Archive for the ‘me me me’ Category
oh no you di’nt
Oh yes she did.
Shannon called me out as the person most likely to respond to this meme.
Dammit I’m such a people-pleaser.
1. What is your occupation? Writer, teacher, translator.
2. What color are your socks right now? Black (both pair). My feet would always be cold in the winter if I didn’t layer. The under pair are just anklets like I’d wear in the summer with sneakers, and the outer pair is the more traditional, mid-calf-ending sock. And yes, my feet are toasty.
3. What are you listening to right now? Sweet silence interrupted by thunder. We’re in the middle of a storm, so I have everything unplugged, including this laptop, which is on the battery. I have another hour for either the storm or the battery to surrender. I’ll have to wait until the storm is over to post this, too, since I’m afraid to plug in the phone.
4. What was the last thing that you ate? Pears and gorgonzola.
5. Can you drive a stick shift? Not yet, but there’s been talk around here of my attempting to conquer the whole Italian driver’s license thing. In case you aren’t aware, most cars around here aren’t automatic.
6. If you were a crayon what color would you be? Probably white since I’m so freaking pale. Although I wear a lot of black to balance that. Maybe grey then.
7. The last person you spoke to on the phone? My dad.
8. Do you like the person who sent this to you? The founder of What’s Cooking Wednesday? She’s fantabulous!
9. How old are you today? 3o. Incidentally, I know several people who celebrate their birthday today, February 13th, so Happy Birthday/Auguri!.
10. Favorite drink? Cappuccino.
11. What is your favorite sport to watch? I’ll go with college basketball even though I haven’t watched any in years. *sigh*
12. Have you ever dyed your hair? I’ve highlighted, and I’ll do it again. I’m sure I’ll be actually dying (my hair) soon though as I’m noticing far too many (unwanted) white visitors.
13. Pets? Luna Balloona! The chickens and whatnot don’t count as, you know, we eat them and all.
14. Favorite food? I go in kicks with food. Right now I’m really into the pears and gorgonzola (see #4). But this too shall pass. I don’t know what will be next.
15. What was the last movie you watched? The Terminal with Tom Hanks. I hadn’t even heard of it but I really enjoyed it. Especially the second time when I watched it in English–Tom Hanks with a Russianesque accent is too cute!
16. What do you do to vent anger? Stew, breathe, and call my mom.
17. What was your favorite toy as a child? Hmm…probably crayons and coloring books–I seem to recall two that I actually finished–Care Bears and Strawberry Shortcake.
18. What is your favorite season? Fall, but more so in the States than here. We don’t have all those pretty colored leaves all over the place, unfortunately.
19. Hugs or kisses? Yes please!
20. Cherries or Blueberries? Depends on my mood, and my continent. We don’t get blueberries around here, you know.
21. Do you want your friends to email you back? My friends, acquaintances, faithful and casual readers, yes; German spammers no (don’t know what’s up with that).
22. Who is most likely to respond? Vanessa even though she doesn’t have a blog. At least I hope she responds.
23. Who is least likely to respond? Everyone else I know who blogs (I’ve got that one covered, eh?).
24. Living arrangements? Yes, I have them. Oh, you mean like with P and Luna in a centuries-old stone house? See #2.
25. When was the last time you cried? While reading an email this morning from an old friend; it’s not the first time it’s happened.
26. What is on the floor of your closet? Uh, what *isn’t* on the floor of my closet?
27. Who is the friend you have had the longest that you are sending this to? Since this is going out into the blogosphere, it’s hard to tell. But probably that one from #25 since it’s hard to know me longer than he has and not be related to me.
28. What did you do last night? Ate dinner, watched the end of Mission Impossible 2, read a few pages in a Sue Grafton book, and went to sleep.
29. Favorite smells? Lavender, vanilla, jasmine, Nivea body wash.
30. What are you afraid of? See #5.
31. Favorite dog breed? Luna Balloona, whatever she is. You tryin’ to start trouble in this house?
33. Number of keys on your key ring? 3. My house, P’s house, and P’s parents’ house.
34. Favorite day of the week? Tuesday. I’m not sure why, but I’ve just always liked it.
35. How many Provinces have you lived in? Ooh, interesting, since we don’t have these in the U.S. But let’s go with different places in which I’ve been registered to vote–counties (3) and this province in Italy, so 4 all together.
36. Favorite holiday? Thanksgiving. A whole day dedicated to overeating!
37. Ever driven a motorcycle or heavy machinery? No, and I have no desire to do so. I’ve been on a motorcycle, but no heavy machinery is coming to mind. As an aside, driving a motorino is a distinct possibility in the future.
38. Ever left the country? I’ve left more than one country.
39. Favorite kind of music? Anything that doesn’t give me a headache from a repetitive dance beat. I tend to like folky, acoustic stuff with just a guitar and a singer. Some other instruments allowed so long as they don’t give me a headache.
40. Last book you read? I’m finishing a Sue Grafton (G is for Gumshoe) I started a long time ago. I forgot about it in a bag. In case you’re wondering, I haven’t decided whether to finish Charlotte Simmons. It’s rough going there.
41. What career do you wish you had pursued? I wish I had pursued writing from an earlier age, but I’m catching up methinks.
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[tags]memes[/tags]
Getting To Know Me: Me, Not Me
Here’s a little glimpse into me (or not me) inspired by Karla at Tales of a Texpatriate.
That means I stole the idea.
Me.
Not me.
Me.
Not me.
Me.
Not me.
Me.
Not me.
Me.
Not me.
Me.
Not me.
So, so me. Purr.
Pretty, but just not me.
Me.
Not me. Not by a long chalk.
Me.
Not me.
Me.
Not me.
Me.
Not me.
Me.
Not me.
Me.
Not me.
And last but certainly not least, me.
Absolutely, most definitely not me
(and Luna thanks me every day).
feeding, dreaming, and teaching (not at the same time)
Well, I finally have put in the RSS feed link in my right column (thanks Paola!). I had done the FeedBurner thing a while ago, and when I saw the little icon pop up in the address bar, I figured that was enough. But maybe only people with Firefox could see that? Not really sure, but now it should be much easier for anyone who would like to keep current with all the exciting things that happen around here.
Hey, sooner or later, something exciting is bound to happen.
No pressure, um, but, subscribe, would you? It’ll give me a warm fuzzy and all. And a warm and fuzzy blogger is a good blogger.
Or, ain’t nobody happy if the blogger ain’t happy. So do oblige. Please?
In other news, to balance my crazy bomber dream, I recently dreamed that two white doves flew into my house (male and female). I picked one up and stroked its head, but then when I put it down, it couldn’t stand. I thought I had injured it, but no, she was giving birth, thus the trouble remaining upright. Understandable, especially because she was birthing an entire bird.
Yes, I’m well aware that birds lay eggs, but in my subconscious, birds give birth to little birds, fully formed. Maybe this is because I’m so freaking tired of seeing all these eggs around my house. Not that I don’t love them, too. Yes, I’m also well aware that I’m all over the place.
Anyway, the male was nearby helping her along, and, in case you’re wondering, all of this is supposed to signify a happy family life for P and me. I’ll spare you the corresponding lottery numbers, but if you really want to know, send me an email.
Honestly, the best part of the dream was that I was neither a killer nor the target of a killer. A good night by anyone’s standards, I would think.
On the teaching front, all continues to go well. I’ve even gained a student by word of mouth spreading, so I must’ve made a good impression during my first week. Of course, I’ve also been scolded for giving too much homework, i.e., exactly what the book provided by the school tells me to assign.
Apparently some of the kids are having difficulty working in time to do a page of exercises after each lesson. This despite the fact that I’ve told them just to give it to me when they’re done and most certainly don’t browbeat them if they haven’t finished by the next class. I don’t grade them or anything, so if they don’t feel like doing it, hey, it’s their parents’ money, right?
I know. I’m a big meanie. I’ll try to cut back.
But on the lighter side, yesterday, in the more advanced class, we did an exercise in which we were stressing the use of relative clauses to describe something when you don’t know the actual word. For example, if you don’t know the word “waiter,” you would say something like “It’s somebody who works in a restaurant and brings your food to the table.”
From my Italian experiences, I know that your phrasing can get rather creative (buying superglue the first time was awesome!), so I figured this would be good for some laughs.
Ooh boy; I had no idea.
When we got to the last word, one of my students really took it to another level. I’m paraphrasing, but the exchange went something like this:
Student A: OK, this can be a verb or a noun. I *think* that everyone here has done this with another person that you like very much….
*raised eyebrows*
Student A: You know, when you are happy, and you want to express how you feel, that you enjoy being with that person, or maybe they’ve done something nice to (she meant “for”) you….
*snicker snicker, eyebrows raising off foreheads*
Student A: I mean, you can also do this with people you don’t know at all, but….
*raucous laughter*
Student A: No! It’s something nice…and…oh! We do this when we meet someone, on each cheek!
(Finally) Student B: KISS!!
Me: See you next week! (replacing eyebrows to usual position)
Mwaaaaaaaaaaah!
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[tags]dreams, doves, birds, ESL teaching, teaching[/tags]
Italian Dream Intepretation: Lottery Numbers Included
On what is the only Italian-produced television program I watch, there is a running story about Italy’s Unabomber.
For those of you who don’t know, Italy unfortunately does have its own Ted Kaczynski, so to speak, and he has been leaving random bombs in the northeastern part of the country since 1994. No one has been killed by these bombs yet, but several have resulted in severe injuries, including amputations and loss of sight.
He may share a name with the America’s Unabomber, but that’s really where the similarities end. This guy in Italy doesn’t have an apparent motive as he’s made no economic or social demands and his victims seem completely random–except for the fact that he has placed several devices where children were likely to come across them, and, in fact, have.
It’s a horrible story, and now authorities think maybe they know who’s behind it. I’m not sure if the television portrayal is meant to help bring this guy to justice, give him ideas, or make him really, really angry, but it’s had some unintended side effects on me.
Like nightmares.
Just one (so far), and it really wasn’t so much scary as freaking weird. OK, you twisted my arm.
This television show is on Tuesdays, so I’m not quite sure why several days later, I dreamed that there was a group of Italian investigators searching the house I grew up in (in America) for an Italian Unabomber bomb.
To give you the layout, in that house, there are two bedrooms upstairs on opposite ends of the house, connected by a hallway with the staircase taking up the middle chunk of the top floor. Open spaces that we called the cubby hole* run along the entire length of the house on both sides of the bedrooms.
So, in the dream, I had been changing clothes in one end of the cubby (which I would never do) when I noticed that there was suddenly a group of Italian police officers searching the opposite end of cubby hole. And, interestingly, while they were searching, I realized that I had about 200 lovely hand and shoulder bags that I had apparently completely forgotten about. In fact, there was the cutest little red number that was really speaking to me. Only it doesn’t exist in real life.
*sigh*
Anyway, they searched the whole place and didn’t find anything, but then I suddenly remembered that I had smelled something burning the night before. This was actually true. Don’t you love the way your subconscious incorporates reality into your dreams? Well the night before the dream, I smelled something really pungent burning–much stronger than ordinary wood. It was around only for about 10 seconds, and it disappeared. I still don’t know what it could’ve been, but my subconscious figured it must’ve been a bomb. Placed by the Italian Unabomber. Obviously.
Back in the dream, I told the woman investigator (I think she might’ve been the blonde from Without a Trace, but I can’t be sure) about the burning smell, and she was more convinced than ever that they needed to continue searching. Within minutes, she found a small bomb inside a book in the corner on the floor; the other officers then yelled that they had found another on the phone line. So there you go. 
I woke up quite anxious and after I shared the terror with P, I knew what I had to do next.
Even before taking Luna out for a walk, I had to check our dream interpretation book, which, because it’s Italian, also gives you the lottery numbers you should play based on your nightly imaginings. I’m not joking. The numbers are actually the point of the book–the interpretations are just bonus. This, btw, was my birthday gift to P. And he loved it. I swear.
I didn’t find much out there regarding what war my subconscious is waging, but I do know that I should be feeling lucky about 4, 17, 22, 34, 37, and 77. If anyone plays those and wins, I’ll be happy to accept a percentage of your proceeds. If anyone plays those and bad things start happening, you should really watch Lost. And not get on a plane.
After I checked my dream book, it was time to take a more-than-ready, butt-swishing Luna out for a little stroll in the gusting wind. The past couple days, we’ve had amazing winds around here, especially at night and into the early morning. Because of this, the temps finally feel more February-like and drying clothes outside has been heavenly, so I can’t complain.
But I can bundle up. And I did. And then I turned around to tell P we’d be back shortly. And he told me to get the camera.
That’s me on the right, in case you can’t tell the difference between the famous sketch and me. For any of you out there who know my last name, perhaps this is an extra amusing side-by-side. Think about it.
So, in conclusion, I’ve been tempted to do it before, but now I’m pretty sure–it’s time to swear off Italian TV forever.
It’s just no good for me.
*Please note that I am using the first definition listed here, and *so* not the fourth one. We most certainly did not have two of those running along the sides of our house. Ew.
sunday scribblings: chronicles
We’ll get there eventually, but let’s link arms and walk together for a moment.
When I first saw that “chronicles” was the prompt of Sunday Scribblings this week, I wondered what in the heck I’d write about.
I first thought of The Chronicle, a large part of my daily life many moons ago during college. I never worked on the paper, although looking back, I wish I would have, so I could’ve written about that internal struggle–not having the confidence to pursue writing earlier. Eh. Another time.
Then I thought fictionally, and imagined a middle-aged woman cleaning out her deceased father’s apartment with whom she never had a close relationship–figuring out what to keep so as to chronicle his life for the next generation when she, in fact, had no idea what kind of life he had. But then I realized that I scribbled about death last week, and also wrote about my deceased grandmother a few days ago, and well, I’m just about deathed out.
So then this morning I went up to the piazza for my morning cappuccino and was greeted with this scene:
And I thought about writing of this woman chronicling her life through the items she makes. In years past, it was very common here for a young signorina to make all of her own linens for her house, embroidering and whatnot. I imagine that as time goes on, many women crafted more things with their hands–scarves, blankets, linens for children–that if taken together would chronicle a given woman’s life. But this would end up being about death too, wouldn’t it? So let’s call these my photos for “chronicles.”
So I’m thinking there are just so many different ways to chronicle a life, which led me to this:
I’ve always loved writing. Yes, composing, but I’m talking about the physical act of putting ink to paper and forming letters, then words. I used to play with my handwriting all the time, often copying the style of a favorite teacher, making the M in my signature all different ways. One of my favorite M’s was stolen from a framed picture in my room that had my name written in cursive and proclaimed what little girls are made of.
I used to love writing so much that one day when I found my mom’s handwritten notes from nurses’ training, I decided to write them over. I was probably about 10 years old, so of course I had no idea what anything meant, but that didn’t matter. I loved writing, and so I got my looseleaf and favorite pens and went to work.
I remember struggling to read my mom’s handwriting, an odd mix of cursive and printing–so not allowed in a structured 10-year-old’s mind. “What’s this Mom?” must’ve driven her crazy. I don’t know how many pages I ended up copying (I’m guessing not many because I bore quickly), but I do remember imagining myself in a big room, surrounded by other people my age, furiously scribbling as a talking head in the front used a lot of words with many syllables.
Yeah, I was a geek, so I actually fantasized about being in school, but more than that, I see now that I was channeling a part of my mom’s life that I’d never be able to experience. I was able to sit there with her, writing words I wouldn’t understand for another 10 years. All because she didn’t chuck her notes.
Fast forward many years, and you know what? I, too, still have all my notes from college and law school. And perhaps I flatter myself to think that someday, someone might be so inclined to recopy them just to feel closer to me, but for what it’s worth, they’re there. I went three-hole punch happy and man, what a chronicle of that stage in my life I’ve made.
I have journals, letters, and scrapbooks from those years as well, but the academic experience was undeniably a big part of my development too. Who knows what was occupying my thoughts as I learned about evolution, the development of the prison system, Tennyson, Whitman, Yeats? Granted it was most likely Cute English Boy, but I could’ve had an interesting thought here and there. Maybe.
Someday, if I’m so inclined, I can find out. And so can future generations, if I manage to keep track of everything. And as an added bonus, we can even trace the development of my handwriting, which if you’re curious, has ended up looking a lot like my mom’s weird mix of cursive and printing.
I still do that M from the picture though.
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[tags]sunday scribblings, chronicles, handwriting, old notes[/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.
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