about them not working. But how can I be sure...we stand there awkwardly. Trav simplifies his request in slow and basic English. The Russian looks bewildered and slightly irked. We ask him if he speaks English. Obviously not. So then, we think, we'll switch to Russian! Pause. What were those words I used to know? Trav and I stand there and look at each other and stare at the Russian and the Russian stares at us. I switch to staring at the floor. I notice that there are several pieces of paper blowing around on the ballroom's wooden floor. It would look quite nice if they refinished it. I'd like to put up a mirror and dance a jig. If the Russian weren't there, that is. Damn. All I can remember is "I want to see your rubber boots." I suck. We continue staring. Finally I blurt out Russian class in Russian. A light turns on in the Russian's eyes and he starts talking on the phone in rapid Russian. Ah, it's the head of the Cultural Center. We find out what we need to know and give the Russian back his phone. We manage to mumble a Russian thank you on our way out.

And that is the difference between my dreams and reality.

random

Today is 11/11/11. It seems significant somehow. You decide.

Editing page after page after page of textbook makes me want to stab my eyes out. Unfortunately for me, editing is all I've been doing lately. Which is why I've been checking facebook incessantly, reading loads of blogs/websites/news articles, and posting a bit more often than usual. Anything to distract...

When I was a freshman in college, I was never cold. I walked around campus in the middle of winter late at night in jeans, a sweater, hat, and gloves, and was almost never cold. I'm now freezing 95% of the time no matter what I wear. Maybe it's because I'm getting old.

T-rav and I have been eagerly engaged in a month-long Prison Break marathon. We finished the last episode last night. I feel as though it has left a small hole in my heart.

Thanksgiving is less than 2 weeks away. It can't come soon enough.