Yes, Ma'am

Tonight, the waiter said yes, ma'am to me. And in his eyes I knew there was an expression. He didn't always look at me directly, or intently, or timidly. It wasn't arrogance, the arrogance of flirting. I knew that I was very flattered and enjoyed it.

Lynn St Sirup Pancake Potluck

Last Sunday, I attended Lynn St Sirup Pancake Potluck. Yes, the correct spelling is Syrup. The invitation reads Sirup Pancake Potluck. You are correct, I just finished writing a dissertation. I have to reproduce the form rather than the correct spelling. Perhaps the misspelling is telling of something, I don't know. I was really stressed out last Sunday, but I attended anyway, with C, A, and Baby C (BC), my cool neighbors (CN), around 10.30 am.

We sat at the end of a table. Wait, that's out of order. We arrived with our potluck participation: CN: fresh, organic, sliced strawberries, Me: de-frosted mixed berries from the grocery store. We placed the food on the buffet table (as opposed to the seating tables). I noticed on the buffet the coffee on offer, labeled "Fair Trade Organic." Why the "Fair Trade Organic" on the label... Is this something brought to the buffet by people who want to be known as cool in a specific sub-culture? It is generous of them to bring such expensive and fancy coffee.

C and I fixed our plates with pancakes and syrup. Syrup! Syrup! Syrup! It feels great to spell it correctly. At the table, we met A and BC. I enjoyed the table settings. Just random tables, and newspaper (the comics) as tablecloths. I like
the decor. Oh, and good small talk with the people sitting across from us.

After, A noted some couples at the potluck are the type of people who are married and think they are better than everyone else because they don't have kids. Hey, I thought I was better than everyone else because I'm single. No, I'm not. It is cooler to be married and not have children. They are the couple in the photo - bearded man, woman in pink shirt. Their body language is similar, as well as their hair (but the beard). Yes, I am the cause of University IRB.

I can tell you about the very pleasant people that CN and I sat across from. From which we sat across. Simply pleasant, a couple.
Me: where do you all live? I'm in the white house at the end of the street, that way (nodding behind me)
Him: She (pointing to the woman) lives up the street, in the green house.
Me: Cool. (I don't want to figure that out, they are cool, so what does it matter).

As I am leaving with CN
Me: I'm having a party next Monday, defending my dissertation. Please come by.
Her: Cool. What's your dissertation about
Me: Well, just something that's finished, you know?
Her: Smiling, I got it! See ya soon.

 

Punctured Innertube

 

I had a flat tire on my bike today. I knew I was in for trouble as I biked in to work in the morning, just no time to address the issue. It happened while I was living my life, teaching, meeting the two TAs.

Too proud, my bike, she falls apart in private. Lets all the air out of her back inner-tube.

I'm standing at the bike rack. Now, the rain is more than a mist, and it is a bit cool. My high heels (I anticipated biking rather than walking anywhere) and the cold rain rule out walking the bike to the shop.

I called my friend, C. She is very nice and picked me up with her enormous SUV and drove me to see the lunatic at his bike shop. My plan is to leave the bike with the lunatic, ride home in C's warm and dry SUV, and return for my bike tomorrow, when I will be calm, potentially, and the problem of the flat tire will be in correct proportion.

There is the part of the story that involves C and me lifting my commuter bike in the back of her SUV and it is funny because it took many tries and lots of repositioning. The scene is probably best re-created by a bystander. Why do I say that? Because there were a few, and none offered to help, or even pay us for the theater performance.

On to the lunatic's bike shop, I drag the bike out of the SUV and push it into the shop. Brief greeting, ask if he has time to fix my flat. Yes, and I ask if I can pick it up tomorrow. No. Ok. It will take five minutes. I return to the car to talk to C. Can she wait? She can. I told you she is nice.

Return to the lunatic, who shows me the earring that derailed my day. I have to write the edits on a dissertation, and there is no time for punctured inner tubes in the world of graduate students who are 10 days out from defending a dissertation and teaching a large enrollment course at a Big 10 University. Lunatic is the word that came to mind for the bike store owner, and I'll have to write more about him in another blog entry. I have to create a separate entry for him. I didn't expect that, because his work, such as bike assembly, looks so good. But then I have to turn back to the shop after riding for 30 min because I hear fender scraping. We discover he had successfully re-positioned the rear flashing red light so it is more visible placed on fender than it was at the back of the seat. Yet, in the process, the part that had connected the fender to the bike is sitting in the right spot on the fender, but not screwed into the bike. It really isn't his work that makes him lunatic, it is the store and his mannerisms.

Lunatic shows me the earring, and we laugh. A strange looking earring, isn't it? And we discuss an earring puncturing a tire tube is odd. It's all gonna be ok, just a punctured tube, isn't it?

We try to put the bike in C's SUV, and we can't get it in. But we can get some dirt on the back seat. I suggest I bike home instead. Yes, it is raining, so C protests. I point out that I'm headed home, which will be a 5 minute trip. I can immediately dry off and recover with my sweats. C drives away in her SUV, and I pedal my bike a few feet. I hear scraping sounds from the rear fender, I turn around, back to the shop, lunatic realigns his work, as per usual.

It's a punctured tube. An earring can't derail it. The dissertation will come to an end. I'll enjoy the last sentences.

Croatia is...

Croatia is the Brazil of Europe...

Coastline
Food
Women
Football...

Vatroslav Mihacik, a football school professor and former goalkeeper, said: 'Our nickname is the Brazil of Europe because of the style we play. Conditions in Croatia are far worse than in England where you have better facilities, better pitches, experts on nutrition and physiology and so on. But we are creative. Creativity is the deciding factor in growing a good player.'

Jebem ti sve po spisku...

I recommend this article in Central Europe Review:

Fuck this Article: The Yugoslav lexicon of swear words:

http://www.ce-review.org/00/41/nezmah41.html

The article is hilarious and accurate. I never adjusted to hearing the violent swearing that is part of daily life (i.e. riding the tram) in Zagreb. I did pick up the habit of saying f***, which I had to give up for Lent to break the habit. Anger is fine, but swearing might be too violent an expression. I often miss living somewhere that people are free to have their own thoughts and expressions, including the not-nice ones.

Video won't kill the radio star

every time i see you falling, i get down on my knees and pray. i'm waiting for that final moment when you say the words that i can't say...

started the work day at 6am with a New Order song on the radio, ending it at 7pm the same way. erases exhaustion of the work in-between ...

I love the radio. The unexpected song. The right song. At the right time. At the unexpected time. Video won't kill the radio star.

(especially Radio Nigel dot com and 107.1 at U of Illinois)