Mothers

Yesterday I went out in the morning with my mother-in-law to run a couple of errands. In between we stopped at my in-law's apartment for coffee, and my MIL asked me if I wanted anything to eat. I told her no, I just wanted coffee, and she was surprised. Even though I have spent god knows how many mornings in their apartment, not eating breakfast, she still acts surprised when I don't want anything, because she knows how Americans eat big breakfasts. She continued "not even a bowl of Cornflakes?" in that motherly way. I told her no, that I wasn't really hungry.

She went into the kitchen to make our coffee and get her bowl of Cornflakes, and came back out bearing a tray with two coffees, a bowl of Cornflakes and a bowl filled with Digestive cookies, of which she insists I eat two. One wouldn't satisfy her, two was the magic number. Now, I don't dislike these cookies, they are tasty, especially with coffee, but they are highly fibrous, and apparently digestive=homemade enema because my stomach doesn't feel right for days after I eat such cookies.

This is a universal thing, this mothering instinct to provide sustenance to all around you. If you say you don't want anything to eat to this woman, she has a look upon her face of mortal terror, followed quickly by a sly smile that lets you know that you will be eating something whether you want to or not. My mother is exactly the same way.

Now, I appreciate the instinct. It is a cross between mothering and being a good hostess. But when it is family, you should be able to pass up the food without the guilt, the insistence, the shoving of something you really don't feel like eating in your face. And, god love her, my mother will tell you that you look like you've gained weight in one breath then try to force feed you some cake in the next. Mothers are an unstoppable force.

For now, I'll deal with it politely. Someday, though, I'll learn all the tricks. I'll learn how to pick up the check before my MIL does (although she will get up and go to the people at the counter of a restaurant and tell them she will be paying the bill and not to bother anyone else with it). I'll learn how to make people eat when they don't want to. I'll learn how to compliment and berate someone in the same sentence. Someday, I'll be a force to be reckoned. But not yet.

More fun with SOTA*

Glitterati posts that Paris Hilton is laying tracks for her debut album. If putting her warbly, whiney voice to music isn't a sign of the apocalypse, I don't know what is.

*SOTA (Sign of the Apocalypse) is a regular feature of this blog

A date on all fours

Well, only a few of us can be so lucky. On the German site Date a dog, dog owners can post pictures of their pets with a description of themselves and meet other dog loving singles so they can meet doggie style. If you don't have a dog, you can even rent one, so you don't feel left out of the doggie loving loop.

All this is not without its corporate sponsorship, of course, as the site seems to be sponsored by Pedigree pet food and the new Warner Bros. movie Must Love Dogs.

Grrr

I know I've bitched about this before, but how stupid do you have to be to honk at the garbage truck? It happens almost every night on our street. What do you expect the garbage truck to do? Put it in frog and jump on the sidewalk? Go around the block and come back to get the trash so your impatient ass can pass?

Here's a clue: the garbage truck comes about the same general time every night. Why don't you just not come down the street then? Oh wait, you'd have to use your brain to figure that out. Forgive me.

What's in a name?

Most people outside Greece have no idea of the turmoil that has been going on over the name of the Former Yugoslavian Republic of Macedonia (also known as F.Y.R.O.M.). It seems that Fyromians want to be known as Macedonians, since their country falls within the boundaries of ancient Macedonia. It just so happens that a big chunk of northern Greece also falls within the boundaries of ancient Macedonia, along with part of Bulgaria. Obviously they all can’t be called Macedonia, and it seems Greece takes issue with the Fyromian desire to call themselves Macedonians, so the U.N. has been involved with little success (when has U.N. involvement spelled success, anyway?).

Shortly after his re-election, Dubya decided it was time to recognize F.Y.R.O.M. as the Republic of Macedonia, much to the disdain of Greeks. Easy to cling to a conspiracy theory, some Greeks have gone as far to say that Dubya supports a Fyromian invasion of northern Greece to claim the entire ancient Macedonian empire. Yea, that makes a lot of sense. I can really see the U.S. getting behind a tiny splinter nation that has little money and no resourceful advantages. Greeks seem constantly terrified that they will be invaded and occupied again, not that I blame them, given their history.

There has been a painstaking process trying to work out a decent compromise regarding naming F.Y.R.O.M. The latest plan by U.N. mediator Matthew Nimetz calls for three names: Republic of Macedonia to be used by countries that already recognize them as such; Republika Makedonija –Skopje to be used by Greece; and Republika Makedonija by international organizations until 2008 when the name will become just plain Republic of Macedonia. This is the brilliant plan a U.N. mediator came up with? Sounds basically like they are just calling the damn country Macedonia to me. How does that help?

For extra fun, it has been demanded that Greece cease and desist calling one of its northern regions Macedonia. Obviously, Greece ain’t down wit any o’ dat. My honest opinion is that it is all much ado about nothing, but if you want to go purely academic, I am afraid that Greece trumps F.Y.R.O.M. by a longshot.

What I don’t get is the fact that the Fyromians have this great opportunity to pick a brand spankin’ new name for their country. They should spend some time thinking about it, and come it with something totally new and different. There is always the option of naming the country insertclevernamehereland, but the Germans already did that. What about naming it after a favorite American T.V. show? Seinfeld would make a great name for a country. Who would want to mess with Seinfeldians? Or what about calling it after one of those planets in Star Trek? Vulcan perhaps, or Risa. They could always go back to just plain Yugoslavia, or just shorten it to Yugo. But then they’d have a tiny, piece o’ crap car as their national symbol.

They could always go with my choice if I had my own country: Twin Peaks. But you have to be careful with that one, because the owls just might not be what they seem.

Enough already, I got it!

Last month when I said I wanted to feel an earthquake just to see what it was like, I meant a small earthquake and only one. I didn't mean a small earthquake + a thousand aftershocks once a month. I know what it feels like now, thanks. You can stop now. Really. Please?

Big fat bummer

What terrible news to find that a fire has destroyed the entire history of Aardman Animations' creations, including Chicken Run, Creature Comforts, and Wallace and Gromit.

The animators bore the news relatively well, emphasizing that this tragedy is minor compared to other things going on in the world. Even so, the loss is devastating to the company and the fans. The thought of Wallace and Gromit burning alive isn't really pleasant. I hope they recover in due time, so the world is not at a loss for all their brilliant animations.

Maybe not appropriate

A New Zealand man thought it would be a hoot to dress up as a suicide bomber for a costume ball. Equipped with a good outfit and fake explosives, he had a fine time at the party, but couldn't catch a taxi home. He dumped the outfit and explosives in a trash can and made his way home. Unfortunately, a poor homeless man found the goods, contacted police, a couple of hotels were evacuated and three streets were closed off.

The "bomber" turned himself in to police, but luckily he got off without any charges. Perhaps good judgment will win out over his next costume.

The amazing toilet

In the last three years, I've spent some small amount of time pondering the wonders of the Greek toilet. Yes, it seems like a rather inane subject to think about at all, but you see, in America, toilets never seem to work so well. American toilets are always getting clogged for various reasons: men, feminine products, paper towels, cat litter (oops), and you name it. You cannot flush anything but toilet paper down an American toilet, and watch out if you use too much. It may come back to haunt you. And by haunt I mean spending the next hour ruining all your towels and trying to keep the overflowing toilet from drowning the litter box. Ewww. I think in all my life I have never once been to a business that didn't have at least one toilet out of service due to an overflow problem. It was as common at home as it was in the working world. Toilets clog. Life goes on.

I'll admit when I first arrived at our new apartment in Athens, the first time I went to the bathroom I had no idea how to flush it. The sitting part of the toilet had no tank attached - the tank was above the toilet, connected by a pipe. For the life of me, I could not find a flushing mechanism. I knew, from my experiences in Europe, that the flusher could be anything and anywhere, but I'll be damned if I could find it. Of course, I'd rather save face and figure it out on my own, possibly spending hours in the bathroom, than leave the bathroom admitting I couldn't figure out how to flush. Well, I did finally figure it out, and I felt like an idiot, because it was really obvious. There was a button hanging from the tank, that actually looked more like a screw than something you push to flush the toilet, but hey, whatever works. Since then, most "modernized" bathrooms I have encountered (including our current one) have normal looking toilets, except the flusher is usually a button on the top of the tank, not a handle on the side.

But what really got me about that first toilet was the force involved in the flush. At first I was afraid it was going to suck the whole bathroom with it. I quickly learned that this was a toilet that would never clog. Sure, you didn't want to put small objects in it, but for the most part, it could take whatever you chose to throw at it. I was amazed. No need for plungers, snakes, or other assorted plumbing objects. This was a serious toilet.

I soon learned that in Greece, unless you were using a septic system (blech) all toilets were as wonderful and efficient as that first one. And this lead me to wonder - what is so different about the Greek toilet? Is it the plumbing (all these buildings are old buildings, you are telling me ancient plumbing was this good?), the toilet, what? And why isn't the American system as efficient? Why do Americans have to spend hours of their lives battling with an overflowing toilet?

I suppose if I took the time to ask someone who knows anything about plumbing I might have my answer. For now I'll just bask in the freedom of a well-functioning toilet.

Useless

I have nothing useful to say today. Knock yourselves out at Crooks and Liars.

My quiet life

Today is one of those days when the world around me decided to be quiet, save for a single bird singing a happy song. The air is brisk, but not too cold. Occasionally a car passes by, but for the most part, our little neighborhood is silent.

And somehow, for some reason, we have to be listening to the Top 100 (crappiest) Classic Pop songs on VH1.

Lovely.

Bravo Ellada? I don't think so

The Greek team blew their qualifying match against Denmark tonight, and the network that aired the game had the audacity to say "Bravo Ellada, it's ok" and "Always champions in our hearts".

What kind of mollycoddling is that? No wonder the Greek team didn't win. You can't tell them after every loss "it's ok". It isn't ok. The Greek team won the Euro 2004 cup, but what was that, a fluke? They played some pretty piss poor soccer this year for the European champions. They knew they pretty much had to win tonight's game against Denmark to have a chance at qualifying for the World Cup. Greece was third in the standings for their group, behind the Ukraine (who already qualified) and Turkey. The knew they had to win, but what did they do?

They lollygagged their way around the field. They let Denmark grab the ball from them. They barely seemed to know where the hell the ball was half the time. Chance to score? No coordinated effort. Two or three times would have been perfect chances to score had the player closest to the goal been paying better attention. Grats on moving down the fourth place. Well done!

Yea, I'm pissed. I really wanted Greece to go to the World Cup. In America, we don't treat our teams well when they lose so horribly. Maybe if we had been harder on the Greek team, they might have come through for us.

Greece attempts New Orleans' blues

Greece is hosting a charity concert for victims of Hurricane Katrina, in Chalandri (outside Athens) on October 15th. Performances by Mario Frangoulis, the children's choir of the American Community Schools of Athens, and the ERT Choir will be sure to delight audiences. According to the press release, they will be performing "New Orleans spiritual and American melodies", which is always an interesting thing when attempted by Greek voices. I would go out of sheer curiosity, if not to give to the cause.

There was a taverna beside our apartment in Litochoro, and they frequently had "Memphis Blues Night". What we heard on those nights were renditions of "50 Ways to Leave your Lover" and "Horse with No Name" sung wildly with Greek accents. Not exactly Memphis Blues.

At any rate, it is a nice event for Greece to be hosting, and will raise some money for Katrina victims. You can't beat that.

Admonitions

Last night was the first time I spent any substantial time with my in-laws in a few weeks. My sister-in-law, on the heels of completing six medical exams in two months, was leaving for Germany bright and early this morning, and it was my father-in-law's birthday, so we had a good-bye and birthday get together.

I decided to try, for once, to ask a question in Greek. The room fell silent. All eyes turned to me. I managed to squeak out my question to my sister-in-law "pou tha menis stin Germania;" (where will you stay in Germany?), and aside from a minor correction I got it right, received my reply, and felt that I had done my Greek duty for the night. Oh no. My husband and father-in-law retreated into the other room to try to fix their ailing computer. I was left alone with with my mother-in-law, sister-in-law, and brother-in-law, and my sister-in-law kept begging me to say something else in Greek. For 2 hours she begged me to say something else in Greek. And the discussion turned to why I haven't yet mastered the Greek language even though I've been here for 3 years. My MIL, very graciously, blamed it on my husband. But she made it clear that now that I am in Thessaloniki, in close proximity to them, I will be learning Greek. They are going to get me the Greek school books children use here to learn Greek. I will no longer be able to be shy when talking. I will no longer be allowed to answer questions asked me in Greek in English. My MIL is quite serious about my education. And when my MIL is serious about something, it gets done. I actually adore her, and admire her. I couldn't have been luckier when it comes to my in-laws (no, they don't read the blog, so I'm not sucking up).

I'm still thinking it will be at least another 3 years before I am using Greek with any fluency. We'll see. The will of my MIL is strong. And I'd like to make her happy for once.

Robot fish!

The London Aquarium has acquired some robotic fish, fully autonomous, able to swim around on their own (in a specially designed tank) and looking pretty damn spiffy too.

I am a big fan of robots, thanks to Isaac Asimov, and it seems these robot fish can have practical applications as well, like detecting pipeline leaks and improving the performance of under water vehicles.

My love for robots today is rather ironic, because when I was little, Sesame Street had a robot on it from time to time, and I always had to go hide in the dining room whenever it appeared.

On being an expatriate

We move to Canada had an interesting post the other day that linked to an ex-pat article written by an American in Australia. The article was well-written and thought provoking on a number of levels, and I highly recommend reading it. In the end, it prompted me to think more about what it is to be an expatriate, beyond simple things like fitting in, language barriers, seeking home comforts, and missing your hometown. I think most ex-pats can joke about these things, these differences in ways of life that you have to get used to as an immigrant in a new culture. We all know the struggles, the homesickness, the loneliness, the wonders and beauty of living abroad.

I speak of these things blithely, from a position of privilege. I moved to another country by choice, because the man I chose to marry is Greek. Most of the other ex-pats I know also moved by choice, whether for a desire to change lifestyles, or marriage, or job opportunities. I wasn’t fleeing tyranny, war, famine, fear or any of a number of things that make desperate immigrants cling to life on a shoddy boat across the murky waters of the sea, headed towards a life of uncertainty and perhaps, if they are lucky, hope. Provided they find asylum in a new country, what are their experiences like? Are they able to laugh about the language differences? Do they joke about the behavior of their new countrymen? Do they find amusement in the products on the grocery store shelves?

These immigrants are the true expatriates. They leave everything behind – friends, family, jobs – never to return again. In many cases they are probably not allowed to return again, or face death or prosecution if they do return. In their eyes, there is no choice. When a sweaty man approaches them, face veiled in shadows, and offers them passage for a fee, they take the opportunity. Most of the time they probably don’t even know where they are going, whether the boat will make it, what dangers they may face on the other side. All they know is that their only hope of a decent life is somewhere else. Anywhere but their home country.

It is pretty easy when you live a comfortable life to pass judgment on these immigrants. It is easy to ignore them, disregard them, discount them as individuals. “They don’t belong here” you might say to yourself, or “they steal our jobs.” You might opine that they cause more crime. Sometimes they do. Yet the nationalists who are so proud of their heritage, their culture, their country and don’t want it “tainted” by unwanted immigrants seem to ignore that the immigrants lack the very thing the nationalists are so proud of: a place to call home.

Expatriates like me are lucky. We have the opportunity to live and experience other cultures, but we can still go “home” when (and if) we want to. Should we travel back to our home countries, once we flash our local passports the customs officers tell us “welcome home.” Yet a constant nightmare of mine is that someday I won’t have a country to go home to.

Some friends and I took a trip to Europe in the summer of 2001, before 9/11. I had nightmares while I was away, horrible portents of something horrid happening at home, of us being unable to return, that the U.S. had turned into a wasteland of war, disease, and decay – and there was nothing left. I’ve heard since that such dreams while traveling abroad are not uncommon, but when I woke up on 9/11 it was if they were coming true. America changed that day, and in the years since has continued to change, until it has become something I almost no longer recognize.

In the year between 9/11 and when I moved to Greece, I became cognizant that I was looking at the world as if from a fishbowl, only seeing a distorted vision of what was beyond the glass. Messages of fear overtook us all. Fear Muslims, fear terror, fear anthrax, fear Bin Laden, fear, fear, fear. It wasn’t as if such a thing was uncommon in American life, the fear campaign started in the McCarthy era and changed to suit the times. Fear communists, fear nukes, fear hippies, fear Russia, fear AIDS. Yet after 9/11 it was the prevailing force driving the government, the media, and the people. We learned that to be safe from our fears, we had to give up certain rights. We were willing to give up our freedoms to our fears, and that is where the thread of the American spirit began to unravel.

I miss my family and my friends. I miss Nashville. I miss the American landscape. Yet, at this point in time, like Steve Solomon said in his article, I don’t intend to go back, not until things change. It is the same reason I have a hard time visiting a sick and suffering loved one, I cannot stand to go back and watch America injured, bleeding, with no way to mend the wounds. And so in this small way I can look at fleeing immigrants and understand, on some level, what it is like for them. Home is not what it was. It may never be again. I just count myself lucky that no one is forced to flee. Not yet.

Gee, thanks mom

Swiss scientists have determined that sleep patterns are heredity, as they claim to have found a gene that determines quality of sleep.

My mom has a terrible time sleeping, at least getting to sleep, and so do I. Now I know she is to blame!

Do-Re, a song for Thessaloniki

We watched the finals of the Thessaloniki Song Festival tonight, mainly because on commercials I had heard a couple of songs that sounded good and I wanted to see what the young (and some older) musicians of Greece are doing.

The song I liked best was by a singer/songwriter named Eustacia, a song called Horis Esena (ΧΩΡΙΣ ΕΣΕΝΑ) - "Without You", which you can download here if you want a listen (song number 7). Unfortunately, it came in third place, with two pretty crappy songs coming in first and second. At least it placed.

If you are interested, the other good songs of note (at least, that my husband and I both liked) were numbers 6 and 8, which you can download from the same list above. Nice to hear some new, good music, with Greek flair.

Wha??

I am really beginning to doubt the perspicacity of search engines. On search.msn.com, apparently this blog is listed on a search for most wanted Irish mobsters. While I can sort of live vicariously through the fact that somewhere in the world, some computer put two and two together and decided that information could be found on my blog, and that I was privvy to it, alas, it is untrue. I do not know who the most wanted Irish mobsters are, where they are, or what they are doing. A shame, really.

I can't really help you much with thanksgiving diner ideas either, sorry.

The death of ice cream

It happens every year, like the molting of the leaves in winter. As soon as that twinge of Autumn hits the air, it begins. The emptying of the ice cream freezers.

Greece has two major seasons when it comes to processed sweets, the ice cream season and the chocolate season. In March it begins, an ice cream freezer springs to life, a small trickle of ice cream flavors start to seep in. By June you can get everything that is available, and all grocery stores keep a steady flow through the end of August. Sometime during September, you realize the stock is depleting, rather quickly, without being replaced. You grab on to the last containers of your favorite flavors. Then you get desperate and buy brands and flavors you don't normally like. Then before you know it, the freezers are moved out of the way for other products, or stocked with new, non ice cream products. It is quite tragic.

Yet, something else begins to happen. New chocolates start appearing. The good chocolates, like Ritter and Cadbury. No more crappy summer stock. But this is the thing, I'm not a huge fan of chocolates. Oh, quit tsking. I like chocolate. I really do. But the standard for chocolate here is what is called "praline" filled (no, not the New Orleans pralines) which is basically a hazelnutty chocolate cream. You can get strawberry cream, nuts, the basics. Ritter even makes a marzipan chocolate bar which I really like. But no mint chocolate (same with ice cream). No plain chocolate cream. No nougat. No peanut butter (my kingdom for Reese's!). Everything is that goddamned praline, which isn't bad, but yeeshk, I need a little variety. And I love mint chocolate. Its a travesty.

Now, I guess I understand the reason for this. People probably would never buy that much ice cream in the fall or winter months. It is too hot for chocolates in the summer. Most supermarkets are relatively small, especially in the city, and they need the room for stock that moves. Most stores seem to completely wipe out their ice cream supply for the winter. Not even basic vanilla or chocolate, a small quanity, in the back of the frozen section. Nada. Zip. Zilch. And while I myself am not generally inclined to have ice cream when it is cold out, I do like it when I make warm apple pie or a nice fruit cobbler. You gotta have the a la mode!

I suppose that is one thing that has really taken some getting used to. I am used the American supermarket model. A huge store stocked with every type of thing whenever you want it. Ok, so you can't buy Christmas lights or ornaments in the summer, but you get my drift. There was literally a whole WALL of ice cream products at the Green Hills Kroger. Year round. Every type of ice cream you could possibly want. There was a whole aisle of chocolates at the same store. Year round. Every type of chocolate candy you could possibly want. This type of reality is good and bad I suppose. You can actually become sick of ice cream, or of your favorite chocolate. Here, it is a treat when ice cream season rolls around. You hear squeals of delight when the favorite candy is in stock.

Somewhere in my head, I can hear the sullen tolling of the three bells. Ice cream is dead. At least until the spring.