27.2.06

Requested and Received

I sent the following email to a salon today:
Hello!

My name is Sarah and I have violently curly hair. I moved to Alabama last summer and am in desperate need of a haircut. Can you help me?

I've been burned many times by stylists who insisted they knew how to deal with curly hair and could give me a great haircut who failed, instead leaving me with a frizzy triangle head and tears running down my face -- this happened in an Aveda salon several years ago and I've not tried Aveda since. I had a Ouidad curly hair specialist in Boston but have yet to find anything of the sort in Alabama.

Can you recommend someone at your salon who has experience cutting and styling coarse, naturally curly hair?

Thank you,
Sarah
No response, yet. My hair is getting really straggly and unruly. Well, more unruly than normal, anyway.

Also, a postcard arrived from Finland! My first Postcrossing card, hooray!

CouchSurfing, anyone? What a great way to travel!

26.2.06

Another one down

2006 Required Reading

The Master and Margarita by Mikhail Bulgakov
"Aurora Leigh" by Elizabeth Barrett Browning
As I Lay Dying by Faulkner
The Death of Ivan Ilych and Anna Karenina by Leo Tolstoy
Wide Sargasso Sea by Jean Rhys
Woman on the Edge of Time by Marge Piercy
Things Fall Apart by Chinua Achebe
Dubliners by Mr. Joyce
All Quiet on the Western Front by Erich Maria Remarque
The Golden Notebook by Doris Lessing

All Quiet on the Western Front was pretty much what I expected: violent, horrifying, disheartening, fateful and well-written. It is the trenches of WWI, with rats and bloody mud and dismembered bodies and poison gas. Paul, a German soldier and the main character, realizes -- and he's only 20 -- that he's spoiled for any other sort of other life except kill kill kill, scrounge for food, hide, find cover, kill, trudge trudge, mourn, bandage up, keep going, keep going, keep going. During a week-long leave at home he's forced to acknowledge he no longer relates to his family or any former joys of life. Paul's slowly shrinking group of war buddies is all that matters anymore.

Remarque fought in the war and writes from experience. I had flashbacks to the unit I taught to my Boston eighth graders on WWI. We read some of Hemingway's short stories on the war and a ton of WWI poetry, including Wilfred Owen's "Dulce et Decorum Est"; I learned that poem in ninth grade and it's stayed with me -- visually, which is unusual -- ever since.

I'm glad I read it, but after reading Hiroshima last year, I think that's enough war books for a while.

24.2.06

Wow

www.hiddenpassageway.com.

Mmm. Flesh.

Popular Foods of Alabama, Take Two: Meat

At some point, I have to pick up a couple pounds of catfish. Have I had it before? Susie might need to clarify, but I have a vague memory of eating it as a kid, once. Unless I'm thinking of that one time when my mom fed us rabbit and told us it was chicken.

Catfish never dredges up a very positive image for me, all whiskery and blunt-nosed, with weird skin. (They don't have scales!)

This advertisement looks pretty good, the fish nicely breaded, with delightful parsley and citrus accents. Also, freshness is 200% guaranteed; you can't beat that! Here I've been going around thinking 100% was enough for me. No more -- I encourage everyone to demand 200% freshness satisfaction!

No time to fry up your own? Never fear! Deep-fried catfish nuggets are available by the pound. You can also get deep-fried anything else.









One sure way to sell something in Alabama is to slap a NASCAR label on it. NASCAR is the real religion down here -- forget everything you've heard about Jesus. I've seen Jeff Gordon Crock Pots and Dale Earnhardt faux Tiffany lamps. At work we sell giant racecar Pez dispensers (and small helmet ones) and a NASCAR romance novel series (I read some bits; it is hysterical). Now you can purchase NASCAR bratwurst or hot dogs (the labels say TASTE THE EXCITEMENT). That's what I call fast food, har har!

My recent investigations into French cooking have taught me a lot about offal. I haven't experimented with any yet, but it is good to know that ten pounds of pig intestines (chitlins -- chitterlings sounds dumb, like the pig is cold or something) will only set me back $6.99.






Okay, frozen hamburger patties are nothing new or special. I'm including these because of the name: Bubba Burgers. What is the deal with Bubba? I thought it was one of those silly Southern stereotypes with no basis in reality...until one afternoon at a local flea market I heard a mom screech at her son, "Bubba, you put that down!" I encounter 30-something Bubbas at the bookstore, even one guy with "Bubba" on his credit card.

First I thought Bubba must be short for something else, like Robert. Robert - Bob - Bubba, right? That's logical -- or possible, anyhow. Not the case. I asked around at work, a careful survey of employees who are Southern born and bred. One woman seemed offended by my question, like it was obvious Bubba is just a fond nickname of sorts. Others just shrugged. Bubba is a force of nature; what can you do?

(My next quest: What is the female equivalent of "Bubba?" My guess - based on personal experience - is we just get called darlin' or hon.' A woman at the grocery store called me baby once. I accidentally stepped in the way of her cart and apologized. Her reply: "That's okay, baby.") (That was nice, actually.)

23.2.06

The Hate Never Ends

Remember April 1st of last year? A day full of fools for many, but lucky me got stuck with the most moronic idiot of them all.

That was the day Mrs. Defective Driver, AKA: Cloddish Addle-Brain Who Talks on her Cell Phone Instead of Watching the Road, decided to run into someone in an intersection, right after we were all accelerating from the red-turned-green light, and she did so with me right behind her. The results were not good.

Remember? My car was totalled and they gave me a measley check that would only afford me an old Volkswagon Rabbit? And I'd had the Saturn for barely eight months?

Yes, well, I was under the impression I was not at fault. It said so on my insurance papers. Turns out I was wrong; my new insurance papers say it WAS my fault, and now I have to endure higher rates for the next, what, seven years?

A special thank you goes out to the Nebraskan police officer who ticketed me for "following too close" even though he didn't see the accident. I should have fought that more; at the time, I just wanted everything over and done. As it is, the ticket only supports the fault as mine. And, dammit, it's a ticket, blemishing my previously unticketed record.

There was nothing I could have done to avoid the accident. People tend to accelerate when a traffic light turns green. A full stop is the last thing one expects. Alas, would my car have stalled on the green light and I never moved! There's no category on the claim sheet for Lack of Options. You can't blame the laws of physics. I will now drive 750 feet behind everyone at all times. Slowly.

So I am stuck with an increase of $35/month, though they claim some of that is because of rising medical and vehicle repair costs. Yeah, that's it.

Hmmm, still with things sucking big fat ass. And only myself to rage against.

22.2.06

Little Successes


Green Onions2, originally uploaded by arahsae.

These past couple of weeks have, to use a favorite phrase, sucked big fat ass. Luckily, the plants don't notice my issues and happily grow a little bit more every day.

These green onions are the fastest growing of the bunch -- they sprout folded in half and lately the free ends have popped out of the soil and are reaching up.

Work has been intolerable. I truly have no respect for myself in this position. It doesn't feel like Work, as in something I'm proud of, or even satisfied with at the end of the day. It's just a relief to leave. Admittedly, it wouldn't be half as bad if we weren't required to sell the damn discount cards. If we don't sell enough, we get Written Up, or Talked To. I like to be successful and to live up to set expectations, but I am not one to pressure customers to buy something they don't want or need. I'm bad at wheedling...and wheeling and dealing.

Even so, it is difficult to deal with idiots -- I freely admit, I am prejudiced against dumb people, even more so against dumb rude people.

We do not sell phone books, ma'am.

I realized the other day that my relationship with this job is much like Harriet the Spy's relationship with math:

[Harriet] hated math. She hated math with every bone in her body. She spent so much time hating it that she never had time to do it.
Ack. Job search is just that: a search, not much finding going on. There's a tutoring company here that would be a good opportunity for me. That and I need to get my Oregon teaching license on the active list before I lose it forever...

On the wildlife front, the great blue heron is back from vacation. He has three favorite spots to fish on the pond and if he's close, I tend to accidentally scare him off whenever I get the mail. The red-winged blackbirds are also back; I love their calls. Today I noticed a beautiful pair (male and female) of ring-necked ducks out scooting around. They're the first ducks I've seen there, ever. Greg and Stefan, the grebes, who have been here since Bruce and I arrived, still patrol the pond, diving for grub. They are always together.

They may be planning an attack on the ducks.

I loaded my new Ansco Shurflash up with film last night. If I have time today before work, I'm going to shoot!

17.2.06

Bits and Bobs

+ A fascinating (to me; lingustics is something I get excited about) piece on NPR about how North Americans talk: American Accent Undergoing Great Vowel Shift.

+ My green onions have sprouted! And I think the peppers are next!

+ A customer asked me for book-finding help yesterday. She'd been looking in the "T" section because the title of the book began with "the." Books are organized by AUTHOR, ma'am. Dur.

15.2.06

Postcrossing Success One

My Finland postcard arrived already! That took, what, five days?

Now one will be coming to me...

14.2.06

Southern Education: Foods

Despite the last 7-8 months, I consider myself a bit of an outsider here, and I've dedicated much of this blog to noting the differences between The South and the rest of the US. I consider it my duty to share what I learn; up to this point, I've spent a lot of time describing my interactions with the locals, people who want to know when the CliffsNotes for Harry Potter are coming out, assume I don't know that Capote's In Cold Blood was in fact published in 1966 and not just recently because of the film, and who call the bookstore to ask what the difference is between a dictionary and an encyclopedia (I still have to tell you about that one).

But those interactions are not so different from people anywhere else in the US. However, instead of me talking about the people themselves, I'd like to discuss what people from The South eat.

The last few weeks I've clipped grocery store ads for items somewhat unique to The South, or at least unique to my experience as an Oregonian, a Massachusetts-ian (?) and a Nebraskan. This will be an occasional blog topic, running until I run out of clippings.

Let's start with Sweet Tea. I never heard of such a thing until moving here. I like tea, especially rooibos, green and Earl Grey. It is light and easy to make and a nice alternative to coffee. Sweet tea, as you can see, is purchased at the grocery store in big gallon jugs. It is cheap. It is also offered at all restaurants and coffee shops. But what is it? I know about iced tea, where you brew and then pour the tea over ice; that is pretty straightforward and usually leaves one with watery Lipton. (I don't like iced tea.) I've even heard of sun tea. But sweet tea?

Last week, when I was covering the cafe at work, a woman asked me if our sweet tea was presweetened. Umm...one would think so, yes? Hence the name SWEET TEA. Not having an answer, I had to ask another employee. (Yes, it is presweetened.) (Actually, I don't remember. Maybe not.) Then I ask the woman if she wants it iced and I she looks at me like I'm an idiot (YES!) So I pour brown liquid that's been stewing all day over a cup of ice. Thanks, and have a nice day.

For clueless Northerners like me, wikipedia is ready with an answer:
Sweet tea is a form of iced tea in which sugar or some other form of sweetener is added to the hot water before brewing, while brewing the tea, or post-brewing, but before the beverage is chilled and served. And is not always presweetened; you can have unsweet tea...which is regular tea?

Really, I'm lost on the whole thing. It looks like just another way to get more sugar (and therefore, calories) into your system. Next!

Alabama is well within the Bible Belt, a fact easily noted by the prevalence of church busses, God Bless Yous, comments on my name "Sarah is a powerful and holy name; you are lucky!" (we have name tags at work), religious literature thrust into my hands (again, at work), and, most recently, burning churches. (!) And yet, despite all this holiness, you can go to your local supermarket and purchase a tub of Heluva Good Dip! Isn't that awesome? It's like it isn't really bad because it isn't HELL OF A Good Dip, but "Heluva." Also, it prompts positive commentary such as, "This is a hell of a good dip! And this is a hell of a good NASCAR race!" and then everone chuckles at the appropriateness of the observation. Unfortunately, this product does not do too well with fundamentalists, who avoid it out of fear and damnation.

Finally, there are the crawfish ads. I am familiar with crawfish, aka crayfish or crawdads. My family attended a couple crawdad feeds when I was little -- for the Swiss side, I think. Someone would toss a mess of the freshwater crustaceans in a big pot, like tiny lobsters, and cook them up. Good stuff! I assumed they were caught by other family members, more inclined towards fishing and things. Here, you can get a whole bag of the tails for only $4.99 with no risk of getting pinched. Rock on.

More later -- thanks for the back comments; I'm doing a little better.

12.2.06

Erk

I seriously twinged my back-shoulder-neck muscles getting out of bed
yesterday morning. Movement is seriously limited, so I called out of
work yesterday and only made it through three hours today before
leaving. I'll be offline for a few days because sitting up hurts. It's
all ice and hot showers.

Too bad I don't have a fainting couch to look languid and
sophisticated on while I recuperate. Sucks.

8.2.06

Tiny


Tiny, originally uploaded by arahsae.

I can't wait for the basil to be ready so I can make loads and loads of pesto. LOADS.

Bruce has claimed charge of the lavender. I don't know why; I wasn't planning on growing any until he picked the seeds up and asked. But the stems are nice for drying. There will also be peppers, mint and tomatoes. And strawberries (not from seed).

I'm hoping to find some verbena at the farmer's market, once it opens up.

Off to my lovely job...

7.2.06

Old school in a new way -

Has anyone seen this? I'm going to try it:

Postcrossing: The Postcard Crossing Project.
I signed up and will be sending a handful of postcards off tomorrow, to Greece, Finland, Germany, Sri Lanka and...Vancouver, BC! Or Susie could just pop over the border and hand deliver that card for me.

The seeds I planted are sprouting...

3.2.06

Little Russian

2006 Required Reading

The Master and Margarita by Mikhail Bulgakov
"Aurora Leigh" by Elizabeth Barrett Browning
As I Lay Dying by Faulkner
The Death of Ivan Ilych and then, hopefully, War and Peace by Leo Tolstoy
Wide Sargasso Sea by Jean Rhys
Woman on the Edge of Time by Marge Piercy
Things Fall Apart by Chinua Achebe
Dubliners by Mr. Joyce
All Quiet on the Western Front by Erich Maria Remarque
The Golden Notebook by Doris Lessing

I finished Ivan Ilych last night (is it classified as a novella, do you think?) and lay awake for a while pondering my fate. Ridiculously, the thing that concerns me most about death is the mess I'll leave behind. All my scribbled notes and embarrassing journals and dirty clothes that someone else has to deal with. Unfinished art projects. Unread (and unwritten) books. Old magazines. Book lists. All the detritus.

The kernel of The Death of Ivan Ilych is his torment regarding his (wasted?) life. Ivan thought he did everything right, based largely on what others were doing, & had done, but, alas, where's the sense of fulfillment? He was kind of a jerk, but then it isn't easy to reconcile the nuts and bolts of everyday living with the greater Purpose. People are important, and relationships with people (however, I often fall into the opinion that Hell is Other People). Ideas are important, and art***. But one still has to pay the bills and take out the garbage.

This led to a series of odd dreams, from me riding a camel in a sandy desert lush with bamboo and escaping a crappy job wrapped in red and gold silks followed by a dream about a gothic, Matrix-like hotel visit where the slightest mistep got one killed in any number of horrendous ways (this was hysterical for some reason) and I got a clothing and makeup makeover from a stylish young Goth girl who threatened to stab me in the belly should I lose her keys.

Anyway, I liked the book and think I'll be able to tackle War and Peace soon.

***Tolstoy wouldn't agree with me here; he thinks art and literature are BAD. Beards are much more important.

2.2.06

Happy 124th

It is James Joyce's birthday! Go read something truly Literary (aka: nearly impossible to comprehend).

Gutenberg has an audio version of Dubliners but it is computer-generated and therefore sounds like a robot. Or, just imagine it's Stephen Hawking reading to you.

Anyone read all of Ulysses?

Catch-up

I finished my first "2006 Assigned Reading" book, Wide Sargasso Sea (one of TIME's best 100 novels) by Jean Rhys, last week and want to put a blurb here. It's a follow-up to Jane Eyre and -- well, technically it is a prequel; if one read it before Jane Eyre, much would be spoiled, spoiled like the dead flowers moldering in the jungles of Jamaica.

Short review: I liked it!

Long version: The writing style is moderately literate, a word I use to mean "written at a so-called 'higher' skill level that is somewhat confusing." I have issues with Literary novels - like the author is showing off, scattering devices like metaphors and similes hither and thither, using very spare prose, etc. Making a story more complicated than it needs to be.

Getting off topic here...

I said Wide Sargasso Sea was moderately literate; I sometimes lost track of who was speaking or thinking, as Rhys changes point of view without warning, uses pronouns instead of names and also makes use of italics at times. That's very fancy and all, but backtracking to figure out whose head I'm in took me out of the story (I HATE THAT).

The majority of the story is set in the Caribbean (Rhys herself was born in Dominica and moved to England at 16, setting her up perfectly to write this book) so dialect is prevalent, and takes some getting used to.

Wide Sargasso Sea segues amazingly smoothly from Bronte's book -- the atmosphere is the same gothic moodiness. I can't do much better than quote from the NYT snippet on the back of the book: "...Caribbean Gothic atmosphere...It has an almost hallucinatory quality." Exactly how I felt.

Last night I cracked open The Death of Ivan Ilych to see how Tolstoy and I got on. So far, so good! I'm hoping to finish it today (is v. short) and will need to decide which translation of War and Peace to read (there's a new one out this month).

I made hot and sour soup yesterday (from the Extending the Table... cookbook***). It was easy and delicious but had almost too much pepper. Next time, 1/8 teaspoon. The best part was slowly stirring the egg into the soup and watching the threads cook.

***Meera, this book has nothing from Singapore! Is the cuisine lumped in with Indonesia (lots of recipes in the book) and Malaysia (two recipes) or what? What do you advise?

1.2.06

Ready, set roast!


Start!, originally uploaded by arahsae.

Bruce and I turned these green coffee beans (Guatemala Huehuetenango -- say that five times fast) into a delectable hot caffeinated liquid. The beans roasted to the tunes of Rubén González to instill them with a little extra kick.

Here is the first photo in the (short) set.

We plan to perfect the method soon (having trouble getting the popper up to 335 degrees necessary for a med-dark roast) and will be shipping bags to all corners of the world. Some of you I already know are coffee fiends; if you think I am not aware of your addiction, let me know and I'll get a bag to you.

PS: Contrary to some people's opinions, it will not be called Moose Coffee. I have no idea how a Christmas gift to me has been co-opted by the giver.



And this seems to be right:
You Are an Espresso

At your best, you are: straight shooting, ambitious, and energetic

At your worst, you are: anxious and high strung

You drink coffee when: anytime you're not sleeping

Your caffeine addiction level: high