This morning, I caught myself staring longingly at my suitcase, neatly tucked into the corner of our closet.
I miss travel. I miss traveling. Two different things. Both of which, as mentioned, I miss.
I dream of going back to Italy. I yearn to return (unintended) to Prague and further explore Stare Mesto. I want to go to Iceland and see the Northern Lights. I'd love to visit coastal Maine. That's the travel I miss.
But also, the actual traveling is part of the joy to me. I have a fondness for the Escape Lounge that we get to use at the airport when we travel on Norwegian Air. The furniture isn't that comfortable. The food is alright. The off-brand prosecco is phenomenal, though, because you're drinking it right before you're boarding an international flight. Anything you're drinking right before boarding an international flight is better than it might be otherwise.
Airports. I love airports. I also like checklists, and airports are just checklists. Got your ticket? Check. Wait in line for security. Check. Put your bag on the x-ray belt and walk through the sensors. Check. Find your gate. Check. Get a coffee. Check. People watch. Fun! Check! Mock the people who crowd the boarding area ten minutes early in anticipation of their group being called (not a single airline I can name rewards this behavior with even the remote possibility of a better seat--even on Southwest you have to line up in numerical order, so you get to go when it's your turn and not before--grab some pine, meat). Check! I can't explain it. I think for most people these are all potential frustrations, but for me they're part of the thrill of adventure.
Airline seats are not generally pleasant. Yet I enjoy flying. Short flights. Long-haul. I don't really care--the anticipation of exploration cancels out the discomfort of the journey for me. Plus, you know, free sodas and peanuts.
Getting from the airport to your hotel--this is just pure exhilaration for me. I love public transportation. Sure, Uber's convenient. Taxis are fine. But a metro? A subway? Trains? Yes please! With maps and instructions in a language I don't understand? Even better! So much fun! Correctly deciphering a map while in transit is just. the. best. Arriving at your hotel after successfully navigating your way from your flight to the tram to the correct train to getting off at the right stop and then wending your way through unfamiliar streets--euphoria!
Getting places is often as fun as whatever you're going to do once you get there. For me, at least.
I just miss it all. The getting there. The being there. The prosecco in the Escape Lounge.
Tuesday, July 28, 2020
Monday, July 27, 2020
Guess Who
Ok, America (or at least the six people who read my blog), it's time to play a fun little game I'm calling "Guess Who" (my creativity evidences itself in ways other than naming games, clearly). I'm having such fun writing haikus that I've written a haiku for various Trump administration officials and lackeys supporters and you have to guess who each one is. Extra points to you if you can name each person's actual job title. Also, so you can get a glimpse into my creative process, I am including liner notes for your enjoyment.
Let's begin.
I'm in charge of schools
Your kids are expendable
I'm an idiot
Liner notes: I considered the alternative third line of "Bears attack schools" but didn't want to repeat the word schools twice in one haiku, so I went with the more obvious.
Our second mystery-person haiku has two stanzas because there is just too much to say to try to fit into seventeen syllable, so I'm going with thirty-four.
I was against Trump
I once was respectable
Now I golf with him
I sure changed my tune
Is Trump extorting my ass?
Russian kompromat?
Liner notes: There were so many directions I could have taken with this one. I could have written several more stanzas. But I think you know who I'm talking about so I'll leave it at two.
On to mystery subject number three, who again warrants two stanzas:
I am not confirmed
I send troops into Portland
With no second thoughts
Fifth to hold the job
For seven months, not confirmed
This is illegal
Liner notes: I actually had to look up this person's name because there have been so many in this position under Trump that I lost track. Turns out he's been in office for 257 days.
Our next acolyte:
She has her own facts
She appears then disappears
Project Lincoln spouse
Liner notes: This one is so easy (mostly because there are so few women in the Trump administration). I regret that my absolute disgust with her doesn't quite come through as strongly as I feel it. She warrants extra stanzas, but I just so vehemently abhor her that she only gets one.
Next:
I do Trump's bidding
Bills are stacked up on my desk
They won't get a vote
Liner notes: I wanted to put something in about being a turtle. But I refrained.
A bit more of a challenge, this knucklehead gets three stanzas:
2024
I am setting up my run
Impressing Trump's base
I won't wear a mask
I am opening my state
As the death toll soars
No convention here
But the theme parks can open
I ignore science
Liner notes: A true idiot, I personally think this person represents naked ambition, plain and simple.
Onward:
666 Fifth Ave
Symbolic of who he is
In so many ways
In charge of it all
He's running the whole country
But unelected
A dangerous man
A true shadow president
Draftsman of failure
Liner notes: I was trying to choose words that would intimate evil. I was quite pleased with the term "draftsman" because it sounds like "horseman" which I associate with the apocalypse. A wee glance into my thinking process there.
Let's begin.
I'm in charge of schools
Your kids are expendable
I'm an idiot
Liner notes: I considered the alternative third line of "Bears attack schools" but didn't want to repeat the word schools twice in one haiku, so I went with the more obvious.
Our second mystery-person haiku has two stanzas because there is just too much to say to try to fit into seventeen syllable, so I'm going with thirty-four.
I was against Trump
I once was respectable
Now I golf with him
I sure changed my tune
Is Trump extorting my ass?
Russian kompromat?
Liner notes: There were so many directions I could have taken with this one. I could have written several more stanzas. But I think you know who I'm talking about so I'll leave it at two.
On to mystery subject number three, who again warrants two stanzas:
I am not confirmed
I send troops into Portland
With no second thoughts
Fifth to hold the job
For seven months, not confirmed
This is illegal
Liner notes: I actually had to look up this person's name because there have been so many in this position under Trump that I lost track. Turns out he's been in office for 257 days.
Our next acolyte:
She has her own facts
She appears then disappears
Project Lincoln spouse
Liner notes: This one is so easy (mostly because there are so few women in the Trump administration). I regret that my absolute disgust with her doesn't quite come through as strongly as I feel it. She warrants extra stanzas, but I just so vehemently abhor her that she only gets one.
Next:
I do Trump's bidding
Bills are stacked up on my desk
They won't get a vote
Liner notes: I wanted to put something in about being a turtle. But I refrained.
A bit more of a challenge, this knucklehead gets three stanzas:
2024
I am setting up my run
Impressing Trump's base
I won't wear a mask
I am opening my state
As the death toll soars
No convention here
But the theme parks can open
I ignore science
Liner notes: A true idiot, I personally think this person represents naked ambition, plain and simple.
Onward:
666 Fifth Ave
Symbolic of who he is
In so many ways
In charge of it all
He's running the whole country
But unelected
A dangerous man
A true shadow president
Draftsman of failure
Liner notes: I was trying to choose words that would intimate evil. I was quite pleased with the term "draftsman" because it sounds like "horseman" which I associate with the apocalypse. A wee glance into my thinking process there.
A most interesting figure:
First at DHS
Later became Chief of Staff
All honor was lost.
Liner notes: I really wanted to believe this man's military background gave him some honor and that he would be bound to do the right thing. Man, was I off on that one.
And lastly:
I don't want this job
I really don't care, do you?
Chain migration queen
Liner notes: I was going for apathy here.
The word that sprang to my mind as I re-read these haikus is "henchman". So I looked up the definition of henchman, to see if I was on the right track, and here's what it said : a faithful follower or political supporter, especially one prepared to engage in crime or dishonest practices by way of service.
Nailed it.
And lastly:
I don't want this job
I really don't care, do you?
Chain migration queen
Liner notes: I was going for apathy here.
The word that sprang to my mind as I re-read these haikus is "henchman". So I looked up the definition of henchman, to see if I was on the right track, and here's what it said : a faithful follower or political supporter, especially one prepared to engage in crime or dishonest practices by way of service.
Nailed it.
Friday, July 24, 2020
Baseball Is (sort of) Back, Baby!
You know, kind of.
But I'll take it any way it's delivered.
Pitchers can't spit on the ball? WHY were they ever allowed to do that anyway? Gross!
No chewing sunflower seeds and spitting the shells all over the dugout floor? See above.
No high fives? They all happily (often without any clear reason) pat each others' butts, so I don't think that'll be a problem.
Can't throw the ball around the infield after an out? Bummer. But ok. Not a biggie.
No dugout-clearing brawls after a smack-talking player gets hit square in the ribs for a second time? Good luck with that.
I just wanna see the game get played. So Thursday night was on my calendar. Giants v. Dodgers in LA. One of the biggest rivalries in baseball. Fun stuff. And it was! Mostly.
The game itself was a bit of a train wreck for the Giants (that sentence typed itself!). But it was great to root for batters and cheer good plays and watch Pablo chase down home plate to score, in all of his beer-truck out of control glory.
The baseball was fun to watch. Listening to ESPN call the game (and I use the term loosely when referencing ESPN's work) is torture. And I'm a Giants fan. I know what torture is. ESPN nails it.
The thing is, they don't really call the game. They just chat. About whatever baseball-related topic is on their minds. There is a game on the screen. Things are happening. But they only call the game when they happen to remember there's a game going on.
Additionally (there's my well-placed transition, thank-you English teachers), the ESPN announcers are national people--they aren't affiliated with any team or market. So they know nothing about the players in the game. Somewhere between John Miller (who knows FAR TOO MUCH about every player who has EVER played the game and isn't afraid to assault you with his knowledge) and the ESPN guys is a happy medium. Their names are Kruk and Kuip.
I don't think it's too much to ask that whoever calls the game (1) actually watches the game as it's going on and (2) knows something about the stats and background of the players in the game being called.
My answer to all of this is to not have ESPN be the only available option for games. There should always be a local market carrying the game with announcers who know the team. If I were the MLB commissioner, I would work to make that happen. Because NO ONE CAN GO TO GAMES! At least give us the enjoyment of hearing the game called as if we were there.
Come on, MLB. If you can arrange for players to be in a bubble, you can arrange local markets. Do it for the fans. We're here. It's only 60 games.
As Nike (now on ALL uniforms in a visible manner, which is a whole other blog coming your way soon) would say, Just Do It!
But I'll take it any way it's delivered.
Pitchers can't spit on the ball? WHY were they ever allowed to do that anyway? Gross!
No chewing sunflower seeds and spitting the shells all over the dugout floor? See above.
No high fives? They all happily (often without any clear reason) pat each others' butts, so I don't think that'll be a problem.
Can't throw the ball around the infield after an out? Bummer. But ok. Not a biggie.
No dugout-clearing brawls after a smack-talking player gets hit square in the ribs for a second time? Good luck with that.
I just wanna see the game get played. So Thursday night was on my calendar. Giants v. Dodgers in LA. One of the biggest rivalries in baseball. Fun stuff. And it was! Mostly.
The game itself was a bit of a train wreck for the Giants (that sentence typed itself!). But it was great to root for batters and cheer good plays and watch Pablo chase down home plate to score, in all of his beer-truck out of control glory.
The baseball was fun to watch. Listening to ESPN call the game (and I use the term loosely when referencing ESPN's work) is torture. And I'm a Giants fan. I know what torture is. ESPN nails it.
The thing is, they don't really call the game. They just chat. About whatever baseball-related topic is on their minds. There is a game on the screen. Things are happening. But they only call the game when they happen to remember there's a game going on.
Additionally (there's my well-placed transition, thank-you English teachers), the ESPN announcers are national people--they aren't affiliated with any team or market. So they know nothing about the players in the game. Somewhere between John Miller (who knows FAR TOO MUCH about every player who has EVER played the game and isn't afraid to assault you with his knowledge) and the ESPN guys is a happy medium. Their names are Kruk and Kuip.
I don't think it's too much to ask that whoever calls the game (1) actually watches the game as it's going on and (2) knows something about the stats and background of the players in the game being called.
My answer to all of this is to not have ESPN be the only available option for games. There should always be a local market carrying the game with announcers who know the team. If I were the MLB commissioner, I would work to make that happen. Because NO ONE CAN GO TO GAMES! At least give us the enjoyment of hearing the game called as if we were there.
Come on, MLB. If you can arrange for players to be in a bubble, you can arrange local markets. Do it for the fans. We're here. It's only 60 games.
As Nike (now on ALL uniforms in a visible manner, which is a whole other blog coming your way soon) would say, Just Do It!
Tuesday, July 21, 2020
And Still More Random Observations (still in the midst of a pandemic)
I just learned that it's "mourning" dove, not "morning" dove. This now makes me sad. I seriously always thought that the beautiful cooing noises the gentle doves make were sort of a "good morning" sound. The light bulb has shattered.
If you drive through Jack in the Box and you order a diet Dr. Pepper and they give you a diet Coke, get back in the drive through and get thee what you ordered. Not ok, and especially not ok MORE THAN ONCE! Pull it together JITB!
If you watch The West Wing, keep your dictionary handy. That is some elevated writing.
Also, it's way more fun to actually look words up in a real dictionary than it is to look them up online. At least for me.
I know Bon Appétit is going through a (well-deserved) shake-up, but I have never seen an issue of a magazine with more white space than the August issue. I like it. It's just really different.
Also, while we're on Bon Appétit, I don't want sesame seeds in my peach cobbler.
Kites (the birds) make a very prehistoric noise. It's cool. And kinda scary. They may be planning an attack on our house.
Whoever told companies (I'm talking to you Allstate and TurboTax) that repeating a phrase ten times in a 30 second commercial was a good idea and that people would just love it should be tarred and feathered. Sweet Jesus that's annoying.
Yesterday, Steve Schmidt called Mitch McConnell's outfit "sartorial Chernobyl". I'm all about the language and that metaphor is brilliant. Well done, sir.
Stand firm, Liz Cheney! Now there are some words I never thought I would write, much less think, but I very much respect her defense of Dr. Fauci and I would like to see it continue. Matt Gaetz is a j-hole (I did expect to write and think that).
I love Karl. I do not really understand why the Bay Area fog is called Karl (something about a movie and a mythical giant character), but I love the idea. And I love Karl.
Baseball is back! Oh joy of joys! It turns out I do not care that no one is sitting in the stands. I just want to watch the game and be lulled into a serene sense of normalcy by the dulcet tones of Duane Kuiper and the endearing nerdiness of Mike Krukow.
If you drive through Jack in the Box and you order a diet Dr. Pepper and they give you a diet Coke, get back in the drive through and get thee what you ordered. Not ok, and especially not ok MORE THAN ONCE! Pull it together JITB!
If you watch The West Wing, keep your dictionary handy. That is some elevated writing.
Also, it's way more fun to actually look words up in a real dictionary than it is to look them up online. At least for me.
I know Bon Appétit is going through a (well-deserved) shake-up, but I have never seen an issue of a magazine with more white space than the August issue. I like it. It's just really different.
Also, while we're on Bon Appétit, I don't want sesame seeds in my peach cobbler.
Kites (the birds) make a very prehistoric noise. It's cool. And kinda scary. They may be planning an attack on our house.
Whoever told companies (I'm talking to you Allstate and TurboTax) that repeating a phrase ten times in a 30 second commercial was a good idea and that people would just love it should be tarred and feathered. Sweet Jesus that's annoying.
Yesterday, Steve Schmidt called Mitch McConnell's outfit "sartorial Chernobyl". I'm all about the language and that metaphor is brilliant. Well done, sir.
Stand firm, Liz Cheney! Now there are some words I never thought I would write, much less think, but I very much respect her defense of Dr. Fauci and I would like to see it continue. Matt Gaetz is a j-hole (I did expect to write and think that).
I love Karl. I do not really understand why the Bay Area fog is called Karl (something about a movie and a mythical giant character), but I love the idea. And I love Karl.
Baseball is back! Oh joy of joys! It turns out I do not care that no one is sitting in the stands. I just want to watch the game and be lulled into a serene sense of normalcy by the dulcet tones of Duane Kuiper and the endearing nerdiness of Mike Krukow.
Monday, July 13, 2020
Ode to Dr. Fauci
Just kidding. I actually had to look up what an ode technically was. I had a vague idea, and I was sort of right, but not writing an ode. Too intimidating.
I do think, however, that Dr. Fauci deserves some love. So haiku it is! Everyone loves a haiku. And I'm going with MULTIPLE haikus! I like Dr. Fauci, so this should be fun.
After the haikus, I move on to the second grade staple of writing Dr. Fauci's name down the side of the post and using the letters of his name to say great things about him. I think he deserves this classic form of appreciation.
Ok, here we go...
Poor Dr. Fauci
Under appreciated
Trump is just stupid (sorry, got off track there)
Our task force leader
Epidemiologist (hey! seven syllables--that worked out perfectly!)
Extraordinary (this is really just falling into place)
What is happening?
Why is Trump sidelining him?
Trump is just stupid (this is a common poet's technique, repeating a refrain, for emphasis)
Fauci speaks the truth
This is not so popular
With the uninformed
Thank you, kind doctor
For speaking truth to power
To stupid Donald (see what I did there? It's not an exact repeat, but the same idea, for emphasis)
Doing the right thing
Risking his own job
Frequently contradicting the president
Always trying to do so tactfully, but honestly
Understands the science behind contagious viruses
Can clearly explain why people should be wearing masks
Is an American treasure
I do think, however, that Dr. Fauci deserves some love. So haiku it is! Everyone loves a haiku. And I'm going with MULTIPLE haikus! I like Dr. Fauci, so this should be fun.
After the haikus, I move on to the second grade staple of writing Dr. Fauci's name down the side of the post and using the letters of his name to say great things about him. I think he deserves this classic form of appreciation.
Ok, here we go...
Poor Dr. Fauci
Under appreciated
Trump is just stupid (sorry, got off track there)
Our task force leader
Epidemiologist (hey! seven syllables--that worked out perfectly!)
Extraordinary (this is really just falling into place)
What is happening?
Why is Trump sidelining him?
Trump is just stupid (this is a common poet's technique, repeating a refrain, for emphasis)
Fauci speaks the truth
This is not so popular
With the uninformed
Thank you, kind doctor
For speaking truth to power
To stupid Donald (see what I did there? It's not an exact repeat, but the same idea, for emphasis)
Doing the right thing
Risking his own job
Frequently contradicting the president
Always trying to do so tactfully, but honestly
Understands the science behind contagious viruses
Can clearly explain why people should be wearing masks
Is an American treasure
Sunday, July 12, 2020
Navigation
Everyone has a compass. Not a literal compass. A compass in our mind, giving direction to our daily existence.
And we are each, individually, in charge of how we use our compasses. When and where we choose to point them to get our bearings. Whether we pay attention to what they tell us. We are in control of our own navigation.
My compass doesn't so much read NSEW. My cardinal directions are Optimism/Action/Education/Perspective. Betwixt those cardinal directions are any number of ordinals (I know there are really only four ordinals on a compass but this is my compass so I get to have as many as I want). Somewhere between Optimism and Perspective my compass occasionally points me toward PittyParty. Or sometimes Pessimism. Oftentimes Gratitude. It's directed me toward Support, also Frustration. More often than I'd like to admit it points to ScreamattheTVbecauseTrumpisanAss (I try not to go in that direction for long periods of time). And I will admit that my personal compass has, though very seldomly, pointed toward FuckThisShit (as in, this is too much!). But in its defense, it's also pointed me toward FuckThisShit (as in, hell no I'm not going to just let this happen I'm heading back toward Action!). Compasses have balance.
The thing is, I am the one holding my compass. I am the one who can slightly pivot and take a new reading. At any time. In any situation. I am the navigator, at the helm of my life. I cannot control certain aspects of what's happening in life, but I am fully and solely in a position to choose my own response.
And my ordinals are Optimism, Action, Education, and Perspective. It's on me to point myself in the right direction.
And we are each, individually, in charge of how we use our compasses. When and where we choose to point them to get our bearings. Whether we pay attention to what they tell us. We are in control of our own navigation.
My compass doesn't so much read NSEW. My cardinal directions are Optimism/Action/Education/Perspective. Betwixt those cardinal directions are any number of ordinals (I know there are really only four ordinals on a compass but this is my compass so I get to have as many as I want). Somewhere between Optimism and Perspective my compass occasionally points me toward PittyParty. Or sometimes Pessimism. Oftentimes Gratitude. It's directed me toward Support, also Frustration. More often than I'd like to admit it points to ScreamattheTVbecauseTrumpisanAss (I try not to go in that direction for long periods of time). And I will admit that my personal compass has, though very seldomly, pointed toward FuckThisShit (as in, this is too much!). But in its defense, it's also pointed me toward FuckThisShit (as in, hell no I'm not going to just let this happen I'm heading back toward Action!). Compasses have balance.
The thing is, I am the one holding my compass. I am the one who can slightly pivot and take a new reading. At any time. In any situation. I am the navigator, at the helm of my life. I cannot control certain aspects of what's happening in life, but I am fully and solely in a position to choose my own response.
And my ordinals are Optimism, Action, Education, and Perspective. It's on me to point myself in the right direction.
This Isn't Going as Great as You Think It Is
"I couldn't be more proud of our nation's response to the corona virus pandemic."
--Vice-President Mike Pence, July 1
Really. Really? Really?!?!
Because there are any number of ways I could be more proud of our nation's response:
--if Trump had bothered to consult epidemiologists upon hearing of the virus' initial emergence
--if Trump had listened to medical experts at any point during this crisis
--If the federal government had enacted federal safety guidelines to keep people safer
--if masks had not been politicized and demeaned by Republican leadership
--if protesters would have worn masks while fighting for their very worthy causes
--if people would actually stay at home, following stay-at-home orders
--if states would have actually met CDC re-opening guidelines before re-opening
--if every.single.governor would have simply advised their populations to wear masks
--if more Americans would at least pretend to care about vulnerable populations
--if Kayleigh McEneny would stop wearing sundresses and dress more like CJ Cregg
--if Trump would, just once, tell America that wearing a mask saves lives
--if Congress would authorize recurring subsistence payments to out-of-work Americans
--if young people would stop thinking they're invincible and start realizing they're carriers
--if we let science dictate our health policy, instead of politics
I could go on. And on. I'm really not sure what Mike Pence is proud of. We are not winning battles. We are certainly not winning the war.
Essential and frontline workers,
healthcare workers, who are in a category all their own in terms of hero status,
the greatest generation,
everyone who is putting the safety of others first by following difficult guidelines,
deserve better.
--Vice-President Mike Pence, July 1
Really. Really? Really?!?!
Because there are any number of ways I could be more proud of our nation's response:
--if Trump had bothered to consult epidemiologists upon hearing of the virus' initial emergence
--if Trump had listened to medical experts at any point during this crisis
--If the federal government had enacted federal safety guidelines to keep people safer
--if masks had not been politicized and demeaned by Republican leadership
--if protesters would have worn masks while fighting for their very worthy causes
--if people would actually stay at home, following stay-at-home orders
--if states would have actually met CDC re-opening guidelines before re-opening
--if every.single.governor would have simply advised their populations to wear masks
--if more Americans would at least pretend to care about vulnerable populations
--if Kayleigh McEneny would stop wearing sundresses and dress more like CJ Cregg
--if Trump would, just once, tell America that wearing a mask saves lives
--if Congress would authorize recurring subsistence payments to out-of-work Americans
--if young people would stop thinking they're invincible and start realizing they're carriers
--if we let science dictate our health policy, instead of politics
I could go on. And on. I'm really not sure what Mike Pence is proud of. We are not winning battles. We are certainly not winning the war.
Essential and frontline workers,
healthcare workers, who are in a category all their own in terms of hero status,
the greatest generation,
everyone who is putting the safety of others first by following difficult guidelines,
deserve better.
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