Tristan rides to tube to and from work everyday… a fairly typical activity for a Londoner (Londonite?). Yesterday he didn’t make to work on time though.
At Finchley Station a man decided to throw himself infront of the oncoming train. That’s right… he jumped off the platform and into the front of an oncoming train. Tristan was there for it and said it was grisly and awful. Women were screaming and crying (I’m betting some men were too, but they don’t get as much press)… there was blood everywhere… he even saw what remained of the body.
I came into work this morning and I couldn’t find anything about the event in the news. Anywhere.
I told a couple of the people that I worked with what happened and the responses where all somewhere between dismissive (“So What?”), flippant (“That’s not surprising.”) and mocking (“I wish I had seen that. I would have laughed my…”).
It all really got me thinking about the whole situation.
At first, I think I just felt the general compassionate horror that Tristan had to bear witness to this. Seeing a person die isn’t easy for anyone (I would think)… and especially not in such a gruesome manner. Maybe we’re all a bit desensitized by modern movies, TV shows, and video games… but I think most people can still separate the real from the fake, and to see what used to be a person now smeared all over the platform has to have some sort of impact, right? Plus, how would it feel to have to tell your boss, “Sorry I’m so late. I watched a guy jump infront of a train today and they shut down the station until they could pick up the pieces.”
Then I got to thinking about who this guy was… and wondering what exactly his goal was (besides the obvious, of course). I suppose I have some understanding of depression… I was, afterall, a teenage girl at one point. Seriously though, I think a lot of people have had their own experiences with their “low points”… different though they are for everyone… and it makes me a bit sad that something drove this man to this point… or rather, that he allowed himself to be driven to this point.
What really gets me though is the manner in which he chose to end his life. Was it a split second decision? Did he just get off the phone with his boss who fired him or his wife who left him and saw the train coming and thought ‘Oh well’? Or did something happen yesterday or last week that led him to plan this? And if that’s the case… what pushes someone to suicide in such a spectacular and public manner? Was it a final “F*** you” to whoever he felt had done him injustice? Or maybe he just felt so anonymous in his life that he wanted to be noticed in his death…?
Times like this I wish I knew a little bit about psychology.
The other person I keep thinking about is the poor driver of the train. I believe all the trains that go through that particular station have drivers (I know some of the trains don’t)… I can’t imagine going to work… one day the same as the next… and having a person jump out infront of me. Does the driver feel responsible in some way? And what about the people that have to clean up the tracks? What about all the people stranded at the station… waiting to go home or get to work… kids riding the tube after school… parents with their children, having to explain…? Uck… what an awful situation.
I suppose the final sad note in this whole situation is that it didn’t even warrant a blurb in the news. Part of me thinks this is a sorry oversight, but another part of me applauds the local media for ignoring this instead of using the gruesome details to sell a few copies. The Brits I work with said things like this happen all the time and they simply stopped covering it in the news… whether that is to stop encouraging it or what, I don’t know… but the whole thing is just, well, sad.
Thursday, March 19, 2009
Tuesday, March 17, 2009
double parking
The gym that I go to has a parking lot the size of a shoebox. As such, cars double and triple park, blocking each other in on the regular. The management has a sign-in sheet at the entrance that you fill out with your name, car make and model, color, and license plate and a note that says “Please allow up to 10 minutes for necessary car movements.” (or something along those lines).
I was just finishing up my set and heading over to do some ‘extra credit’ pull-ups, when my car was called over the announcement system. I had already finished my workout for the most part, all I had left was my ab stuff, but in the interest of kindness I figured I could do that at home, so I grabbed my jacket and keys and went to the door. I literally got there as she was hanging up the phone from announcing my name… that’s how fast I was. As I’m signing out, one of the trainers says yells over to me something about how short my workout was… basically just teasing. I yell back up at him that 30 minutes isn’t bad for lifting, considering I do my cardio before I come and as I’m saying this the woman that is apparently waiting for me claps… in my face… and says “Enough Enough. I’m going to be late.”
This bothers me for a few reasons:
1. She clapped in my face. Excuse me, but if I don’t know you (and shoot, maybe even if I DO know you) keep your hands out of my face… especially if you feel the need to bang them together and make an extremely unnecessary racket.
2. In the 5 minutes preceding them calling me down to move my car, they had called two other cars down. I was the first one there of the three (although I was the last one called) and I was so fast the lady announcing my information had not even hung up the phone. When the sheet says allow for up to 10 minutes and I’ve taken all of 10 SECONDS, don’t rush me… I’m ALREADY doing you a favor.
3. I was not taking any EXTRA time in what I was doing. As I’m talking to the trainer I’m signing out of the gym and putting on my jacket… the whole evolution, INCLUDING me talking to the trainer, was taking all of 10 additional seconds. Infact, her interruption was more of a distraction than the farewell’s.
After giving the lady the confused and annoyed look she deserved, I finished my goodbye and turned to leave. As we’re walking out of the building she’s on my heels saying “I really need you to hurry up. I can’t be late for work again or they’ll fire me. You have me completely blocked in and I can’t afford to lose my job.”
Again:
1. This lady looked old enough to be my mother if not my grandmother. What kind of job do you have that you go to work at 7pm and if you are 2 minutes late they will fire you?? I think even McDonalds gives you a little more leeway than that.
2. It is not my problem that you are chronically tardy and the 10 seconds it is taking me to put on my jacket will be the proverbial straw-that-broke-the-camels-back that gets you fired. Since when does 10 seconds make that much of a difference anyway? In my experience late is late… if 10 seconds is going to make that much of a difference maybe you should wrap up your workout a little earlier next time.
3. Everyone blocks everyone else in. It’s a known fact. The paper clearly says allow for up to 10 minutes, so what are you doing harassing me when you should have been prepared for a situation like this? What would you do if I was in the bathroom when they paged me? Or in the shower? Or in the pool?
4. What in the world gave you the notion that I give a crap about your personal problems? First, you invade my personal space and now you’re using precious oxygen to tell me you personal sob story?
I shoot a “I came down as quickly as I could. And I was much faster than anyone else so you should be grateful for that,” and vault over the side rail to my car. I was in a good mood after my workout… still riding the endorphins and good feelings from an earlier conversation with one of the trainers… and I wasn’t about to let this old nag ruin it.
I get to my car, and sure enough there’s her little POS… bumper-to-bumper with my car. That’s right… she’s hit me. Granted, there’s not really any damage that I can see… and my car is an old junker anyway… but there it is… her bumper and my bumper getting as cozy as lovers.
It’s obvious from looking at where she was parked and looking at where I’m parked that there was no way she was going to get out until I moved, but apparently she had attempted pushing my car out of the way. I point this out to her and say “It looks like you hit my car.” I’m not really expecting anything, but she’s made a nuisance of herself and I wanted to point it out.
She responds “No I didn’t.”
Bear in mind I’m standing all of 6 inches away from where our bumpers are kissing.
I say “Yes you did. I’m looking at our bumpers right now. Your bumper is rubbed up against my bumper. It’s rubber, so I don’t think there’s any damage, but you should be more careful.”
She looks at what I’m looking at and dismissively states “I’m not touching you. I’m in a hurry. Just move.”
1. Lady, your impatience is completely unwarranted. You shouldn’t park in the back end of a parking lot and expect NOT to be blocked in.
2. You car is CLEARLY touching mine. Yes yes, I know it’s a crappy 80-something junker… but it’s MY crappy 80-something junker and if I wanted to throw a fit about the fact that you decided to let our cars get intimate I damn well can. Especially considering the magnificent pain in the ass you have decided to be up to this point.
3. Don’t dismiss me like I don’t know what I’m looking at. I don’t care if you’re 40 or 400… I’m not stupid and I know what I see. Pulling a rude dismissive tone with me when I’ve already gone out of my way to be nice to you is not something likely to make me want to continue to cooperate kindly.
Sometimes I wish I was as much of an asshole as the people I constantly encounter. Seriously, who told these people that it’s okay to treat other people like this? I’m the young one here… I thought it’s the ‘punk kids’ that have no manners ‘these days’. What is UP with rude old people?!
Anyhow, I didn’t care to make a scene… people like this get their comeuppance eventually… so I just got in the car and started it up.
Sure enough, the wheels of fate and karma turned, and as I started up the car to move, the other two people who were trying to leave and the two people that had to move so those two people could leave decided to join us in the parking lot. Of course, these 4 cars were in between us and the exit, so we both had to sit there for about 5 minutes while two moved out of the way, the other two left, and the original two re-parked.
I wonder if she got fired.
I was just finishing up my set and heading over to do some ‘extra credit’ pull-ups, when my car was called over the announcement system. I had already finished my workout for the most part, all I had left was my ab stuff, but in the interest of kindness I figured I could do that at home, so I grabbed my jacket and keys and went to the door. I literally got there as she was hanging up the phone from announcing my name… that’s how fast I was. As I’m signing out, one of the trainers says yells over to me something about how short my workout was… basically just teasing. I yell back up at him that 30 minutes isn’t bad for lifting, considering I do my cardio before I come and as I’m saying this the woman that is apparently waiting for me claps… in my face… and says “Enough Enough. I’m going to be late.”
This bothers me for a few reasons:
1. She clapped in my face. Excuse me, but if I don’t know you (and shoot, maybe even if I DO know you) keep your hands out of my face… especially if you feel the need to bang them together and make an extremely unnecessary racket.
2. In the 5 minutes preceding them calling me down to move my car, they had called two other cars down. I was the first one there of the three (although I was the last one called) and I was so fast the lady announcing my information had not even hung up the phone. When the sheet says allow for up to 10 minutes and I’ve taken all of 10 SECONDS, don’t rush me… I’m ALREADY doing you a favor.
3. I was not taking any EXTRA time in what I was doing. As I’m talking to the trainer I’m signing out of the gym and putting on my jacket… the whole evolution, INCLUDING me talking to the trainer, was taking all of 10 additional seconds. Infact, her interruption was more of a distraction than the farewell’s.
After giving the lady the confused and annoyed look she deserved, I finished my goodbye and turned to leave. As we’re walking out of the building she’s on my heels saying “I really need you to hurry up. I can’t be late for work again or they’ll fire me. You have me completely blocked in and I can’t afford to lose my job.”
Again:
1. This lady looked old enough to be my mother if not my grandmother. What kind of job do you have that you go to work at 7pm and if you are 2 minutes late they will fire you?? I think even McDonalds gives you a little more leeway than that.
2. It is not my problem that you are chronically tardy and the 10 seconds it is taking me to put on my jacket will be the proverbial straw-that-broke-the-camels-back that gets you fired. Since when does 10 seconds make that much of a difference anyway? In my experience late is late… if 10 seconds is going to make that much of a difference maybe you should wrap up your workout a little earlier next time.
3. Everyone blocks everyone else in. It’s a known fact. The paper clearly says allow for up to 10 minutes, so what are you doing harassing me when you should have been prepared for a situation like this? What would you do if I was in the bathroom when they paged me? Or in the shower? Or in the pool?
4. What in the world gave you the notion that I give a crap about your personal problems? First, you invade my personal space and now you’re using precious oxygen to tell me you personal sob story?
I shoot a “I came down as quickly as I could. And I was much faster than anyone else so you should be grateful for that,” and vault over the side rail to my car. I was in a good mood after my workout… still riding the endorphins and good feelings from an earlier conversation with one of the trainers… and I wasn’t about to let this old nag ruin it.
I get to my car, and sure enough there’s her little POS… bumper-to-bumper with my car. That’s right… she’s hit me. Granted, there’s not really any damage that I can see… and my car is an old junker anyway… but there it is… her bumper and my bumper getting as cozy as lovers.
It’s obvious from looking at where she was parked and looking at where I’m parked that there was no way she was going to get out until I moved, but apparently she had attempted pushing my car out of the way. I point this out to her and say “It looks like you hit my car.” I’m not really expecting anything, but she’s made a nuisance of herself and I wanted to point it out.
She responds “No I didn’t.”
Bear in mind I’m standing all of 6 inches away from where our bumpers are kissing.
I say “Yes you did. I’m looking at our bumpers right now. Your bumper is rubbed up against my bumper. It’s rubber, so I don’t think there’s any damage, but you should be more careful.”
She looks at what I’m looking at and dismissively states “I’m not touching you. I’m in a hurry. Just move.”
1. Lady, your impatience is completely unwarranted. You shouldn’t park in the back end of a parking lot and expect NOT to be blocked in.
2. You car is CLEARLY touching mine. Yes yes, I know it’s a crappy 80-something junker… but it’s MY crappy 80-something junker and if I wanted to throw a fit about the fact that you decided to let our cars get intimate I damn well can. Especially considering the magnificent pain in the ass you have decided to be up to this point.
3. Don’t dismiss me like I don’t know what I’m looking at. I don’t care if you’re 40 or 400… I’m not stupid and I know what I see. Pulling a rude dismissive tone with me when I’ve already gone out of my way to be nice to you is not something likely to make me want to continue to cooperate kindly.
Sometimes I wish I was as much of an asshole as the people I constantly encounter. Seriously, who told these people that it’s okay to treat other people like this? I’m the young one here… I thought it’s the ‘punk kids’ that have no manners ‘these days’. What is UP with rude old people?!
Anyhow, I didn’t care to make a scene… people like this get their comeuppance eventually… so I just got in the car and started it up.
Sure enough, the wheels of fate and karma turned, and as I started up the car to move, the other two people who were trying to leave and the two people that had to move so those two people could leave decided to join us in the parking lot. Of course, these 4 cars were in between us and the exit, so we both had to sit there for about 5 minutes while two moved out of the way, the other two left, and the original two re-parked.
I wonder if she got fired.
Sunday, March 15, 2009
Note to Random Guy in Shopping Center
I went to the local shopping center today. As I was walking outside in the sunshine with Katharina a group of guys walked past us in the opposite direction. One of the guys started checking me out, made eye contact, slowed down, took his cigarette out of his mouth, and, with a slight smile, said to me "You have really beautiful eyes."
That was it.
He kept walking and so did I.
Thank you random guy for making my day.
That was it.
He kept walking and so did I.
Thank you random guy for making my day.
Saturday, March 14, 2009
ball boy
In complete contrast with the London I first experienced, the weather here has been absolutely beautiful. The sun is shining… birds chirping… light breeze blowing… it has been lovely. We took the opportunity this morning to go to the park and enjoy a little bit of the weather since we're not sure how long it’ll hold out.
The park where I run has a few football (soccer) fields, a basketball court, and a couple of tennis courts so we took my racquets and newly purchased balls and went and played some tennis. Dexter was the ball boy… a job he’s VERY good at, though the net seems to give him a LOT of trouble. Enjoy.
The park where I run has a few football (soccer) fields, a basketball court, and a couple of tennis courts so we took my racquets and newly purchased balls and went and played some tennis. Dexter was the ball boy… a job he’s VERY good at, though the net seems to give him a LOT of trouble. Enjoy.
Thursday, March 12, 2009
celebrating right
So the Exercise that has been bringing me into work early and keeping me at work late for the last two weeks is FINALLY over. Woo Hoo.
To be honest, I can’t REALLY complain about how things have gone the last couple of weeks. With the exception of coming into work early, and a higher than normal volume of dumber than normal users, things have been basically business as usual.
Everyone who has been here longer than me (which is basically everyone) has been telling me that this is the smoothest an exercise has ever gone, in their collective memory. I like to think I get to take some credit for that, though I’m sure there would be plenty of scoffing and guffaw-ing if I were to say this out loud.
Anyhow, smooth or not, we’re celebrating the completion of the exercise.
And… in true NATO fashion… we celebrated right.
With beer.
At work.
In uniform.
Have I mentioned before how UN-military my current military job is? This is officially the second time I’ve been force-fed booze while at work.
It’s awesome.
The first time was just a week or so ago. A US Army O-5 was promoted to O-6 in a ceremony overseen by a US Navy O-6 in a NATO headquarters in the UK. Wrap your head around the uniqueness of that one. This is in the same week that a French Citizen, married to a US Air Force E-8, was sworn into US Citizenship in a NATO headquarters in the UK. There are quite a few special circumstances and situations around here.
Anyhow… at the Colonel’s promotion there was cake and champagne, and since it was late on a Friday only us ‘lackeys’ were around afterward (the privilege of rank being that they decide themselves when they want to go home on a Friday… usually around 11). Here we are with cake and champagne for 50, and there are about 6 of us who have hung around after the ceremony, so we were literally being force fed the champagne because nobody wanted to take it home. Not that you caught us complaining. THAT was a good Friday and today was a good Thursday.
Times like this, I love my command.
To be honest, I can’t REALLY complain about how things have gone the last couple of weeks. With the exception of coming into work early, and a higher than normal volume of dumber than normal users, things have been basically business as usual.
Everyone who has been here longer than me (which is basically everyone) has been telling me that this is the smoothest an exercise has ever gone, in their collective memory. I like to think I get to take some credit for that, though I’m sure there would be plenty of scoffing and guffaw-ing if I were to say this out loud.
Anyhow, smooth or not, we’re celebrating the completion of the exercise.
And… in true NATO fashion… we celebrated right.
With beer.
At work.
In uniform.
Have I mentioned before how UN-military my current military job is? This is officially the second time I’ve been force-fed booze while at work.
It’s awesome.
The first time was just a week or so ago. A US Army O-5 was promoted to O-6 in a ceremony overseen by a US Navy O-6 in a NATO headquarters in the UK. Wrap your head around the uniqueness of that one. This is in the same week that a French Citizen, married to a US Air Force E-8, was sworn into US Citizenship in a NATO headquarters in the UK. There are quite a few special circumstances and situations around here.
Anyhow… at the Colonel’s promotion there was cake and champagne, and since it was late on a Friday only us ‘lackeys’ were around afterward (the privilege of rank being that they decide themselves when they want to go home on a Friday… usually around 11). Here we are with cake and champagne for 50, and there are about 6 of us who have hung around after the ceremony, so we were literally being force fed the champagne because nobody wanted to take it home. Not that you caught us complaining. THAT was a good Friday and today was a good Thursday.
Times like this, I love my command.
Wednesday, March 11, 2009
another day in the park
So I figured out what it was about GuyInThePark that bothered me so much. Dotted all along the path that runs around the park are park benches, nothing strange there… and some of them are covered. They’re like little garages for people (I assume a necessity due to the frequent rain here). A few times, while running, I’ve noticed a homeless man holed up in one of the covered benches. He’s all bundled up in his coat with his bags of things under the bench and he just stands there, looking out onto the football fields and playground, watching people from his semi-covered hiding spot. That IS kindof creepy.Anyhow, today was the third day in a row that I’ve seen GuyInThePark and I realized that he had reminded me of that creepy homeless man at first. After a second (and third) look, I’ve realized that’s not the case. The day after my initial run in, I recruited Katharina to go jogging with me… half a block out of the house on the way to the park, I discovered how GuyInThePark knew what road I live on… he lives there too, just a few houses down. We saw him going into his house, and he stopped, smiled, and said hi to me again. As soon as I saw him I realized how differently he looked outside of the ‘potential creepy homeless man in the park’ situation and, to rub it in, Katharine told me I was ridiculous in my earlier description and he seemed like a genuinely nice guy.Yeah yeah, I know.Fast forward… day 3, on the way to the park, I walk past him again… him (presumably) on his way home and me on the way to the park. He stops again, say hi again, and asks me to dinner. I politely and firmly declined and he smiled and told me to think about it. I have a feeling he’s going to ask again the next time he sees me. Either way, he’s not nearly the intimidating figure I had him made out to be in my imagination that first day… I’m still not interested… and definitely going to be careful… but I feel a little silly for my overreaction.
That’s that.
Speaking of today at the park… I went for another mile-jog with Dex. I’ve shaved a couple seconds off everyday, and am feeling quite good about it (although my knee is acting up again). The weather here has been holding out beautifully… I couldn’t ask for better (especially not this time of year). It still rains a little almost every day, but mostly during the day when I’m at work or at night while I’m asleep, and not enough to really make a mess of the roads and fields. I mostly keep Dexter off the grass when the fields are muddy… he’s a blonde so every speck of dirt shows… but today we ran into a guy with a 7 month old Beagle, so I let Dexter romp around with him for a while. This is the aftermath.
That’s that.
Speaking of today at the park… I went for another mile-jog with Dex. I’ve shaved a couple seconds off everyday, and am feeling quite good about it (although my knee is acting up again). The weather here has been holding out beautifully… I couldn’t ask for better (especially not this time of year). It still rains a little almost every day, but mostly during the day when I’m at work or at night while I’m asleep, and not enough to really make a mess of the roads and fields. I mostly keep Dexter off the grass when the fields are muddy… he’s a blonde so every speck of dirt shows… but today we ran into a guy with a 7 month old Beagle, so I let Dexter romp around with him for a while. This is the aftermath.
Monday, March 9, 2009
flirting or stalking
Not sure what to think about this…
I went for my usual jog with Dexter today. Ever since I found the nearby park where dog leashes are optional and the trail is just about a mile long I’ve taken Dexter there almost every night. In just two weeks I’ve shaved over 40 seconds off my mile time from the first time I ran. Also, the daylight lasts longer every day and the weather has been holding out (dry and bright) so I’ve gotten to play fetch with Dexter after the run (his favorite part).
Anyhow… today I was approached in the park while I was playing with Dex. A man who looked to be late 20’s said hello to me from the trail and approached me out in the grass as the sun was starting to go down. He was probably over 6 feet tall, very dark, and spoke with a thick (non-British) accent. In retrospect, he was very nice. Asked me my name…told me he’d seen me running with Dexter around the neighborhood… told me his profession (electrical engineer)… smiled a lot… and showed interest in me which I suppose was no more than an average guy in a bar.
I know I’ve said before I don’t like meeting guys in bars… it just seems sleazy. Meeting a guy in a park seems like such a nice “how we met” story… so wholesome and “middle America”. So why was I so instantly judgemental and on edge?
He noted I wasn’t wearing a ring and asked me my marital status…to which I lied and said I was living with my boyfriend.
He asked me for my number… to which I replied my ‘boyfriend’ would really dislike that so I had better not.
He asked me if I would like to walk for a little bit with him… to which I lied and said I was already headed home.
I suppose if I was a guy trying to hit on a girl in a ‘non-threatening’ way, I probably would have employed the same tactics… but I (as the girl) wasn’t having it.
So what is it? Is it a classic case of a woman saying she wants something until it’s actually put in front of her?
Did I judge him based purely on how physically intimidating he was?
OR, was it my sixth sense telling me that something about the situation wasn’t right and I should bail out (better safe than sorry)?
Either way, I’m not sure what to do about my favorite jogging spot now. He said he lives on the same street as me (and even named the street) and part of me is nervous that he knows that and is watching me… BUT part of me thinks I’m just being paranoid and he’s just a guy trying to hit on a girl he’s seen jogging in the park.
Ugh.
I went for my usual jog with Dexter today. Ever since I found the nearby park where dog leashes are optional and the trail is just about a mile long I’ve taken Dexter there almost every night. In just two weeks I’ve shaved over 40 seconds off my mile time from the first time I ran. Also, the daylight lasts longer every day and the weather has been holding out (dry and bright) so I’ve gotten to play fetch with Dexter after the run (his favorite part).
Anyhow… today I was approached in the park while I was playing with Dex. A man who looked to be late 20’s said hello to me from the trail and approached me out in the grass as the sun was starting to go down. He was probably over 6 feet tall, very dark, and spoke with a thick (non-British) accent. In retrospect, he was very nice. Asked me my name…told me he’d seen me running with Dexter around the neighborhood… told me his profession (electrical engineer)… smiled a lot… and showed interest in me which I suppose was no more than an average guy in a bar.
I know I’ve said before I don’t like meeting guys in bars… it just seems sleazy. Meeting a guy in a park seems like such a nice “how we met” story… so wholesome and “middle America”. So why was I so instantly judgemental and on edge?
He noted I wasn’t wearing a ring and asked me my marital status…to which I lied and said I was living with my boyfriend.
He asked me for my number… to which I replied my ‘boyfriend’ would really dislike that so I had better not.
He asked me if I would like to walk for a little bit with him… to which I lied and said I was already headed home.
I suppose if I was a guy trying to hit on a girl in a ‘non-threatening’ way, I probably would have employed the same tactics… but I (as the girl) wasn’t having it.
So what is it? Is it a classic case of a woman saying she wants something until it’s actually put in front of her?
Did I judge him based purely on how physically intimidating he was?
OR, was it my sixth sense telling me that something about the situation wasn’t right and I should bail out (better safe than sorry)?
Either way, I’m not sure what to do about my favorite jogging spot now. He said he lives on the same street as me (and even named the street) and part of me is nervous that he knows that and is watching me… BUT part of me thinks I’m just being paranoid and he’s just a guy trying to hit on a girl he’s seen jogging in the park.
Ugh.
Friday, March 6, 2009
FOB concert
So I have been to my first big concert in London… in the O2 no less.
It.
Was.
Awesome.
I bought tickets for Kelly, Claire and myself for Christmas (maybe a veiled attempt to force them to be friends with me for this long) thinking they would be as excited as I was. As it turns out, they didn’t even know who Fall Out Boy is. I burned them both a couple of CDs with my favorite FOB songs, which apparently didn’t work, so they went to the concert… good sports… with no idea who they were going to see.
The seats were good and the opening acts were good… I’m pretty sure we were three of only 15 people in the whole place that were legally old enough to drink alcohol, and the other 12 were parental chaperones… overall… great night.
And in my attempt to post pictures in this blog I’m including one of my two favorite pictures from the whole night…
This is the beer man, and he is awesome for a few reasons:
1. He looks like a Ghostbuster, only his 'backpack' dispenses cold beer.
2. As I mentioned before, as 3 of only about 15 people 'of age' there, he was very friendly and attentive to our beer needs.
3. Did I mention he looks like a Ghostbuster?
It.
Was.
Awesome.
I bought tickets for Kelly, Claire and myself for Christmas (maybe a veiled attempt to force them to be friends with me for this long) thinking they would be as excited as I was. As it turns out, they didn’t even know who Fall Out Boy is. I burned them both a couple of CDs with my favorite FOB songs, which apparently didn’t work, so they went to the concert… good sports… with no idea who they were going to see.
The seats were good and the opening acts were good… I’m pretty sure we were three of only 15 people in the whole place that were legally old enough to drink alcohol, and the other 12 were parental chaperones… overall… great night.
And in my attempt to post pictures in this blog I’m including one of my two favorite pictures from the whole night…
This is the beer man, and he is awesome for a few reasons:
1. He looks like a Ghostbuster, only his 'backpack' dispenses cold beer.
2. As I mentioned before, as 3 of only about 15 people 'of age' there, he was very friendly and attentive to our beer needs.
3. Did I mention he looks like a Ghostbuster?
Wednesday, March 4, 2009
dream confusion
I’ve always been a vivid dreamer. Long, detailed, colorful, specific, and vivid…and I almost always remember them in their entirety. I remember, as a child, telling my Grandma the details of me dreams on an almost daily basis (thanks Grandma for feigning interest every time without fail). Infact, I can still remember quite a few of them completely.
Now, that being said, I know dreams are a mix of things from your subconscious and things from your imagination. I’ve had dreams where I woke up to a revelation… definitely me trying to tell myself something in my sleep. A few have been a little harder to decipher… dreams that have taken some thought and some bouncing around to figure out. I’ve also had dreams that were random and strange and didn’t mean anything to me.
So last night I had a dream and I’m not really sure what the hell it means…
First, I was back in highschool (not age-wise, just location-wise kindof). I was back on the basketball team and the damn coach wouldn’t let me play (just like in highschool) no matter how hard I tried and no matter how well I played. I was talking to someone from my past (not someone I talk to anymore) about how much I wanted to play and thanking her for being such a good friend even though she was the star of the team and I was the girl riding the bench. I really felt like I owed her something
Then we (the whole team) went to the store to buy a bunch of stuff. Somehow I end up completely naked, pushing a cart up and down the aisles. People are looking at me strangely, but in my dream shopping naked isn’t necessarily ‘wrong’ it’s just ‘frowned upon’. Thing is, I’m not so much embarrassed about being naked, I’m more embarrassed that I have to get dressed. I want to put my undies back on, but I don’t want anyone to see me do it so I keep walking up and down the aisles, continuing my shopping. I would rather be naked with people looking at me disapprovingly and judging me, than let them see me put my undies back on.
I guess the basketball thing means I feel inadequate… but I DON’T really… so what gives?
Why the blast from the past?
Why do I feel like I owe somebody something for my non-success?
I know ‘naked in public’ is supposed to mean you feel exposed or vulnerable, which I guess might be a little true (new country, new job, new friends, etc)… but what’s with me being more embarrassed to put my clothes on than I am to leave them off?
I don’t get it…. Your interpretations are welcome. We’ll see what tonight brings. ;)
Now, that being said, I know dreams are a mix of things from your subconscious and things from your imagination. I’ve had dreams where I woke up to a revelation… definitely me trying to tell myself something in my sleep. A few have been a little harder to decipher… dreams that have taken some thought and some bouncing around to figure out. I’ve also had dreams that were random and strange and didn’t mean anything to me.
So last night I had a dream and I’m not really sure what the hell it means…
First, I was back in highschool (not age-wise, just location-wise kindof). I was back on the basketball team and the damn coach wouldn’t let me play (just like in highschool) no matter how hard I tried and no matter how well I played. I was talking to someone from my past (not someone I talk to anymore) about how much I wanted to play and thanking her for being such a good friend even though she was the star of the team and I was the girl riding the bench. I really felt like I owed her something
Then we (the whole team) went to the store to buy a bunch of stuff. Somehow I end up completely naked, pushing a cart up and down the aisles. People are looking at me strangely, but in my dream shopping naked isn’t necessarily ‘wrong’ it’s just ‘frowned upon’. Thing is, I’m not so much embarrassed about being naked, I’m more embarrassed that I have to get dressed. I want to put my undies back on, but I don’t want anyone to see me do it so I keep walking up and down the aisles, continuing my shopping. I would rather be naked with people looking at me disapprovingly and judging me, than let them see me put my undies back on.
I guess the basketball thing means I feel inadequate… but I DON’T really… so what gives?
Why the blast from the past?
Why do I feel like I owe somebody something for my non-success?
I know ‘naked in public’ is supposed to mean you feel exposed or vulnerable, which I guess might be a little true (new country, new job, new friends, etc)… but what’s with me being more embarrassed to put my clothes on than I am to leave them off?
I don’t get it…. Your interpretations are welcome. We’ll see what tonight brings. ;)
Tuesday, March 3, 2009
cultural education
Part of the reason I moved to England (and even joined the Navy) was travel and cultural education. I want to experience as much of the world as I can in the short time I have on it, so I couldn’t pass up the opportunity to move to another continent. I suppose the decision making process there is the topic for another post (or maybe that’s all the more you need to know)… getting to the meat of this one.
One of the things I’ve noticed about Europe is that the continent and all of the countries and subsequent provinces/cities/etc within act like a super super super concentrated version of the USA and all the states within. Europeans, in general, are very proud to be such… and the pride that each person has of their individual country reminds me of what you experience when you meet a Texan or a New Yorker. Of course, this is a super generalization… I understand the language, historical, and cultural differences that run longer and deeper than the USA has even been around, but this is my blog and my opinion so I’ll state it however I want to.
Anyway, part of the awesomeness of this is that by moving to London I get to be a Londoner, which is part of not only the English world, but the British (being the UK as a whole), and European as well. Circles within circles within circles, if you will. To add to my cultural experiences, I’ve got a couple of Germans living with me (one from Munich and one from Berlin, which are, apparently as different as the aforementioned Texans and New Yorkers) and I work at a NATO headquarters (and the 26+ nations represented within that). After a long Sunday night, and a rough Monday that started earlier and ran longer than usual, the ‘smart’ thing for me to do on Monday night was to take a bath and tuck into bed early, which, of course, I did NOT do.
Tristan and Katharina just arrived Saturday, but they have friends from their time in Germany that already lived here in London. Unfortunately those friends are moving back to Germany on Tuesday, only allowing for a day or so overlap to get together. They invited me along Monday night to go see them and, the masochist that I am, I decided to go. Glad I did….
It’s not that we did anything particularly interesting, it’s just that I got to see, even more so, how much my ‘experience’ of the world is limited. I would’ve considered myself ‘well traveled’… and suppose, in a way, I still do (compared to most of the people I’ve known in my life)… but I had NOTHING on this crowd.
For starters, I was the only person in a room of 7 that spoke only one language. I’m fluent (or at least used to be) in American Sign Language… but that doesn’t do me much good in England (yes, sign languages vary as much as spoken). Second, I would say I’ve lived in 3 different countries (I’m counting my few short months in Japan prior to the Navy), but again, this was the lowest number in the room…
A run down of the players:
Katharine- speaks German and fairly fluent English and French
Tristan – speaks German and English
Mr O – speaks Ukrainian, German, and English
Mrs O – same as Mr O
The Blonde – speaks Polish, Ukrainian and English
Some Guy – speaks Ukrainian, German, French, and English
Cheesy – speaks Ukrainian, Russian, German, and English
Me – uh… American English anyone?
Aside from conversations about who was from where, with what descent, grew up where, has lived where, etc, what I found most fascinating was the WAY everyone spoke their perspective languages. For example, although Ukrainian was Mrs O’s ‘mother language’ (as they call it), her English was American (vocab and grammar) with a very distinct German accent. Some Guy and Cheesy were both originally Ukrainian as well, but their English was British with a British accent (I kid you not). The Blonde was sporting American with a Polish accent, and Tristan and Katharine are both speaking American English with an almost American accent (at least compared to the others). The other thing that is funny, is at some point or another they would all revert to their ‘native tongues’… so a couple would be conversing in Ukrainian while a couple others were speaking German… they would randomly throw words from other languages into their conversation, and even forget which one they were speaking when they would turn to someone else. Of course, I didn’t know WHAT was going on about 75% of the time… all I could catch were some of the numbers and the words that sound the same in English… but it was awesome.
Also, I got into a bit of a debate with Cheesy that I found interesting.
Earlier in the weekend Katharine and I had gotten into a discussion with Kelly and Claire (my Londoner friends) over which English (American or British) is the ‘correct’ English. I say American because it is more widely used and understood… they say British because it is the original. The biggest support of my argument is the fact that the foreigners I have met that have learned English were taught American English in school (not British English which is, believe me, VERY different). They are taught American spelling, American grammar, American slang, etc. I’m sure a lot of this is supported by TV, music, Hollywood, and the fact that the majority of ‘world wide blockbusters’ are American films… but the fact of the matter is that everyone I meet that speaks English understands me, but I don’t necessarily understand them. Londoners, naturally, disagree with me… which leads to my debate with Cheesy.
As we were discussing languages and accents I pointed out that I found it interesting that he spoke English with a British accent and not a German or Ukrainian accent. I’m not sure how the discussion changed from there, but somehow I got myself into the usual American English vs British English conversation… what I found interesting is the fact that Cheesy took the side of the British, and not so much for the fact that he thought England was so great, but because it was a big part of his ‘European pride’. Despite this, the majority of the rest of the room was on my side, having been educated in American English themselves. Cheesy fought the good fight, and even got to the point that he said something I hear often: “Americans just THINK that they’re so popular and that the rest of the world cares.”
This leads to my next side topic: Have I mentioned before that nearly 99% of the people I have met over here feel the need to tell me that they think Americans are full of themselves?? What fascinates me about this is:
1. It is the OTHER country’s choice as to whether or not they know US politics… it’s not my fault they followed our presidential election so closely.
2. It is the OTHER country’s choice as to where they get their entertainment… I’m not the one playing US movies in theatres, playing US shows on TV, or playing US music on the radio…
3. It is the OTHER country’s choice as to what they teach in school… I’m not the one who chose American English as a mandatory subject in their schools…
And finally… I’m the one who’s living in a foreign country… doesn’t that get me even a little ‘open-mindedness’ credit?!
I digress…
Aside from a little bit of irritation with Cheesy (which is why he gets the crappy nickname, by the way)… the night was awesome. His comments were simply that little bit of sand left in my shoe after a wonderful trip to the beach.
I’m really enjoying meeting new people from all different walks of life… and Tristan and Katharine have been a lot of fun so far. This cultural education thing isn’t so bad.
I’ve even learned how to call Dexter “little shit” in German.
One of the things I’ve noticed about Europe is that the continent and all of the countries and subsequent provinces/cities/etc within act like a super super super concentrated version of the USA and all the states within. Europeans, in general, are very proud to be such… and the pride that each person has of their individual country reminds me of what you experience when you meet a Texan or a New Yorker. Of course, this is a super generalization… I understand the language, historical, and cultural differences that run longer and deeper than the USA has even been around, but this is my blog and my opinion so I’ll state it however I want to.
Anyway, part of the awesomeness of this is that by moving to London I get to be a Londoner, which is part of not only the English world, but the British (being the UK as a whole), and European as well. Circles within circles within circles, if you will. To add to my cultural experiences, I’ve got a couple of Germans living with me (one from Munich and one from Berlin, which are, apparently as different as the aforementioned Texans and New Yorkers) and I work at a NATO headquarters (and the 26+ nations represented within that). After a long Sunday night, and a rough Monday that started earlier and ran longer than usual, the ‘smart’ thing for me to do on Monday night was to take a bath and tuck into bed early, which, of course, I did NOT do.
Tristan and Katharina just arrived Saturday, but they have friends from their time in Germany that already lived here in London. Unfortunately those friends are moving back to Germany on Tuesday, only allowing for a day or so overlap to get together. They invited me along Monday night to go see them and, the masochist that I am, I decided to go. Glad I did….
It’s not that we did anything particularly interesting, it’s just that I got to see, even more so, how much my ‘experience’ of the world is limited. I would’ve considered myself ‘well traveled’… and suppose, in a way, I still do (compared to most of the people I’ve known in my life)… but I had NOTHING on this crowd.
For starters, I was the only person in a room of 7 that spoke only one language. I’m fluent (or at least used to be) in American Sign Language… but that doesn’t do me much good in England (yes, sign languages vary as much as spoken). Second, I would say I’ve lived in 3 different countries (I’m counting my few short months in Japan prior to the Navy), but again, this was the lowest number in the room…
A run down of the players:
Katharine- speaks German and fairly fluent English and French
Tristan – speaks German and English
Mr O – speaks Ukrainian, German, and English
Mrs O – same as Mr O
The Blonde – speaks Polish, Ukrainian and English
Some Guy – speaks Ukrainian, German, French, and English
Cheesy – speaks Ukrainian, Russian, German, and English
Me – uh… American English anyone?
Aside from conversations about who was from where, with what descent, grew up where, has lived where, etc, what I found most fascinating was the WAY everyone spoke their perspective languages. For example, although Ukrainian was Mrs O’s ‘mother language’ (as they call it), her English was American (vocab and grammar) with a very distinct German accent. Some Guy and Cheesy were both originally Ukrainian as well, but their English was British with a British accent (I kid you not). The Blonde was sporting American with a Polish accent, and Tristan and Katharine are both speaking American English with an almost American accent (at least compared to the others). The other thing that is funny, is at some point or another they would all revert to their ‘native tongues’… so a couple would be conversing in Ukrainian while a couple others were speaking German… they would randomly throw words from other languages into their conversation, and even forget which one they were speaking when they would turn to someone else. Of course, I didn’t know WHAT was going on about 75% of the time… all I could catch were some of the numbers and the words that sound the same in English… but it was awesome.
Also, I got into a bit of a debate with Cheesy that I found interesting.
Earlier in the weekend Katharine and I had gotten into a discussion with Kelly and Claire (my Londoner friends) over which English (American or British) is the ‘correct’ English. I say American because it is more widely used and understood… they say British because it is the original. The biggest support of my argument is the fact that the foreigners I have met that have learned English were taught American English in school (not British English which is, believe me, VERY different). They are taught American spelling, American grammar, American slang, etc. I’m sure a lot of this is supported by TV, music, Hollywood, and the fact that the majority of ‘world wide blockbusters’ are American films… but the fact of the matter is that everyone I meet that speaks English understands me, but I don’t necessarily understand them. Londoners, naturally, disagree with me… which leads to my debate with Cheesy.
As we were discussing languages and accents I pointed out that I found it interesting that he spoke English with a British accent and not a German or Ukrainian accent. I’m not sure how the discussion changed from there, but somehow I got myself into the usual American English vs British English conversation… what I found interesting is the fact that Cheesy took the side of the British, and not so much for the fact that he thought England was so great, but because it was a big part of his ‘European pride’. Despite this, the majority of the rest of the room was on my side, having been educated in American English themselves. Cheesy fought the good fight, and even got to the point that he said something I hear often: “Americans just THINK that they’re so popular and that the rest of the world cares.”
This leads to my next side topic: Have I mentioned before that nearly 99% of the people I have met over here feel the need to tell me that they think Americans are full of themselves?? What fascinates me about this is:
1. It is the OTHER country’s choice as to whether or not they know US politics… it’s not my fault they followed our presidential election so closely.
2. It is the OTHER country’s choice as to where they get their entertainment… I’m not the one playing US movies in theatres, playing US shows on TV, or playing US music on the radio…
3. It is the OTHER country’s choice as to what they teach in school… I’m not the one who chose American English as a mandatory subject in their schools…
And finally… I’m the one who’s living in a foreign country… doesn’t that get me even a little ‘open-mindedness’ credit?!
I digress…
Aside from a little bit of irritation with Cheesy (which is why he gets the crappy nickname, by the way)… the night was awesome. His comments were simply that little bit of sand left in my shoe after a wonderful trip to the beach.
I’m really enjoying meeting new people from all different walks of life… and Tristan and Katharine have been a lot of fun so far. This cultural education thing isn’t so bad.
I’ve even learned how to call Dexter “little shit” in German.
Monday, March 2, 2009
Sunday football
The nice thing about staying in and relaxing on a Saturday is that you get to start your Sunday off early. As summer approaches the sun comes out earlier and earlier and stays up later and later… The weather has been beautiful recently and thanks to the Asshole at the track (see previous post) I found a beautiful park nearby with a mile-long path around it. I have yet to go running there without seeing children playing and other people with their dogs and I can let Dexter off the leash as long as he is ‘under control’. It’s great.
Tristan and I got up early and went for a run…again, a benefit of having someone around. I got my fastest time so far (which is still too pathetic to mention here) and felt great afterwards.
Claire came by and picked all three of us up at noon and we took a cab out to Watford to watch the Carling Cup Final at Walkabout (an Australian pub). I must say, I already know one of the things I’m going to miss when I leave the UK is the pub atmosphere… especially during a football (soccer) game. The game didn’t start until three, but it was a good thing we got there before one because the place was completely packed even before the time the game started. Out here, everyone comes out to the pubs to watch the big games instead of sitting at home. Everyone yells and screams at the screen… random people argue and cheer with each other as if they are old friends… and my favourite part is the chanting and singing. Each team has a variety of songs and chants that the fans use for all different types of happenings throughout the game. There are also assorted chants and jeers that are directed at each team from the opposition’s fans. And everyone seems to know them… it’s awesome. Also, when they play a game on TV here the only time there is a commercial break is during half-time… you get 45 minutes of action, 10 minutes to pee and refill food and drinks, and 45 more minutes of action. In yesterday’s game, we got even more than that, as it went into over time and ended in a shootout. Again, awesome.
I find myself becoming a fan of the sport too… after watching a few games, it’s easy to see why this is the number one sport in so many parts of the world. These guys are literally running their asses off the entire time they are on the field…they are tremendous athletes. Also, anything can change at any given moment and the fouls provide plenty of fodder for debate and interpretation (“He clearly didn’t do that on purpose!” or “He clearly did!!”). I don’t even have ‘a team’, but I find myself getting involved and cheering or jeering with the rest of the crowd… it’s infectious enthusiasm and a lot of fun.
Tristan and Katharina went home after the game and Kelly, Claire and I went to a pub down the street from my house. I went home at a responsible time (considering my new working hours this week), but the fact that I started drinking at noon caught up with me and today has been ROUGH.
Totally worth it.
Tristan and I got up early and went for a run…again, a benefit of having someone around. I got my fastest time so far (which is still too pathetic to mention here) and felt great afterwards.
Claire came by and picked all three of us up at noon and we took a cab out to Watford to watch the Carling Cup Final at Walkabout (an Australian pub). I must say, I already know one of the things I’m going to miss when I leave the UK is the pub atmosphere… especially during a football (soccer) game. The game didn’t start until three, but it was a good thing we got there before one because the place was completely packed even before the time the game started. Out here, everyone comes out to the pubs to watch the big games instead of sitting at home. Everyone yells and screams at the screen… random people argue and cheer with each other as if they are old friends… and my favourite part is the chanting and singing. Each team has a variety of songs and chants that the fans use for all different types of happenings throughout the game. There are also assorted chants and jeers that are directed at each team from the opposition’s fans. And everyone seems to know them… it’s awesome. Also, when they play a game on TV here the only time there is a commercial break is during half-time… you get 45 minutes of action, 10 minutes to pee and refill food and drinks, and 45 more minutes of action. In yesterday’s game, we got even more than that, as it went into over time and ended in a shootout. Again, awesome.
I find myself becoming a fan of the sport too… after watching a few games, it’s easy to see why this is the number one sport in so many parts of the world. These guys are literally running their asses off the entire time they are on the field…they are tremendous athletes. Also, anything can change at any given moment and the fouls provide plenty of fodder for debate and interpretation (“He clearly didn’t do that on purpose!” or “He clearly did!!”). I don’t even have ‘a team’, but I find myself getting involved and cheering or jeering with the rest of the crowd… it’s infectious enthusiasm and a lot of fun.
Tristan and Katharina went home after the game and Kelly, Claire and I went to a pub down the street from my house. I went home at a responsible time (considering my new working hours this week), but the fact that I started drinking at noon caught up with me and today has been ROUGH.
Totally worth it.
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