Archive for the ‘me me me’ Category
because you can never know too much
Here are 8 random facts about me, inspired by Sarala of Blogaway, where you’ll find an awesome collection of photos–I especially love those of one of my favorite cities in the world, Chicago.
OK, back to me. Random. Eight. Go.
1. When I was younger, probably from the ages of 8-13, I wanted to be an astronaut. In the middle of those, the Space Shuttle Challenger exploded, and I wanted to be an astronaut more than ever (I’m guessing my parents *really* hoped it was just a phase).
2. I got myself a small telescope by selling cards and stationery with a company called Olympia or something like that. Anyone remember this? You got so many points for each dollar sold? The telescope was red and black and oh how I loved it so. Summer nights were the best.
3. My favorite constellation was, and is, Cassiopeia. For a class assignment, we had to invent a constellation by poking holes through a piece of black construction paper and then connecting the “stars” with chalk. I modified Cassiopeia so that it had a face to go along with what I thought looked like ears and named it “Cattiopeia.”
4. Not surprisingly, it was my dream to attend Space Camp in Huntsville, Alabama.
5. Also not surprisingly, there wasn’t enough stationery in the world that was going to make that happen. As compensation, my mother bought me sweatpants and a t-shirt from either the JC Penney or Sears “Space Camp” line. And I wore them. For far too long. In fact, I kind of wish they still fit me.
6. On a night that Jack Horkheimer told me there would be a shooting star show, I set up camp with a blanket and snacks in the back of my grandfather’s old red and white pick-up truck–and didn’t see a one.
7. In fact, I don’t remember seeing any shooting stars until I came to Italy, and now I see them quite frequently–and make a wish every time.
8. I have no vivid recollection as to why I scrapped the whole astronaut idea, but it probably had to do with all the math and science. Just a guess.
Still want to know more about me? There are 100 things, another 100 things, a photo meme, and a bunch of stuff in the “meme time” and “me me me” categories.
Now here are the rules for anyone who’d like to play (I’m not tagging anyone, but if you’d like to share some secrets, I’m all eyes):
* Players start with eight random facts/habits about themselves.
* People who are tagged need to write their own blog about their eight things and post these rules.
* At the end of your blog, you need to choose eight people to get tagged and list their names.
* Don’t forget to leave them a comment telling them they’re tagged, and to read your blog.
As you can see I’ve broken the rules, so let’s go one further. Even if you only share your randomness in the comments here, you’ll make me happy.
You want me to be happy, right?
OK then. In the words of my favorite Star Gazer: Keep looking up!
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[tags]memes, 8 random facts about me[/tags]
Life Lessons with Fast Eddie
First off, understand that the title sounds way more naughty than this post is going to get; I’ve been thinking about innocent school days. As Judith pointed out in the comments to June is… , now used to be the time we younguns were released into the world every year.
And I got to thinking about Fast Eddie.
Have you ever noticed that I like asking myself leading questions with obvious answers and then answering? I sure have. Hah!
I’m fairly certain that I get that from my high school Algebra II and Trigonometry teacher, who I, and many students before and after me, called “Fast Eddie.” He talked *really* fast, which isn’t necessarily a great trait in an advanced math teacher, but I loved him anyway.
He did everything fast, in fact, and since he had the silkiest blond hair for a guy already in his late 50s, it flopped and blew in the breeze as he charged down the hall, as if he had been traveling by sports car instead of a pair of legs.
Hard to tell anyway, because he was always kind of a blur.
Fast Eddie was a smart, witty straight-shooter, and, most admirable to me, he treated us like adults but he always, always had the upper hand of the classroom. His very presence demanded respect.
He had also been a baseball player and coach for a long time, so he had that whole sports and competition thing going on too—which most often surfaced when a particularly trying English teacher (trying for all of us, including faculty) would peek in to stir up friendly banter during our classes.
Looking back, I suppose that was kind of weird, but it did mark the first time I heard the phrase, “Don’t let the door hit you on the ass on your way out,” so I can’t say as though nothing stuck with me from my year of Trig torture instruction.
Oh, and did I mention he was free with cuss words? That’ll always win you points with high school kids.
I have two great memories of Fast Eddie, the first is a conversation we had after I had gone back home after having been in college for a few semesters, having already declared my English and history majors. He was crushed that I didn’t major in math—so I didn’t bother to tell him I didn’t plan to even take a math course in college, or, ahem, ever again. (And I didn’t.)
His response was that I was wasting my mathematics prowess and that I’d, I quote, “have the world by the balls” if I doubled up in English and math, but, not surprisingly, that didn’t encourage me to meet with my university advisor. It was touching to hear his confidence in my abilities, though, especially after I had been out of high school for some time, and I’ll never forget it.
The other memorable moment happened when it came time for our first test in Algebra II, and the class conversation/pep talk went a little something like this:
Worried Student: Will [something about Algebra II] be covered?
Fast Eddie: (long pause; vacant look out window; smooths hair)
Look, folks, it’s test time.
(another glance out window; sits on corner of his desk while shaking foot furiously over edge)
What’s going to be on the test? The things we covered.
Will it be hard? Nah. Not if you know your stuff, but if you haven’t done the work, hell yeah.
Can I get by with bullshit answers? No you can’t. I don’t like bullshit.
Should I study? You bet your ass—this ain’t 2 plus 2 folks.
Any more questions?
I certainly didn’t have any, but the answering my own asked questions really stuck; I found it hilarious, and even better, effective. Somehow, that little Q & A helped calm my nerves for the first big test of high school. Sometimes you just need someone to give it to you straight, to let you know where you stand, to cut out the bull.
(Sadly, though, this story is about all I remember from Algebra II.)
I’ve always felt blessed to have genuinely liked so many of my teachers and professors, but never more so than when I came here and began talking to P and his friends about school. Not one of them could pinpoint a teacher they liked even a little.
Granted they were probably hellions whereas I was the class pet—only because of the effort I put into school, mind you. I was definitely no brown-noser and, in fact, had quite a few personality clashes with teachers as well, usually when I felt condescended to, but let’s not dwell on that today.
Because for this week’s Love Thursday, I’m thinking about some of those teachers who made an impact in my life, and Fast Eddie is certainly one at the top of the list.
What about you? Any teachers leave good memories behind for you? Any who you feel particularly indebted to? Any who you’d like to write a thank you note to right now (even if they’ve passed on)? Don’t let me stop you!
Happy Love Thursday everyone!
sunday scribblings: town & country
Prompt #62: Town & Country
Like John (Cougar) Mellencamp, I was born in a small town, and I live in a small town, albeit on the other side of the world from my hometown.
But in between, among other places, I also lived in the City of Brotherly Love for five years, just minutes from the Art Museum steps that Rocky made famous in 1976.
The city is only about a two hour drive from my hometown, but it might as well be a world away for the differences. Indeed, many from my area hold great disdain for the city–my grandfather, who spent much of his life in and around there for work, called it “Filthy-delphia.” But I chose it anyway when it came time for law school, mostly because I wanted to see what all the fuss was about.
And you know what? This small town girl rather enjoyed big city life. It’s just so convenient to have anything you could possibly want never too far away–art, history, literature, every religion and culture imaginable, ethnic food, professional sports, and so much more.
Then there’s the not so great parts, general lack of cleanliness was my biggest complaint especially when public transportation was involved. The fact that the smell of human urine makes me think of the Broad Street subway line cannot be underestimated.
But more than that, I just never really felt at home there. I loved my living quarters, especially the second of my two Philly homes, located on this street:
Cute eh? Many inhabitants were professionals and graduate students, and we had neighborhood schools, churches, bars, restaurants, and shops that many of us frequented while politely exchanging hellos, but that was the extent of it. Indeed, the area was set up perfectly to be a neighborhood where we could create a little pocket of understanding and warmth.
But it never happened. Not for me anyway.
My neighbors, with whom we shared a small, locked entryway, were a couple with two small children. When our landlords described them, I thought of offering babysitting services. That idea was crushed the first time we crossed paths in the backyard. I introduced myself and asked some questions, but the mother quickly cut me off and rustled the girls inside. Hint taken. Nearly every morning we set off at the same time but none of them ever even glanced at me as they struggled to get everyone in their respective cars during the morning routine.
In fact, the only time I ever entered their home was to inquire whether they had picked up a package of mine from the entryway by mistake as the postman assured me he had left it there. They said they didn’t, but I sure hope they enjoyed that first edition Charles Dickens I had ordered from eBay because I have a hunch as to what really happened.
So maybe I was unlucky with the neighbors themselves, but then every time I went back to my hometown to visit, something became clearer and clearer. The idyllic neighborhood life of my youth doesn’t exist there anymore either. As the older generation has died off, new families have moved in, and they aren’t the children and grandchildren of the area; indeed, many are from larger cities.
And so there are fewer nightly chats from porch to porch, fewer pies and cakes traded across backyards, and, I imagine, fewer solid neighborly relationships. Whenever I’ve been home, it’s like being on the empty set of an old favorite sitcom–I recognize all the scenery and memories come at me from all angles, but there’s nothing going on that really makes me feel like I used to.
Why is that? Is the idea of community threatening to an individualist lifestyle? Is this a good thing? Can we get it back? Do we want to?
I don’t have answers to these questions, but on a personal level, one of the things I love best about where I live now is the neighborhood feel. All of those old-fashioned relationships are still intact, and indeed, I’ve been accepted into the fold. We have a grocer, a tobacconist, a pharmacist, a butcher, and two bars, and they all know what I want before I do.
Sure sometimes it’s a bit smothering when eyes are peeking out of windows to see where you’re going and who you’re going with–many times they’ll just flat out ask as they’re certainly not shy (I’ve learned to be vague in my answers!). And, of course, there’s the “news sure travels fast” phenomenon, but if you’re selective about who you tell things to, it’s less of a problem.
Some people like the anonymity of city life, and I have to admit, every now and again, it wouldn’t be such a bad thing. But I’ve had it both ways, and I have to say, I just feel at home here, and that’s the most important thing.
Or, as Mellencamp said, “my bed is in a small town, and that’s good enough for me.”
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[tags]sunday scribblings, john mellencamp, smalltown, city versus country, philadelphia, rocky, philadelphia museum of art[/tags]
sunday scribblings: masks
Prompt #60: Masks
Adjusting to life in a foreign country can be difficult on many levels from bureaucracy to figuring out where to do all of your daily shopping–bread at the panetteria (bakery), pork chops at the macelleria (butcher shop), perfume at the profumeria (perfume shop), Blistex at the farmacia (pharmacy), shampoo at the tabaccheria (tobacco shop)–of course!
But nothing can compare to the entirely unexpected feeling that I had lost a big part of my sparkling wit personality somewhere over the Atlantic, a phenomenon I’ve also mentioned here and here.
Now please don’t think I’m saying that you should never move to a foreign country without knowing the language. I did it, and obviously I’ve survived. Of course it’s more of a challenge, and I can only talk of my own experience, but not speaking Italian fluently at first isn’t too much of a problem because you can still get along fine in most instances. And keep in mind that I’m in the south where there are very few English speakers.
That said, I did feel a negative effect in social and personal situations–I found myself concentrating so hard on the basics of what was being said that I never got the joke; let’s not debate the Italian sense of humor right now, but I’ll note that our differences there were/are also a factor.
What I’m talking about are the nuances of a language. For my entire life on the other side of the pond, I took for granted that I could effortlessly make others smile or laugh with a few well-crafted, well-timed words. That I always had a response. That I was never left tongue-tied and wondering what would’ve been a good comeback.
Yes, I’ve had moments of “what I wish I had said” like everyone does, but here, they became the norm; when it takes hours to fully comprehend the two most important lines of a conversation, a witty retort on the spot isn’t very likely.
And so for a long time, I felt like I was wearing a mask–and worst of all, it was one that I didn’t choose for myself. People saw me as shy, quiet, perhaps uncomfortable in social situations, and to an extent, I can certainly be all of those things, but not to the degree that they would have thought.
I was just trying so hard to follow the action that my real personality was below layers and layers of verb conjugations, idioms, and obscure (to me) cultural references.
Did I hide behind the straniera mask sometimes too? Absolutely. I’ll admit that many times it was just easier to say “non capisco” (I don’t understand) than really participate. I’m human, and I get tired of paying attention.
To. Every. Single. Word. For. Hours. On. End.
And when social situations become work, well, not surprisingly, they just aren’t fun anymore. So occasionally I put up my mask, and we inevitably ended the evening with a pity party, just the two of us. But for me, this was an essential part of my growth process here, as I needed to hit rock bottom, so to speak, in order to throw off the mask.
Getting a better grasp of Italian has definitely helped me feel more like myself again, but confidence and courage have played even bigger roles. After many frustrating evenings out with Italians, I reached back to when I began college, when I started out fresh, knowing no one, and when it seemed like some of my peers were speaking a different language (turned out they were, and it was something along the lines of Spoiledbratese).
At some point, I realized that I was going to have to do here what I did there; I was going to have to be a Nike commercial, and just do it.
And to paraphrase Robert Frost: I have, and that has made all the difference.
No matter where you are, you have to be willing to get out there, make mistakes (and learn from them), be yourself, and not care if you don’t fit with preconceived notions of whatever it is “they” think you should be. And most of all, you have to be willing to rip off that mask (whether you put it there or not) because it’s hiding the real, wonderful you that the world deserves to know.
Besides, being hidden gets kind of boring.
And boy do I love when I make P laugh.
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[tags]sunday scribblings, masks, culture shock, learning a language[/tags]
meme monday (all about things)
Today is the first in a two-part series in which I will do all of the meme tags I currently have outstanding. With recent Internet issues, I got a little behind, but let it not be said that I am not a diligent blogger. Because I am. It just might take a while.
For those dying in anticipation, tomorrow will be my first Italian meme! Don’t worry, I’ll translate for the Italianistically challenged.
So, way back on March 19, I was tagged by AJ for the 4 Things meme, which goes a little something like this:
Four jobs I’ve had
1. Freelance writer
2. Appellate law clerk
3. Clothes folder at college bookstore
4. Amusement park ride operator
Four movies I can watch over and over
1. The American President
2. Shawshank Redemption
3. A Few Good Men
4. Meet the Parents
Four places I have lived
1. Anthracite Coal Country, Pennsylvania, USA
2. Durham, North Carolina, USA
3. Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, USA
4. Calabria, Italy
Four television shows I love to watch
1. Lost
2. Gilmore Girls
3. Friends, still
4. King of Queens
Four places I have been on vacation
1. Sarasota, Florida, USA
2. Atlanta, Georgia, USA
3. Boston, Massachusetts, USA
4. Morehead City Beach, North Carolina, USA
Four of my favorite dishes
1. Linguine with some type of seafood
2. Spaghetti alla carbonara
3. Thanksgiving—all of it
4. Grilled cheese and tomato soup
Four websites I visit daily
1. Msnbc.com
2. Perezhilton.com
3. Bloglines.com
4. Expatsinitaly.com
Four places I would rather be right now
1. Anywhere hugging my niece and nephew.
2. Snuggled with P, anywhere.
3. Somewhere with only a book, Luna, and time to keep me company.
4. Completely moved in and settled in our “new” old house.
Four bloggers I am tagging
1. Cheeky, because I’m just getting to know her and this way is as good as any.
2. Cherrye, because I know she loves a good meme as much as anyone.
3. Erin, for reasons 2 and 3 above.
4. Shannon, because she’s such a tag-backer it’s not even funny.
More recently, I was tagged by two lovely ladies, Irene and Val, on the same day not even an hour apart, but thankfully with the same meme. This one is called the 7 things meme and these are the rules:
Each player starts with 7 random facts/habits about themselves. People who are tagged need to write on their own blog about their seven things, as well as these rules. You need to choose 7 people to get tagged and list their names. Don’t forget to leave them a comment telling them that they have been tagged and to read your blog!
Alrighty. I’ve already posted 100 Things, Another 100 Things, Six Weird Things, and another five things based on the five senses for good measure. You’d think I’d be out of stuff you don’t know about me, wouldn’t you?
Hah! You don’t know me very well.
For this meme, I’m going with the 7 theme and basing this list on the Seven Deadly Sins and how they manifest themselves in me.
The revelation that I’m not perfect? Consider that your bonus eighth.
1. Lust. Well we might as well start big. And yet tame, because this is mostly a family blog, right? So let’s just say that I love wearing sexy things to bed, especially little nighties.
2. Gluttony. Put freshly baked cakes or muffins in front of me if you must, but do take them away after five minutes or else there won’t be any left for anyone else.
3. Greed. I’m not very greedy when it comes to accumulating things except for books. I want them. I want to buy them. And most often, I want to keep them.
4. Sloth. Left to my own devices, I can waste a darn lot of time just lying around doing nothing. Although a book is often my accomplice, so that’s not technically “nothing” is it?
5. Wrath. I don’t have a bad temper, but when you piss me off, you’d be advised to just leave me alone. I don’t want to talk about it (yet), and be forewarned that although I forgive, I don’t forget.
6. Envy. As much as I don’t care to have a lot of money, I have always envied women born into wealthy families in the early to mid 20th century–you know, the kinds that were respected, educated, and well-traveled but never worked except for charities?
7. Pride. I’m seriously concerned about the amount of white hairs sprouting on my head, and so I will probably be playing with hair color soon. This saddens me.
So there we are.
Now I’m supposed to tag 7 people, who if they choose to accept the challenge, may do the original meme of 7 things we don’t know about them or my revised Seven Deadly Sins version.
Aren’t I kind?
1. Annika because she’s always up for a good meme.
2. Bongga Mom because I’m hoping she’ll reveal more bongga mom secrets.
3. Delinissima because I don’t believe I’ve ever seen a meme on her blog and I’m concerned.
4. Femminista because I love her blog (and her new puppy) and you should too.
5. Judith because I have a feeling she’s a sinner (and she said no one ever asks her to do memes).
6. Karen because I know with two young daughters at home, she’s kinda bored and just wishing she had a meme to complete.
7. Vanessa because she’s tagged me before and it’s only fair.
You’re up! And to everyone I’ve tagged, please leave a link to your meme post here in the comments if you do decide to play.
Happy meme-ing!
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[tags]memes, seven deadly sins[/tags]
Michelle Kaminsky is an American attorney-turned-freelance writer who lived in her family's ancestral village in Calabria, Italy for 15 years. This blog is now archived.
Calabria Guidebook
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