The last few days have put expateek in mind of an old joke, from back when she was a kid in Wisconsin.
An old woman lives on the 4th floor of a posh 7-floor apartment building. One morning, the phone rings. She picks up, and she hears a strange voice on the other end of the line.
The viper is coming. I'm on the seventh floor. *Click*
She is slightly alarmed, but decides it's just a wrong number, or some kid playing a prank, and she forgets about it.
The next morning, the phone rings again.
The viper is coming. I'm on the sixth floor. *Click*
Now she's a bit alarmed. The viper? My heavens, what could this be? How did this viper get her phone number? Vipers are poisonous, deadly, with sharp fangs. She's rather worried. But she decides she's being silly, puts it out of her mind, and carries on watering her African violets.
The third morning, the phone rings again.
The viper is coming. I'm on the fifth floor. *Click*
Now she's terrified. Clearly, there's something horrible, a monster, coming nearer and nearer. What to do? She's afraid to leave her apartment, but afraid to stay too. She's paralysed with fear.
On the fourth morning, the doorbell rings.
Should she answer it? After all these awful calls? She moves slowly toward the door, takes a deep breath, and unlatches the door and opens it.
A little old man stands before her, smiling, and says...
I'm da viper! I come to vipe your vindows!
Substitute moving men for viper, and you got expateek's mood....
_
Saturday, January 31, 2009
Thursday, January 29, 2009
Black despair
Today, expateek wants to use the razor blades from yesterday's post and slit her wrists. She won't do it, of course, because that would make a big mess and cause untold difficulties for everyone else. For example, Mr D would have to clean the bathroom yet again.
Still, bleak despair has set in momentarily.
Because she has one day to inventory and value everything in her house. For the move.
The Company has had a month to organise a moving company, but they have waited until the second-to-the-last business day to approve the proposal and give the go-ahead. The packers arrive Monday. So expateek has ... let's see... tomorrow to document 30 years of accumulated possessions and guess at the replacement value of everything she and Mr D own abroad.
This is where Mr D's strategy of minimalism looks especially intelligent. Perhaps if they only owned a frackin' yurt and a few tapestries and tent poles, it would have been easier. Of course it would have been easier.
Moreover, putting aside that expateek has a hard time remembering anything these days, she now needs to remember not only what she paid for stuff, but then convert it into Polish zlotys. Great. She's still thinking in British pounds, she paid for many things in American dollars, and some stuff cost South African rands. Dammit. Exchange rates, anyone?
So this is the order of the day for tomorrow.
And then there's picking out anything she might need -- important papers, tax returns and documents, medical information, dissertation resources and notes, not to mention basic clothes and shoes and stuff -- for the next three months or even longer. Because once she arrives in Chicago, her stuff will go straight into storage until the next permanent posting for Mr D is revealed.
She and Mr D might not be in Chicago long term. No sense unpacking, and then packing up again 3 months from now to move to places unknown. expateek's hoping places unknown won't equal Mobile, Alabama. Although ironically, mobile pretty much describes expateek's life.
On days like this, expateek takes small comfort in the idea that at least she has an excuse for never having written a great novel, never having had a stellar career, never having gotten much of anything of any substance accomplished. After all, if one spends all one's time packing and unpacking every two years, there's not much energy for anything else.
This is Company move number twelve. expateek's done this twelve times. expateek's frackin' tired.
_
Still, bleak despair has set in momentarily.
Because she has one day to inventory and value everything in her house. For the move.
The Company has had a month to organise a moving company, but they have waited until the second-to-the-last business day to approve the proposal and give the go-ahead. The packers arrive Monday. So expateek has ... let's see... tomorrow to document 30 years of accumulated possessions and guess at the replacement value of everything she and Mr D own abroad.
This is where Mr D's strategy of minimalism looks especially intelligent. Perhaps if they only owned a frackin' yurt and a few tapestries and tent poles, it would have been easier. Of course it would have been easier.
Moreover, putting aside that expateek has a hard time remembering anything these days, she now needs to remember not only what she paid for stuff, but then convert it into Polish zlotys. Great. She's still thinking in British pounds, she paid for many things in American dollars, and some stuff cost South African rands. Dammit. Exchange rates, anyone?
So this is the order of the day for tomorrow.
And then there's picking out anything she might need -- important papers, tax returns and documents, medical information, dissertation resources and notes, not to mention basic clothes and shoes and stuff -- for the next three months or even longer. Because once she arrives in Chicago, her stuff will go straight into storage until the next permanent posting for Mr D is revealed.
She and Mr D might not be in Chicago long term. No sense unpacking, and then packing up again 3 months from now to move to places unknown. expateek's hoping places unknown won't equal Mobile, Alabama. Although ironically, mobile pretty much describes expateek's life.
On days like this, expateek takes small comfort in the idea that at least she has an excuse for never having written a great novel, never having had a stellar career, never having gotten much of anything of any substance accomplished. After all, if one spends all one's time packing and unpacking every two years, there's not much energy for anything else.
This is Company move number twelve. expateek's done this twelve times. expateek's frackin' tired.
_
Wednesday, January 28, 2009
Bad parenting
What do you get if you cross this....
with these...?
Answer?
Contemporary art!
And also the perfect tool to induce mathematics phobia as tiny children slice their fingers to ribbons while learning to count.
Definitely not available in the Early Learning Centre toy catalogue.
Brought to you by expateek and MUMOK, Museum of Contemporary Art, Vienna, Austria.
_
with these...?
Answer?
Contemporary art!
And also the perfect tool to induce mathematics phobia as tiny children slice their fingers to ribbons while learning to count.
Definitely not available in the Early Learning Centre toy catalogue.
Brought to you by expateek and MUMOK, Museum of Contemporary Art, Vienna, Austria.
_
Tuesday, January 27, 2009
Dr Owl flips out
It's Tuesday, and once again, Dr. Owl has flown in from California to bring some of his much needed wisdom to Poland.
Though he is not a licensed psychotherapist, his accumulated insights and varied life experience give him the ability tocut through the crap touch the souls of his single in rehaba person an owl.
Again this week, after seeing our poor pathetic expateek, Dr. Owl has agreed to answer reader questions. Remember, consults with Dr. Owl are not a substitute for proper psychotherapeutic treatment bysomeone who actually knows what they're doing a licensed professional.
Let's listen in...
Today, expateek presents a note received from Flip:
Dr. Owl is all ears.
Ears which you will remember are placed slightly asymmetrically on his head so he caneasily locate and kill his prey in the dark listen super carefully.
Dr. Owl is livid! Almost beside himself with vexation, Dr. Owl's feathers glow red, and his eyes, usually a soft and gentle golden hazel, are cold and icy blue.
For Pete's sake, expateek, now look what you've gone and done!
What, Dr. Owl, what? Geez, I only just got here.
You've gotten this poor government worker fired from a job! And a cushy job at that! All for pouring your disturbing thoughts and daydreams out onto the internet! What a selfish, selfish wacko you are. Don't you have any consideration for others?
But Dr. Owl! I do. I so care about other people. I'm always trying to be nice, letting people push in front of me, giving away my parking vouchers to perfect strangers when there's still time on the meter. What could I have done to cause this to happen?
Oy vey, where do I start? I think I'm just going to send you on your way today, expateek. I don't even want to look at you.
But Dr. Owl, it's only been 6 minutes and I've already paid for the whole hour.
Tough beans and hard bacon, expateek. You should've thought of that before you started blabbing on-line. You know, you better hope that Flip isn't going to sue you for causing the loss of that job! It's possible. That would fix your little red wagon!
It's possible? Dr. Owl, tell me it isn't!
Okay, it isn't, expateek, fine. So I exaggerate a little. But why don't you run along and pack some more boxes or something. I need to help Flip, and as usual, you're cramping my style.
Can't I just stay and listen?
Yeah, whatever. Just sit there in the corner and shut up. No, better, make yourself useful and get me a cappuccino. I'm parched.
Dr Owl continues...
Okay Flip, here's the deal. I can call you Flip, can't I? Oops, right. Flip's not actually here. Anyway, Flip, here's how I see it. Sure, expateek's a little disturbed. After all, she's in the process of dismantling her nest, as we like to say in pop psychobabble lingo, and that always leads to a little bit of distress and unhinged behaviour. But I wouldn't worry about her -- she's pretty much of a nothin'. Not like me, flying all over the world, seeing celebrities, royalty, heads of industry. Majorly popular, that's me. Though I don't really like to hoot my own horn too much. Cuz I'm modest, too.
But enough about me.
Here's what I think about your situation, Flip. Look at this not as a tragedy, but as an opportunity. You don't want to be hanging out in a place where you can't even feel free to read blogs and surf the internet on company time, do you? I mean, that's what the government is all about in the USA, anyway. Ever heard of the Freedom of Information Act? It means that all information is supposed to be free and available 24/7. Everything, everywhere. I've checked this out with my lawyers. It's against the law to prevent you from getting the information you want! Against the law! Understand? I don't care whether it's dog-training tips online or YouTube or what.
So the answer is, YES, you were fired unjustly. Go see your lawyer and start a class-action lawsuit. Cite the Freedom of Information Act, and see if you don't immediately get everyone's attention! They'll know you know what you're talking about!!!
As to needing a practice manager? Thanks for offering, but no thanks. Yvette's working out fine at the moment, and to be honest, I already hang out with plenty of cheap eurotrash types. If you're cheap, really cheap... well, I'm not sure I want that image in my office. This is a very professional operation.
Well, that's it for now. I'm flying off to London to catch the end of the Rothko exhibition. You will excuse me, non?
Ta ta!
_
Though he is not a licensed psychotherapist, his accumulated insights and varied life experience give him the ability to
Again this week, after seeing our poor pathetic expateek, Dr. Owl has agreed to answer reader questions. Remember, consults with Dr. Owl are not a substitute for proper psychotherapeutic treatment by
Let's listen in...
Today, expateek presents a note received from Flip:
Dr. Owl is all ears.
Ears which you will remember are placed slightly asymmetrically on his head so he can
Dr. Owl,I am so pleased that you have opened up your practice to help those of us out there cope with the everyday torments of life. I hate to admit it, but I too have a problem you might be able to shed light on. I had a really cushy job with the government until last Friday. Seems they monitor our computer usage and ...well...I was the highest user in our whole facility (yeah- I'm number one) so they pulled my computer and checked out the sites I was visiting. The government frowns on individuality and one of the sites they mentioned was a blog site I read by expateek. I can't use all of the words that were used in association with my Internet usage, but I quite distinctly remember the words expateek and disturbing being used in the same sentence (more than once and often repeated throughout a SINGLE sentence).To make a long story even more convoluted, they fired me from my cushy government job and now I am unemployed, living on the handouts of others. I had to leave my winter wonderland and move to the southern part of the US. The weather is better but it's damn difficult to make a snowball.So my question is threefold. First, is expateek really disturbed? Second, do you think I was fired unjustly? And lastly, do you think you could use a practice manager??? I work cheap... really...really cheap.Sincerely,Flip
Dr. Owl is livid! Almost beside himself with vexation, Dr. Owl's feathers glow red, and his eyes, usually a soft and gentle golden hazel, are cold and icy blue.
For Pete's sake, expateek, now look what you've gone and done!
What, Dr. Owl, what? Geez, I only just got here.
You've gotten this poor government worker fired from a job! And a cushy job at that! All for pouring your disturbing thoughts and daydreams out onto the internet! What a selfish, selfish wacko you are. Don't you have any consideration for others?
But Dr. Owl! I do. I so care about other people. I'm always trying to be nice, letting people push in front of me, giving away my parking vouchers to perfect strangers when there's still time on the meter. What could I have done to cause this to happen?
Oy vey, where do I start? I think I'm just going to send you on your way today, expateek. I don't even want to look at you.
But Dr. Owl, it's only been 6 minutes and I've already paid for the whole hour.
Tough beans and hard bacon, expateek. You should've thought of that before you started blabbing on-line. You know, you better hope that Flip isn't going to sue you for causing the loss of that job! It's possible. That would fix your little red wagon!
It's possible? Dr. Owl, tell me it isn't!
Okay, it isn't, expateek, fine. So I exaggerate a little. But why don't you run along and pack some more boxes or something. I need to help Flip, and as usual, you're cramping my style.
Can't I just stay and listen?
Yeah, whatever. Just sit there in the corner and shut up. No, better, make yourself useful and get me a cappuccino. I'm parched.
Dr Owl continues...
Okay Flip, here's the deal. I can call you Flip, can't I? Oops, right. Flip's not actually here. Anyway, Flip, here's how I see it. Sure, expateek's a little disturbed. After all, she's in the process of dismantling her nest, as we like to say in pop psychobabble lingo, and that always leads to a little bit of distress and unhinged behaviour. But I wouldn't worry about her -- she's pretty much of a nothin'. Not like me, flying all over the world, seeing celebrities, royalty, heads of industry. Majorly popular, that's me. Though I don't really like to hoot my own horn too much. Cuz I'm modest, too.
But enough about me.
Here's what I think about your situation, Flip. Look at this not as a tragedy, but as an opportunity. You don't want to be hanging out in a place where you can't even feel free to read blogs and surf the internet on company time, do you? I mean, that's what the government is all about in the USA, anyway. Ever heard of the Freedom of Information Act? It means that all information is supposed to be free and available 24/7. Everything, everywhere. I've checked this out with my lawyers. It's against the law to prevent you from getting the information you want! Against the law! Understand? I don't care whether it's dog-training tips online or YouTube or what.
So the answer is, YES, you were fired unjustly. Go see your lawyer and start a class-action lawsuit. Cite the Freedom of Information Act, and see if you don't immediately get everyone's attention! They'll know you know what you're talking about!!!
As to needing a practice manager? Thanks for offering, but no thanks. Yvette's working out fine at the moment, and to be honest, I already hang out with plenty of cheap eurotrash types. If you're cheap, really cheap... well, I'm not sure I want that image in my office. This is a very professional operation.
Well, that's it for now. I'm flying off to London to catch the end of the Rothko exhibition. You will excuse me, non?
Ta ta!
_
Monday, January 26, 2009
Chaos theory
Because expateek has delved deep into psychological theories with the help of Dr. Owl, she knows that the best antidote for chaos in one's own life is to experience greater chaos via the arts.
This is why she so enjoyed the computer generated installation work by Peter Kogler at the MUMOK Contemporary Art Museum in Vienna.
When expateek entered the room, it was pitch black.
Suddenly, grids of light raced across the walls,
accompanied by mysterious and alien sounds.
Then, the grids began to bend and sway.
They bulged out and popped into strange new shapes.
Gradually, the grids disintegrated,
turning into more and more organic forms,
until, over the course of several minutes,
the room was finally encircled with swirling, winding light-trails.
And then the room went pitch black.
Lovely... expateek could have stayed there all day.
_
This is why she so enjoyed the computer generated installation work by Peter Kogler at the MUMOK Contemporary Art Museum in Vienna.
When expateek entered the room, it was pitch black.
Suddenly, grids of light raced across the walls,
accompanied by mysterious and alien sounds.
Then, the grids began to bend and sway.
They bulged out and popped into strange new shapes.
Gradually, the grids disintegrated,
turning into more and more organic forms,
until, over the course of several minutes,
the room was finally encircled with swirling, winding light-trails.
And then the room went pitch black.
Lovely... expateek could have stayed there all day.
_
Tortoise or handbag?
Yet another photo from the excellent Natural History Museum in Vienna. Of course, expateek knows that you've always been interested in the biomechanics of tortoises,and she aims to please, so voilà!
expateek thinks that if you attached a long and elegant leather strap to each end, you'd have a very nice and completely organic handbag. And after all, organic is where it's at.
You know that expateek is all about trends and what's cool at the moment, so take it from her. Tortoise-shell handbags. The next big thing.
_
expateek thinks that if you attached a long and elegant leather strap to each end, you'd have a very nice and completely organic handbag. And after all, organic is where it's at.
You know that expateek is all about trends and what's cool at the moment, so take it from her. Tortoise-shell handbags. The next big thing.
_
Saturday, January 24, 2009
Palanquin purchase?
Well, expateek spent a lovely few days in Vienna, and whilst there pottering about in various Viennese museums, pondered her imminent repatriation to the USA.
Naturally, her thoughts ran toward how she could make a splash upon her re-entry to Chicago society, and she decided that the best thing might be to acquire and utilise an unusual form of transportation.
As she wandered through MUMOK, the Museum of Contemporary Art, she came upon the perfect, the very perfect, thing.
It offers relaxing privacy for the rider, and at the same time it's rather spectacular. The only difficulty may be finding four man-slaves willing to tote expateek around town.
_
Naturally, her thoughts ran toward how she could make a splash upon her re-entry to Chicago society, and she decided that the best thing might be to acquire and utilise an unusual form of transportation.
As she wandered through MUMOK, the Museum of Contemporary Art, she came upon the perfect, the very perfect, thing.
It offers relaxing privacy for the rider, and at the same time it's rather spectacular. The only difficulty may be finding four man-slaves willing to tote expateek around town.
_
Friday, January 23, 2009
Ungulates on wheels
You heard it here first.
It's a trend, and you know expateek's all about trends and what's totally cool and new.
Reporting from Vienna, Austria, expateek's gonna just say three words...
It's a trend, and you know expateek's all about trends and what's totally cool and new.
Reporting from Vienna, Austria, expateek's gonna just say three words...
Ungulates on wheels.
Because, check it out, people!
Yesterday, in the Natural History Museum,
we came across these bad boys hanging out in a dark corner.
They're just having a little convo before they roll outside and bust some old-school tricks.
And then today, expateek came across yet another bad betty
as she finished up a day of vert-skating in the Museum Quarter.
She can really shred!
Wednesday, January 21, 2009
Dr. Owl's Origins
What a surprise expateek had today! She flew from cold and rainy Warsaw to cold and rainy Vienna, and she and Mr D decided to take in the Das Naturhistorische Museum.
She was desperate to see the Venus of Willendorf, if only to reassure herself that her currently zaftig body could be deemed beautiful and with historical precedent. expateek loves citing precedent. She maybe shoulda been a lawyer. Except then she'd have to work full time and remember facts and stuff, and that's not one of her strong points.
But you know expateek. She's mad about museums!
She and Mr D saw the lovely Venus...
and then they drifted on through the rest of the museum,
seeing dinosaurs...
snakes (eek!)...
and stuffed specimens.
Note the "guard" in the far background. When Mr D and expateek entered this room, they thought that perhaps new experimental audio tracks were playing, simulating the growling of apes in their natural habitat. Turns out it was just the guard snoring. It's that exciting in Vienna on a Wednesday morning.
However, the most exciting moment came later, when expateek happened upon the stuffed effigies of Dr. Owl's paternal great-grandparents!
Imagine the shock! Face to face with Grandma and Grandpa Owl!
As expateek started to think about how she knew their great-grandson, Grandma Owl opened her eyes and said, Oy vey! That one!
Hunh? said expateek.
Don't worry, dahlink, I know you're seeing Dr. Seymour Owl. But why you'd pay that little putz anything for his worthless advice, I don't know.
Hunh? said expateek again.
Just because he was born in Vienna, the same birthplace as Sigmund Freud, he fluffs up his feathers and thinks he's so special. Let me tell you, he knows nothingk!
And Grandma Owl blinked angrily.
Oh my God! These birds are talking to me! In the Natural History Museum! thought expateek.
Now maybe I really am nuts!
No, expateek, you've only shown poor judgment in choosing a therapist, said the barn owl sternly.
Next time, don't choose to talk to a Christmas tree ornament when you're seeking enlightenment.
Or stuffed birds in the Natural History Museum, for that matter!
Now run along, expateek, and go look at the butterfly collection. I hear it's absolutely lovely.
Ta ta!
_
She was desperate to see the Venus of Willendorf, if only to reassure herself that her currently zaftig body could be deemed beautiful and with historical precedent. expateek loves citing precedent. She maybe shoulda been a lawyer. Except then she'd have to work full time and remember facts and stuff, and that's not one of her strong points.
But you know expateek. She's mad about museums!
She and Mr D saw the lovely Venus...
and then they drifted on through the rest of the museum,
seeing dinosaurs...
snakes (eek!)...
and stuffed specimens.
Note the "guard" in the far background. When Mr D and expateek entered this room, they thought that perhaps new experimental audio tracks were playing, simulating the growling of apes in their natural habitat. Turns out it was just the guard snoring. It's that exciting in Vienna on a Wednesday morning.
However, the most exciting moment came later, when expateek happened upon the stuffed effigies of Dr. Owl's paternal great-grandparents!
Imagine the shock! Face to face with Grandma and Grandpa Owl!
As expateek started to think about how she knew their great-grandson, Grandma Owl opened her eyes and said, Oy vey! That one!
Hunh? said expateek.
Don't worry, dahlink, I know you're seeing Dr. Seymour Owl. But why you'd pay that little putz anything for his worthless advice, I don't know.
Hunh? said expateek again.
Just because he was born in Vienna, the same birthplace as Sigmund Freud, he fluffs up his feathers and thinks he's so special. Let me tell you, he knows nothingk!
And Grandma Owl blinked angrily.
Oh my God! These birds are talking to me! In the Natural History Museum! thought expateek.
Now maybe I really am nuts!
No, expateek, you've only shown poor judgment in choosing a therapist, said the barn owl sternly.
Next time, don't choose to talk to a Christmas tree ornament when you're seeking enlightenment.
Or stuffed birds in the Natural History Museum, for that matter!
Now run along, expateek, and go look at the butterfly collection. I hear it's absolutely lovely.
Ta ta!
_
Tuesday, January 20, 2009
Ask Dr. Owl: Hysterics
Once again, Dr. Owl has flown in from California to bring some of his much needed wisdom to Poland.
Though he is not a licensed psychotherapist, his accumulated insights and varied life experience give him the ability tocut through the crap touch the souls of his single in rehaba person an owl.
This week, after seeing our poor pathetic expateek, Dr. Owl has agreed to answer reader questions. Remember, consults with Dr. Owl are not a substitute for proper psychotherapeutic treatment bysomeone who actually knows what they're doing a licensed professional.
Let's listen in...
Today, expateek presents a note she received from Pinolona:
Oh for pete's sake, expateek, what's this woman raving about? Pirates? Containers? What? Please, expateek, I hope I didn't fly all the way over here from California just to listen to a lunatic rant from one of your friends. I get enough insanity over in L.A. What's she on about?
You remember, Dr. Owl! Last week we talked about my anxieties about shipping all my worldly goods across the ocean. We were talking about ships and trains and that kind of thing. I admit, I wasn't really feeling better at the conclusion of the session, but perhaps I'm just beyond help.
Possible, expateek. You're rather tediously difficult to cure. I'm trying my best. So let's look at this note from Pinolona. Are you sure someone's not pulling your leg? Cuz if we look at the signature... I mean, this supposed friend of yours is named after a nut. A pine-nut. I think if we parse the meaning, we can read into this that the so-called Pinolona is telling you that YOU are a nut. It's all perfectly clear to me. There. Case closed.
Dr. Owl, that's not fair! She's a real person, I know it. She's got a dog and a blog.
Nice rhyme, expateek. I might use that in our next therapeutic rap session at The Wonderland Center. Did I tell you Amy Winehouse dropped in for a couple of weeks? I really want to get some of her make-up tips. Her eyeliner is extraordinary.
Geez, Dr. Owl, you don't wear eyeliner, do you?
expateek, let's keep on the topic, shall we? I swear, you are so distractable.
You brought up Amy Winehouse and eyeliner, Dr. Owl.
Yeah, isn't she hot? We got her to sing Rehab after dinner the other night. She does need to put on a little weight though. And she needs to get that heroin thing under control.
Look, Dr. Owl, I don't want to hear about Amy Winehouse or your experiences in rehab. And you're not supposed to talk about your other clients, remember?
Picky, picky, picky. You've been awfully grumpy lately. Kind of a Debbie Downer, really. You're bumming me out.
Dr. Owl, for heaven's sake, this is my therapy session, not yours.
Oh fine, expateek, have it your way. So back to this nut case friend of yours then, Pinolona. Frankly, she sounds like a hysteric. She's worried about pirates...
mold and mildew...
rust...
and terrorism.
Well, there's yer Four Horsemen of the Apocalype, right there. OOOoooo! Spooky! Scary! Rust! Give me a break.
Frankly, expateek, I happen to know a pirate or two, and they're quite charming. Look, I've got Sparky's photo here in my wallet. And there's one of Ahab too.
They're just a bunch of fun lovin' lads. So they borrow your boat for a while. I mean really. What's the problem, expateek?
I'm speechless, Dr. Owl. Your lack of empathy is appalling.
Clearly, expateek, you're not speechless, because your mouth is moving and sounds are coming out. But do you want me to tell you what I really think?
*sigh* Go ahead, Dr. Owl. I might as well get something out of this session.
Well, Pinolona is onto something but she's completely missed the boat. So to speak. Ha ha hahahahha. I love inappropriate puns, don't you, expateek?
expateek??? Stop sulking and listen up. Pinolona's missed the most worrisome threat of all.
Oh no, Dr. Owl! Worse than fire, derailment, the ship capsizing, or abandonment of the container in a desert?
Far worse, expateek. Because your shipment could be attacked by pests. Moths, in a word.
Moths?
Yes, they eat up all your clothes and flutter around annoyingly in your bedroom at night. Although I must say, they are delicious.
Gross! Dr. Owl, that's disgusting.
One man's meat is another man's poison, expateek.
And how about those silverfish in your book boxes?
Yum yum yum. My stomach's growling just thinking about it all.
Dr. Owl, I feel a little queasy.
Go ahead, excuse yourself for today, expateek. I'm flying off to catch the rest of the Inauguration festivities.
Me and Barack are like this. *crosses wing-tips* See you next week at 3pm?
_
Though he is not a licensed psychotherapist, his accumulated insights and varied life experience give him the ability to
This week, after seeing our poor pathetic expateek, Dr. Owl has agreed to answer reader questions. Remember, consults with Dr. Owl are not a substitute for proper psychotherapeutic treatment by
Let's listen in...
Today, expateek presents a note she received from Pinolona:
You forgot pirates! The ship carrying your container might get attacked by pirates!
And what about mildew, or rust, or terrorism?
Oh for pete's sake, expateek, what's this woman raving about? Pirates? Containers? What? Please, expateek, I hope I didn't fly all the way over here from California just to listen to a lunatic rant from one of your friends. I get enough insanity over in L.A. What's she on about?
You remember, Dr. Owl! Last week we talked about my anxieties about shipping all my worldly goods across the ocean. We were talking about ships and trains and that kind of thing. I admit, I wasn't really feeling better at the conclusion of the session, but perhaps I'm just beyond help.
Possible, expateek. You're rather tediously difficult to cure. I'm trying my best. So let's look at this note from Pinolona. Are you sure someone's not pulling your leg? Cuz if we look at the signature... I mean, this supposed friend of yours is named after a nut. A pine-nut. I think if we parse the meaning, we can read into this that the so-called Pinolona is telling you that YOU are a nut. It's all perfectly clear to me. There. Case closed.
Dr. Owl, that's not fair! She's a real person, I know it. She's got a dog and a blog.
Nice rhyme, expateek. I might use that in our next therapeutic rap session at The Wonderland Center. Did I tell you Amy Winehouse dropped in for a couple of weeks? I really want to get some of her make-up tips. Her eyeliner is extraordinary.
Geez, Dr. Owl, you don't wear eyeliner, do you?
expateek, let's keep on the topic, shall we? I swear, you are so distractable.
You brought up Amy Winehouse and eyeliner, Dr. Owl.
Yeah, isn't she hot? We got her to sing Rehab after dinner the other night. She does need to put on a little weight though. And she needs to get that heroin thing under control.
Look, Dr. Owl, I don't want to hear about Amy Winehouse or your experiences in rehab. And you're not supposed to talk about your other clients, remember?
Picky, picky, picky. You've been awfully grumpy lately. Kind of a Debbie Downer, really. You're bumming me out.
Dr. Owl, for heaven's sake, this is my therapy session, not yours.
Oh fine, expateek, have it your way. So back to this nut case friend of yours then, Pinolona. Frankly, she sounds like a hysteric. She's worried about pirates...
mold and mildew...
rust...
and terrorism.
Well, there's yer Four Horsemen of the Apocalype, right there. OOOoooo! Spooky! Scary! Rust! Give me a break.
Frankly, expateek, I happen to know a pirate or two, and they're quite charming. Look, I've got Sparky's photo here in my wallet. And there's one of Ahab too.
They're just a bunch of fun lovin' lads. So they borrow your boat for a while. I mean really. What's the problem, expateek?
I'm speechless, Dr. Owl. Your lack of empathy is appalling.
Clearly, expateek, you're not speechless, because your mouth is moving and sounds are coming out. But do you want me to tell you what I really think?
*sigh* Go ahead, Dr. Owl. I might as well get something out of this session.
Well, Pinolona is onto something but she's completely missed the boat. So to speak. Ha ha hahahahha. I love inappropriate puns, don't you, expateek?
expateek??? Stop sulking and listen up. Pinolona's missed the most worrisome threat of all.
Oh no, Dr. Owl! Worse than fire, derailment, the ship capsizing, or abandonment of the container in a desert?
Far worse, expateek. Because your shipment could be attacked by pests. Moths, in a word.
Moths?
Yes, they eat up all your clothes and flutter around annoyingly in your bedroom at night. Although I must say, they are delicious.
Gross! Dr. Owl, that's disgusting.
One man's meat is another man's poison, expateek.
And how about those silverfish in your book boxes?
Yum yum yum. My stomach's growling just thinking about it all.
Dr. Owl, I feel a little queasy.
Go ahead, excuse yourself for today, expateek. I'm flying off to catch the rest of the Inauguration festivities.
Me and Barack are like this. *crosses wing-tips* See you next week at 3pm?
_
Monday, January 19, 2009
Posties
Just in case you Brits are interested, expateek has been singlehandedly keeping the Royal Mail afloat for the last year or two.
You can say thank you now. And you're welcome.
Oh, they might go on strike every now and again, sure. They'll try to persuade you all that they need more money.
But don't be fooled!
expateek's been footin' the whole bill. What with those crazy redirection fees [£74.75 x 8 bazillion because she moved about 8 times in the last 2.5 years], all your handsome British posties have nothing to worry about with their pensions and their health care benefits.
Oops, sorry! You can even forget about worrying about health care benefits for postal workers, because they're already covered! That's a really nice thing about the UK. expateek forgot about the NHS, because Duh! she's American and she only really has health benefits if she's employed, which apparently she is not, although she would beg to disagree as she considers blogging and packing boxes -- or blogging whilst packing boxes -- a rather noble calling, though the pay is shit)....
So she frowned with irritation when she realised yesterday that she would have to forward her mail yet again. She wondered if there's a limit to the number of address stickers that can be plastered over a mailing address before the envelope just throws up its imaginary hands in disgust and self-destructs.
Self-immolation, perhaps, preferably in one of those charming red post boxes in a small village by the sea somewhere. Because this over-burdened envelope we're talking about is not going to go quietly into that good night. Oh no. It's going to take some Argos catalogs with it on the way out.
And while we're talking about the Royal Mail, did expateek ever tell you that posties have great legs?
Sunday, January 18, 2009
The Odyssey, re-enacted
expateek was pooped yesterday. She spent the morning cleaning (huh? whazzat?) and learned how to work the hoover. Usually she leaves the hard work to Mr D, but yesterday she felt an amazing and utterly compelling desire to avoid doing the taxes to clean the house, so she vacuumed the entire upstairs.
After this, full of zest, she decided that this would be the best day ever to dispose of gently used clothing in the local charity bin. Why not? A good walk on a crisp afternoon in Żoliborz. She went off in search of a donations bin looking something like this.
(But with signage in Polish, of course.)
What could be more satisfying?
Plenty. Listen and learn as expateek describes her afternoon odyssey.
First of all, the charity bin at the end of expateek's street was destroyed by firecrackers at New Year's. You know how Polish people love gunpowder and explosions? Years of invasions and wars and fires and mayhem have nutured a love of all things incendiary. Naturally, some people use this tendency for good. Others? For evil.
So expateek knew that she'd have to find another charity bin. She walked to the next nearest bin. But the bin no longer had any instructions or pictures or Red Crosses or drawings of clothing or logos for the Sisters of Mercy, or any such thing. All details had been lovingly picked off the bin, and it was no longer clear if this was a charity bin or a bin for newspaper recycling or what. expateek was puzzled.
In the nearby hair salon, expateek asked her finely-honed state-of-the-art Polish question, which she uses at least 20 times a day. Czy pani mówi po angelsku? Do you speak English?
Nie, niestety. No, regrettably.
expateek pointed to the box outside, pointed to her two bags of clothing and made small mumbling questiony kinds of noises, and the woman said, "Aha!" Which is the all purpose Polish answer signifying enlightenment.
The woman burst into a torrent of Polish, out of which expateek got the words street, end, and to the right.
expateek walked the65 city blocks 300 yards to the end of the street, turned to the right, and voilà! Nothing but parkland. No bin to be seen.
So she walked another82 blocks three blocks to Plac Wilsona, because she knew there was a church nearby, and of course, a church would certainly have a charity bin near to hand.
Nope.
expateek was getting frustrated. She decided to walk the12 miles three blocks home, and then, one block from her house, she saw another charity bin. Her bags full of gently used clothes were starting to feel like bags filled with the heaviest shirts and skirts ever sewn by couture designer seamstresses sweatshop laborers in southeast Asia, so this was a welcome development.
But again, no explanation as to whether this was a charity bin, or part of some other nefarious plot designed to cleverly trick expateek into disposing of her gently used clothing in an inappropriate receptacle.
But Aha! Help was on the way, in the form of a small little old lady dressed in a fur coat and hat.
expateek stopped her. Przepraszam... Excuse me....
Czy pani mówi po anglesku? Does Madame speak English?
Nie.
Po francusku? French?
Czy pani wie... Does Madame know.... and expateek pointed to the possibly-a-charity-bin and raised her eyebrows hopefully.
At which point the woman in the fur coat came right up to expateek and launched into the longest story ever told in Polish, which seemed to involve a trip to Paris, during which the woman only knew how to say thank you (Merci!) in French. Because the fur-lady spoke Polish and Russian, naturally, and when she went into shops, she did know the word for small (petite!) but that was it! And then, she continued, what about those language schools for small children learning English! And small children can learn! But she, no, she could speak Polish and Russian only! And so on and so forth! And more things! And whatnot! And the fur-lady came even closer to expateek and said even more very important things! And raised her eyebrows, as if to say, Isn't that so?
And then expateek, whose charity bags were now feeling as if they weighed 6 tonnes each, was wondering how in the hell she was going to exit this situation gracefully, so she said one of the other useful Polish words she knows, which is Tak! Yes! And then dziękuje! Thank you!
And then the fur-lady said, in Polish, Pani speaks very good Polish! And then she said another forty-four paragraphs of comments on the state of the world, and language learning, and Paris, and Russian and Polish, and this and that and whatnot and whazzat and how now brown cow and whatsoever and such. And expateek said dziękuje again, and then finished off with one of the last really useful phrases she knows, which is Do widzenia! Goodbye!
Do widzenia! the fur-lady said gaily, and they parted ways.
expateek walked the last block home, put the bags down in the front entryway, and vowed to try again another day. Or not.
After this, full of zest, she decided that this would be the best day ever to dispose of gently used clothing in the local charity bin. Why not? A good walk on a crisp afternoon in Żoliborz. She went off in search of a donations bin looking something like this.
(But with signage in Polish, of course.)
What could be more satisfying?
Plenty. Listen and learn as expateek describes her afternoon odyssey.
First of all, the charity bin at the end of expateek's street was destroyed by firecrackers at New Year's. You know how Polish people love gunpowder and explosions? Years of invasions and wars and fires and mayhem have nutured a love of all things incendiary. Naturally, some people use this tendency for good. Others? For evil.
So expateek knew that she'd have to find another charity bin. She walked to the next nearest bin. But the bin no longer had any instructions or pictures or Red Crosses or drawings of clothing or logos for the Sisters of Mercy, or any such thing. All details had been lovingly picked off the bin, and it was no longer clear if this was a charity bin or a bin for newspaper recycling or what. expateek was puzzled.
In the nearby hair salon, expateek asked her finely-honed state-of-the-art Polish question, which she uses at least 20 times a day. Czy pani mówi po angelsku? Do you speak English?
Nie, niestety. No, regrettably.
expateek pointed to the box outside, pointed to her two bags of clothing and made small mumbling questiony kinds of noises, and the woman said, "Aha!" Which is the all purpose Polish answer signifying enlightenment.
The woman burst into a torrent of Polish, out of which expateek got the words street, end, and to the right.
expateek walked the
So she walked another
Nope.
expateek was getting frustrated. She decided to walk the
But again, no explanation as to whether this was a charity bin, or part of some other nefarious plot designed to cleverly trick expateek into disposing of her gently used clothing in an inappropriate receptacle.
But Aha! Help was on the way, in the form of a small little old lady dressed in a fur coat and hat.
expateek stopped her. Przepraszam... Excuse me....
Czy pani mówi po anglesku? Does Madame speak English?
Nie.
Po francusku? French?
Czy pani wie... Does Madame know.... and expateek pointed to the possibly-a-charity-bin and raised her eyebrows hopefully.
At which point the woman in the fur coat came right up to expateek and launched into the longest story ever told in Polish, which seemed to involve a trip to Paris, during which the woman only knew how to say thank you (Merci!) in French. Because the fur-lady spoke Polish and Russian, naturally, and when she went into shops, she did know the word for small (petite!) but that was it! And then, she continued, what about those language schools for small children learning English! And small children can learn! But she, no, she could speak Polish and Russian only! And so on and so forth! And more things! And whatnot! And the fur-lady came even closer to expateek and said even more very important things! And raised her eyebrows, as if to say, Isn't that so?
And then expateek, whose charity bags were now feeling as if they weighed 6 tonnes each, was wondering how in the hell she was going to exit this situation gracefully, so she said one of the other useful Polish words she knows, which is Tak! Yes! And then dziękuje! Thank you!
And then the fur-lady said, in Polish, Pani speaks very good Polish! And then she said another forty-four paragraphs of comments on the state of the world, and language learning, and Paris, and Russian and Polish, and this and that and whatnot and whazzat and how now brown cow and whatsoever and such. And expateek said dziękuje again, and then finished off with one of the last really useful phrases she knows, which is Do widzenia! Goodbye!
Do widzenia! the fur-lady said gaily, and they parted ways.
expateek walked the last block home, put the bags down in the front entryway, and vowed to try again another day. Or not.
Friday, January 16, 2009
Lighting revolution
Well, only two posts on lamps, and already the rest of the lighting fixtures were getting restive. They were all complaining to expateek.
"When's it gonna be my turn? When?"
"You love MoonBall more than us! You do. Is it because he's prettier than us?"
"How come you dance around your bedroom with Miss Fringe's lampshade on your head, but not with mine?
*sigh* I guess I just don't light up your life anymore, do I, expateek?"
The lamps with bayonet-type bulbs started getting all angry and began rattling their sabres and talking about uprisings and guerrilla warfare style attacks. They were getting short-tempered and blowing their fuses right away.
The lamps with screw-type bulbs naturally became one giant pity-party with the predictable complaint, "We're getting screwed!"
So expateek is just going to go the quick and dirty route, and feature the rest of the gang. You don't mind, do you,Readers Reader? Bear with us. It's probably the last chance for some of them, before the long unelectrified trip across the ocean. One last chance to be in the spotlight, in fame's brilliant glare.
Give the kids a break, eh?
First up, the fraternal twins.
You read about the amazing twin story recently where one twin was born white and one black? This is just like that. Except one twin is school-bus yellow and one is teal blue. No one wanted these two. In fact, Teal had been beaten and his shade was in tatters. expateek adopted both of them from John Lewis' January Sales table, for the amazing price of £5 each. Not that you can put a price on love. She fitted out Teal with a new shade, and hey presto! Life's good again.
Next, the Alabaster sisters: Frances, Freya, and Finella.
They were cheap. So cheap.
And they don't mind expateek saying that. It's no reflection on them. Once again, one can pick up almost anything at the Ascot boot sale for £5.
The wonderful thing about these girls is that they're curvaceous. And curvaceous, in alabaster, equals bloody heavy. These gals will come in handy if expateek ever has tobeat off beat up a robber. One clunk to the head, and it's lights out, buddy!
Of course, Georges Sand needs a nod.
She's in love with Chopin and sits atop the piano, waiting to hear her favorite nocturnes. Such a romantic! It's a pity that everyone's too busy packing to play the piano right now.
Then there's Arina.
She was gifted to expateek by a friendly client back in the UK. The client felt sorry for expateek in the dark little unfurnished flat of 2007, so voilà! Re-homed! We think she had another name at birth, since she might have come from IKEA. We think... her name might have been Dar. We like Arina better.
And finally, Satoshi,
who's all about natural materials and subtle mystery,
and the exotic Sunisa,
from a market stall in Thailand.
And that about wraps it up for today. It's lights out for now.
Cuz it's time for expateek's afternoon nap.
_
"When's it gonna be my turn? When?"
"You love MoonBall more than us! You do. Is it because he's prettier than us?"
"How come you dance around your bedroom with Miss Fringe's lampshade on your head, but not with mine?
*sigh* I guess I just don't light up your life anymore, do I, expateek?"
The lamps with bayonet-type bulbs started getting all angry and began rattling their sabres and talking about uprisings and guerrilla warfare style attacks. They were getting short-tempered and blowing their fuses right away.
The lamps with screw-type bulbs naturally became one giant pity-party with the predictable complaint, "We're getting screwed!"
So expateek is just going to go the quick and dirty route, and feature the rest of the gang. You don't mind, do you,
Give the kids a break, eh?
First up, the fraternal twins.
You read about the amazing twin story recently where one twin was born white and one black? This is just like that. Except one twin is school-bus yellow and one is teal blue. No one wanted these two. In fact, Teal had been beaten and his shade was in tatters. expateek adopted both of them from John Lewis' January Sales table, for the amazing price of £5 each. Not that you can put a price on love. She fitted out Teal with a new shade, and hey presto! Life's good again.
Next, the Alabaster sisters: Frances, Freya, and Finella.
They were cheap. So cheap.
And they don't mind expateek saying that. It's no reflection on them. Once again, one can pick up almost anything at the Ascot boot sale for £5.
The wonderful thing about these girls is that they're curvaceous. And curvaceous, in alabaster, equals bloody heavy. These gals will come in handy if expateek ever has to
Of course, Georges Sand needs a nod.
She's in love with Chopin and sits atop the piano, waiting to hear her favorite nocturnes. Such a romantic! It's a pity that everyone's too busy packing to play the piano right now.
Then there's Arina.
She was gifted to expateek by a friendly client back in the UK. The client felt sorry for expateek in the dark little unfurnished flat of 2007, so voilà! Re-homed! We think she had another name at birth, since she might have come from IKEA. We think... her name might have been Dar. We like Arina better.
And finally, Satoshi,
who's all about natural materials and subtle mystery,
and the exotic Sunisa,
from a market stall in Thailand.
And that about wraps it up for today. It's lights out for now.
Cuz it's time for expateek's afternoon nap.
_
Thursday, January 15, 2009
Critically important decisions
Well, expateek's been bumming today. The removals company rep came over the other day, and expateek assured the woman that, yes, many of the things in the house would be gotten rid of before moving day. You know. Things like trash. The broken fax machine. The threadbare sock collection. The piles of New Yorker magazines. And so on.
But this means that expateek has to go around the house with a critical eye and look at everything. Is it really worth shipping? Can you buy one of these on the other side? Can you do without it?
And the answers are yes, NO, and NO!NO!NO!
Take this lamp, for instance.
In her first winter in England, back in 2002, expateek was suffering from severe light deprivation. Dr. Owl would call it Seasonal Affective Disorder, and Mr D would call it "hell, expateek, get up off that couch and do something, for Pete's sake!", but expateek was suffering. The gloom and the damp, damp, damp English winter got under her skin.
But instead of just curling up into a small ball and crying herself to sleep, expateek decided to do something about the problem. Every Sunday morning, she went to the local boot sale (car trunk sale) in Ascot and bought herself a lamp. The price limit was £5.
She bought a bunch of lamps. She took them home and turned them on all at once, and suddenlyall the astronomers in southern England were wondering why they couldn't see any stars through their telescopes anymore everyone was a lot happier and her Mr D's electrical bill shot through the roof. But it was cheaper than drugs or therapy, so no one complained... much.
Now, she has to look at whether it's really worth it to ship a lamp like this all the way across the ocean, especially since she'll have to re-wire it for 110V and God only knows what else. It could be a lot of trouble for a £5 lamp.
On the other hand, she knows that the shade alone could make it all worth while.
But this means that expateek has to go around the house with a critical eye and look at everything. Is it really worth shipping? Can you buy one of these on the other side? Can you do without it?
And the answers are yes, NO, and NO!NO!NO!
Take this lamp, for instance.
In her first winter in England, back in 2002, expateek was suffering from severe light deprivation. Dr. Owl would call it Seasonal Affective Disorder, and Mr D would call it "hell, expateek, get up off that couch and do something, for Pete's sake!", but expateek was suffering. The gloom and the damp, damp, damp English winter got under her skin.
But instead of just curling up into a small ball and crying herself to sleep, expateek decided to do something about the problem. Every Sunday morning, she went to the local boot sale (car trunk sale) in Ascot and bought herself a lamp. The price limit was £5.
She bought a bunch of lamps. She took them home and turned them on all at once, and suddenly
Now, she has to look at whether it's really worth it to ship a lamp like this all the way across the ocean, especially since she'll have to re-wire it for 110V and God only knows what else. It could be a lot of trouble for a £5 lamp.
On the other hand, she knows that the shade alone could make it all worth while.
Boot sale lamp?
£5
Dinner party hi-jinks?
Priceless.
_
£5
Dinner party hi-jinks?
Priceless.
_
Wednesday, January 14, 2009
Management style, 101
Just the other day, expateek was saying to Mr D
that one of the things she really likes about him
is that he never nags.
He never nags, because after 30 years of dealing with expateek,
he knows that with her unbelievably stubborn streak
and her passive-aggressive tendencies,
nagging is the last thing that will encourage her to get anything done.
Like a mule, she will stop in her tracks and do nothing. For hours. Days, even.
And even when the house is a disaster scenario,
the movers are arriving in under three weeks,
and things are horrible and hectic at work,
he never leaves her notes like this...
that one of the things she really likes about him
is that he never nags.
He never nags, because after 30 years of dealing with expateek,
he knows that with her unbelievably stubborn streak
and her passive-aggressive tendencies,
nagging is the last thing that will encourage her to get anything done.
Like a mule, she will stop in her tracks and do nothing. For hours. Days, even.
And even when the house is a disaster scenario,
the movers are arriving in under three weeks,
and things are horrible and hectic at work,
he never leaves her notes like this...
Because he knows that it would be counterproductive in the extreme.
In fact, this is the kind of note that expateek would leave
if she were in charge.
Thank goodness she's not!
Instead, Mr D leaves notes like this,
which expateek finds on the kitchen table
Pretty sweet, right?
And has expateek completed these two requests today?
Ummmm. Not quite yet. Workin' on it though.
.
Tuesday, January 13, 2009
Dr. Owl: Tuesday, January 13th, 3pm
Good afternoon, expateek. How've you been?
Umm. Fine, I guess, Dr. Owl. Thanks for flying over to see me.
If you're so fine, expateek, then why the hell am I here in Poland? All I can say is, this had better be good. I had to leave right in the middle of a sharing session with Lindsay Lohan. What a mixed up kid that one is! The drinking, the drugs, the confused sexuality. I have seen her open up in the last few weeks, though, and she's apparently developing quite the interest in birds. Most likely due to myself, truth to tell. I'm such a bad ass! All the girls love me. Did I tell you about how me and Britney had a little fling?
Dr. Owl, for cryin' out loud. First of all, it's unprofessional to talk about your other clients with me. And secondly, your grammar is atrocious! It's "Britney and I".
Wait a minute, expateek! Don't tell me you had something going on with Britney too?
No, no, no, Dr. Owl! Please pay attention.
Well, in that case, expateek, I'll just remind you about what a BORE it is when other people correct one's grammar. You are particularly tiresome in this regard. It makes me want to get up and just fly right back to California. At least there, people listen to me and adore me. You? Not so much. I'm feeling that I'm just not getting the proper respect here.
Oh, I'm sorry, Dr. Owl. Let's begin again. I'll try to be more respectful.
There's no try, expateek, there's only do. Ooo, ooo, dooby-dooby-doo. God, I love Frank Sinatra.
Dr. Owl? Should I begin, or should we just scrap this session today?
Oh, do go on, you old twit. If we quit early, I can't charge you for a whole 55 minutes. So, chop chop!
Dr. Owl? I think you're perpetuating ethnic and racial stereotypes there....
What are you blithering on about now, expateek?
Ummm, I don't really think it's okay anymore to say "Chop, chop!" It's a linguistic reminder of British imperialism and the colonial era, when Europeans took over countries in Africa and Asia and showed tremendous disrespect to the indigenous populations.
expateek, do I look like I want a history lesson here?
Ummm. No?
Finally, expateek, you get the picture. Now plunge in. I haven't got all day.
Ok, Dr. Owl. Fine. I've been feeling a bit anxious, because the movers are coming in less than three weeks. I'm starting to panic a bit.
And why is that, please?
Well, I keep imagining all these disasters that could happen. Especially with regard to the move itself.
What do you mean, expateek?
Well, you know everything gets packed up into boxes, right?
Yesssss. I'm following you so far.
That's all well and good, Dr. Owl, but what if something terrible happens to our stuff?
You're worried about maybe a lamp getting broken, or some boxes getting lost?
Yes, Dr. Owl, that's about right.
Good grief, expateek, things could be a lot worse than a lamp getting broken.
Oh, I know, Dr. Owl. I feel ashamed of myself! Are you talking about all the suffering in the world? About how I should be thankful that I have my health and a nice husband and wonderful kids and food on the table, when so many people don't have any of those things?
Hell, no, expateek! I'm talking about cargo shipping. You know how those boxes are loaded into a container, which goes onto a container ship? Seems like a great idea, right?
But what if there's a storm? Your container could just tip right off the edge and plunge to the ocean floor. Or the whole ship could go down, I suppose.
Dr. Owl! Stop! That's terrible!
Or, expateek, have you thought about this? Once it gets across the ocean, that container gets loaded onto a train car. You're going to Chicago, right? Big train shipping hub.
Okay...
But what if that train derails, expateek? Can you imagine what a mess that would be? It happens all the time.
Or what if the container just gets lost or abandoned somewhere? Could happen, you know.
Or the truck that the container is on could catch on fire.
Please, Dr. Owl, stop! This is making me crazy!
But expateek, you're already crazy. Don't blame me for your problems. You need to take responsibility for your emotions and your mental state. That's what therapy is all about, darling. And now, if you'll excuse me, I think our time is up.
Dr. Owl, it's only 3:35, but frankly, I've had more than enough.
Good girl, expateek. It'll be £90 for today. Just give Yvette the cash on your way out. In fact, if you have American dollars, it'd be much appreciated. I'll have to pay a limo driver back in California if I want to catch the next Narcotics Anonymous meeting at Wonderland. You know how that is.
I don't, really, Dr. Owl. I really, really don't.
Next Tuesday, then? By the way, if you want to refer some of your friends to me, it would be most appreciated. I could use the extra dosh.
Note: If you, too, dearReaders Reader, would like to book a session next Tuesday with Dr. Owl, please email your questions or problems to AskDrOwl@gmail.com and Yvette will do her best to book you in. Payment for new patients required in advance. Dr. Owl does not process insurance claims or extend credit.
.
Umm. Fine, I guess, Dr. Owl. Thanks for flying over to see me.
If you're so fine, expateek, then why the hell am I here in Poland? All I can say is, this had better be good. I had to leave right in the middle of a sharing session with Lindsay Lohan. What a mixed up kid that one is! The drinking, the drugs, the confused sexuality. I have seen her open up in the last few weeks, though, and she's apparently developing quite the interest in birds. Most likely due to myself, truth to tell. I'm such a bad ass! All the girls love me. Did I tell you about how me and Britney had a little fling?
Dr. Owl, for cryin' out loud. First of all, it's unprofessional to talk about your other clients with me. And secondly, your grammar is atrocious! It's "Britney and I".
Wait a minute, expateek! Don't tell me you had something going on with Britney too?
No, no, no, Dr. Owl! Please pay attention.
Well, in that case, expateek, I'll just remind you about what a BORE it is when other people correct one's grammar. You are particularly tiresome in this regard. It makes me want to get up and just fly right back to California. At least there, people listen to me and adore me. You? Not so much. I'm feeling that I'm just not getting the proper respect here.
Oh, I'm sorry, Dr. Owl. Let's begin again. I'll try to be more respectful.
There's no try, expateek, there's only do. Ooo, ooo, dooby-dooby-doo. God, I love Frank Sinatra.
Dr. Owl? Should I begin, or should we just scrap this session today?
Oh, do go on, you old twit. If we quit early, I can't charge you for a whole 55 minutes. So, chop chop!
Dr. Owl? I think you're perpetuating ethnic and racial stereotypes there....
What are you blithering on about now, expateek?
Ummm, I don't really think it's okay anymore to say "Chop, chop!" It's a linguistic reminder of British imperialism and the colonial era, when Europeans took over countries in Africa and Asia and showed tremendous disrespect to the indigenous populations.
expateek, do I look like I want a history lesson here?
Ummm. No?
Finally, expateek, you get the picture. Now plunge in. I haven't got all day.
Ok, Dr. Owl. Fine. I've been feeling a bit anxious, because the movers are coming in less than three weeks. I'm starting to panic a bit.
And why is that, please?
Well, I keep imagining all these disasters that could happen. Especially with regard to the move itself.
What do you mean, expateek?
Well, you know everything gets packed up into boxes, right?
Yesssss. I'm following you so far.
That's all well and good, Dr. Owl, but what if something terrible happens to our stuff?
You're worried about maybe a lamp getting broken, or some boxes getting lost?
Yes, Dr. Owl, that's about right.
Good grief, expateek, things could be a lot worse than a lamp getting broken.
Oh, I know, Dr. Owl. I feel ashamed of myself! Are you talking about all the suffering in the world? About how I should be thankful that I have my health and a nice husband and wonderful kids and food on the table, when so many people don't have any of those things?
Hell, no, expateek! I'm talking about cargo shipping. You know how those boxes are loaded into a container, which goes onto a container ship? Seems like a great idea, right?
But what if there's a storm? Your container could just tip right off the edge and plunge to the ocean floor. Or the whole ship could go down, I suppose.
Dr. Owl! Stop! That's terrible!
Or, expateek, have you thought about this? Once it gets across the ocean, that container gets loaded onto a train car. You're going to Chicago, right? Big train shipping hub.
Okay...
But what if that train derails, expateek? Can you imagine what a mess that would be? It happens all the time.
Or what if the container just gets lost or abandoned somewhere? Could happen, you know.
Or the truck that the container is on could catch on fire.
Please, Dr. Owl, stop! This is making me crazy!
But expateek, you're already crazy. Don't blame me for your problems. You need to take responsibility for your emotions and your mental state. That's what therapy is all about, darling. And now, if you'll excuse me, I think our time is up.
Dr. Owl, it's only 3:35, but frankly, I've had more than enough.
Good girl, expateek. It'll be £90 for today. Just give Yvette the cash on your way out. In fact, if you have American dollars, it'd be much appreciated. I'll have to pay a limo driver back in California if I want to catch the next Narcotics Anonymous meeting at Wonderland. You know how that is.
I don't, really, Dr. Owl. I really, really don't.
Next Tuesday, then? By the way, if you want to refer some of your friends to me, it would be most appreciated. I could use the extra dosh.
Note: If you, too, dear
.
Monday, January 12, 2009
The Birds, Part III
First of all, let it be noted that expateek is NEVER going to be one of those Bird Ladies who stands out in Trafalgar Square feeding the pigeons. Oh, sure, she's got the big baggy black coat and the queer little hat. But she doesn't live in London anymore, feeding the birds in Trafalgar is totally illegal these days, and she hates pigeons with their beady little glowing red eyes.
*shiver*
On the other hand, she is inordinately fond of birds. She's spent a lot of time outside lately, watching the birds in her neighbor's back garden. Over the Christmas holidays, the neighbor filled up his bird feeder, and birds flocked in. A pair of woodpeckers, some magpies, sparrows and all sorts of other twittery little things.
Bird identification? Not expateek's strong suit.
It was all lovely for a few weeks, and every time expateek went outside tosneak a cigarette have a bit of fresh air, she enjoyed the spectacle. She thought about her failed New Year's resolution while listening to the happy chirps of all manner of birds. She rationalised that she would re-adopt said New Year's resolution once the stress of moving countries was behind her.
And then? Mr. Neighbor apparently forgot all about his little feathered friends. The feeder's been empty for more than a week now, and expateek is thinking about calling PETA.
Of course, if she called PETA, she would also have to report that every single woman in Poland has a fur coat.
.
*shiver*
On the other hand, she is inordinately fond of birds. She's spent a lot of time outside lately, watching the birds in her neighbor's back garden. Over the Christmas holidays, the neighbor filled up his bird feeder, and birds flocked in. A pair of woodpeckers, some magpies, sparrows and all sorts of other twittery little things.
Bird identification? Not expateek's strong suit.
It was all lovely for a few weeks, and every time expateek went outside to
And then? Mr. Neighbor apparently forgot all about his little feathered friends. The feeder's been empty for more than a week now, and expateek is thinking about calling PETA.
Of course, if she called PETA, she would also have to report that every single woman in Poland has a fur coat.
.
Sunday, January 11, 2009
Goodnight, moon
Well, it's the countdown. Three weeks from tomorrow, moving men will come to expateek's house and they'll pack up every single thing into cardboard boxes, using rolls and rolls of sticky labels and packing tape. Then they'll load all those boxes into a shipping container, and every last speck of it will be out-of-sight, out-of-mind for a couple of months.
Possibly leaving expateek out-of-her-mind, but never mind.
When expateek thinks about moving yet again, she calms down by contemplating her lovely lamp. It reminds her of a favorite childhood book, Goodnight Moon.
And she takes some small comfort in the fact that the moon in the night sky will still look the same, no matter where expateek ends up on the planet.
.
Possibly leaving expateek out-of-her-mind, but never mind.
When expateek thinks about moving yet again, she calms down by contemplating her lovely lamp. It reminds her of a favorite childhood book, Goodnight Moon.
And she takes some small comfort in the fact that the moon in the night sky will still look the same, no matter where expateek ends up on the planet.
.
Saturday, January 10, 2009
Tennis professionals
There's a reason that Mr D doesn't let expateek have the remote very often.
While he's usually interested in UK football (soccer), expateek is interested in things entirely different.
Like tennis. And muscles. And tennis. And muscles. And tattoos on muscles. And muscles.
And what was the score again?
While he's usually interested in UK football (soccer), expateek is interested in things entirely different.
Like tennis. And muscles. And tennis. And muscles. And tattoos on muscles. And muscles.
And what was the score again?
Friday, January 9, 2009
The Seven Deadly Sins -- Lust
This is the one you were waiting for, isn't it?
The posting wherein expateek wears the socks of Lust
and gets all hot and bothered.
The posting wherein expateek wears the socks of Lust
and gets all hot and bothered.
Well, you're going to have to wait a lot longer!
Oh, fine, then. If you insist. If you're going to get all sulky and pouty about it, expateek will write it. She's mad at herself now, because she knew this would the the most difficult one to do.
Before beginning, though, expateek feels compelled to issue a warning. Sinners who lust are the most dreadful sinners of all, and their punishment the most dire. It all seems like such a lark, doesn't it? Innocent fun, such a walk in the park.
But beware. The penalties are horrific. Go see Hieronymus Bosch's graphic illustration here if you're in any doubt. Be sure to enlarge the photo and scroll all the way over to the right if you're still not convinced.
Anyway, lust as a concept didn't exist in expateek's youth. She didn't read Tiger Beat, she wasn't crazy about Donny Osmond, and she only occasionally imagined herself having a little adventure with Ilya Kuryakin, of The Man from U.N.C.L.E.
Who is still really hot on N.C.I.S., by the way, even though he must be 97 years old by now. How Ilya ever could have hung around with that smarmy Napoleon Solo, who looked like the most slobbery kisser ever, was never clear. Apparently, when one is a spy, one has to put up with the odd creepy and embarassing partner.
But expateek's youth was all about the life of the mind. Scholarship. Reading books. Listening to classical music. Practicing the piano. Correcting her friends' grammar and their terrible accidents with apostrophes. Wasn't she a barrel of laughs? I bet you wish you could have been expateek's friend too.
Things changed over time. She got a bit less buttoned up. Or perhaps occasionally entirely unbuttoned. That was university in the 70's, right?
And then she immediately got married to the marvelous Mr D, had children, and lust was completely a thing of the past. The very past past. Except of course, she did have four children so something or other must have happened.
Moving on.
Things were pretty under control until she went back to work. As a Pilates instructor. At a tennis and fitness club, where almost all the personal trainers were startlingly handsome or beautiful and all were ripped. Here's expateek's pal Toby, Olympic rower and fellow instructor.
Most of the clients were mostly the opposite. That is, not handsome and not ripped. Except for a few of the clients who were professional footballers, pro rugby players, or professional golfers...
You didn't know golfers could be so cute, did you? Swing your other foot up into the fuzzy footcuffs, baby. expateek will be right over!
And there were also some famous rock stars. And ... tennis pros.
Mmmm, mmm. Tennis pros. They say that women never objectify men, but expateek can tell you, they are wrong. There's nothing like a blue-eyed tennis jock with great legs to keep one amused. Even though one pays £30 for the privilege, it's worth it. You'd think expateek's tennis game would be astounding after a boatload of tennis lessons, but it appears she wasn't completely focusing on her technique. Oh well. She stayed out of trouble on court and off.
Still, she doesn't have as many problems with lust as she used to. And here, as a semi-retired Pilates instructor, she can give you a couple of tips.
First of all, if you're a guy and you're going to take a Pilates class, do make sure that you wear underwear under your workout shorts. There's nothing quite as exciting for a female Pilates instructor as getting a clear view of all of your junk while you're doing your hip raises. And that would be exciting in a very BAD way. Even though visuals can be extremely interesting, there's definitely a time and a place.
On the other hand, if you decide to take the safe route and wear bike shorts instead, do make sure they cover your butt crack when you're doing a cat stretch. Although generally speaking, expateek is very fond of plumbers, as you'll remember from this earlier post, she doesn't like to be reminded of her predilections whilst teaching.
And that about wraps it up. There's a lot more material, of course. Still waters run deep, as you know. But expateek's parents are both very much alive and kicking, and they keep asking to read her blog.
And if expateek says too much more, her parents will probably find out that she is no longer a virgin.
And expateek is simply not yet ready to have that discussion. Not now, not ever.
.
Thursday, January 8, 2009
The Seven Deadly Sins -- Pride
As usual, we've left the hardest ones for last.
Let's flip a coin. What'll it be?
Pride?
Lust?
Pride?
Lust?
Pride? Lust? Pride? Lust? Pride?...
SHADDAP already, expateek, just pick one, for Pete's sake!
That would be expateek's mother yelling from the next room.
And it had better not be lust, young lady, because let me tell you, we won't be having any of that! Damn it all! My daughter expateek! All she ever wanted to do was to get married. And lucky she did, too. It's a wonder anyone would have her, so lazy and plain. But Mr. D, my son-in-law... what a saint!
Which is probably why expateek doesn't have an excessive amount of pride. Not that one's allowed to blame one's mother at this late stage of the game. After all, the passing of 50 years and some excellent therapy (thanks Dr. Owl!) should have worked out most of the bugs.
However, this is self-analysis week, so why not probe a bit, just in case we turn up something. Something appalling? Perhaps...
1964. expateek comes home from school with one of her first writing projects from 1st grade. Her father and mother are sitting at the dining table.
Please, expateek, show us what you did today! No, stand up by the sideboard. This can be a real presentation. Please, begin. Go ahead! Her father, always the professor, is full of enthusiasm.
Little expateek holds up her glue and construction paper collage. It's a picture of the American flag. expateek has worked very carefully to make sure there are the proper number of white and red stripes and, using white chalk, has diligently drawn all 50 stars on the blue field. She tried very hard on this project, knowing that it was a bit of make-work but whatever. She could read her Dr. Seuss books later, after school.
Read aloud to us, please, expateek!
The American flag has 50 stars. It is also striped. It...
Stripped! Stripped! STRIPPED! She's spelled it STRIPPED! expateek's mother is cracking up laughing. Stripped! ha ha ha ha ha. Stripped. God. Stripped. ha ha ha ha ha.
expateek blushes deep red as her pride is stripped from her, in her very own home.
Lesson learned? Never raise your hand in class, show off, or voice a strong opinion in public.
Because you might be wrong.
whrrrrrrrrrrshhhhhhshhhhwrrrshhhhrrhhhhshhhhhhhsh!
Wait, wait, wait, expateek! Not so fast!
Holy crap! Dr. Owl! You scared the living daylights out of me with that terrifying rushing of wings. Damn! I thought you werein rehab on a journey of self-discovery. What the hell are you doing here?
Oh, we birds are very clever at sensing subtle signals from miles and miles away. How do you suppose we navigate all over the bloomin' planet? We owls got da toolz, baby.
Dr. Owl, have you been in California recently? Because you're sounding a little weird.
As a matter of fact, yes, expateek. The Wonderland Center in Laurel Canyon is just fab, darling. Maybe you ought to try it. They just got written up in The New Yorker. I've bin hangin' with Britney and Charlie Sheen. Such a laugh. Britney's really into my feathers. When she strokes me and smiles at me with her pretty little Chiclet teeth, my talons go all rubbery.
Jeez, Dr. Owl, too much information. Don't they tell you that in your sessions?
No, no, sweetheart, sharing is whatrehab my journey of self-discovery is all about! It'll make me a better therapist in the long run. And speaking of which, dear girl, you seem to be holding onto some very old grudges.
Hang on, Dr. Owl. This concerns me. If you're supposed to be in California right now, what are you doing in Poland?
Oh, Wonderland is great. They're really really flexible. You can check out if you need toscore some coke see a troubled patient, and voilà! Here I am! At your service, darling girl. You troubled patient, you!
Dr. Owl, this is making me a little uneasy. I don't want to be a party to any relapsing on your part. Whatever the heck your substance abuse problems may be.
Oh, expateek, you're such an ethical stick-in-the-mud, and kind of a wet blanket too. We've had this conversation before. Just don't you mind about me. I'll be back on Mulholland Drive by tomorrow morning. So, carry on. You were talking about pride, yes?
I guess, Dr. Owl.
Pick up the pace, expateek, I haven't got all night. I'm meeting up with some guys after 7.
Dr. Owl!
Just for some good jazz and someblow snow I mean. It's really been snowing a lot here the last couple of days, hasn't it? Brrrr. Wintery weather here in Warsaw. Don't know how you stand it!
Well, fine. Okay, Dr. Owl, I admit that I have some strange issues about pride.
Pride? Is that what we were talking about?
Pay attention, Dr. Owl. Yes, that's what we were talking about. You know, if you want to just skip this session, it's fine by me. I get the feeling you're a bit distracted.
Me? Not at all.
*stops texting for a moment on his mobile phone*
Why don't you tell us what you've learned about pride from da boyz dat knowz whatz whut at Wikipedia.
Dr. Owl. You're just not taking me seriously at all. I'm concerned.
No, expateek, go ahead. Why don't you stand over there by my sideboard and give a little presentation about pride. Go ahead. I'm all ears. Which you remember are slightly asymmetrically placed so I can better locate my prey in pitch blackness. Ah, yes. I'm waiting.
Dr. Owl. This is crap.
Excuse me, expateek. Who's the doctor and who's the patient here?
Fine, forget it. Ok, then, pride is considered the most deadly of the seven sins.
REALLY, expateek? I'll have to tell that to Britney. She was talking about lust with me, just the other day.
I'm just going to ignore that, Dr. Owl. Please pay attention. Anyway, according to Wikipedia, pride can be good or bad.
Look, expateek, our time's about up.
But Dr. Owl, it's only 6:20!
Come on, expateek, I've flown in just a half hour ago, it's a nine hour time difference, and I've got my pals to meet in 40 minutes. Let's wrap it up. I say, just go with the Aristotelian interpretation of pride and you're home free. And forgive your mom. After all, she taught you humility, didn't she?
Uhhh... yes. As a matter of fact, inadvertently, yes, she did.
See? No harm, no foul. Or no fowl, if you know what I mean.
.
Let's flip a coin. What'll it be?
Pride?
Lust?
Pride?
Lust?
Pride? Lust? Pride? Lust? Pride?...
SHADDAP already, expateek, just pick one, for Pete's sake!
That would be expateek's mother yelling from the next room.
And it had better not be lust, young lady, because let me tell you, we won't be having any of that! Damn it all! My daughter expateek! All she ever wanted to do was to get married. And lucky she did, too. It's a wonder anyone would have her, so lazy and plain. But Mr. D, my son-in-law... what a saint!
Which is probably why expateek doesn't have an excessive amount of pride. Not that one's allowed to blame one's mother at this late stage of the game. After all, the passing of 50 years and some excellent therapy (thanks Dr. Owl!) should have worked out most of the bugs.
However, this is self-analysis week, so why not probe a bit, just in case we turn up something. Something appalling? Perhaps...
1964. expateek comes home from school with one of her first writing projects from 1st grade. Her father and mother are sitting at the dining table.
Please, expateek, show us what you did today! No, stand up by the sideboard. This can be a real presentation. Please, begin. Go ahead! Her father, always the professor, is full of enthusiasm.
Little expateek holds up her glue and construction paper collage. It's a picture of the American flag. expateek has worked very carefully to make sure there are the proper number of white and red stripes and, using white chalk, has diligently drawn all 50 stars on the blue field. She tried very hard on this project, knowing that it was a bit of make-work but whatever. She could read her Dr. Seuss books later, after school.
Read aloud to us, please, expateek!
The American flag has 50 stars. It is also striped. It...
Stripped! Stripped! STRIPPED! She's spelled it STRIPPED! expateek's mother is cracking up laughing. Stripped! ha ha ha ha ha. Stripped. God. Stripped. ha ha ha ha ha.
expateek blushes deep red as her pride is stripped from her, in her very own home.
Lesson learned? Never raise your hand in class, show off, or voice a strong opinion in public.
Because you might be wrong.
whrrrrrrrrrrshhhhhhshhhhwrrrshhhhrrhhhhshhhhhhhsh!
Wait, wait, wait, expateek! Not so fast!
Holy crap! Dr. Owl! You scared the living daylights out of me with that terrifying rushing of wings. Damn! I thought you were
Oh, we birds are very clever at sensing subtle signals from miles and miles away. How do you suppose we navigate all over the bloomin' planet? We owls got da toolz, baby.
Dr. Owl, have you been in California recently? Because you're sounding a little weird.
As a matter of fact, yes, expateek. The Wonderland Center in Laurel Canyon is just fab, darling. Maybe you ought to try it. They just got written up in The New Yorker. I've bin hangin' with Britney and Charlie Sheen. Such a laugh. Britney's really into my feathers. When she strokes me and smiles at me with her pretty little Chiclet teeth, my talons go all rubbery.
Jeez, Dr. Owl, too much information. Don't they tell you that in your sessions?
No, no, sweetheart, sharing is what
Hang on, Dr. Owl. This concerns me. If you're supposed to be in California right now, what are you doing in Poland?
Oh, Wonderland is great. They're really really flexible. You can check out if you need to
Dr. Owl, this is making me a little uneasy. I don't want to be a party to any relapsing on your part. Whatever the heck your substance abuse problems may be.
Oh, expateek, you're such an ethical stick-in-the-mud, and kind of a wet blanket too. We've had this conversation before. Just don't you mind about me. I'll be back on Mulholland Drive by tomorrow morning. So, carry on. You were talking about pride, yes?
I guess, Dr. Owl.
Pick up the pace, expateek, I haven't got all night. I'm meeting up with some guys after 7.
Dr. Owl!
Just for some good jazz and some
Well, fine. Okay, Dr. Owl, I admit that I have some strange issues about pride.
Pride? Is that what we were talking about?
Pay attention, Dr. Owl. Yes, that's what we were talking about. You know, if you want to just skip this session, it's fine by me. I get the feeling you're a bit distracted.
Me? Not at all.
*stops texting for a moment on his mobile phone*
Why don't you tell us what you've learned about pride from da boyz dat knowz whatz whut at Wikipedia.
Dr. Owl. You're just not taking me seriously at all. I'm concerned.
No, expateek, go ahead. Why don't you stand over there by my sideboard and give a little presentation about pride. Go ahead. I'm all ears. Which you remember are slightly asymmetrically placed so I can better locate my prey in pitch blackness. Ah, yes. I'm waiting.
Dr. Owl. This is crap.
Excuse me, expateek. Who's the doctor and who's the patient here?
Fine, forget it. Ok, then, pride is considered the most deadly of the seven sins.
REALLY, expateek? I'll have to tell that to Britney. She was talking about lust with me, just the other day.
I'm just going to ignore that, Dr. Owl. Please pay attention. Anyway, according to Wikipedia, pride can be good or bad.
Pride is, depending upon context, either a high sense of the worth of one's self and one's own, or a pleasure taken in the contemplation of these things. One definition of pride in the first sense comes from Augustine: "the love of one's own excellence." In this sense, the opposite of pride is humility.
Pride is sometimes viewed as excessive or as a vice, sometimes as proper or as a virtue. While some philosophies such as Aristotle's consider pride a profound virtue, most world religions consider it a sin.
Look, expateek, our time's about up.
But Dr. Owl, it's only 6:20!
Come on, expateek, I've flown in just a half hour ago, it's a nine hour time difference, and I've got my pals to meet in 40 minutes. Let's wrap it up. I say, just go with the Aristotelian interpretation of pride and you're home free. And forgive your mom. After all, she taught you humility, didn't she?
Uhhh... yes. As a matter of fact, inadvertently, yes, she did.
See? No harm, no foul. Or no fowl, if you know what I mean.
.
Wednesday, January 7, 2009
The Seven Deadly Sins -- Gluttony
And now, back to the Seven Deadly Socks of Sin...
What's on tap for today?
Ahhh, gluttony. What a great topic for the New Year, the time for resolutions. Let's see. Day 7 of 2009. Have we lost a pound? Ummmm. That would be a resounding no.
One of the problems with travel is that one keeps going to all these interesting new places in new countries. And of course one has to try the [insert food item here] because one may never return. So one eats and eats and eats and... one packs on a few kilo.
Of course, that's not the worst thing in the world, as three years ago, post-South-African-trauma, expateek weighed 10 lbs under her normal weight and subsisted entirely on a diet of biltong and red wine. Said diet didn't do much for the cholesterol count (although perhaps the red wine counteracted the effects of the dried red meat tidbits) but it sure made her look skeletal. When she returned to England in 2006, instead of people raving about how gloriously thin she was, they instead raised an eyebrow and said, "God, expateek, you look a bit ... gaunt."
Probably not the look she was aiming for.
On the other hand, the new Polish diet of pierogis and Żubrówka vodka hasn't done wonders for the waistline. Starch and booze. One hundred percent carbohydrate. Vitamin deficiency, anyone?
So Mr D and expateek have embarked on the 2009 self-improvement program, which involves eating healthfully (urk!), taking vitamins (urk!), and cutting back on booze (double urk!). What a bore. Naturally, Mr D who is the picture of discipline woke up on New Year's Day with a spring in his step and his usual single-minded ability to keep these New Year's resolutions. Exasperating, times 12.
For expateek? Not so easy. There are good days (2) and bad days (5) but all in all, it averages out.
If when you average 2 and 5 you come out with 4, which is actually better than 50% in expateek's world of crappy math! Yay! We round up, on expateek's planet. Except when we're looking at the digital scale, in which case we round down, and then subtract two, because we already ate breakfast. And then we move the scale because the bathroom tiles are kind of uneven and we try again.
But see? Here's the formula expateek used for calculating her dieting compliance average:
x=I/2 * p
f(x)/g(x) = ( f '(x)g(x) - f(x)g '(x) ) / g^2(x)
where p is the number of pierogis consumed at each sitting,
f is the brand of Scotch expateek ordinarily likes to drink,
and g is expateek's girth in millimetres,
resulting in x, which equals the actual number of days, on average, that expateek has been compliant.
You'll notice that there's no z variable for Żubrówka, because we've definitely given up vodka for the new year. Wasn't that easy? At least one thing's going right!
Anyway. Compliance? Not expateek's strong suit. You do the math.
So to take our minds off food, let's carry on with a bit of Wikipedia research:
Derived from the Latin gluttire, meaning to gulp down or swallow, gluttony is the over-indulgence and over-consumption of anything to the point of waste. In the Christian religions, it is considered a sin because of the excessive desire for food, or its withholding from the needy.
Excessive desire for food. Right now. Keep typing. No fridge. No pantry. Keep typing. Do not get up from chair. Stop thinking about biltong, there's none in the house. Do not think about muesli either. Or brie. Or chocolate. Or heuvos rancheros. Or damn this is difficult. Keep typing. No biltong. No pretzels. No pierogis. Certainly no red wine as it's 11am. Please! We're not going for the Ernest Hemingway school of writing. The Old Man and the Sea. Ugh. Most boring book ever. Although come to think of it, there are many very tasty fish in the sea. Like salmon. Tuna. Both of which make delicious sushi. Which there's none of in the house either. Dammit!
Excuse us for a moment while someone goes to find a rice cake. You can just keep on reading.
Medieval church leaders (e.g., Thomas Aquinas) took a more expansive view of gluttony, arguing that it could also include an obsessive anticipation of meals, and the constant eating of delicacies and excessively costly foods [red wine, biltong, brie, Scotch]. Aquinas went so far as to prepare a list of six ways to commit gluttony, including:
- Praepropere - eating too soon.
- Laute - eating too expensively.
- Nimis - eating too much.
- Ardenter - eating too eagerly.
- Studiose - eating too daintily.
- Forente - eating wildly.
Eating wildly? Okay, enough! expateek is running off to eat wildly for a few minutes. Whatever that means.
Probably the rice cakes will be history....
Tuesday, January 6, 2009
Programming interruption
We're interrupting the regularly scheduled Seven Deadly Sins programming to bring you a special update.
A couple of news items, really.
Firstly, expateek wants you to know that the life of an artiste is damned difficult. This morning, Mr D gave expateek a funny look at about 6am, which meant that the whole damned photo-shoot had to be taken down just so that he could eat breakfast on the breakfast table.
For the love of Mike.
All the extras were on set. The stars had rehearsed their lines and were ready to go. The props guys had wrangled the obelisk into position, which was no mean feat considering the outside temperatures and the traffic this morning in Warsaw.
And then Mr Electricity decides he wants his muesli and yoghurt at the kitchen table.
Now we know how Stanley Kubrick felt when he was trying to get just the right effects using state-of-the-art front projection techniques. The frustration of trying over and over and over again. Miles of film wasted. Hours lost. It's just hell to be an innovator, a visionary. Only the truly brilliant can share in the excitement. The others just calmly tuck into their muesli, drive off to their day jobs, and, well, actually fund the whole operation. Whatever.
So. Only quiet ranting and raving on the set, non? Shhhhh!
Anyway, yes, where were we? Of course! It's the remake of 2001: A Space Odyssey. And it is coming out en français!!! Because it is almost the week of the annual meeting of electricity in Paris! A few days of fun and electrifying new marketing techniques! A shockingly exciting display of world-class high-and-low-voltage solutions! And all employees can make the circuit and light up when they encounter old friends and new! So we are creating a thrilling video presentation which will ignite the passion for continuing the corporate vision.
Yes! Or rather, Oui!
But first... the opening address.
Everyone is so excited.
They are beside themselves,
not knowing whether to laugh...
not knowing whether to laugh...
or to cry.
It is this new! This ground-breaking.
Circuit breakers! Programmable controllers!
Low voltage capacitor banks! Whoo hoo!
The suspense builds.
The camera pans away and...
Yes! (Or rather Oui!)
It is the obelisk of electrical knowledge!
Circuit breakers! Programmable controllers!
Low voltage capacitor banks! Whoo hoo!
The suspense builds.
The camera pans away and...
Yes! (Or rather Oui!)
It is the obelisk of electrical knowledge!
Suddenly, the light changes, and...
everything is illuminated...
Aaaaaaaaand.... it's a wrap. Good work, boys! See you in Paris.
Or not. If your contract's canceled between now and then, don't book a flight, okay? The Company won't be reimbursing you.
Ta ta!
.
Sunday, January 4, 2009
The Seven Deadly Sins -- Envy
Today? It's ENVY.
Not that expateek thought it was a problem....but....after wearing the socks of ENVY yesterday, she's afraid there are some issues to be discussed.
From Wikipedia:
expateek is just going to put it right out there. She's envious of the people (probably this would be mostly guys?) who've moved to Poland from wherever to hook up with their beautiful, young, strong Polish wives to make amazing, stable lives in this healthy and growing post-Communist country. Is that a long-enough sentence? Are these expat boyos happy? Are they? She certainly hopes so, cuz somebody damn well better be. expateek is in a bitter and crabby mood. Some might call her.... envious.
To all you guys with your wonderful wives or girlfriends, all good wishes to you. Bravo to you all for picking a place, making a home, choosing Poland. Your choice is enviable.
And expateek completely envies you, but not in a bad way.
She just wishes her own life were simpler.
She wishes she were a guy. She could move hither and yon, at the express request of her employer, and she'd only have to sort out the sighs from the wife and the tears of their school-age children. She'd just have to get said sobbing wife to call the removals company to book the container. Again. And then the wife could cancel the old phone and set up the new phone and cancel the old internet and set up the new internet. And after that, the wife could change the addresses for banks, university bills, tax preparers and collectors. Maybe give away the dog and the house plants. And the fish. Oh God! Not the fish!
And expateek the guy would just have to put up with the next new manager in the next new place, and try to make the numbers, and would hope the kids and wife would adjust and not hate her for trying her best to support them.
The hell with that. expateek doesn't want to be a guy, a corporate guy, after all. It's too hard. Too hard if you care about the quality of your life. If you care about your own performance. If you care about the people who work for you. If you care about your wife, your kids. Moving again? Twelfth time? Mmmm. Corporate life doesn't go down so well if you care.
And we're not saying that Mr D doesn't care, either. Frankly, he's cut from different cloth than most. He is discipline with a capital D, honour with a capital H, and selflessness with a capital S.
He's just a capital guy, no two ways about it.
expateek, on the other hand, is mostly a petulant wimp, who naps on the couch in the afternoon and dreams of blogs, stop-action digital photography, and George Clooney.
But listen, for one more moment, to a last fit of fiery green pique, wherein expateek also envies the clown de France, who can move people, nay whole families, about. Move this pawn to here, move that rook to there. It's all a game, mon ami, simplement un jeu. The pieces don't have a say in things, and they shouldn't because... after all, they are just pieces on the board. Oui?
On the other hand, expateek really doesn't envy our French friend, because after all, she likes to be liked. And she doesn't like to work very hard. Her business, her work, is to make people happy and to make people laugh. Monsieur le Clown? Not so much. He is not good at these two things at all. He is very unlucky in this way. Also he is unlucky because he has to live with himself, and he cannot move away from himself. Whereas expateek gets to move all the way across the Atlantic Ocean and never has to see or think about le boss of the bad news ever again!
When we look at the matter in this light, expateek looks like the luckiest girl on the planet!
And really, expateek does not want to live her life like this:
expateek thinks NOT.
Eating oneself up from the inside out might be useful if one wanted to drop a stone, and will be further explored in Gluttony: The expateek Files.
But for now...
Here endeth the lesson.
Now expateek's going to go forth from the computer room and sin no more, thinking only kind thoughts about all, whilst productively packing up significant portions of the house.
.
Not that expateek thought it was a problem....but....after wearing the socks of ENVY yesterday, she's afraid there are some issues to be discussed.
From Wikipedia:
Like greed, envy may be characterized by an insatiable desire; greed and envy differ, however, for two main reasons. First, greed is largely associated with material goods, whereas envy may apply more generally. Second, those who commit the sin of envy resent that another person has something they perceive themselves as lacking, and wish the other person to be deprived of it. Dante defined this as "love of one's own good perverted to a desire to deprive other men of theirs." In Dante's Purgatory, the punishment for the envious is to have their eyes sewn shut with wire, because they have gained sinful pleasure from seeing others brought low. Aquinas described envy as "sorrow for another's good".
expateek is just going to put it right out there. She's envious of the people (probably this would be mostly guys?) who've moved to Poland from wherever to hook up with their beautiful, young, strong Polish wives to make amazing, stable lives in this healthy and growing post-Communist country. Is that a long-enough sentence? Are these expat boyos happy? Are they? She certainly hopes so, cuz somebody damn well better be. expateek is in a bitter and crabby mood. Some might call her.... envious.
To all you guys with your wonderful wives or girlfriends, all good wishes to you. Bravo to you all for picking a place, making a home, choosing Poland. Your choice is enviable.
And expateek completely envies you, but not in a bad way.
She just wishes her own life were simpler.
She wishes she were a guy. She could move hither and yon, at the express request of her employer, and she'd only have to sort out the sighs from the wife and the tears of their school-age children. She'd just have to get said sobbing wife to call the removals company to book the container. Again. And then the wife could cancel the old phone and set up the new phone and cancel the old internet and set up the new internet. And after that, the wife could change the addresses for banks, university bills, tax preparers and collectors. Maybe give away the dog and the house plants. And the fish. Oh God! Not the fish!
And expateek the guy would just have to put up with the next new manager in the next new place, and try to make the numbers, and would hope the kids and wife would adjust and not hate her for trying her best to support them.
The hell with that. expateek doesn't want to be a guy, a corporate guy, after all. It's too hard. Too hard if you care about the quality of your life. If you care about your own performance. If you care about the people who work for you. If you care about your wife, your kids. Moving again? Twelfth time? Mmmm. Corporate life doesn't go down so well if you care.
And we're not saying that Mr D doesn't care, either. Frankly, he's cut from different cloth than most. He is discipline with a capital D, honour with a capital H, and selflessness with a capital S.
He's just a capital guy, no two ways about it.
expateek, on the other hand, is mostly a petulant wimp, who naps on the couch in the afternoon and dreams of blogs, stop-action digital photography, and George Clooney.
But listen, for one more moment, to a last fit of fiery green pique, wherein expateek also envies the clown de France, who can move people, nay whole families, about. Move this pawn to here, move that rook to there. It's all a game, mon ami, simplement un jeu. The pieces don't have a say in things, and they shouldn't because... after all, they are just pieces on the board. Oui?
On the other hand, expateek really doesn't envy our French friend, because after all, she likes to be liked. And she doesn't like to work very hard. Her business, her work, is to make people happy and to make people laugh. Monsieur le Clown? Not so much. He is not good at these two things at all. He is very unlucky in this way. Also he is unlucky because he has to live with himself, and he cannot move away from himself. Whereas expateek gets to move all the way across the Atlantic Ocean and never has to see or think about le boss of the bad news ever again!
When we look at the matter in this light, expateek looks like the luckiest girl on the planet!
And really, expateek does not want to live her life like this:
Chewing venomous toads? Hideous yellowed teeth? Dripping poison whilst eating oneself from the inside out? Mixing up one's u's with v's? Ugh.And next to him malicious Enuie rode,
Book 1, Canto 4, somewhere in stanzas 1-37, Edmund Spenser, The Faerie Queene
Vpon a rauenous wolfe, and still did chaw
Betweene his cankred teeth a venemous tode,
That all the poison ran about his chaw;
But inwardly he chawed his owne maw
At neighbours wealth, that made him euer sad;
For death it was, when any good he saw,
And wept, that cause of weeping none he had,
But when he heard of harme, he wexed wondrous glad.
expateek thinks NOT.
Eating oneself up from the inside out might be useful if one wanted to drop a stone, and will be further explored in Gluttony: The expateek Files.
But for now...
A sound heart is the life of the flesh: but envy the rottenness of the bones.
Proverbs 14:30
Here endeth the lesson.
Now expateek's going to go forth from the computer room and sin no more, thinking only kind thoughts about all, whilst productively packing up significant portions of the house.
.
Saturday, January 3, 2009
The Seven Deadly Sins -- Sloth
Well, expateek was on a roll yesterday. After her scathing Anger -- told through the artistic medium of socks posting, she wrote most of another post on Envy, and at that point she was starting to get really hot under the collar! Angry! And Envious! And whatever! And this was entirely and clearly antithetical to the whole purpose of self-analysis, which originally centered around self-improvement and New Year's resolutions. Not that expateek has shared or will ever share those resolutions. She generally doesn't like to be held accountable.
And with Dr. Owl away for a week or threein rehab on a voyage of self-discovery, expateek felt worried, alone and a bit out of control. But she kept pounding away furiously at her laptop, until this drifted in from the ether:
So! Always flexible, ready to go with the flow and move with the tide, expateek decided to take a break.
Calm, calm, calm, that's what expateek is all about. She deftly switched gears (and metaphors) and began writing about SLOTH instead.
And then she got all tired and really really sleepy, and she decided she was pretty much indifferent to the topic of sloth, because who really cares, anyway? Just maybe one or two readers, and they could wait a day or two. So she lay down on the couch, and when Mr D walked by, she mentioned how unbelievably exhausted she felt, and Mr D said, "What's new, pussycat?" meaning "It's 1:30pm and don't you take a nap after lunch every single day of the year?" And expateek got a little bit angry, but then she was all "meh" and she turned over and fell asleep while Mr. D kept onironing doing laundry sweeping quietly putting away groceries unloading the dishwasher. And that last activity was a little bit noisy, so eventually expateek woke up, just as the final spoon clattered into the cutlery drawer.
And in her slothful and lazily consistent way, she returned to Wikipedia for some insight into the sin of Sloth.
Fortunately, times have changed:
Dissertation not yet finished? Still on hold? Uh huh.... Back to Wikipedia.
.
And with Dr. Owl away for a week or three
So! Always flexible, ready to go with the flow and move with the tide, expateek decided to take a break.
Calm, calm, calm, that's what expateek is all about. She deftly switched gears (and metaphors) and began writing about SLOTH instead.
And then she got all tired and really really sleepy, and she decided she was pretty much indifferent to the topic of sloth, because who really cares, anyway? Just maybe one or two readers, and they could wait a day or two. So she lay down on the couch, and when Mr D walked by, she mentioned how unbelievably exhausted she felt, and Mr D said, "What's new, pussycat?" meaning "It's 1:30pm and don't you take a nap after lunch every single day of the year?" And expateek got a little bit angry, but then she was all "meh" and she turned over and fell asleep while Mr. D kept on
And in her slothful and lazily consistent way, she returned to Wikipedia for some insight into the sin of Sloth.
Holy crap, Batman! Running continuously at top speed? Please, NO! expateek's knees are only good for about 5 more years. Mr D already has strict instructions that the next house is going to have to be wheelchair friendly so expateek can roll around and raise hell after her double knee replacement surgeries.More than other sins, the definition of sloth has changed considerably since its original inclusion among the seven deadly sins. In fact it was first called the sin of sadness or despair. It had been in the early years of Christianity characterized by what modern writers would now describe as melancholy: apathy, depression, and joylessness. Sadness (tristitia in Latin) described a feeling of dissatisfaction or discontent, which caused unhappiness with one's current situation. Dante ... described it as the middle sin, and as such was the only sin characterised by an absence or insufficiency of love. In his "Purgatorio", the slothful penitents were made to run continuously at top speed.
Fortunately, times have changed:
The modern view of the vice, as highlighted by its contrary virtue of zeal or diligence, is that it represents the failure to utilize one's talents and gifts. For example, a student who does not work beyond what is required (and thus fails to achieve his or her full potential) could be labeled slothful.
Dissertation not yet finished? Still on hold? Uh huh.... Back to Wikipedia.
Current interpretations are therefore much less stringent and comprehensive than they were in medieval times, and portray sloth as being more simply a sin of laziness or indifference, of an unwillingness to act, an unwillingness to care (rather than a failure to love God and his works). For this reason sloth is now often seen as being considerably less serious than the other sins, more a sin of omission than of commission.
Well, phew! A deadly sin that's only mildly fatal, instead of totally fatal. Although the running at top speed part has expateek running scared.
.
Friday, January 2, 2009
The Seven Deadly Sins -- Anger
As you may remember from yesterday, assuming your hangover has worn off and you haven't had even more to drink this morning, Santa has rewarded expateek with a set of 7 Deadly Sins socks so that she can contemplate her sinfulness seven days a week and entertain her
Next up?
Wrath (or Anger or "Rage") may be described as inordinate and uncontrolled feelings of hatred and anger. These feelings can manifest as a desire to seek revenge outside of the workings of the justice system, and in generally wishing to do evil or harm to others [especially French clowns]. The transgressions borne of vengeance are among the most serious, including murder [of clowns], assault [on clowns], and in extreme cases, genocide [of all clowns on earth]. Dante described vengeance as "love of justice perverted to revenge and spite".
So today's sin is Anger. And actually, this is going to be a bit of a dry post, because to be honest, expateek doesn't really have problems with anger. She's not an angry person. I mean, look at her. She never yells, she is always so nice, even when people are quite rude to her. She doesn't get worked up when Polish drivers cut her off in traffic. She just takes a deep breath when the downtown parking attendant gestures to a large nearly empty car park and then yells at her in Polish that there are no parking spaces available, because the three patients now at the dentist's office are already using more than the two allotted parking bays.
Even though she can see that there are at least 80 parking spaces available, she apologises for the effrontery of even asking to park, and begs for just five minutes! Przepraszam! Proszę... pięć minuty? He waves her in, with a hate-filled black expression, and she scurries off to drop her daughter at the dentist's office. Five minutes later, huffing and puffing, she's back, thanking the guard for his kindness and driving away.
So nice, that expateek.
And of course, she's completely over her irritation with le French boss of the bad news. Seven sessions of play therapy really did the trick. After all, these
No problemo.
After all, expateek is all about calm, calm, calm.
Oh, wait! We forgot! Forgot to try on the socks! Let's do that for a minute, since there's no real material having to do with anger to write about.
Here we go.
Ah, they fit! And aren't they lovely?
And look! The heel is neither too big nor too small.
And the toe box is spacious and comfy.
These socks were made for walkin'. Don't you agree?
Well, there. That about wraps it up. expateek has confessed her sin, mild though it is. ANGER = expateek. Full stop. Although I think you'll agree, expateek is pretty much a model of moderation, given the crap she has to put up with.
But,
Ta ta!
.
Thursday, January 1, 2009
The Seven Deadly Sins -- Greed
Well, someone received bought herself the most wonderful Christmas present, which would be a 7-day set of Marks & Spencer's men's socks, size 8-9 1/2.
Because someone has absolutely humongous feet, and totally not enough socks.
Because check it out.
Not enough socks. Ever. So many not enough socks that someone cannot ever close her sock drawer all the way. Ever.
It's even possible that this chest of drawers could go into the shipping container, to travel all the way from Warsaw Poland to Chicago Illinois, with the sock drawer stuck in a partly open position.
So what better Christmas morning excitement could there be, than to open thelovely wrapped box festive sparkley gift bag plastic carrier bag from Tesco's that Santa someone has so carefully wrapped and placed under the tree for someone herself?
(What a mess. Could someone please get someone an editor? Or an eraser at least?)
And looky here. Why, 7 days of socks! Because expateek can never have enough socks. Because she is,Readers Reader, GREEDY with capital letters.
In case you haven't read your (stolen) Bible lately, Greed is one of The Seven Deadly Sins. To wit:
Santa has rewarded expateek with a set of 7 Deadly Sins socks so that she can contemplate her sinfulness seven days a week and entertain herReaders Reader herself by blogging about said socks. And sins, of course.
But it goes without saying that expateek feels guilty about this overabundance of socks. She feels terrible about buying yet anotherpair seven pairs of socks, when many people go sock-less every day of the year. She hasn't even put the extra old socks to good use, like making sock puppets out of them (which would be useful when the Xmas-ornament-aka-le-French-boss-of-the-bad-news gets accidentally burned up in the fireplace or ripped to bits by the neighbor's dog.)
What to do, what to do?
Well, there. expateek has confessed her sin. GREED = expateek. Full stop.
And what shall her penance be? expateek plans to go through the damned sock drawer, keep no more than half of what's in there, and give away the rest or -- good heavens no! -- throw them out. Throwing them away seems like a terrible waste and also a potentially fatal error, as expateek always has visions of a post-apocalypse world where ragged people wander the land, crying bitter tears that freeze on their faces in a cruel nuclear winter. And socks are of course entirely unavailable. Forever. No more socks. Just the thought reminds one of winter of 1777 at Valley Forge, where soldiers wrapped their bare, frozen feet in rags and left bloody footprints in the snow. Cheery thought, yeah?
So the lesson here is that you had better damn well hang onto the ones you've got, just in case. Don't say you weren't warned. Disaster planning is one of expateek's specialities! The more arcane the disaster, the more convoluted and random the preparations must be. So, stockpile socks. If you want, you can come over here and stockpile expateek's socks, because God knows we've got a few to spare. You can have the raggedy ones and the ones that have shrunk so much they leave elephantine wrinkles on your ankles. expateek will keep the good ones, thank you very much.
But hold it! expateek has just remembered! One cannot determine one's own penance. Someone else, wiser than oneself, must do so.
Unfortunately, Dr. Owl is on holiday this week. (He might be in rehab, but you didn't hear it from me. Let's just say ... a little bird told you. )
Reader, take the reins for a moment! Please! Hear my confession and mete out punishment. I crave absolution!
.
Because someone has absolutely humongous feet, and totally not enough socks.
Because check it out.
Not enough socks. Ever. So many not enough socks that someone cannot ever close her sock drawer all the way. Ever.
It's even possible that this chest of drawers could go into the shipping container, to travel all the way from Warsaw Poland to Chicago Illinois, with the sock drawer stuck in a partly open position.
So what better Christmas morning excitement could there be, than to open the
(What a mess. Could someone please get someone an editor? Or an eraser at least?)
And looky here. Why, 7 days of socks! Because expateek can never have enough socks. Because she is,
In case you haven't read your (stolen) Bible lately, Greed is one of The Seven Deadly Sins. To wit:
Greed (or avarice, covetousness) is, like lust and gluttony, a sin of excess. However, greed (as seen by the church) is applied to the acquisition of wealth [socks] in particular. St. Thomas Aquinas wrote that greed was "a sin against God, just as all mortal sins, in as much as man condemns things eternal for the sake of temporal things [socks]." In Dante's Purgatory, the penitents were bound and laid face down on the ground for having concentrated too much on earthly thoughts [socks]. "Avarice" is more of a blanket term that can describe many other examples of greedy behavior.
Scavenging and hoarding of materials or objects [socks], theft and robbery, especially [of socks] by means of violence, trickery, or manipulation of authority are all actions that may be inspired by greed.
Santa has rewarded expateek with a set of 7 Deadly Sins socks so that she can contemplate her sinfulness seven days a week and entertain her
But it goes without saying that expateek feels guilty about this overabundance of socks. She feels terrible about buying yet another
What to do, what to do?
Well, there. expateek has confessed her sin. GREED = expateek. Full stop.
And what shall her penance be? expateek plans to go through the damned sock drawer, keep no more than half of what's in there, and give away the rest or -- good heavens no! -- throw them out. Throwing them away seems like a terrible waste and also a potentially fatal error, as expateek always has visions of a post-apocalypse world where ragged people wander the land, crying bitter tears that freeze on their faces in a cruel nuclear winter. And socks are of course entirely unavailable. Forever. No more socks. Just the thought reminds one of winter of 1777 at Valley Forge, where soldiers wrapped their bare, frozen feet in rags and left bloody footprints in the snow. Cheery thought, yeah?
So the lesson here is that you had better damn well hang onto the ones you've got, just in case. Don't say you weren't warned. Disaster planning is one of expateek's specialities! The more arcane the disaster, the more convoluted and random the preparations must be. So, stockpile socks. If you want, you can come over here and stockpile expateek's socks, because God knows we've got a few to spare. You can have the raggedy ones and the ones that have shrunk so much they leave elephantine wrinkles on your ankles. expateek will keep the good ones, thank you very much.
But hold it! expateek has just remembered! One cannot determine one's own penance. Someone else, wiser than oneself, must do so.
Unfortunately, Dr. Owl is on holiday this week. (He might be in rehab, but you didn't hear it from me. Let's just say ... a little bird told you. )
Reader, take the reins for a moment! Please! Hear my confession and mete out punishment. I crave absolution!
.
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