And another SOTA

Democratic Senators show some balls.

Elevator Etiquette

There was a general rule in America when it came to waiting for an elevator: you stand a bit off to the side, so anyone ON the elevator can disembark before you get on. I remember being a child and my mother forcibly moving me to the side to let people get off the elevator, and I have seen moms do it since. I know this is the etiquette being taught in America.

I am sure, by now, you see where this is going. Greeks do not seem to have the wherewithal to realize that, especially in these teeiny Greek elevators, there is no getting on until the people on it get off. Greeks are ready to charge right on in and keep going, without even giving the person inside time to get out. It is as if the elevator itself has some sort of invisible force field, shielding all who are outside it's doors from the occupants within.

It is such a problem in Greece that I have had people actually say "thank you" to me when I am off to side and let them get out before getting in. That really shouldn't demand a thank you, that should be automatic behavior. And I have yet to see a mother restrain her little heathens from running ahead and getting inside the elevator before I get out. If I were a mother I couldn't imagine that, because in my horror I would see the children in the elevator without me without a way to get to them. I also couldn't imagine that because I was raised to push my children aside with the force of God and let people get off the elevator. But Americans are violent like that.

Still, considering, this behavior isn't surprising, what with the whole lack of thinking before you act here. But it is ironic, these little niceties, these little polite gestures I never paid much attention to until I moved here and they were nonexistent. Americans may be crude, they may be warmongers, but by God, we stand to the side and let people get off the elevator. It is the least we can do.

From the LOL files

I had to laugh when I saw this headline:

"Greenpeace fined for reef damage"

I'm sorry, but I am not a fan of Greenpeace. I would be more of a fan, if their cult-like followers didn't stick pamphlets in your face and repeatedly harass you whenever they were in town. I happen to think that sometimes their efforts are a bit misguided, although with good intentions.

Greenpeace agreed to pay the fine, but blamed the accident on outdated maps provided by the Philippines government.

"The chart indicated we were a mile and a half" from the coral reef when the ship ran around, regional Greenpeace official Red Constantino told AFP news agency.

"This accident could have been avoided if the chart was accurate," he said, adding, however, that Greenpeace felt "responsible" for the damage.

Ever heard of navigational equipment?

Running aground and ruining 100 sq. miles of protected reef. Good job, guys! At least they own up to their embarassing mistake.

Love, American Style

I have few comments to make regarding Bush’s latest choice for the Supreme Court. I am not so naïve to believe I would have liked any choice Bush would make, but obviously, Alito is no Sandra Day O’Connor. Still, after going over some of the judgments Mr. Alito has made in the past, one particular case sparked some dissent in this American-Greek household.

Generally speaking, my husband has little interest in the SCOTUS nominees, except to the extent that it riles me. However, when I was looking over a brief list of some of Alito’s cases, I opened a discussion with my husband about one of them: Planned Parenthood vs. Casey, where Alito disagreed with the majority in a ruling that struck down a Pennsylvania law that required women to notify their husbands if they planned to get an abortion.

Personally, yes I do believe a woman should notify her husband if she is planning on having an abortion, but you would pretty much guarantee that would be the case if the marriage is good, right? If the marriage is bad, if the husband abuses the wife, if the wife had an affair, if they aren’t getting along and the wife just doesn’t want to be pregnant, well, these are all possibilities. But these are all instances that are between a husband and wife, and not really the business of the courts to decide. There shouldn’t be ANY law that says what a wife MUST tell her husband. Ever. Especially not in the United States of America.

Yes, I understand that marriage itself is a legal contract. I understand that both husbands and wives promise to love, honor, and obey. But I think the U.S. would be crossing a very dangerous legal line if the law ever dictates what a wife must tell her husband. Take two more steps backwards and women will no longer be allowed to vote. Perhaps that is a little extreme, but is it really? I am afraid I can’t put anything past reality anymore. Things happen that you think could never happen all the time.

Now, my husband perhaps disagrees with me a bit on this. I suppose his concern is as valid as mine, as he can see the husband’s point of view better than I can. He thinks, ultimately, it would be unfair that if in a marriage, if a wife becomes pregnant and decides she doesn’t want to have a child, the husband should be notified of the abortion. It is the decent husband he is concerned for, not the abuser. And in his opinion, should a wife have an abortion without consulting with him, he should have the right to sue her.

In response to one of the cases I listed above, the abusive marriage, his reply is “well, she should leave and go get help, then”. Easier said than done, isn’t it ladies? And should that woman be required by law to tell the abusive son of a bitch she is pregnant and intends to have an abortion, what will happen to her then? What will happen to the child?

In the end, the issue is far too complicated to be dictated by law. There are too many possibilities. In the good marriage, I can’t imagine pregnancy and abortion would not be discussed. In the bad marriage, well perhaps the woman should be protected. Either way, it is not the business of the courts to mandate what should happen. Leave such things out of the law books. They have no place in a free nation.

Now, if my husband doesn’t reset the clock in the kitchen soon, there will problems of a different nature in THIS household.

Could it happen again?

I was wasting my time perusing the image archives of the Nashville Public Library tonight (thanks to Chez Bez for the links) and came across an image of a Declaration to Become a Naturalized Citizen. This wouldn't be all that unusual, except that it was declaring allegiance to the Confederate States of America and renouncing, forever, all allegiance to Abraham Lincoln, President of the United States of America.

I was a bit taken aback, I'll admit. Not because of what happened in the past, but because of what could happen in the future. Hopefully, things will never come to such a pass again.

Happy Halloween!

I hope everyone who celebrates Halloween has a safe and fun holiday!

For those of you in Greece who have never carved a pumpkin, knock yourselves out. The page may be hard to load today, though.

You will be assimilated

What better way for America to win the war against terrorism and Muslim fundamentalists than to export The Simpsons to the Arab world. Meet Omar Shamshoon.

I'm not sure the world is ready for a suicide bomber that says "D'oh!".

Worst.Wife.Ever.

That would be me. My husband is working what is proving to be a grueling, non-stop action 24-hour shift at the hospital, while I am sitting in the comforts of our home drooling over Michael Vartan. After two episodes of Alias and most of the movie Never Been Kissed, I have to ask myself: Why weren’t any of MY teachers that good looking?

(Not) another Nashville ghost story

I had just turned 12 when I spent my first Halloween in Nashville. This would also be, by my own edict, the first year I would decline trick or treating. Despite the excellent neighborhood filled with kids and the promise of lots of treats, I felt that the ripe old age of 12 was too old for such childish nonsense, and so I stayed at home, helping my parents answering the door and imitating all the comments adults had made to me over the years.

Into my teens, Halloween became a time of parties and scary movies, and by the time I was in college, the celebrations had become rather sordid affairs, filled with beer, frivolity, and pranks. My desire for ghostly sightings had increased, and not having had the satisfaction of my encounter with Adelicia Acklen’s ghost as of yet, my friends and I set out one Halloween to test the theory that souls gather at graveyard crossroads at midnight on Halloween.

This myth seemed to hold the same mystique as the suggestion that all animals speak at midnight on Christmas Eve, although try as I might, I have not heretofore been able to get one of my three cats to utter a word at midnight on Christmas Eve, and I am never sure if this is a true sign that the myth is debunked or that my cats are trying to vex me. In my naïve state, however, I felt certain that it was possible for souls to meet at the crossroads, because November 1^st was All Soul’s Day. So my friends and I delayed our presence at the designated party and decided to head to the oldest graveyard we knew of in Nashville, which I think was somewhere on 4^th Avenue, although I am not certain. Details such as locations seem to leave my mind quicker than other memories, so I am afraid the exact location has been forgotten. At any rate, it was a graveyard fitting for our venture, as it was ancient by American standards, and not in the style of the newfangled McCemeteries that were popping up all over the place.

The night was warm and pleasant, and one of my friends was dressed as a vampire, which caused him some difficulty in climbing over the cemetery fence. Ours was a small party, only five of us, and two of our number decided they would prefer to examine headstones rather than pursue the fatuity of meeting souls at the crossroads. So the three of us ventured forth, and happened upon the perfect, four-way crossroads somewhere in the middle of the graveyard. It was still a few minutes until midnight, so we explored the tombstones and crypts that were in the area. As we walked around, we noticed a slight temperature drop, most certainly owing to the lateness of the hour, and a thick, wispy fog began to appear, surely the effect of the cooler temperatures meeting the warmer ones that had preceded.

As we approached the crossroads at midnight, our fantasy-filled minds began to see shapes in the smoky fog: skeletal fingers, ghostlike faces, headless bodies. The thing about shenanigans such as this is that one never discusses what exactly you plan to do in the event that you do see spirits at the crossroads, which in our case the plan was apparently to get the hell out of there. After about a minute of staring at the foggy shapes around us, the three of us turned simultaneously and ran as if we were being followed by demons. As always, climbing over the fence proved more difficult on the way out than on the way in, but we made our way back to the car panting, out of breath, and laughing our asses off at how ridiculous we were. We surmised that the shapes we saw were akin to seeing figures in the clouds, and laughed off our folly. At the time, I made an observation that apparently didn’t quite sink in to my conscious mind, because we were quickly joined by our other two friends and made our way to the Halloween party.

It wasn’t until later, after I recovered from the bacchanalia of Halloween night, that I recalled what I had observed at the car. The fog we had seen did not seem to venture forth beyond the cemetery gates, as we were not surrounded by it at the car, which was not parked terribly far from the graveyard. Had we actually seen the spirits of the dead gathered at their yearly meeting place or had our eager minds simply created the visions?

Either way, I suppose it does not matter. At the very least, we gave a few sullen souls great amusement, as fear is always more hilarious from the other side.

They shoot horses, don't they?

Since yesterday was an important national holiday in Greece, that means there was a parade. Not your standard, colorful, float-filled parade, but your standard, monochrome, military parade. We did not go to the parade, but my husband wanted to see the parade on the news last night. Which leads me to my confession: I hate parades. I loathe them. I never liked them. The only thing that could raise a modicum of interest in me about a parade as a child was the prospect of seeing Santa Claus, and even then I always knew I could just see him at the mall.

You may wonder what exactly I find so objectionable about a parade. There are a few things. For one, going to a parade always sucked for me. I’m a short person. I can’t see over 99% of adult heads. And no matter what I do, or how hard I try, I always end up counting the lint on the back of someone’s sweater. That is not exactly a fun filled activity. For another, I don’t care how many pretty floats, beautiful girls and handsome hunks there are, you are basically looking at the same thing repeated over and over. Sure, they all look different, but it is the same old thing. Someone waving at you from an overdressed float, or a high school marching band playing the theme song from Shaft. This just doesn’t cut it for me. (This is the part where I say I am not prejudiced against marching bands. Marching bands are a fine establishment. My brother was in the Virginia Tech Hokies’ Marching Band, and they did a swell job. Still, I don’t want to hear the same crapped up versions of popular tunes at a parade)

In the case of a military parade, it is the same exact thing every time there is a parade. No variation in color. No variation in order. No variation of any kind. All the units dressed in their finest military attire, all the tanks and miscellaneous crap, with a few fighter jets swirling above, a couple of pathetic helicopters and a boat in the harbor. Everyone trying to look important and official and like they really want to be there. But none of them do. They would rather be at home on their day off. I don’t blame them.

Call me a freak (you freak!) but for some reason I have always been bothered by people marching together, doing the same thing. I don’t really know why, but it creeps me out. Now a parade where everyone was walking down the street doing various versions of modern dance or jerky movements of some kind I could get on board with. But the uniformity of dozens of people doing the exact same thing is weird. I think it goes back to my youth, when I was afraid of robots. Or maybe it is the idea of herd mentality. Either way, it freaks me out.

I think the only time I ever took any delight in a parade I was about 5 years old. At that age my father could still support me on his back. There were horses in the parade, and one of them pooped. That was the best damn thing I had ever seen. But then again, I seemed to always have an interest in scatology. If I went to a zoo of any kind I would get thrilled by defecating animals. Feel sorry for me. It’s a sickness.

So when Bing Crosby (or whoever the hell it was) said “everyone loves a parade” he was sadly mistaken. I don’t. I really don’t.

Ninja Cat!

I haven't felt particularly literate today, so I present you with...

Ninja Cat!

Οχι Day

Today marks a national holiday of remembrance in Greece: October 28th is known as Οχι Day, the day the Greeks greeted Mussolini with a resounding NO to his demands to occupy Greece. EllasDevil already did a good job of presenting us with some background on the history, so I won't continue with it further.

I do, however, want to express my gratitude to the Greeks that fought so bravely to resist the Italian forces, as well as the men and women of the Greek resistance who kept the German army so busy it no doubt helped lead the Allies to victory.

To those Greeks who fought the brave battles, I thank you, I commend you, and I remember you. May you never be forgotten.

Mrs. K

Mrs. K has cancer
betrayed by her own left breast.
She must have wondered, a girl growing up
whom this breast would meet, entice, love
what world of tenderness it would unlock.

Cruel Fate! No tenderness but hard lumps instead
- and question marks and tears and long sleepless nights -
that wretched left breast held in store.

Today it was my turn
In the long litany of priests in white
- solemn worshipers of Science -
today was my day to stop in and face
the - massacred now - unwitting traitor.

I studied well ere that time came
the history and chronicles and methods.
"Dyspnoea" - shortness of breath and pain
and hair loss - vomit

Yet all that greeted me when the door
I cautiously pushed open,
all I saw was Mrs. K's broad smile,
made broader by the roundness of her hairless head
and all that greeted my cautious, nervous
"How are we today Mrs. K?"
was not curses or retching or damnation
of Fate or God or Luck
but a ringing "Fine!", mustered no doubt
with all her might, all the rest of her allotted strength.

No,
Mrs. K won't be a glittering "cancer survivor"
She won't attend teary, uplifting, expensive galas
She won't sport trendy T-shirts and yellow bracelets that smell like gum

No.
Mrs. K has cancer
Betrayed by her own left breast.

Boob alert

A British men's magazine is taking some heat for a contest offering 5,800 euros for breast implants for the winner's girlfriend. The ad for the contest says:

"Make your lady a more rounded individual with our feel-good, selfless, world-first competition."

Men can even choose the size of breast they like best from an A cup to a G cup. The British Advertising Standards Community has come down on the magazine, stating that breast augmentation surgery is potentially harmful and the contest is irresponsible. The public outcry centers on the fact that it encourages women to get plastic surgery.

In their defense, the editors claim it is "just a suggestion" and that winners can do whatever they want with the money.

I've stated my position on plastic surgery before. Even though I don't approve, I'm not going to say that this magazine shouldn't offer such a contest. But I really would have to hope that the winner would not pressure his girlfriend to have the plastic surgery, unless it is something she wanted already. And if she didn't, I would hope she has the nerve to tell her boyfriend off. There are enough things wrong with this world without people worrying about what they look like.

May the day keep getting better

After falling asleep around 7:30 am, and my tired husband coming home after a fatiguing 24 hour shift and falling into bed at 1:30 pm, we slept until 5:30 pm. I actually love getting up late in the day, I don't really know why. Maybe my brain is on backwards. Obviously, this type of schedule does nothing for a normal workday or getting errands done, but there is something kind of magical about getting up as the sun is starting to set.

What do my eyes see as soon as I awaken? Harriet Miers' withdrawal from the judicial nomination. I was actually looking for news about the Plame case indictments, but this will do, for now. You might ask why I am so eager for indictments, well, I just like to see corrupt government getting what it deserves. Obviously, I would prefer that such things never happened at all, that the Bush regime was as pure as the driven snow, but I'm not that stupid.

Between corruption at home and corruption in Greece I'm not sure which end is up.

Those crazy goats

I can't sleep, and everything about the world seems to be depressing me right now. So to lighten myself up, and anyone else who might be feeling blue, check out these "fainting" goats.

It is good for a laugh or two.

How many Greeks does it take to change a light bulb?

Tonight is my husband's first overnight shift in the hospital here in Thessaloniki. It has been some months since he had a 24 hour shift, the last one in Litochoro was back in April. We had gotten used to this lack of separation for long periods of time, even though his first couple of years seemed to have frequent 24 hour shifts and it will only get worse from here. Still, we enjoy spending time together and hate spending time apart, I suppose this is a feeling leftover from having to part each other's company so many times while I still lived in the U.S. Those were bad times.

I am generally pretty self sufficient, except when it comes to heavy things and high things. And by high things I mean cupboards, closets, things of that nature. I'm short (5 ft. 2, no idea how that translates to centimeters) and unsteady on a stepstool (I have a terrible sense of balance) so pretty much everything I need on a daily basis needs to be within arm's reach.

Today, of course, the light bulb in the bedroom ceiling fixture had to burn out. Not that it is a crucial light, but I can't see to do anything without that overhead light, because our bedside lamps are more like spotlights. Opening the window serves no purpose after noon, because for some reason the back of the building is incredibly dark most of the day. So, here I was, wanting to vacuum, but no way to see what I was doing. I thought about attempting the change myself, but thanks to the fact that Greek apartment buildings always have rather high ceilings, at my height I couldn't even reach the bulb on the stepstool, not to mention I had a vision of one of those horrific accidents you have when you are alone (thank you, Six Feet Under) and the cats feeding on my corpse when my husband arrives home from work tomorrow. So what is a girl to do?

Why, call in reinforcements of course. Reinforcements being my youngest brother-in-law. Apparently, however, it is illegal for people under the age of 25 to change light bulbs in Greece (this is by the code of mom laws), so my nearly 17 year old brother-in-law arrived accompanied by my father-in-law to participate in Mission: Lightbulb Change. It took all of about 30 seconds since I had the stepladder and light bulb all ready.

I felt a bit of a fool to have had a federal case made over a simple light bulb change, but in the end, I am glad to know that I have in-laws who are there for me. I wonder, though, if I can press charges against my parents for letting me change light bulbs at the young age of 13.

If it's feta, it MUST be Greek

The European Court yesterday granted Greece the sole right to the name feta cheese, after a lengthy battle in which countries like Denmark and Germany were battling for the right to call some of their white cheeses feta. The label feta cheese is now considered Protected Designation of Origin (PDO), and can only be used for cheese made from sheep and goat's milk, produced in Greece by special super secret recipes, modes of production, and certain geographic conditions.

A few folks are quite pissed off by this ruling, but still, I have to tend to agree that feta should indeed be Greek in origin. Go to any restaurant in America, and what do you find? The mere addition of feta cheese to any dish instantly makes it a Greek dish! It is amazing how easy it is to cross the cultural divide of food by a simple ingredient. By this measure, it would seem that Americans think all Greek dishes contain feta. Ok, maybe that is only partially true. Actually, some cooks use it more than others, and it is often found on a Greek table much like Americans have butter on their table.

I confess that personally, I am not horribly fond of feta. In small amounts, in certain dishes, it is fine, but too much feta always gives me some sort of horrid gastrointestinal problem. I suppose I haven't yet developed enough of a Greek constitution to be able to handle it.

Anyway, congrats to the Greeks for the sole use of feta. You might wanna step up production, however, because I anticipate there will be lots of demand. At least for those American "Greek" dishes.

For what it's worth

I was sad to hear of Rosa Parks’ death today, although I am sure she is one individual who got the absolute most out of her 92 years. It is a tragedy when these people who forged a path for equal rights in America die, because we lose a living memory of the way things were. Seemingly, Ms. Parks did a simple thing – she refused to move because she felt she had just as much right as any other human being to sit where she wanted. But her “civil disobedience” was a resounding cry heard around America, teaching us, reminding us, that people are people, no matter what race, sexuality, religion, culture, gender – the list can go on and on.

Recently, it seems I have been inundated from all sides with racial hatred. From the ubiquitousness of media and blog stories about the so-called Prussian Blue twins, issues of American immigration, and the concerns of Greek nationalists about the increasing numbers of immigrants and the decline of Greek blood (for examples of ongoing Greek arguments, read the posts and comments found on this link in Seawitch’s blog). It saddens me, this suggestion that some people are in some way better than others. That some bloodlines deserve propagation more than others. That the dying of the white, European race would mark the decline of mankind. That miscegenation is considered “anti-evolutionary”. That immigrants from certain areas of the world don’t deserve a better life, a better chance, in European or American society.

What dictated this white supremacist notion? What made the white man decide that he was better than anyone else? Is it because, seemingly, Europe flourished in civilization before Africa? That Africans and American Indians were trusting enough of the white man they allowed themselves to be enslaved and overtaken by him? That the white man was willing to forsake all semblance of humanity to conquer the world and take it’s resources?

I am willing to concede that immigration has taken its toll on America and European countries. The burden of these refugees should be a world problem, not beset on each individual country by decrees of the so-called “United Nations”. We should do more to advance and make peace in these suffering countries, so fewer people feel the need to flee. We should do more to prosecute the people who exploit the hungry and the desperate, taking all their money for a long journey across seas they may not survive. We should do more to provide countries with resources and funds to help house asylum seekers, instead of asking already cash-poor countries to do it on their own. We should work harder to find the best solutions, instead of publishing reports on what immigrant receiving countries are doing wrong.

In terms of evolution and anti-evolution, how can we be so sure that the blending of all races and peoples isn’t what is intended? Perhaps we need to mix the best and worse of the world all together to make the human race as strong as it can possibly be to face an uncertain future. We know, scientifically, that procreation within a family makes for weaker genes. Look at how weak some breeds of dogs get when constantly bred amongst each other. Perhaps, then, miscegenation makes for stronger genes. At any rate, how can we possibly know for sure? Perhaps the propagation of the white race will lead to our demise, not our strength.

For the white supremacists, who might call me a “Jew lover” or a “nigger lover” or a “chink lover”, why do you say that as if it is an insult? Since when has having love and compassion for another human being been a negative thing? It is love and compassion that will save the world, not hate. Your hate will destroy us all.

May we all remember the words and actions of Rosa Parks, and think, in turn, about how we treat others.

“Speaking in 1992, Mrs Parks said of her famous bus protest: "The real reason of my not standing up was I felt that I had a right to be treated as any other passenger. We had endured that kind of treatment for too long."

Don't be too hasty, guys

A 31-year-old Brazilian woman has filed an official complaint against her 38-year-old partner at the police station in Jundiai, stating that he is selfish in bed. Apparently, like many men, he doesn't cater to her needs, only his own.

Normally this is cause to seek counselling or find a new partner, but hey, it is criminal, ask any woman!