First Europe, someday the world

In an ongoing story, EBU, the giant network responsible for the ever popular Eurovision Song Contest, is in talks with people in the U.S. about an American version of the show. I thought this would be a good idea ever since I saw my first Eurovision in 2003, with 50 states and a couple of protectorates to choose from, there would be stiff competition.

I know what you are thinking: America doesn't need another American Idol or Nashville Star type show. But the Eurovision concept is unique, requiring contestants from all countries to compete in a semifinal with public voting for valuable spaces in the final. In the final, people cannot vote for their own country's representative. The winning country has to host the next year's contest, and the top 10 get an automatic spot in the following year's final. I'd imagine they would do it similarly in the U.S., with contestants from each state (and protectorate) competing against one another.

EBU also has their eye on Canada, Australia, the Middle East and Africa for similar song contests, with the possibility of a worldwide contest with the winners of each. Now that would be really cool.

In current Eurovision news, Athens hosted a great semi-final last night, despite the fact that most of the songs were really, really, really bad. The big finale is tomorrow night, and my pick is the Norwegian contestant, Christine Guldbrandsen, who has a really beautiful song with ethnic undertones (you can see a preview of the song here, if you click on Norway under the finalist list). Unfortunately, most countries offer up songs sung in English (sometimes in terrible English) that are trying desperately to imitate the worst of Western music.

For those of you unfamiliar with Eurovision, Abba, Katrina and the Waves, and Celine Dion were all winners of the contest. Earlier this year, Abba won the honor of best Eurovision song at the 50th anniversary celebration of the contest. For more Eurovision fun, visit the official website.

Your lawyer is going to kill you.

This is a post I have been meaning to write for some time now, but did not come around to doing for various reasons. No time, not in the mood, thinking about what to say and how to say it... excuses. In reality it's too depressing; depressing because nothing I - or anyone else for that matter - do will change the fact: Your lawyer is going to kill you.

Before you ask me to lay off the "good stuff", a little bit of background. I come from a family of doctors and have been around Medicine all my life. The feel of it, the idea of it, the practice of it. Hell, my brother and I made up children's songs containing medication brand names when we were 6-7 years old. Now I have myself been practicing for four years - add to that the six, seven years I studied Medicine and you'll see that, while by no means an expert, I have some idea about how the Art is faring in Greece.

More background: Medicine has taken a huge beating in Greece in the last few years. Scandals - true and alleged - of corruption, money changing hands, horrible briberies and other soap opera material appear in the news weekly at least. Doctors, probably because we have multiplied to an oppressively high degree, are taken for granted. No longer standing on a pedestal, we don't even tread the same ground as everyone else. Rather we are parasites, greedy and readily replaceable by other parasites waiting to take our place should we falter or not please our clientelle.

This has been going on for the better part of a decade, slowly and surely. Only recently though, not more than two, three years ago, a new animal made its appearance in the jungle we call home. An animal imported from the far more dangerous and exotic jungles of foreign lands - mainly the U.S.A: The lawyer specializing in medical malpractice lawsuits.

Oh you should see him (or her)! How warmly he speaks of the deceased! How he cradles the horribly wronged patient in his arms! As he would his best friend, nay! His own brother! And how - his countenance radiating with divine wrath - he calls upon Justice and Hygeia to be his witnesses, God to be his helper in this his most uphill climb, this cross he has to bear. And yet, much like St George did, he will slay the dragon. He will make the degenerate, incompetent doctors pay (literally). And if not, oh well, on to the next - true or alleged - victim.

As I said, the "fad" is new and imported, mainly - although not exclusively - from the U.S. Let me quote a few numbers before I go on. One thousand two hundred and sixty-eight (1268) doctors in "high risk" specialties (surgeons mostly, but not exclusively) in Pennsylvania were asked to fill out a questionnaire:

- 824 doctors replied.
- about 50% had been sued for malpractice in the past three years.
- almost all replied that they had held back on treatment (using only conservative, tried and true approaches) at some point or other.
- almost 60% replied, they asked for more tests than really necessary.
- 33% replied they prescribed more medication than really necessary.
- 32% admitted to asking for invasive tests to confirm diagnoses.
- 39% admitted to avoiding high risk patients.

Let me try to read between the lines. Even if we cut these numbers in half, most doctors look upon you as a potential opponent in litigation. Most doctors will hold back and not give you their full expertise. A third of doctors will put you through painful procedures and give you dangerous medication you don't need. Are they insane? Are american physicians just bad doctors? Obviously not, they are among the better trained and respected anywhere in the world. What happened? You happened. Whether lured by an eloquent lawyer or tricked by ignorance, whether venting grief and anger in the wrong direction or scoping for quick cash, you will end up causing harm. Harm for yourself and for others. Because face it: An over-cautious doctor is a bad doctor, just as bad as a reckless one.

For god's sake, doctors are humans. You hire someone to paint your house and through no great fault of theirs, the nice pastel pink you picked on the color sheet turns out to be a horrible greyish-purple. So a mistake was made, you accept it, or repaint your house and that is that. At worst, you ask for a free repaint - and sometimes you get it. What do you think happens when a doctor makes a mistake? And he will, get that through your skull. Your doctor has and will make mistakes. Big ones and small ones and - every now and then, hopefully never, but in truth it does happen - someone will die. That is the price of appointing a human to be a demi-god. To dispel disease, to mend the broken, remove the inflamed, restore the damaged. It - does - not - always - work.

Does this mean that we will just give doctors free reign? Care if they want and not if they don't? Heal or cripple at will? Of course not! There are bad doctors, there are doctors who just don't pay attention, who are sloppy and probably should not practise. The law should - and does more or less - weed those out, but that's a far cry from slapping every doctor who may or may not have made a mistake with a big lawsuit. Did you know that most of the latter are either totally bogus or end up in acquittal? Fine. Who will pay for the nights of lost sleep, the days of lost labor? Who will pay for the descent into cynicism, the loss of faith in humanity, the breaking of the spirit of the doctor?

We all will.

The whole world is against me

Ever since I made this post about my vitriolic hatred of the pea, peas have been following me everywhere. Dishes at restaurants that really shouldn't have peas end up with a small pea on the edge of the plate. All rice dishes seem to have at least one or two peas thrown in for my benefit (and gawd, I hate rice like the dickens too). No matter what taverna I go to or what I order, there is a pea staring up at me on my plate. I am beginning to think it is some sort of global conspiracy.

Now the smokers are chasing me everywhere too. I've written about my distaste for the Greek propensity for smoking several times. I keep thinking it will get better, because most of the world has let up on their cigarette habits (or at least forbid it in public). But not Greece, oh no. Greece is at one with the cigarette. The cigarette is the me and the now in Greece.

According to a recent poll, smoking in Greece has risen - 42% of Greeks over the age of 14 (fourteen!) smoke. 60% of those between ages 35 and 44 smoke. A third of women and half of men smoke and Greeks spend between 500 and 1000 euros a year on their daily cigarette fix. 10% more cigarettes were being smoked in Greece in 2004 than a decade earlier. 15% of children UNDER EIGHTEEN smoke. Yoiks.

Ironically, Greeks spend a bit of time bitching about smog and unclean air around their cities. Sure, industry and transportation will do that, but no doubt when 42% of a nation smokes it has an effect on the atmosphere.

In the end, I am not sure how I can come to terms with all the smoking. The peas I can simply squash, the smokers, not so much. Still, in a nation that constantly worries about the continuation of its people and culture, you'd think they'd get a little more health savvy, especially when it comes to their children.

I guess I'll just sit here and worry about the Greeks all by myself. But you peas, you better watch it.

How dangerous the brain can be

Yesterday evening I was rushing around getting ready to go out to dinner with some of my husband's colleagues. I sent my husband on downstairs with a bag of trash while I finished gathering my things. Running around the apartment, I couldn't find my cellphone. Remembering I had brought it into the foyer when I was bringing out the trashbag, I looked for it there, but to no avail.

I proceeded downstairs and sheepishly asked my husband to dial my cellphone. Sure enough, the trash can outside our apartment building began to ring as my husband exploded with laughter, pulled out our bag of trash, and extracted the ringing phone.

I've definitely seen better days.

Denial: tastes great, and less filling!

I realize that the governments of most countries in the world are old hat at the art of denial. I also realize that for some people, denial is the only way you can survive without wanting to plunge your head into a fresh, steaming cow pie. But what kind of jackass do you have to be to put your need for denial above the need of an entire nation to memorialize their dead?

Turkey has their panties in a wad yet again over the memorial to the Pontic Greeks that was recently erected here in Thessaloniki. The Pontic Greeks were from a region in Turkey near the Black Sea, and their people were systematically slaughtered by the Turks during World War I. Hundreds of thousands of people were killed in these slaughters, which should rightfully be called a genocide but the Turks don’t seem to have a word for genocide in their lexicon (Armenia, anyone?). I perfectly understand that it is better for the Turkish government to ignore events like this and pretend they never happened. I can think of several moments in my life that I wish had never happened, mostly involving copious amounts of Long Island Iced Tea and projectile vomiting. But denial isn’t really healthy for the psyche, so I’ve learned how to live with my shame and get beyond it.

The response of the Turkish Prime Minister to the memorial was something along the lines of how the issue is a very sensitive one in Turkey. Golly gee whiz! No one would want to do harm to Turkish sensibilities! But did ya ever consider it might be a bit of a sensitive subject in Greece too? The Turkish Foreign Minister Abdullah Gul (also known as George Clooney’s brother), went so far as to say that the erection of the monument “cast a shadow over friendly relations between the two countries.” Say what? Again, I have to say what kind of asshole objects to a memorial for hundreds of thousands of dead?

I live here in Thessaloniki, and I can’t say that there was much fanfare surrounding the erection of this monument. In fact, my husband and I were having coffee at a place near it a few days ago and I asked him if he knew what the statue was for. He didn’t. It is a very tasteful statue, full of emotion and feeling – a woman grieving. For all we guessed it was a symbolic representation of the city, the country, who knew? Of course, we could have gone over and looked at what it was for, but it didn’t really matter. At any rate, it isn’t like they have big neon signs and a giant searchlight over this memorial and a big booming voice on a loudspeaker saying “this is a memorial for hundreds of thousands of Greeks who were killed by Turks – yes I said Turks! It was genocide by Turks!”. In fact, most people in Thessaloniki probably wouldn’t have known what the statue was for until the Turkish Prime Minister brought it up. Way to draw attention to something you want to forget about, Mr. Erdogan.

In the end, the issue isn’t really about who killed these people. They could have died to the Turks, an angry flock of zombie bunnies, or Martians, it wouldn’t really matter. The Greeks wanted to memorialize them (and rightly so) and they did. To object to a memorial, on any grounds, might have to be the lowest of the low. After all, the truth hurts all of us, not just the Turks.

The Greeks are full of irony

We were at a taverna in the countryside today, and at each table was a cute little sign saying "thank you for not smoking". What was beside each cute little sign?

An ashtray.

A sure sign of the apocalypse

In what can be considered a reasonable response to the outcry over the release of the movie version of The Da Vinci Code, the Holy Synod of the Church of Greece has prepared a leaflet for its Sunday worshippers "advising them that the Hollywood film “The Da Vinci Code,” due to hit Greek cinemas next week, is “completely untrue” and “insults” religious sensibilities."

It does not, however, tell people whether or not they should go see the movie, instead focusing on a point-by-point refutation of the work and accusing Dan Brown of insulting the church.

While I think they could have left the Dan Brown bashing off (hey, he's a terrible writer, why blast into him more?) the fact that instead of telling congregates not to see the movie they refute the story is a much healthier response than what I've seen from other churches. Even though the Bishop of Thessaloniki advised Greeks not to see the movie, Archbishop Christodoulous said that bishops and clerics of the church should refrain from making comments about the film because "they did not have the authority to present the Church's official position."

Coming from an Archbishop who has lashed out against gays, immigration, and all kinds of other crap, the fact that I agree with something he's done actually makes me throw up in my mouth a little bit. You might want to check the temperature in hell. Still, I guess people can surprise you now and then.

In the meantime, the Christians in India are apparently going overboard in the stand against the movie, as apparently some rioting broke out in Bombay yesterday. People's reactions to this movie release are getting dangerously close to the reactions regarding the Danish Muhammad cartoons, which is pretty ironic, considering Christians all over the world at that time were saying that while the cartoons were offensive, they would never behave in such a way if similarly offended. Way to be hypocrites, people.

Tom Hanks seems to be regarding all this brouhaha with some amusement. He said "If you are going to take any sort of movie at face value, particularly a huge-budget motion picture like this, you'd be making a very big mistake" and said that the film was filled with "hooey" and "nonsense".

It's all a bunch of hooey and nonsense until somebody gets hurt.

Oh, you mean no

I've decided that my first act as leader of the world will be to assign a global standard for the words yes and no, and more importantly, to make the body language representation of these responses clear and used by all people all over the world.

I really couldn't care less what language we take our yes and no from, English, Greek, Chinese, Arabic - whatever, it doesn't matter. I realize that in theory it is easy enough to visit a foreign country and immediately learn yes and no in the native tongue, but figuring out the body language is a whole new ballgame. Half the time people say no with their body language here I think they are saying yes, that is until they wonder why I am looking at them intently despite the fact that they've answered my question in the negatory and they finally decide to speak their answer. I actually would think the total muscle involvement of saying "οχι" is much less than the elaborate head/shoulder maneuvering they do for their physical answer, but apparently there are some Greeks who just can't take it upon themselves to speak. Surprising, really. Yet the body language answer for yes is really not that different, with the shrug and half nod.

Better yet, if you don't want to speak just make up two flash cards with "ναι" and "οχι" on them and hold them up instead of the half assed body language that actually makes some Greeks look more like they are squeezing out a fart than answering a question.

If you'd just lay down your tracks

This past weekend the folks at VH1 took it upon themselves to show us the Top 100 Greatest Videos Ever (exclamation point). I am spelling out the exclamation point instead of using an exclamation point because I want to make it clear that was VH1’s exclamation point, not my own. I try to refrain from excess usage of exclamation points, especially in conjunction with phrases like “greatest videos ever”.

My husband and I happened to watch, off and on, the top 50, and I guess if I was even more of a freak than I already am I would have listed them all and gone over them one by one for you. Luckily for you, I’m not that crazy yet. I only made a note of the top 5 so I could bitch about them in proper blogger fashion.

5. Sledgehammer, Peter Gabriel.

Now, I don’t know what world these people came from, but in my world Sledgehammer was the reigning champ of videos for a good fifteen years. If you watch it today it still has the appeal of a modern video, none of the artistry seems outdated. I couldn’t imagine how Sledgehammer had slipped to number five until I saw what number four was.

4. November Rain, Guns N’ Roses

This explains everything. See, this is what happens when people my age (36) get replaced by people my husband’s age (30). Generally speaking there isn’t that much difference between 36 and 30, but when it comes to popular music, there is a world of difference between what I grew up listening to and what he grew up listening to. As far as I know, this video never even cracked the top ten before. Whatevah. Look, I’m not dissin’ GNR, I used to like some of their music. But November Rain, really?

3. Take on Me, A-Ha

OK. I can accept this video being in the top five. Even my mother liked this video. But it isn’t of a quality that trumps Sledgehammer. Sorry.

2. Sabotage, Beastie Boys

I have no complaints with this Beastie Boys video being number two. It is quite clever. But I still think Sledgehammer should be number one.

1. Thriller, Michael Jackon

No doubt this is a groundbreaking video. It had a famous director, a script, Vincent Price, and a budget that makes other videos cream in their pants. I don’t have an issue with it being in the top five, even though I think it is a bit unfair, considering some of the above. But for years it was always number two to Sledgehammer’s number one. What the hell happened?

I know what y’all are thinking. I can’t let go of the past. But I do honestly and truly believe that Sledgehammer still stands the test of time as the best video ever made. Of course, if I was 30 instead of 36 I might not agree. Ah well.

Trying to break the code

The Greek Orthodox bishop of Thessaloniki has jumped on the bandwagon with many other higher ups of various Christian religions in urging Greek Orthodoxites not to go see The Da Vinci Code.

The bishop of Thessaloniki, Anthimos, advised all Greeks yesterday not to watch the “Da Vinci Code,” the film based on a best-selling Dan Brown novel exploring the idea that Jesus Christ has living descendants. Anthimos said the film and book were based on “arbitrary fictional constructions” and bore no relation to scientific and historical information.

Still, I wonder why when it comes to religion, religious leaders can't just let there be fiction (unless, of course, it seems to be in favor of their religious ideals). It is a movie, a work of fiction. If you really think a movie could break someone's faith, then you might need to step up your religion a little bit.

We'll just have to see how many Greeks are at the theater in a couple of weeks.

In which I pretend I'm not from Tennessee

I should have known it would happen eventually. Supersexed-for-teenaged boys teacher Pamela Rogers has made the T.V. news here (on the Mega channel) in Greece.

Tennessee? Nope, I've never heard of Tennessee...

Husbands take note

When you are married to a woman who is as fond of gaming as you are, do not hand her a copy of PCGamer and tell her to read a short article on the new Everquest expansion without expecting her to keep reading the magazine. Do not make indignant tsking noises when this happens, just allow her to keep reading.

You have been warned.

Protesting the war by making a war zone

In Athens today there was an anti-war demonstration sponsored by the 4th European Social Forum. Anti-war protests are not uncommon in Greece, there have been tons of them since I moved here, mostly, of course, aiming at Bush's policies in the Middle East.

Now, I hate war in general, and I am opposed to the war in Iraq as well as taking any military action against Iran. If there was one place in the world I would consider supporting military involvement right now, it would be Darfur.

I accept and understand that anti-war rallies are a good way to speak out against things gone wrong in the world. I personally don't think they are that effective, because world leaders work from their own agendas, and probably couldn't care less about the millions of people all over the world who protest their agendas. But for some people the protests are a catharsis, a way to speak out, a way to do something, and I am all for people being able to do that.

What I don't understand, however, is how in every single demonstration I have witnessed here in Greece the rally turns into a mini war zone of its own. Molotov cocktails, destroying places that represent U.S. industry (like that poor McDonald's in Syntagma - it gets busted up so often, but really people, it is a franchise, that means it is probably owned by Greeks), violence and police and tear gas and flames all compound the danger of these protests. What is this about? How are you convincing anyone you are against war when your own actions are war-like? Sure, sure, I know it is usually behavior attributable to leftist, anarchist assholes - but if you are organizing a demonstration of this kind, you should know these nuts are going to emerge from under their rocks and completely undermine any message the peaceful protesters are trying to convey. And if you add the adrenaline of the herd mentality no doubt a few of the "normal" protesters get caught up in the imbroglio. Take all this under consideration and the rallies become pointless demonstrations of how "warlike" the human spirit can be.

I just find it weird how hypocritical human behavior can be. Like the Catholics who protested The Last Temptation of Christ by blowing up movie theaters (will The DaVinci Code bring about the same behavior? I hope not). Like the pro-lifers who protest abortions by bombing clinics and murdering doctors. I can't believe in a person's convictions if their actions are contrary to what they support.

I know, I know. I'm not naive, I know things won't change. It doesn't keep me from wishing they would, though.

When you smile with every new day

Today, in celebration of the fourth anniversary of our American wedding, my husband and I decided to walk down to the sea and eat at Ruby Tuesday. Of all the American restaurants I'd expect to see overseas I sure never expected to see Ruby Tuesday, of course, we had already enjoyed the Applebee's in Athens, so I guess it wasn't that weird.

It was a fitting celebration, though. The decor, the food, everything was just like it might be at a Ruby Tuesday back home. Especially the prices! I have to say, after a few years of being used to Greek prices, it was a bit of a culture shock to see food that expensive. We probably paid almost twice as much as we would have at a taverna. Still, it was nice to have a big sizzling plate of fajitas for a change.

It is comforting to know that I can still get a little taste of home now and then, without having to resort to McDonald's.

I must be defective in some way

At first glance, when I saw the headline "Teachers don't mind pudding on a show to help pay for prom" I read it as "Teachers don't mind pudding on a show to help pay for PORN". That mistake certainly made me look twice at the article.

Seriously, though, with the huge teacher sex scandal in Tennessee, is it really appropriate for teachers to wrestle in chocolate pudding?

Sheesh, maybe I'm getting too prissy in my old age.

Once upon a wedding

Today marks the third anniversary of our big, fat, Greek wedding (sorry, it just begs to be used). Consequently, tomorrow will mark the fourth anniversary of our small, slim, American wedding, which doesn’t really count because my husband and I lived apart for four months afterwards. To all this all I have to say is: it’s only been four years?!? It feels like fifty!

While that may be a joke, to some extent it is true. Even though my husband and I only met a mere six years ago, it seems like I’ve known him a lifetime. It’s amazing how easy it is to grow close to the right person, and despite some major cultural, spiritual and political differences the relationship just keeps getting better. This is a big deal for a girl like me – as I never really wanted to get married or even have a long term relationship. I suppose I was a bit capricious, looking for some unknown, unrealistic intellectual ideal, but I should have known I could find it among the Greeks.

You can imagine that with my general attitude about marriage I was not the kind of girl who dreamed of her perfect wedding all her life. The Nashville wedding was a simple affair thrown together at the last minute to invite a few close friends who would definitely not be able to come to Greece for the wedding. It was very small, very low-key, and very perfect.

I should have known the Greek wedding would be a nightmare as soon as I had to call West End Methodist Church to ask for proof of my baptism. The Greek Orthodox Church apparently has no intention of allowing its parishioners to marry heathens, so it was by the pure grace of God that I had reluctantly agreed to be baptized when I was sixteen. When I called the church secretary to request the document, she said “let me guess, you are marrying a Catholic or Greek Orthodox”. Apparently mine wasn’t the first request they ever received.

My second mistake was trying to work out a date that would correspond with the date of our first wedding, so the anniversaries would be together. We got lucky with May 3^rd, but it just so happened that year that our chosen date was a week after Easter. Thus, our wedding was replete with Easter blessings of all kinds. Being as uncomfortable with religion as I am, this was not helpful to my sanity at the time.

Since I had no preferences or opinions about wedding type stuff, I pretty much let my mother-in-law and sister-in-law go nuts on the planning. I had zero desire to plan anything myself, and since it was a Greek wedding I knew little about what was required, so I got off scot-free. Thanos and I would just show up in Thessaloniki every few weeks for fittings, shopping, and fine details. Oh, and let’s not forget the meeting with the priest where I swore, in front of witnesses, that any children we would have would be Greek Orthodox and have my husband’s last name.

There are no rehearsals when it comes to Greek Orthodox weddings. I learned what little I could about the ceremony by watching video of my in-laws’ wedding, and having various people explain things to me. But still, I was not prepared.

I was not prepared for everyone waiting outside the church with Thanos and having to make a grand entrance when I arrived with my father and our koumbaros (best man). I was not prepared for our height differences to cause such a problem in keeping the stefana (crowns) on our heads. I was not prepared to walk around the altar three times without slipping. Most importantly, I was not prepared for my in-laws throwing rice at me at speeds that would put major league pitchers to shame while I was trying to balance my way around the altar. I think my mother-in-law almost got me in the eye, for goodness sakes. I was shaking rice out of my hair and various orifices for weeks after that. But it is ok. There are more weddings to attend, and who knows, some day my hand might slip and accidentally throw a handful of rice at my in-laws.

The reception was fun, but with 200 odd guests to greet and toast we didn’t get much of a chance to sit down and enjoy it. Towards the end I guess we did, but by that time, I was beat. It seems I was too busy being a bride to enjoy being a bride.

Three years later, our life is much calmer. We’ve been there, done that. And now all we have to do is enjoy each other.

Hume-Fogg: Just a bunch of nerds having a good time

That was one of the mantras of the Hume-Fogg Class of '87, and we owned the title of nerd with pride and good humor. We were nerds before being a nerd was cool, after all.

Hume-Fogg has once again left me beaming with pride, as it seems they are still offering Nashville kids a pretty damn good education, ranking 43rd in a Newsweek ranking of the top high schools in the U.S. My education at Hume-Fogg was the best I could have asked for - from Bill Brown teaching us about having "furniture" in our poetry to Alice Sanford having us sing Beatles' songs in Latin. Let me tell you, Yellow Submarine was quite a challenge, especially keeping it in rhythm. Those were years I will never forget.

Congratulations, Hume-Fogg, you've earned it. But we all know you've been giving kids a great education for years. It's just that now you have national recognition for it.

Beggers can't be choosers

First a confession - yes, I've gotten sucked in to Lisa Loeb's reality show on E! I knew I would the first time I saw a commercial for it. She's 37 and desperately single. What's not to like? Besides, I get such low dosages of reality TV here in Greece I need something, at least til Survivor - Greece/Turkey takes off. (Ok, I'm kidding about that last thing, for one thing I can't understand enough Greek to watch, let alone understand enough mumbly lazily spoken Greek to watch, and for another I hate the survivor shows)

So anyway, here she is, really to settle down and have a baby. At 37, the clock is ticking, girlfriend (believe me, I know this all too well). So she goes out on two dates with this really, really kyoot, employed, nice, funny 30-year-old guy. But she decides that the age difference is too weird, that she is really too old for a 30-year-old. What?!? Are you friggin' kidding me here, Lisa Loeb? The difference between 30 and 37, at least as far as these two singles go, is about the same as the difference between Nutella and Merenda. A slight difference in taste and texture, but basically both sweet, creamy hazelnut bliss. This is also a subject I know too well. I'm 36 and my husband is 30. And I'm pretty sure I'm not going to be that different a person when I roll over on 37.

I guess the thing is, had she gone for this guy the show would be over. Still, he was a keeper, in my book. Ms. Loeb ain't going to be hearing any wedding bells or giving birth to any babies if she gets this critical.

You want iced tea?

Today we fell into our usual habit of spending too much money at a coffeeshop while taking a stroll, and we were at a place that featured a fancy menu of various teas along with the usual coffee fare. Among the teas were a selection of iced teas, and I ordered one. The barrista had to come to our table and inquire discreetly, iced tea? Because usually they serve hot tea.

Iced tea may not be altogether common in Europe, but you must realize one thing - I am a Southern girl, and Southerners love their iced tea. Iced tea is as common in the South as hot tea, in fact, I daresay there is a Southerner or two out there who loves some iced tea but turns their nose up at the heated variety. Now the big tea companies, Nestea and Lipton, have tried their hand in the market here with bottled, overly sweetened, not very rich iced teas, and I guess some people drink them or they wouldn't keep selling them. But this tea is a far cry from the tea we like in the South. I can't even make my own proper iced tea because the tea I used to use isn't sold here. Sure, I could whore myself out to Lipton, but I don't wanna. This is a serious issue, for goodness' sake.

In the end they didn't have the tea I wanted (why have the fancy menu if you don't have the tea??) so I ended up with a mocha freddocinno. Such is life. I may have found decent Chinese food here, but if I want a good iced tea, I'll have to go back to the South. It's a long trip, but it's worth it.

Caroline laughs and it's raining all day

I was 16 years old when the movie Pretty in Pink was released, and like many other girls my age, I fell instantly in love with Andrew McCarthy. The puppy dog eyes, the kissable lips, the peach fuzz mustache - it all made me positively swoon.

Yet, hidden deep inside my psyche was a dark secret -I always wanted Andie to end up with Duckie at the end of the movie. If only I had had the perspicacity to fall for the Duckie type guys myself in high school, I might have been a whole lot better off.

The China syndrome

Today I finally sated my appetite for Chinese food. We got a menu from a Chinese restaurant the other day, and we also had a word of mouth recommendation for some place called "The Noodle Bar" down by the sea. Since we didn't have a menu for the latter, we decided to take our first steps into the world of Chinese food in Greece with a place simply called "ΕΣΤΙΑΤΟΡΙΟ ΚΙΝΕΖΙΚΟ", otherwise known as "Chinese Restaurant". I guess when there aren't too many around, you are entitled to such a moniker. This place seems to be take-out only, as the menu only lists a number, not an address. Desperation makes us do dangerous things.

My husband isn't as familiar with Chinese food as I am, although he has had it before, so we just ordered a standard meal of spring rolls, sweet and sour chicken, vegetable lo-mein and wontons. It actually wasn't bad, although we were sadly lacking duck sauce, hot mustard, and fortune cookies, not to mention it didn't come in the U.S. standard Chinese food cartons. It wasn't the best I've ever had, but it wasn't the worst either, and since I am too lazy to attempt sweet and sour dishes myself, it will work for me. And we have yet another place to try, when we work up our courage again.

A bit ago, a mere 4 hours after our Chinese feast, my husband exclaimed, in a voice wrought with desperation, "wtf, I'm hungry again!" (ok, he probably didn't say wtf, but it makes it funnier that way, and if you don't know what wtf means, just forget it) He has now learned the curse of the Chinese food - the imminent hunger a couple of hours later. A strange and unexplainable phenomenon that will certainly benefit our favorite pizza joint a bit later.

My work here is finally done

You know you have reached the pinnacle of your blogging career when your blog seems to be a frequent stop for people searching for things like "Tom Cruise eats placenta" "Placenta souffle" "did Cruise eat placenta" "watch Tom Cruise eat placenta". Let me refer you to the Wikipedia entry on placenta and you tell me if he ate it.

I've also been tagged for a search on "sperm draining torture" and I'm not entirely sure what that entails. I guess the U.S. is looking for ways to spice up their torture tactics at Guantanamo.

Someone is apparently having problems with their air conditioner sounding like a pigeon. I wonder if they thought of the fact that they might have a nest on top of their air conditioner?

I take the greatest pleasure for coming up on a search for "scary dead lady in a house". I'm not dead and I live in an apartment not a house, but I can be a scary lady. Just ask my husband.

What do I have to say to these web searching fiends? Bring it on, baby. Bring it on.

Miscellaneous notes to self

• when replacing a 20-year-old air conditioner with a brand new air conditioner, have the foresight to realize that older models were monstrously larger than newer ones and that the ghastly green paint that was painted before you moved in will now show around the area where the new air conditioner resides
• when having pedophiliacal (I'm sure that isn't a word) affairs with 13-year-old boys, don't text message him with embarrassing statements that will surely end up in the press and on affadavits for your arrest
• teach Britney Spears about the wonders of birth control
• stealing an ancient Byzantine chapel isn't the smartest way to win the hearts of my Greek hosts
• Invent new letters to add to the English dictionary, why should the Swedes get all the fun?
• Make time now and then to watch a balloon float away, watch it weave and glide as the wind carries it upwards into the clouds and slowly disappears
  

I guess I need more excitement

You know your life needs more pizazz when you dream about cutting your cat's claws.

Thessaloniki in springtime

I don't think I've ever experienced a better spring than this year, here in Thessaloniki. The weather has been fairly grand for a few weeks now, and I have forsaken the indoors for leisurely strolls around the city and overpriced coffee in charming cafes. I figure I better enjoy it now, because come July we'll be mired in heat and humidity as bad as any Nashville summer, and I'll be once again a slave to the indoors, constantly praying to the gods of air conditioning. For now, though, there is no electric hum except the white noise of the fan that lulls me to sleep at night.

Despite living in the city center we have still enjoyed the fresh smell of jasmine thanks to some horticulturally proficient neighbors. A songbird on a balcony across the street manages to sing it's song without being annoying or repetitive. The crazy pigeons are usually gone by dusk, when the sparrows come and do their twirling dance of flight all around us. I now understand why cats find birds so fascinating to watch.

Strawberries are at their peak and we can't get enough of them. Tomatoes are rich red and plump, and fruits and vegetables of all kinds are in great supply, and quite a bargain compared to what I used to pay at Kroger or Wild Oats.

We were caught outside yesterday in the rush of a sudden spring shower, and to our surprise, a full rainbow presented itself high in the sky above Aghia Sophia, right in the middle of the city. Spectacular. My mother-in-law, after expressing her awe at us having seen a rainbow in the city, quickly moved to the more important question "you did have an umbrella with you, didn't you?" What a mother!

I know the tradition is to travel to Greece (especially the islands) in summer, but I have to strongly suggest trying Greece in the spring instead. There is something to be said for the reunion of mother and daughter, and Greece celebrates Persephone's return in wondrous glory.

Hope for salvation

So my first (official) Orthodox Easter(Pascha) has come and gone, and it wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be. Good Friday passed in solitude, because my husband had an E.R. shift, and I didn’t see fit to find my way to a litany service on my own. Luckily, two church processions passed right in front of our apartment building, one stopping at the corner for a bit to sing the melancholy elegy, so I could look over the balcony in quiet observation.

Saturday night we proceeded to the resurrection service. The one we attended just happened to be at the same church we were married in. This experience seemed to justify my core belief that I am better off as a distant observer of such services. When it was time to light our Easter candles with the so-called holy light, it seemed that mine would extinguish almost immediately, but by some miracle it stayed lit. Then, a piece of the wick had broken off and attached itself lower on the candle, which started burning anew when the candle burned down a bit, and for a brief moment I could see the headline “Heretic Girl Dies, Consumed By Holy Flame”, as the burning wick flew off the candle. Thankfully it hit the floor and extinguished itself immediately, averting certain disaster.

I did not follow the crowd of people outside to watch the actual resurrection, because there were just waaaay too many people, and at my height I would surely end up wedged beneath someone’s sweaty armpit and an oversprayed hairdo about to explode from the heat of the candles. The sound system wasn’t working properly, so the priest’s voice scratched as it came in and out of the speakers. Finally, Christ was resurrected, the bells were rung in jubilation, and everyone returned to the church, where family all greeted one another with the traditional Easter greeting. When Uncle George approached me, instead of saying Χριστός Ανέστη (Christ has risen) he said, in heavily Greek accented English, “Christ stood up”, which sent my mother-in-law into a fit of giggles I wasn’t sure she would recover from. After a few more moments of pleasant, Dead Can Dance-ish singing from the priests, we left to go to my in-law’s apartment and enjoy a one a.m. meal celebrating the resurrection and the breaking of the forty day fast some Orthodoxites endure. I don’t think I saw people enjoy meat and cheese more than these relatives, some of whom actually had been fasting the whole time.

Today we headed to Easter dinner at Uncle George and Aunt Sophie’s beautiful home. I was fearful of seeing a lamb or goat turning on a roaster outside upon approaching the house, but got lucky, they were cooking it in the oven and the fireplace, no big skewer or whole animal present. I didn’t get lucky when I spotted the goat head on the dinner table, and almost ran screaming and pulling out my hair in distress, but I gouged my eyes out instead. Oedipal references aside, the head disappeared by the time I looked at that part of the table again, so I guess someone got head. Goat tastes remarkably like pork, by the way, in case you were wondering. And goat intestines taste just like liver. I’m still trying to get the taste out of my mouth. Too much homemade dessert and a few sing alongs with the guitar later it was time to go home. Easter was officially over.

Καλό Πάσχα to all my Orthodox friends. I hope yours was filled with as much love as mine was.

And then my head exploded

I know it is (Orthodox) Good Friday. I know it is a mournful day of lament for Christ's crucifixion and hope for his resurrection. I enjoyed the parade of litany with the candles and the gothic singing that passed right in front of our apartment.

But for the love of all that is good and holy, do all three churches in the general vicinity of my apartment building have to ring their bells one by one ALL DAY LONG?!?

The fall of civilization

Last night while my husband and I were enjoying a lazy evening at a coffee shop, a cute little girl and her mother entered. The little girl was around three years old, perhaps, and a bit fidgety (hopefully not because of drinking coffee). We were sitting outside enjoying the weather when the little girl came out of the coffee shop and very meticulously placed her chewing gum on the mat outside the store. The mother observed this behavior, and did not say a word.

Now, I don't know how things are in this day and age, but when I was little and it was time to dispose of my gum I told my mommy and she gave me a napkin or tissue to put it in. I never took it upon myself to dispose of my gum of my own free will and I certainly never would have placed it outside where people walk. I won't even put my gum in a trash can without wrapping it in something. I'm not naive, I do realize that people have been placing their gum underneath desks and tables and on walls for years, but at least that isn't in the line of traffic. This kid went out of her way to be evil.

Of course, my husband told the waiter before we left and he took care of the errant gum. But I have to say with each little incident like that I am more and more horrified at the state of civilization today.

Now back to regularly schedulled programming

The creepy Cruisingtons have finally gotten their baby. It seems Katie Holmes gave birth to a baby girl on Tuesday. They named her Suri, which may or may not have something to do with Scientology.

Let's hope that Ms. Holmes doesn't suffer postpartum depression, and that little Suri doesn't have any psychological issues, since the Church of Scientology doesn't recognize such diagnoses. I'd hate for Mr. Cruise to have to corner the market on vitamins.

Does Ms. Holmes get to enter the record books as the longest human pregnancy? Will Mr. Cruise choke on his placenta souffle? Will Katie ever speak again? Have we heard the last from these two?

One can only hope.

Holy Week

I’ll admit it, I have a hate/hate relationship with Easter. I believe I only tolerated it as a child because bunnies are cute and I could satisfy my propensity for fierce competition in the Easter egg hunt. I never appreciated waking up to go to church at five a.m., and I most definitely hated the frilly, itchy, pastel Easter dresses my mother bought for me. And who the hell thought it was a good idea to put small children in tights? Such a thing begs for little girls to embarrass their parents by pulling their dresses over their heads in a vain attempt to adjust the uncomfortable hosiery. Too bad we can’t get away with that as adults.

Once I got old enough, I could excuse myself from the early morning services. My parents still spoiled me with a beautiful, filled to the brim Easter basket, but by the time I was a teenager Easter lost all meaning for me. When my best friend died on a lugubrious Easter Sunday fifteen years ago, I parted ways with the now somber holiday forever, or so I thought.

I was never ignorant of the religious implications of Easter while growing up. After I got over my childhood trauma of seeing a lonely Jesus sent to be crucified by a maddening crowd in Jesus of Nazareth, I pretty much ignored any theological connotations of the holiday. As I began to garner some grasp of reality I found it harder and harder to accept many things Christianity tried to tell me, and of all these things, I found the whole resurrection deal particularly difficult to accept. Oh me of little faith.

Then I married a Greek Orthodox.

I’ll admit I was blind to the vagaries of the Orthodox religion coming into this thing. I knew they needed proof of my baptism to get married in the Orthodox Church. I knew they had different “rules” for calculating when Easter would be celebrated. I knew their priests wore kick ass hats. I knew parts of religious services were sung. I did not, however, know that Easter, and more specifically the crucifixion and resurrection, was one of the doctrinal threads holding this religion together. I did not know that Easter was a huge deal in Greece, bigger even than Christmas. I did not know that every year, for weeks before Easter, I would be reminded of the religious importance of the holiday to come, a holiday I tried to forget, a holiday that seemed to mock the loss of someone I had loved.

The first year I was here we were too busy planning the wedding to celebrate Easter. The second year I was here we were on Kos and my husband was working so I avoided it again. Last year my husband had a shift and I got lucky again. This year, however, he is off and we are living in the same city as the family. It isn’t looking too good for me now.

At least the service is at midnight on Saturday and not some ungodly morning hour. The fast breaking soup we’ll have after the service is pretty good, the family company is pleasant, so I suppose I’ll survive. And I am told the Easter service is particularly replete with the singing/chanting, which I actually quite enjoy.

I know I am too bitter about Easter. I wouldn’t have been this bitter if it wasn’t a holiday of resurrection, rebirth, rejuvenation. If it had been a more chthonic holiday I perhaps could have accepted it. If I had more faith, if I could give myself over to religion, then I might find forgiveness and acceptance. But I don’t, and I can’t, so I won’t. My hope is that someday I will see things differently, but for now I shall simply endure, relish the sonorous Orthodox chants, and revel in the love of the family around me.

Ah, to be a kid again

I'm really glad I decided to use the Greek language textbooks that Greek children use in school, because I get to learn all the important "kid stuff" that kids here learn. I've learned important things like donkey care and maintenance as well as how to call someone a sucker, so basically, I have the vocabulary of a seven-year-old, which can come in handy in some adult conversations.

There are a few more adult words I've learned, though, thanks to my husband. I managed to use one of those words at a family dinner last week, and word got back to my mother-in-law that I said it. She approached me quietly and asked where I learned that word, and stately very clearly, to the table, that she didn't teach me that word. Of course, it didn't help when I told her that her beloved firstborn son taught me that word, but she passed it off with good humor anyway. Besides, what kind of seven-year-old would I be if I didn't learn all those good words?

Not yet

Nope, it ain't Easter here in Greece yet. We still have one week to go - this year. Next year I think we share Easter with the non-Orthodoxites, but I could be wrong. Usually it seems like the Easters are weeks apart.

At any rate, Happy Easter to all the non-Orthodox folks back at home and abroad. I hope you all had an excellent holiday.

A universal inconvenience

One of the most horrid fates to face any consumer happened to me this week – they remodeled our supermarket. And by remodel I mean they completely changed everything about the store, they didn’t just rearrange stuff on the shelves. Product rearrangement is nothing compared to what happened to our store.

The store closed for the remodel last Saturday and was to reopen Wednesday. When it didn’t reopen until Friday I should have realized there would be major, mind-blowing, oh my god I can’t find anything in this place changes. The freezers and refrigerated sections were moved, the deli department was in a different place, the produce was put kind of in the middle of everything. The aisles are now better organized with similar products, although I did schlep the entire store today before I actually found the sugar, which was just sort of in a pile at the end of the cooking stuff aisle. I observed the manager helping at least three people find stuff today, and everyone who entered the store had sort of a dazed, deer-in-the-headlights look about them. Most people were wandering about aimlessly, desperately searching for what they were looking for. By the dour, stolid faces of the customers you’d think we were on the losing end of a nuclear holocaust. We might have been, considering all the dust that was on the merchandise.

We also have to think of clever ways to push the shopping carts through the checkout lanes, because they didn’t think about people actually needing to get carts from the entrance to the interior of the store. It will come in time, no doubt. Until then, we’ll have to get used to everyone asking everyone else where things are.

When a mother-in-law has faith in you

Tonight, I called my mother-in-law and requested her μουσακά (mousaka) recipe. I told her a friend in America wanted it, and she started laughing hysterically. She said "and I thought you might be making μουσακά", as if there is no way in Hades I'd ever be making μουσακά. I sheepishly told her that I might make it someday, although she is probably right. Still, did she have to rub it in?

And then they ate them

A village in China had an honorary dinner for 200 cats that they had released into their farm fields to eradicate their rat problem.

A couple of funny things about this story: for one, the villagers had decided they didn't want snakes around, so they got rid of all the snakes. Since the snakes ate the rats they again had a rat problem. Also, the villagers paid the equivalent of 1,200 euros for 200 cats. It is pretty easy to get cats for free. I think they got ripped off by the underworld cat black market.

After all the rats were gone, the cats got overstuffed with fish as a thank you. I can only imagine what happened to the cats after that.

Those that do, practice medicine

Last night my husband and I went out with a bunch of his colleagues. Hanging out with a bunch of doctors is not really my idea of a good time, but I guess I have to accept the hand I’ve been dealt. Not that I really dislike doctors in any particular way, but there is always that invisible wall that exists between doctors and regular people. Doctors always think they are so superior, yet deep down inside I really think that literature majors are much more superior. So there.

Of our party of twelve, ten were doctors (all still working on their specialties), and two of us were doctor’s wives. Luckily, the other wife present was also a lit major, so we had something to talk about. Of the ten doctors, few actually looked like doctors, although I can’t really say what doctors should look like. But I did learn a few things about doctors last night.

Five out of the ten doctors are specializing in psychiatry. Take that, Tom Cruise! I imagine any day now I’ll be telling “5 psychiatrists walked into a bar” jokes.

Only one of the ten doctors was a surgeon. Apparently, doctors and surgeons are mortal enemies, much like lions and hyenas.

Three of the ten doctors were balding, belying their youthful ages and appearances.

Five of the ten doctors are smokers, and one of the smokers is a pulmonary specialist. I realize that as far as Greece is concerned having five people smoking out of a table of twelve isn’t that surprising a statistic. But honestly, those statistics are never going to change if five out of ten doctors smoke. I am trying to figure out how a doctor who smokes can in good conscience tell a lung disease patient not to smoke. In my opinion, doctors should be setting some sort of example, because obviously, having a sticker that says smoking can kill you in huge bold Greek letters on cigarette packages isn’t doing the trick.

I’ve gone on about smoking before so I won’t continue my diatribe now. I’m the last person to ask people to give up their vices. Yea, I hate smoking, and would prefer people didn’t do it around me, because after a night in a smoky restaurant my lungs are not feeling too great. But I am pretty sure most smokers know they shouldn’t smoke. Besides, why should they stop smoking when the doctors who tell them it is harmful smoke too?

How to cause your spouse extra stress when he is working an E.R. shift: 5 simple steps

1) Call him and tell him you are so desperate for some dessert, you are going to make a cake.

2) Call him prior to making that cake and tell him that you checked the cheap ass hand mixer you bought and that you think it is one of those Chinese brands that shocks everyone with their appliances.

3) Call him the minute before you make the cake and say “ok, I’m going to go electrocute myself now.”

4) Call him again right as you are going to start the mixer because he told you to. Stay on the phone while using the mixer because he told you to.

5) While mixing the batter, signal for your cat to cry in surprise as you scream and go suddenly silent, the mixer whirring absently in the distance.

Yea, and that won't offend him

In a surefire plan to rid the world of Osama bin Laden's reign of terror, Italian porn star Cicciolina has offered herself to the world's public enemy number one if he will stop doing all that bad stuff.

Considering that Saddam Hussein didn't take her up on her offer in the 1990's, I'm sure bin Laden will be happy to have her. 55 is young for porn stars, right? Besides, we all know what every Muslim fundamentalist really wants is a porn star of his very own.

The scary pigeon did it

I’ve discovered a clear disadvantage to living on the 6^th floor – pigeons. Now to most American folks the 6^th floor doesn’t seem that high up, but in Greece, most buildings tend to be only seven or eight floors high, so the 6^th floor is prime real estate for the pigeons that flock the city.

I’ve tried to keep them at bay by leaving our awning as far down as it will go without interrupting our satellite reception. Apparently this tactic simply does not work, as some pigeons seem to have taken residence on top of our outside air-conditioning unit. This is a great location for them, because when I have the shutters open they have the advantage of craning one eye downwards, mockingly, at three very interested cats who have absolutely no way of getting to this most delicious prey. I’m quite sure these pigeons know exactly what they are doing and what dangers are involved should they get within paw reach of these cats, and I am also sure that they are aware that the lady of the house does not approve of their presence on her balcony.

I wouldn’t mind their new found habitat if it didn’t involve bird crap on our laundry, feathers everywhere, and the incessant chatter. Pigeons have to have the worst speech of any bird, because their chorus is singular, only occasionally sung in a different pitch. It isn’t mellifluous or pleasant like chirping, it is monotone and dull, constantly repeating the same refrain. I feel like I’m stuck in some nightmare marathon of John Cage or Riley’s In C. Not only that, but these birds, who feel the need to have intense philosophical discussions at seven in the morning, have to speak loudly enough so their friends across the street can hear them. If they want to chat, why can’t they all fly to the same damn place? It isn’t like it is difficult for them to travel. Besides, what in the hell do they have to talk about? They are birds. They fly around scoping out newly washed cars to poop on. That’s hardly fodder for a thirty minute conversation, unless they are like the Ents in Lord of the Rings, and it takes them days to speak a simple greeting.

All I know is we are on the verge of an all out war. If only the pigeons didn’t have the upper hand by realizing I am afraid of them. Hey, if a pigeon flew right up to you while you were hanging out the laundry you would scream too. I don’t appreciate it when birds taunt me. But I do have a secret weapon – cats, and one of them is quite skilled at hunting. She can bring down a fly with a simple flip of a paw. Not to mention she likes to keep her prey alive long enough to torture it while she plays with it. I’d hate to see what she might do to a pigeon. It would be quite unfortunate if the cats were accidentally left to roam on the balcony unchecked.

Quite unfortunate.

My thoughts are with my home state

Tennessee, I'm worried about you. This is the second harsh storm system to pass your way in a week, and it seems that there is more to come over the next couple of weeks. The news is startling enough that it made the local news here in Greece, about 5 minutes of coverage on this evening's news broadcast, full of pictures of the devastation in the Hendersonville/Gallatin area I knew well enough. My thoughts are with all those who have lost loved ones to these storms over the past few days.

Take care of yourself, Tennessee, protect your citizens, young and old. You may be a red state, but I still of think of you as home.

You have a bit of tzatziki on your chin

Today the extended family went out to a nice taverna in celebration of my sister-in-law's graduation from med school. The place had a nice atmosphere, very comfortable, obviously very popular. The food was great, the service was excellent. Yet it had the same fatal flaw that many other Greek tavernas have that makes me ask the question:

What the hell is up with the napkins?

In most tavernas here, for whatever reason, the napkins are those small, square, paper thin things, what we would call cocktail napkins in America. I'm sorry people, but Greek food is way too damn messy for these teeny, tiny pieces of paper that fall apart immediately upon first use. I feel like I am in an Asimov novel with some kind of futuristic napkins that disintegrate right after using them. This isn't enough napkin for a rabbit, let alone a grown adult human being. Sure, you think you may be cutting costs, but we end up going through a bushel of those damn things during any meal. Buy some decent napkins and we'll only have to use one.

This particular restaurant had free fancy matchbooks, CDs, and other various assorted curios. Scratch that crap and give me a good napkin! That isn't too much to ask, is it?

Ground control to Major Tom

Is this a baby she is carrying or an alien being poised to rip open her stomach, drop kick the placenta and scamper around the earth creating all sorts of havoc in its wake, thus jump-starting the apocalypse?

I guess we'll find out soon.

Who needs creativity, it's only porn

Tonight's porno selection on our satellite movie channel is entitled Riverted Rectums*. I can't even being to fathom what that might mean and, more importantly, how it might translate into porn, nor do I think I want to.

Don't you miss the days when porn titles were salacious, clever twists of more "civilized" fare - Little Oral Annie, Robin Wood, A Tale of Two Titties**. Pornographic movies used to have a spark of life to them, a bit of creativity. Now they are just porn, all glossy and dressed up. Which I suppose is fine, if that is what you are after. But honestly, can you beat One Flew Over the Cooter's Nest?



*sic the Greek translation, maybe the idea of reverted rectums bothered them too much
**Yes, yes, ok, I seem to know porn titles. I happened to pass a porno theater on my way to school every day. No, I wasn't walking to school. And this was back in the day when a respectable porno theater didn't raise any eyebrows.

Big city life

I had no illusions when I was living in Nashville that I was living in a “big city”. Had I lived smack dab in the middle of downtown, perhaps I might have been used to city life. Sure, the neighborhood I lived in was a far cry from the suburbs, but it had a laid back, bohemian atmosphere, probably due to the proximity of a popular local coffee house and two university campuses. I enjoyed that life – close enough to everything if you need it, far enough to be immune to the hustle and bustle of the nerve center of the city.

When I moved to Greece, I wasn’t sure what to expect. I had spent some time in Europe, but most of my time was spent in smaller villages – with brief stints in the cities to visit museums and the various curios of each burg. Greece still being a “siesta” country, I expected a calmer, low key atmosphere, more like Italy.

My first year in Athens was a whirlwind. I barely had time to get used to the city before it was time for us to move, but I knew I wasn’t fond of life in Athens. It was a busy city, so busy, in fact, that people seemed to be more robot-like than human. Everyone had a purpose, as if it was pre-programmed into their brain functions, and it was if the world around them didn’t exist, they had a tunnel-vision leading them to whatever particular goal they were undertaking, and that was that. Looking into people’s eyes it was if all the happiness, the joy of life had been bled out of them, and all that was left was a soulless automaton. I rarely heard laughter in Athens, on the streets or in the cafes, except for the sounds of children playing in the street below our apartment, and even among them, laughter was uncommon. Perhaps if I had lived there longer I might have noted glimpses of humanity, I might have seen the city come to life. But what I witnessed was cold, dead. Life in Athens was stressful, and it showed on the faces of its denizens.

After that I had a year on an island, and a year in a village. Life in those places was more like I expected. There were inconveniences, of course, but the pace of life was more my style. People worked hard, yes, but their lives hadn’t placed a burden on their happiness. Despite my enjoyment of village life, I was ready to move to the city again, with all the city conveniences and family nearby.

I had spent time in Thessaloniki, so I knew a little bit about life here. It is a much smaller city than Athens, and I often compared it more to Nashville, despite the fact that population-wise, Thessaloniki was twice as large. We live in a nice apartment in the city center, close to family, walking distance to just about everything you need downtown. While my husband and I do most things together, including grocery shopping, I have been out on my own on several occasions, usually to go to the store, but still alone, nonetheless. I never had problems being alone in my life, in fact, I quite enjoy it, so imagine my surprise when I went out for an evening stroll the other night, and found myself drowning, inexplicably, in a panic attack. I had taken a well-known route, most of it was on back streets, where there wasn’t a lot of traffic, or people. It wasn’t until I turned onto the sidewalk beside a major thoroughfare that things started to change.

People flooded the sidewalk, walking in both directions. I heard of flurry of conversation on all sides of me, mostly Greek, but a few unknown languages as well. Cars were honking constantly on the road beside me, some vehicles rushing past, others getting caught in a slower moving lane. As I looked around me, everything seemed unfamiliar, the buildings were odd, the talking pedestrians seemed to blend together, their languages entwining into unknown sounds. Everything around me looked grey, dull, and in a flash, it was like I was in some cheesy video, where I was standing still and everything was moving around me at a supersonic speed, in a blur. I felt I was in a quagmire, a rushing swirl of everything moving past me, and that if I wasn’t careful, I’d be caught into the whirlpool, pushed along the sidewalk as if I were in a rushing flood. My breathing became labored as I increased the speed of my steps, I had to get past this. As I turned onto the side street my mind became to calm, although I kept the quickened pace, to further my distance from the busy street. As I regained my senses I felt ashamed, angry, confused. What had caused my panic? Sure, I’ve always been a drama queen, but I’ve never panicked in such a situation.

A couple of days later I still haven’t gained much perspective on what happened, or why it happened. Perhaps it means I still haven’t gotten used to the fact that my move to Greece is permanent, that Nashville is no longer my home. Perhaps it was some sort of early mid-life crisis. Perhaps it was just a fluke. Perhaps it simply means I am not cut out for city life. All I know is I hope it never happens again.

You know something is wrong with you when...

...you spend five minutes trying to put the wrong cap on the juice, wondering the whole time why the hell it won't go on, only to have the right cap staring you in the face the whole time. I hate idiotic things like that, but I hate them more when my husband is home to tease me about it. Hey, the man wears his underwear inside out, he has no cause to make fun of my shortcomings.

On another note, people keep coming here after doing searches for "the weirdest thing you will ever see". I can't imagine doing a search for that, and I wonder what the universe is telling me by sending them here.

But I really don't know what the person searching for "McDonald's satanic" was looking for. Perhaps a themed restaurant?

It must be a guy thing

My husband has the uncanny ability of putting the remote as far away from me as possible, especially when he is getting up from the couch. I'm trying to decide if it is a deep seeded control issue, or just an unthinking guy thing.

Only God can say

The perfectly preserved monk, Vissarion Korkoliakos, is back in the news again. After weeks of constant visitors to the small church in Fthiotida, the Church of Greece has stated again that they are not prepared to exalt the monk to sainthood, stating that any decision would be left up to God.

The Church has been quite effusive with claims that the undecomposed body is a "sign from above" and "a message for our people and our age", yet they don't think God has made the decision for him to become a saint? What are they looking for, the body to sit up straight and start talking?

It makes no damn sense. But then again, the whole darn thing is one stop short of Crazytown.

Survival of the fittest

Every now and then, you have to feel sorry for scientists. Frequently misunderstood, misquoted, and often enveloped in a quagmire of jealous and contrary colleagues, scientists really don’t have an easy life. This appears to be especially true for University of Texas biology professor Eric Pianka, who has taken quite a lot of heat – including death threats, for some statements he made on a couple of occasions regarding the overpopulation of the planet.

Pianka reportedly made two speeches last month, both to students and colleagues, and in each he made statements regarding dwindling animal habitats and human overpopulation. A newspaper in Texas reported on these two speeches, and although the newspaper had a transcript of the original speech, it was on the condition that the speech not be distributed, so we can’t know the exact details of the speech.

But we know the gist of some of the text in his speech, which is that unchecked overpopulation of the earth will lead to problems for humans and animals alike, and that if we don’t start practicing population control – natural events, like epidemics, will take care of it for us. In separate statements since the controversy began, Pianka has been quoted as saying:

"If we don't control our population, microbes will. Why do we have these lethal microbes that kill us in the first place? The answer is, there's too many of us."

"We're taking over this Earth and not leaving anything for anything else on this Earth."

He also asserts that a lower population would mean less strain on natural resources. The newspaper that covered the speeches, the Gazette-Enterprise, reported that he said that disease

"will control the scourge of humanity. We're looking forward to a huge collapse."

It said he weighed the killing power of various diseases such as bird flu and HIV but decided neither would yield the needed results.

One colleague of Pianka’s, Forrest Mims, states emphatically that Pianka is advocating the destruction of mankind.

"He wishes for it. He hopes for it. He laughs about it. He jokes about it," Mims said. "It's got to happen because we are the scourge of humanity."

The University of Texas, exhibiting common sense in this whirlpool of bullshit, is supporting Pianka and his First Amendment rights.

Pianka was expressing his own opinion, University of Texas spokesman Don Hale said.

"Dr. Pianka has First Amendment rights to express his point of view," Hale said. "We have plenty of faculty with a lot of different points of view and they have the right to express that point of view, but they're expressing their personal point of view."

Thank GOD. Honestly, I don’t understand why people are getting their panties in a wad over these statements. Overpopulation can be a problem. Epidemics are the Earth’s way of dealing with overpopulation. People shouldn’t breed willynilly with no regard for the consequences. We are running out of natural resources. We are ruining the natural habitat of thousands of animals. We are forcing ahead global warming. Reality bites.

In what was reported, I don’t see any indication that he hates people or wants the human race to be wiped out. Without reading the entire transcript, I don’t see how anyone can react with enough vitriol to want to kill the professor and his family. If you ask me, those are the people with the problems, not Dr. Pianka.

Even so, I’m not sure Dr. Pianka has done very well with keeping up with biology statistics. Not all of us are breeding like rabbits. Recent numbers in Europe are showing that many E.U. countries aren’t even keeping up with parental replacement (2.1 births per family). National averages in many countries are running at 1.99 and much, much lower. What we are going to end up with, then, is extreme overpopulation in some countries, and underpopulation in others. Unfortunately, though, I don’t think these numbers will average out, as we may even experience the dying out of some cultures, and overwhelming numbers of others – countries where the birth rate is upwards of 6 or more, yet in these same countries, the infant mortality rate is shockingly high. The world may already be experiencing the scourge Dr. Pianka was talking about, but on a different, and much slower scale. Add in a flu epidemic like the one in 1918, and we will be well on the way.

The bottom line is, these are not pleasant things to think about. In a world with constant terrorist threats, religious fanaticism, crazy and destructive weather, impending pandemic – talking about reality in this manner just adds fuel to an already incendiary population. The world of 2006 is a world of fear, and there are too many unknowns. Poor Dr. Pianka is taking the heat from a fire that has been blazing steadily for too many years. Maybe it is time to cool off, and take things in stride. After all, we are alive right here and now, and tomorrow we may not be.

Who needs the devil?

Apparently, it is easy enough to sell your soul to the highest bidder, as a young man in Hong Kong found out recently. The 24-year-old man decided to auction his soul on the internet because he no longer needed his soul and thought he could sell it to someone who could get some use out of it. I'm not really sure how you know you no longer need your soul anymore, maybe a slip of paper comes flying out of your ass telling you that your soul is no longer needed. And if this guy no longer needed his soul, maybe it did him no good, so why try to pawn off a bad soul on someone else? That is just plain bad karma, if you ask me.

Unfortunately, the auction was taken down, because the logistics of the transaction were too difficult to figure out. Even so, 59 buyers had shown interest before the auction was closed. One wonders if any of the intended buyers had figured out a means of soul transference, or if they were just on a buying frenzy, willing to bid on anything.

One thing is for sure, you won't be seeing my soul up for auction anytime soon. One never knows when they might need their soul for supernatural currency.

What it was, was baseball

Opening day of baseball season 2006 has arrived, and here I sit, thousands of miles away from the closest baseball game. We have somewhere around nine sports channels on our satellite service – none of which are airing, or planning to air, any baseball. You could spend your whole life in Greece never knowing that baseball even existed. Τι κρίμα.

I was born in the shadow of the defeat of the Baltimore Orioles to the New York Mets in the legendary 1969 World Series. I should have known that being born into an O’s loving family in the wake of that loss would prove ominous for my life – if only I had seen my first days at the same time a year later, success would have been mine. All the same, I learned to love baseball, and growing up I knew the names Brooks Robinson, Jim Palmer, Cal Ripkin, and Earl Weaver as readily as I knew the names of crooked and clumsy Presidents. The year the O’s met my favorite National League team in the World Series was the zenith of my baseball fandom. My newly acquired hero, Rick Dempsey, helped win the show in 1983, and my used-to-be hero, Pete Rose, would take a dive a few years later, banished from baseball forever (eh, so he had already retired, anyway). 1983 was the year I got to meet Rick Dempsey, and I saw Eddie Murray’s ass in the O’s locker room. By the time ol’ easy out Cal beat the consecutive games record in 1995, baseball was all but over for me. Strikes had left a stale taste in my mouth, and interleague play in 1997 left me cold. I watched a handful of baseball games before I moved out of the U.S. in 2002, and I haven’t seen one since.

Still, I can’t help but feel a gentle stirring in my heart when spring days grow warm. In the distance I imagine the crack of the bat, the cheer of the crowd, the excitement of a player sliding into home. I can smell the hotdogs, the spilled beer, and Boog Powell’s barbecue. If I close my eyes I can see Camden Yards opening up before me, the Bromoseltzer clock tower poised ahead. One breath and I can feel the excitement as the game begins. Baseball has a mystical, ethereal quality that is inexplicable. No other sport has had so many legends and myths surrounding it. No other sport feels the way baseball feels – the sounds, the smells, the aura. I do miss baseball, although it will never feel the same as it did on a cool summer evening in 1983.