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UPS tracking showed that my camera was supposed to have been delivered today. It is now after 7 p.m., the latest time by which UPS would deliver. I even missed my yoga class to wait for my package. There was no yellow slip on the door, either.
Oh camera, where art thou?
Toys arriving to the mailbox near me -
I can't wait I can't wait I can't wait. The digital camera I ordered has made its way to just north of here, but for some reason slated to be delivered on Tuesday. Yes, I splurged what little money I had on a camera (though for under $100 for 3.2 MP, which is a sweet deal), but I've held out and wanted one for a very long time, and now is as good time as any to get one when it's truly affordable. Not only will I be able to take pictures of my surroundings and share them, I will also have a camera ready when it comes time to head back and assess the damage (imagine that was me whispering because I don't want to think about it...).
I am also waiting for my free upgrade cellphone. It's been over 2 years since I've had the same old phone. Now, I wouldn't have minded keeping it, but for whatever reason, the phone is dying - the battery barely holds charge for a day before it gives a "woe is me" whiny death tone that begs charging. There have been missed calls and dropped calls because it decides to poop out. It was time for it to go. It was also time to take advantage of the free phone upgrades offered by T-Mobile. Customer reps kept trying to convince me to upgrade to phones I actually had to pay for (i.e. "You can't get a better deal than $75 for a camera phone"), but there was something unsavory about having to pay $75 for a camera that's really a phone, which is what I need, thus I refused to shell out money for some fancy shmancy gadget. But as long as this one is free - I'll take it.
Nothing horribly exciting for those truly electronically inclined, but I could use just a little bit of help upping my Batman Factor. Not to mention, a bit of keeping with the times.
(Note: I just got a button today that says, "I am not out of date, I'm CLASSIC." Hee.)
On the more serious front:
I couldn't believe my ears when Michael Brown, the disgraced ex-FEMA chief, had the balls to blame just about everyone else but himself - NOLA officials, LA state officials, even the White House - for FEMA's lackluster response after Katrina. Does he think everyone else has STUPID written across their foreheads? True that almost everyone knew about the big one hitting NOLA yet did little in terms of coming up with a plan. But "everyone" includes Michael Brown, who was effectively the CEO of FEMA - recall my post on how we hold CEOs of private companies to such high standards and knowledge. And in some other breath, when he was questioned about his sketchy credentials, he claimed to have handled hundreds of disaster cases, therefore he was qualified.
Also, Brown was talking out of his a** when he said that MS and AL had evacuated properly as opposed to LA. I was in MS just before, during, and after the storm, and I lived with people who worked for the MS state government as well as the health care industry over there. Everyday I heard talks of frustration about how the state failed to evacuate hospitals and other care facilities along the Gulf Coast, how people were then stuck there without power or medical care, and how short-sighted the state was. Hear it from someone who was there and see that Brown is either clueless, a huge liar, and/or both.
On yet another serious front:
Rebiblican politicians continue to show their true selves as they face grand jury indictments and investigations. Tom DeLay has been indicted on conspiracy charges for funneling corporate donations to political action committees supporting Rebiblican candidates. Wasn't he also in some water recently for taking money from lobbyists to pay for his trips abroad? And he was the first to call for Clinton's impeachment after Clinton admitted to having an affair with Lewinsky, because Clinton "didn't have the moral authority to be president" and that DeLay believed in the Constitution and the Bible. What a shining example of an ethical human being.
In some twisted tale of morality and ethics, it is apparently ok to play with other people's lives and break laws but not ok to have an affair. The hypocrisy of Rebiblicans is astounding.
On the not-so-serious front:
Tyra Banks has her own day-time talk show now. Wow. Not that I can take any of the day-time talk shows seriously, but watching her ask questions in her supermodel make-up and brushing her supermodel hair away from her face strikes me as uber superficial.
Which brings me to: There is now a Judge Alex on TV. Um. As much as the TV court shows are my guilty pleasure, I can't take another one. Judge Alex reminds me of 1) one of those, "So and so got me $2.1 million!" attorneys on TV, and/or 2) one of those male lead soap opera stars on Telemundo or Univision (he's got that tall & dark thing down pat).
Though "Texas Justice" remains the nadir, IMHO. Oy vey.
R was here for about a week, which meant that I got nothing done! Well, maybe it's an exaggeration; let's say I didn't get as much academic work done as I wanted to, and I'm no where near caught up with the weeks of classes we missed. We did, however, do the following, among others -
Today was the first time I had been to a gym in...I think 6 or 7 years, other than some casual strolls through for one errand or another. The last time I was at one, I'm pretty sure I went on the StairMaster and the rowing machine. Anyway. Before the hurricane hit, I had so many plans for the semester, including attending some pilates and/or yoga classes at our campus gym so that I could start getting fit again. No reason why we couldn't do it, now that we're settled down, is there?
Thus, we marched ourselves to the gym for the pilates class. The best thing about the whole experience was the buy one get one free taro bubble tea I got afterwards.
But seriously, going to the pilates class made me realize just how unfit I was. I'm by no means unhealthy, but I've never been agile, and it was also quite clear today how little strength I had in my abs or lower back. The familiarity and skillfulness with which some folks did their exercises really put me to shame. Thank goodness that most of the time, we were either facing the ceiling or the mat - spared me from some embarassment.
My thighs are now sore. The back, a little bit. I think that's a good sign. I'm debating whether I should go back to the same class next week, seeing how inflexible I am. Maybe I should start with a beginner's level yoga class first. There's one tomorrow...
It's really weird to see your name, picture, and story splashed across newspapers. I can't remember the last time I was ever mentioned in papers, except when I graduated from high school and the city reported who was going to what school. No TV fame though.
What's weirder is that random people have contacted me because they've seen my picture or name somewhere. I'm by no means a celebrity, but this kind of attention is probably only the tip of the iceberg when it comes to "fame."
Still, I'm saving copies of my pictures and the papers to show my grandkids. Or something like that.
For those who have been to Belgium, who are interested in French, or who have been intrigued by why Belgian French and Parisian French are different, you may get a kick out of the following. Courtesy of my Belgian host sister, Marie-Noelle, who is now in Texas. We once had a huge discussion on why the French use such complicated numbers (as illustrated in #1 below); I believe Marie-Noelle had to ask her French teacher, who didn't know why. Upon research I think it had something to do with Latin and/or Napoleon. That's a whole other topic!
BTW, Belgian French is also at times influenced by Walloon, the regional dialect privy to S. Belgium (and small parts of France) that's also a Romance language. The only thing I remember from my brief stay there is that potato = "patate" and not the cumbersome "pomme de terre."
* * *
Pour tous les Belges qui se reconnaîtront et les Français qui savent en rire! Les Luxembourgeois n'auront pas de mal à voir de quoi on parle non plus.
Petit guide pour les voisins français ou luxembourgeois... Les 4 choses à savoir sur le "Belge".
1. Les indispensables septante et nonante.
70 = septante
90 = nonante
C'est simple, clair et net... et grammaticalement plus correct que les ersatz du type quatre-vingt-dix ou soixante quatorze... Ceci ne souffre aucune discussion. D'ailleurs, pour faire un parallélisme avec d'autres langues, en anglais, 70 se dit seventy et pas sixty-ten. Même le néerlandais, qui se rapproche plus du klingon (cfr StarTrek), fonctionne de la même façon: 90 = negentig.
2. L'accent
L'accent, ou plutôt les accents... car en Belgique, il y a autant d'accents que de villages. Vous n'êtes pas obligé de prendre l'accent pour converser avec un Belge. Ce n'est pas un mongolien et vous pouvez être sûr qu'il comprendra votre français de Marseille, Strasbourg ou Laval. Quelques dialectes:
* le liééééééchois (Liège)
* le namuuuurois (Namur), proche de l'accent suisse du Valais
* le tournaisieeeennn (Tournai), proche du Picard
* Remarque: le brusselaire
* L'accent bruxellois est le plus connu et le plus (mal) imité.
Alllleï, dis fieu! ! Pour parfaitement l'imiter, il faut se mettre dans la peau du personnage, càd avoir une grande gueule et faire son malin avec sa.. Rolex / sa Bm / son autoradio / son G / etc. De plus, le vrai Bruxellois utilise 50% de mots français et 50% de mots flamands" ou flamandisés juste pour faire bien. Ex: Awel, fieu waar heb je de velo gelesseerd? Ah, ja, in de camionnette. Traduction: Eh bien, mec, ou as-tu laissé le vélo ? Ah, oui, dans la camionnette.
3. Avoir une bonne prononciation
Un bon conseil: bossez un sérieux coup la-dessus. La seule façon d'apprendre c'est d'écouter! Quelques exemples:
- Bruxelles, se prononce Brusselle (et pas Brukselle)
- Anvers, se prononce An! verssss (et pas En Vert, le "S" est là, alors il faut l'utiliser)
- Rembrandt se prononce Raime brannd ( et pas Rang Bran)
- Le célèbre W. En France, on préfère le prononcer (souvent erronément!) comme un simple V. En Belgique, on préférera le prononcer " ouhe"
Ex: wagon: ouhagon ouais: ouheï, huit: ouhit, BMW se dit Bé Em Oué idem pour une VW et les WC. Ouécé et pas VC. (qui me rappelle: "aller à la toilette" et "non aux toilettes", une à la fois, s'il-te-plaît bien!)
- Les noms flamands : à apprendre au cas par cas. Mais, en tout cas: oubliez la prononciation française!!!!
Ex: Maastricht: le ch ne se prononce par "ch", ni "k", mais dans un espèce de râle comme si vous vouliez cracher.
4. Les spécialités régionales
Vous ne trouverez jamais d'endives blanches et pointues en Belgique, mais des chicons. Vous ne mangez pas des sandwiches, mais de pistolets; pas de petits pains aux raisins, mais des couques aux raisins; pas chaussons aux pommes, mais des gosettes. On déjeune le matin, on dîne à midi et on soupe le soir. En Belgique, on preste" des heures de travail ou un service. Et on aime aller à la kermesse (fête du village) manger des caricoles (des espèces d'escargots de mer). On va s'acheter un cornet de frites à la friture. Et si vous croisez des friteries ce sont soit des français immigrés, soit des belges complexés qui ont changé leur enseigne parce qu'un crétin leur avait dit que friture n'était pas français ! Eh! On est en Belgique, Ducon ! Et encore: En Belgique on tire son plan (se débrouiller), même quand on ne sait pas de chemin (a court d'idées). On boit des pils (bières) en demi (:025 litres et non 0.5l.). On s'essuie les mains avec des essuies (serviettes), on attend famille quand on est enceinte (enfin les femmes en tout cas, les hommes c'est plus grave), et les portes s'ouvrent avec des clinches. Et "à tantôt" signifie à tout à l'heure (et ne fait pas référence à un moment passé, ni à l'après-midi !). On utilise les torchons (serpillières), voire les loques à reloqu'ter pour nettoyer par terre et non pour essuyer la vaisselle. Pour nous, un crayon est toujours en bois avec une mine en graphite (...et jamais un crayon à papier !). En effet, les "bics" sont des stylos a billes et un stylo, un porte-plume. Nous aussi, on sait qu'on est les meilleurs, mais nous, on préfère faire semblant que non pour que personne ne s'en doute...
Et ce n'est pas des carabistouilles !!!
Even more evidence of random acts of kindness -
I was interviewed by a newspaper reporter this morning. She asked me for a brief bio, and went on with her interview questions, mainly on how I felt about the whole hurricane ordeal, what I went through, how I felt, what is the school here like, how is it compared to my previous school, etc. At the end of the interview, she told me that she had things to give me. Now, I knew this yesterday, but when we went to her car, I saw 2 huge bags of clothing that she had gathered for me, along with a towel and some socks. She said they were old/used, and she didn't know what my size was, so I could just pick through to see if there was anything I could use. Turned out that most of the clothes were way too big, or they were for men (!), but it was still very nice of her to have done something like that, so I thanked her before she went on her way.
Later in the afternoon, we heard our doorbell ring. It turned out to be the reporter's daughter - apparently, the reporter had been trying to reach my cell phone all day, but couldn't get through; she had sent her daughter with even more bags of clothing, not to mention a huge bag of Asian snacks and goodies, and another bag with containers of homecooked meal. I was floored. The clothing was nice, but Chinese food? Homecooked? Things I obviously can't get right now? From a complete stranger whom I had just met this morning? I couldn't get over how she went out of her way. Her maternal instincts must've kicked in. I would love to stay in continual touch with her - not because of the food though, but because of her kindness, but I don't think I really have an excuse because I can't force myself to be "adopted," heh. But a nice thank you card is definitely going her way.
I've been very lucky indeed.
Many people have told me they've cried or still cry whenever they see images of the death and destruction brought on by the hurricane. My only response to them has been, "Oh really?" or "Yeah." I can listen and agree with them as if they were telling me their personal stories.
But I have not cried. This is not to downplay anyone else's feelings, but I think one can only cry at the TV when one isn't a victim him/herself. Make no mistake, I didn't lose family, friends, or my home - only today did I see pictures of my street and building under water, and the second floor seemed to have been spared - but having to evacuate on such a short notice, losing power, not knowing what happened to my home, frantically finding schools, uprooting to another city, dealing with a crazy flight, settling, not knowing anyone, thinking about classes. thinking about housing, running errands in a new place...none of this has left me any time to truly digest what had happened. Sure, I felt sickened upon seeing the images or hearing the stories, but somehow, it still seems surreal. There just hasn't been time to hit.
Various reporters - TV, radio, newspapers - have repeatedly searched us out and talked to us. Talking about it at this point is about as routine as giving a brief bio/intro when people ask you to "tell me about yourself." But it almost hit me today when one of the staff at the school had a little meeting with me to check on how I'm doing. She was so sympathetic and understanding that I could feel my eyes tear up, but I fought hard to hold it back. I refuse to let it hit me. Not yet. Not when I have nowhere to live yet. Not when I have yet to catch up with my coursework. Not when I need to learn about my surroundings. Not when I still need to talk to reporters and students and staff.
Not when I still need to be strong.
I love a city that gives its denizens free wifi access.
Watching your friends get high on pot is amusing. Especially when you're totally sober.
Walking up and down a hilly city makes my thighs sore. Yay workout!
I can't bring myself to start thinking about injunctions and arbitrations.
I'm kind of anxious about rooming with someone I hardly know because I haven't done it for years.
My wardrobe pales in comparison to the colorful clothes and hairs often found here.
Tomorrow is another day.
I finally got in late last night, instead of the 3:30 pm when I was supposed to have arrived. The week just got better and better! /sarcasm
We were about 20 minutes from touchdown at Oakland when the pilot announced there were some oil pressure problems with the left engine. As a safety protocol, we made a landing in Reno, NV. Unfortunately, the airline personnel was less than competent; there was supposedly no other flight out to Oakland that day, she refused to buy tickets for us onto another airline, and the only option she could offer was to fly us back to Salt Lake City, where we just came from, and then fly out from there again to Oakland. She said that the airline would hold the next plane going to Oakland from SLC so we could get on it.
There were definitely a lot of pissed off passengers who had no choice but to go back. Some refused to get back on the plane again because of the horribly bumpy flight.
So we get back onto the plane to SLC. Just as we were about to land, we were told that there were these thunderstorms called "microbursts" which would make landing difficult and dangerous, so we circled about 30 minutes in the air until the microbursts passed. Upon landing, we found out that the plane to Oakland had departed. Whatever they did, apparently communication wasn't their forté. By this point, we were all frustrated, tired, and angry. They were telling us that the next flights to Oakland wouldn't be until the next morning, and there were talks of putting us up in hotels. They also didn't have enough computers to handle everyone, and some reps weren't acting as they should to deal with angry customers. Followed were more computer problems while they tried to book me on a flight to SF instead, and with 15 minutes left until departure, I ran from one terminal to another so that I could get the people at the other terminal to issue me a boarding pass.
Unforunately, there was only 1 rep there; we had to get on one of those customer service phones to resolve our issue, but the reps on the phone kept insisting we had to check in 30 minutes ahead but now the flight was already boarding. I was about to destroy that phone - I didn't care about some BS protocol! Finally, the lady at the desk was free, got me a boarding pass, and I got on the plane.
Of course, my luggage failed to arrive with me even though they promised it would. Now I'm waiting for it to be delivered.
This was a G-rated version of the story, believe you me. What made it worse was, I knew there was a perfect stranger waiting for me on this end, and basically I had to change my plans 3 times yesterday and made her run to 2 different airports (not to mention waiting about 7 hours) during this flight debacle. Thankfully, she was understanding and gracious and managed to see the humor in it all.
* * *
On another front - I've been following the whereabouts of my classmates, as we've all been passing info through blogs and groups, etc. Reading this morning that several people, who were since day 1 saying that they had gotten into great schools and ready to go there, have changed their minds several times and have now settled on Hahvahd - that just struck a really bad chord with me. It may be because I turned down that opportunity, but more to the point, I can't help but feel like they've abused the goodwill of schools who were willing to accommodate them. These schools were already preparing for them to enroll; the deans already worked tirelessly to take them, and all they could tell them was "I've changed my mind because Hahvahd called me"?! I'm pretty sure there were no extenuating circumstances, and 1 person in particular was already at home in L.A., ready to go to a local school. Ew.
* * *
But, SF is absolutely beautiful. We woke up to brisk, cool air this morning as we took a stroll down the corner. It felt like autum in New England, which is just lovely. I had to laugh when we passed by a place where people could go in to smoke pot legally. And every little corner store sells organic foods and products. Only in California. I love it.
