Finding the Funny

People in the know have informed me that I can be a miserable and negative person. Moreover, they have pointed out, I have shared this bitchy attitude with people who did nothing to deserve it – namely you, my Devoted Readers. To make up for what I have been told is a gross abuse of your good spirits, I have decided to share a few amusing anecdotes as they apply to the crappiness of my current situation. (A girl can’t change overnight, you know!)

Our sea shipment hasn’t arrived yet despite promises from everyone and their baladi dog that it is safe in Egypt and should be delivered “tomorrow.” I have long given up hope that my things will arrive in one piece anytime before I hit menopause which means that either a) I am due for early onset menopause in the next two weeks; OR b) Hubby can be happy that while we may never see the beautiful things we had made in India and Kenya, he will also never have to see me in the midst of a hot flash.

While we’re on the subject of my oft-discussed but never seen sea shipment, I feel the need to share the reason I haven’t gone ballistic on anyone yet. You see, everyone else is busy going ballistic for me. An incredibly fun game of “You’re the Bigger Screw-up” has developed over the last week with everyone from the Institution and both the Kenyan and Egyptian branches of the moving company pointing fingers at everyone else. In my mind, the Institution won the game yesterday with their scathingly superior email that had me in giggles before the first paragraph was even finished. What that means for our things is anyone’s guess but I’ll be sure to keep you in the loop with lots of complaining in the interim.

One of our most recent discoveries has been a small town of mold living beneath the floorboards in our bedroom. While the village never bothered us before, once Hubby knew it was there his hypochondria kicked in and he has been sniffing and coughing nonstop ever since (Hubby Edit: this was purely a coincidence). Upon finding this culture of penicillin living mere feet from our bed, we immediately contacted the people in charge and politely asked them to rectify the situation. Earlier that day, we had also asked the PTB if they could pick up some unneeded things from our flat and take them away to Not Here Land. Needless to say, in the five days since our first email none of this has been done and the mold town is well on it’s way to becoming a mold megalopolis. Yay!

The silver lining here is that if the PTB don’t take away my furniture by Sunday, I’m going to have a yard sale. Well, obviously I won’t do that since I don’t have a yard (this is Cairo after all) but I will put it all in the front hall of the building and thank the PTB for their kind response to my emails. I am a bitter woman who has not been granted the ability to nest. Don’t mess with me!!

I have many more amusing tales of my bitterness, but I have decided to save them for another day. It’s early and I have a busy day of food shopping, dream killing, and television watching ahead of me. And who knows, by this time next week, I may be sitting on my own couch, enjoying blog inspired menopause while talking to benevolent aliens from another galaxy who simply want to watch cartoons and listen to Avril Lavigne songs. Yup, there’s always a silver lining in my bitter universe.

POSTSCRIPT: Hubby says that he is bored of my talking about this topic ad nauseam. He further observed that you are probably bored of my talking about this topic. Sadly, as is often the case in these situations, he is probably right. Thus, unless something spectacular happens like our things are actually delivered or our shipment is seized by land-based pirates in the Egyptian Customs office, I will not be blogging about this topic again in the near future. Luckily, Cairo is sure to provide an endless supply of great blog topics in the interim.

Four Foods on Friday 50

Last week was my inaugural attempt at this weekly meme and since it was so much fun, I thought I’d play along again. Food themed fun really is the second best kind of fun.

1. Pasta. How do you tell when it’s done? Do you cook on medium or high?
I tend to keep the flame somewhere between medium and high so that I can have a nice healthy simmer. I like my pasta slightly al dente so I just keep tasting pieces straight out of the pot until I’m happy.

2. Deep frying. What kind of oil do you use?
We don’t fry often but when we do we use vegetable oil. I love olive oil but it just doesn’t work for frying.

3. Grilling. Do you grill on foil or directly on the grill?
Tin foil defeats the purpose.

4. Share a recipe that involves cooking something two different ways. Example, for lasagna you might fry the meat and bake the whole dish.

Yummy Roast Veggies
3 potatoes
5 carrots
3 parsnips
1 bulb of garlic
1 bunch of thyme
Olive oil
Salt and pepper

1. Preheat the oven to 400F.
2. Peel and chop the vegetables. Cut the potatoes into large chunks and slice the parsnips and carrots lengthwise. Separate the garlic into individual cloves.
3. Boil the potatoes, carrots, and parsnips for 5-7 minutes.
4. Drain the veggies making sure not to let the potatoes break apart.
5. Place the parboiled vegetables and the garlic into a large roasting pan and coat liberally with olive oil. Get your hands dirty here and toss them around yourself to make sure that all sides are oily. Make sure that your veggies don’t overlap, as that will prevent them from cooking evenly and crisping up. Grind some salt and pepper into the pan and sprinkle the fresh thyme over everything.
6. Place the pan in the oven and cook for one hour. Serve immediately.

God Willing

There is a double-edged sword in Egypt that few people speak about. But today I’m going to break that silence and tell you about the word Insh’allah. Meaning “God willing” or “if God wills it,” this catchall phrase is used in a multitude of situations that drives type-A personalities like mine crazy. You see, there is no “yes or no” here - it is simply “if God wills it.” While this often means “yes” or “hopefully,” it usually means “dream on,” or “not so much.” Heaven help the poor girl who simply wants a straight answer before she has a nervous breakdown.

Imagine if your boss asked if your report for that huge client would be done on time and you said, “hopefully.” Or what if Fox News started talking about a Republican win in November with “God willing.” These are types of things that I deal with day in and day out here in Egypt. I want a flat out yes or no!!! I’m not a maybe kind of gal.

As you read through the following questions, think about what the answer really means and then join me in the happy room with the padded white walls and the huggy jacket.

Q: Will the movers be here this weekend with my things?
A: Insh’allah

Q: Will they somehow manage to time their arrival to mess with plans that I have already made A: Insh’allah

Q: Am I going to once again find that the only item broken during the move was something of mine that I love and is irreplaceable?
A: Insh’allah

Q: Is Hubby going to be happy at this job longer than he was at any of his previous ones?
A: Insh’allah

Q: Is the current worldwide economic crisis a harbinger of the fall of Rome?
A: Insh’allah

Q: Are Americans really crazy enough to be taken in by someone who can’t pronounce the letter “g” and thinks that “betcha” is a word?
A: Insh’allah

Q: Am I going to learn enough Arabic from my tutor to live comfortably in an Arabic-speaking world?
A: Insh’allah

Q: Is Typ0 going to kill the next workman who excuses his lack of timeliness and shoddy work with a smile and “Insh’allah?”
A: Insh’allah

Chew on This

Hubby arrived home late Saturday night with a bag filled with gifts including the new Jamie Oliver cookbook, “Jamie’s Ministry of Food.” He didn’t bring me a purple iPod but he did go to Wal-Mart and buy me lots of Crystal Light. Long story short, I have a great husband and he has a wonderful wife who can be bought off for the price of a couple of books and a box cereal. Which only makes the fact that I need to spend a lot of money even more difficult.

Don’t worry, I’m not planning to take a cruise around the world (although I’d love to), nor am I busy spending his money on designer clothes. Many of you have heard me complain about this before so I apologize for boring you, but I need to go to the dentist. Except that I hate dentists and think that they’re all evil. I realize that I posted about this just a few months ago, but let’s be honest; we all know that I didn’t go to the dentist at that point because I’m a giant wimp. A giant, cheap wimp. Heck, even my driver, Rock, knew the reason I didn’t go was my fear of all things dental.

In order for me to go to the dentist I need that dentist to have the means to knock me unconscious – or at least have laughing gas. Novocain doesn’t work on me and the thought of being awake while someone puts a six-foot needle into my gums makes me want to scream in terror. Even the distinctive whirring sound of a dental drill makes me cringe. I am a big scare-dy cat baby and I have no defense other than that my childhood dentist was in league with Satan and had no soul.

So if any of my local readers know the name and number of a good dentist with the means to put me to sleep during what will be a lot of invasive dental work, please tell me. Because I’m almost at the point where I’m going to give in. Almost.

Happiness is your dentist telling you it won't hurt and then
having him catch his hand in the drill.
~Johnny Carson

Just So

Living in the developing world has taught me many things, not the least of which is that one should never expect or even hope that anything will happen the way you plan. Whether it’s a flat tire in the middle of a romantic night out with your husband or a leaky pipe at the start of the “perfect” weekend visit with your friends who flew thousands of miles to see you – the developing world will always attempt to dash your dreams. It took a month or two, but this weekend Egypt joined the ranks of those countries that hate us.

Last week I received an email from our mover saying that our sea shipment would be delivered on Sunday. I instantly started the dance of joy and mentally placed the new furniture where it belonged. I spent hours moving the existing furniture around and generally puttered around in anticipation of the Big Day.

Sunday dawned and when no movers had arrived by 10:00 a.m. I smiled, content in the knowledge that nothing could ruin moving day. After all, I told myself, our street is incredibly narrow and double parking is a sport in Cairo, so the truck was simply having difficulties getting to our building. Nothing would dash my optimism on this fateful day, I trilled to Hubby. Of course, all of my happy, rainbow hued ideas were dashed the minute I picked up the phone and called the moving company.

The Institution allegedly filled out a form incorrectly and now no one knew when our things would arrive. I know that they’re just “things.” Heck, I even know that this time we’re not even going to unpack most of those “things.” But I wanted to have custody of them by now! I wanted to hang my artwork and fill my shelves with books. I wanted to sleep in my own bed under my snuggly duvet and invite people over to see a place I could call home. I wanted to finish the nesting process, dammit!

Yes, I’m a sad pathetic person who wants to control the universe she inhabits. And yes, I’m a tad OCD in that I’ll spend days alphabetizing, organizing, and nudging knick-knacks so they sit at exactly a 40 degree angle. I’m that kind of girl! I’m pathetic! But I don’t hurt anyone with my obsessiveness. So why does Egypt have to hate on me quite so much?

Empathy is Not a Disease

Pretty much since the day I left University, I have worked in Customer Service. Heck, even as a library Page in high school that was part of my job. Between jobs in Canada and the US, I can safety say that I have worked at virtually every level of the hierarchy that Customer Service has to offer. I have been a (shamefully) good telemarketer, a Customer Service Representative (CSR), a Senior Service Representative (SSR), a management intern, a manager, a back-office flunky, and a back-office assistant manger. Over the course of ten years I learned to live and breathe telephonic Customer Service.

After that brief resume, you can surely understand why I take Customer Service so seriously. If I call into a company for assistance I expect to receive the sort of service that I would provide. Words like please and thank you should be used often. The mute button should never be used. And if it is absolutely necessary to put me on hold tell me that’s what you’re going to do and when you get back thank me for holding. Those of you reading who are in the industry are no doubt nodding your heads and mentally ticking off your Quality Assurance forms.

But what I desire most in a call is empathy!

Last week I had to call a company in the States and cancel an order I placed on their website. Although the item I wanted was not backordered when I placed my order (or the four days that followed) my item was never shipped. When I called and explained that I needed to cancel since I had only a brief window of opportunity to retrieve my item, the girl on the phone didn’t say “sorry,” “oh dear,” or anything vaguely resembling fake sympathy! My grief at not having my beloved item was quickly overshadowed with righteous indignation that this CSR would treat a customer so shabbily.

As a former CSR I know that there are two golden rules that customers should adhere to. First, never yell at a CSR because they don’t get paid enough deal with your rage. Although you will find it incredibly difficult to get a manager to take your call, insist upon it because he is paid to take your grief. Second, if you are the recipient of exceptional Customer Service thank your CSR and ask to speak with their manager (or manager’s voice mail) so you can give props to this paragon of telephonic service. Chances are that they will receive some sort of reward for your taking three extra minutes out of your day to be kind.

I broke these rules when I “politely” informed my rude CSR about the definition of empathy. She didn’t care and probably mocked me the moment I hung up. Since the chances of that call being monitored were negligible she didn’t care how she treated me. And I shouldn’t have expected anything more. Most people wouldn’t have noticed the things I did during the call – but then most people weren’t trained to.

Good Customer Service is a two-way street. And while it is my fondest desire to walk into some of these call centers and help them excel I know that it will never happen. My standards, as anyone who ever called me manager can attest, are slightly too high and my desire to make you a better CSR for the next caller is usually about as welcome as milk in Hubby’s cereal. I know that empathy gets tedious but please, for the sake of my sanity, learn to fake it!

Four Foods on Friday

You may not know this, but I have a lot of time on my hands. This is especially true at times like this when Hubby is out of town. Anyways, earlier today, I found a cool new meme that actually intrigued me enough to participate. Four Foods on Friday challenges its participants to answer four food-related questions. Could there possibly be a better meme out there for me?

1. Turnips. Love ‘em or leave ‘em?
This is a no brainer: leave 'em! Turnips may even be yuckier than brussel sprouts and that’s saying something!

2. What’s your favorite roasted dish?
My mother knows the answer to this one. Roast beef with Yorkshire pudding, roast potatoes, carrots, peas, and gravy. That may in fact be the world’s most perfect meal.

3. Salsa. What kind do you like?
I love a nice, spicy salsa. Hubby makes the world’s best salsa and we’ve been known to simply have tortilla chips and salsa for dinner.

4. Share directions on how to make your favorite quick meal, meaning start to finish in about 30 minutes or less.
Since I have bragged about how salsa is a meal unto itself I give you Hubby’s salsa recipe.

1 large can (28 oz or 800 g) whole tomatoes
1 bunch cilantro
4 Serrano peppers (to taste)
6-8 green onions, chopped
garlic salt (to taste)

Combine the can of tomatoes, cilantro, peppers, and green onions in a blender or food processor. Mix for about 5-10 seconds – until the salsa is evenly combined yet still slightly chunky. Add a generous amount of garlic salt and stir. Transfer the salsa into a sealable container and refrigerate for at least thirty minutes.

Serve with tortilla chips and enjoy

Meet the Family

When we lived in India, we had a gecko we named Barry Junior due to his rather massive neck. Here in Cairo, we have we have two geckos, so far. The baby of the family, Echo, frequently has us jumping in fright thinking a large insect is crawling around our flat. Then there is the recently spotted Sonic Boom, who enjoys hovering directly above my chair, staring, and occasionally flexing his sticky feet. The latter causes everyone wonder exactly how loudly I can scream in the event he falls (jumps) on me.

Random: Why is it that geckos seem to like reality television so much? I took this photo while Echo and I watched the premiere of Survivor – Gabon together. Back in Delhi, Barry Junior would always pop out of hiding spot behind the painting whenever American Idol was on. Weird…

Midnight Cravings

Your favorite intrepid blogger is not exactly what one might call svelte. In fact, I have been known to refer to myself as a Fat Girl and feel no more than an occasional twinge of shame at the label. I have worked long and hard during my years on this planet putting myself into this state and to date the only proven method of turning Fat Girl into Less Fat Girl is the South Beach Diet. And trust me when I say that nobody likes the crabby, irritable, miserable, carb-free me when I’m on South Beach.

Most skinny people, and you know who you are, think that I chose my state and “could turn things around” if I really and truly wanted to. I have some bad news for you high metabolism people – unlike a smoker who can quit cold turkey, I can’t simply stop eating. “Then eat less!” you preach. Wow, why didn’t I think of that?! My issues with food are far bigger than simply smaller portion sizes or living without happiness… er… pasta. You see, I actually enjoy food. I love to buy it, prepare it, and eventually savor every last bite of it.

I’ve spent more than a passing amount of time contemplating the idea of gastric bypass or other such surgeries but they don’t really appeal to me since in addition to making me thin they make it so that I can no longer enjoy food. The idea of going to Jamie Oliver’s restaurant and only eating a tablespoon of food is enough to make me weep. So despite the fact that the surgery could help me lose oodles of weight, I’m not willing to give up the multi-sensory pleasure of eating to do so.

Take, for example, my most recent overpriced purchase at Carrefour. It all began several nights before we went shopping when the book I was reading included a passage where the narrator enjoyed a classic PB&J with his son. Ding! Ding! Ding! We have a craving!! Despite the fact that I’m not a huge peanut butter person, I found myself explaining to hubby that spending $5USD on a jar of Jif was a good investment. The next day, I made myself two of the best sandwiches ever created. I have no idea if I’ll make any more peanut butter and jam sandwiches now that my craving has been satisfied but for me it was worth the calories and the money to fulfill that momentary dream.

Eating fattening food is bad for me; I get that. But giving up the memory of eating a PB&J for lunch when I was a child, or attempting to recreate the perfect meal that my mother made me growing up are sacrifices that I’m not willing to make.

Eat to live. Live to eat. I’ll admit that a balance between the two is necessary to enjoy a long and healthy life. But to simply “stop eating” for the sake of fitting into everyone else’s vision of “normal” sounds like a miserable way to spend that life.

Murphy’s Law of Expatriation

Prior to our first international move, I did a lot of research into what it meant to be an expat, and what living in India would be like. The local bookstore and the Internet were my best friends during our months of pre-move studies. According to all the books I read one of the best first steps you can take upon arrival in a new locale is to find other newbies and newbie-friendly organistaions.

Having done so much homework myself, I am always astounded when I hear from newly arrived expat wives that they had no idea that there were support groups, wife groups, and supportive wife groups out there to join once they became settled. If it weren’t for the local chapters of the Association in both Delhi and Nairobi, I probably would have gone insane from boredom and loneliness. Groups like the Association and others I found during the last three years have kept me happy and introduced me to some of the coolest women on the planet.

I recently read Robin Pascoe’s book “A Moveable Marriage” and found myself nodding and randomly calling out, “You tell it, girl!” The entire time I read this book, Hubby was rolling his eyes and accusing me of finding new ways to make “everything” his fault. Quite the contrary, I countered, the book goes into great detail about how both parties in the marriage must take equal responsibility for keeping it healthy despite the innate stresses of moving abroad. The truth of the matter is that, despite all the preparation I did prior to India, I wish I had read this particular book two moves ago instead of freshly arrived from my third.

One thing that has remained the same no matter where we called home is that Hubby and I enjoy an initial “honeymoon” phase where we move in, nest, and imagine that life is great. Then about three to six months after our plane touches down, I have a breakdown and realize that I’m living in a developing country where I don’t speak the language, have no access to my funds I can call my own, and am considered a 5th class citizen. Reading this book helped me realize that I’m not crazy (when it comes to this aspect of my life). Everything I have gone through during our moves, according to Pascoe, is completely normal and to be expected.

Inspired by a survey of expats that Pascoe recently completed, I decided to write my own tips for couples getting ready to make the leap into living abroad. About two pages in, I realized that I am a very bitter person. By page three I realized I was still on the same subject and had moved from sage advisor to bitter wife and finally onto a whole new level of crazy. Yet despite my now deleted diatribe, I eventually came to a better understanding of the wonderful relationship that Hubby and I share. I take him for granted far more often than not but at the end of the day moving abroad has brought us closer together. (It helped that I read him my rant prior to its deletion. Does it still count as open communication if you write out your grievances ahead of time?)

Don’t get me wrong, moving abroad is no more a panacea for marriage than is having a child. In other words, on its own, the move will no more kill your marriage than save it. When all is said and done, the best advice I can give you is this: you’ll survive your new expat life if you’re properly prepared ahead of time, willing to change everything at a moment’s notice, and most of all realize that Murphy was not only an optimist – he was an expat.

Eid Mubarak

I would like to wish all my Devoted Readers readers a happy and blessed Eid al-Fitr!

You Can Quote Me on That

Here is some more food for thought on the issue of censorship:

"If your library is not 'unsafe', it probably isn't doing its job."

- John Berry, Iii, Library Journal, October 1999

"There are worse crimes than burning books. One of them is not reading them."
- Joseph Alexandrovitch Brodsky

"Everyone is in favor of free speech. Hardly a day passes without its being extolled, but some people's idea of it is that they are free to say what they like, but if anyone else says anything back, that is an outrage." 

- Winston Churchill

"If librarianship is the connecting of people to ideas – and I believe that is the truest definition of what we do – it is crucial to remember that we must keep and make available, not just good ideas and noble ideas, but bad ideas, silly ideas, and yes, even dangerous or wicked ideas."

- Graceanne A. Decandido

"Don't join the book burners. Don't think you are going to conceal thoughts by concealing evidence that they ever existed."

- Dwight D. Eisenhower

"If the human body's obscene, complain to the manufacturer, not me."

- Larry Flynt

"They that can give up essential liberty to obtain a little temporary safety deserve neither liberty nor safety."

- Benjamin Franklin

"Books won't stay banned. They won't burn. Ideas won't go to jail. In the long run of history, the censor and the inquisitor have always lost. The only sure weapon against bad ideas is better ideas. The source of better ideas is wisdom. The surest path to wisdom is a liberal education."

- Alfred Whitney Griswold, Essays on Education

"Where they have burned books, they will end in burning human beings."

- Heinrich Heine

"To prohibit the reading of certain books is to declare the inhabitants to be either fools or slaves."

- Claude Adrien Helvetius,

"Civil government cannot let any group ride roughshod over others simply because their consciences tell them to do so."

- Robert H. Jackson

"Books and ideas are the most effective weapons against intolerance and ignorance."

- Lyndon Baines Johnson

"Censorship, like charity, should begin at home; but unlike charity, it should end there."

- Clare Booth Luce

"One cannot and must not try to erase the past merely because it does not fit the present."

- Golda Meir

"A censor is an expert in cutting remarks. A censor is a man who knows more than he thinks you ought to." 

- Dr. Laurence Peter

"What is freedom of expression? Without the freedom to offend, it ceases to exist."

- Salman Rushdie

"Censorship reflects a society's lack of confidence in itself. It is the hallmark of an authoritarian regime..."

- Justice Potter Stewart, dissenting Ginzberg v. United States,

"Censorship is telling a man he can't have a steak just because a baby can't chew it."

- Mark Twain

"Adam was but human - this explains it all. He did not want the apple for the apple's sake, he wanted it only because it was forbidden. The mistake was in not forbidding the serpent; then he would have eaten the serpent."

- Mark Twain

"All these people talk so eloquently about getting back to good old-fashioned values. Well, as an old poop I can remember back to when we had those old-fashioned values, and I say let's get back to the good old-fashioned First Amendment of the good old-fashioned Constitution of the United States -- and to hell with the censors! Give me knowledge or give me death!"

- Kurt Vonnegut

"There is no such thing as a moral book or an immoral book. Books are well written or badly written. That is all."

- Oscar Wilde

Milestones

Today is a remarkable day in the history of Wandering the World. No, Mum, I’m still not pregnant! In fact, for someone who could barely be bothered to do her homework 86% of the time, this is an even more momentous occasion than expectant motherhood. You are currently reading my 500th post!

My third blog-iversary was last week but I decided to put off that celebration in favour of marking the big five-oh-oh. I’ll be first to admit that not all of my posts have been interesting, creative, or even terribly original but I have always tried to be honest with you, my Devoted Readers, about who I was at that moment in my life. Of course, sometimes who I was at that moment was everything from a wannabe journalist to a crazy girl who wanted to vent about pointless things. But no matter which of my many personalities was in charge of blogging on a given day, I still made a point of getting my thoughts out there in the blogosphere. (Except for when Lazy Smurf was in charge. Those were the days when we didn’t blog at all. Obviously she’s the one giving orders more often than not.)

After the equivalent of a post every other day for three years I think we can safely say that I don’t maintain this site out of a false sense of duty. In fact, this blog is my safety net of sanity and in an incredibly cheesy way makes me ridiculously happy. Where else can you go and talk about yourself day after day and know that those who listen to your ramblings won’t judge you (much)? And don’t say therapy because we both know that deep down shrinks are totally calling you out for being nutters. (Or maybe that was just in my sessions…)

So, for giving me a safe place to be me and joining me on this quest for sanity I’d like to take this opportunity to thank each and every Devoted Reader out there. This blog would simply be me talking to myself (again) without you. I look forward to your visits and your comments more than you know.

Thank you, and here’s to the next 500 posts!

Page Turners

I’m sure that my mother will be the first to pipe up and say that I didn’t always enjoy reading, but I sincerely can’t remember a time when I didn’t love escaping into the world of books. So you can imagine my nostalgic amusement last week I was reading Amazon’s book blog and came across a website where famous people talked about their favourite childhood book. I didn’t read all of the responses, but there were a few that made me smile and think back to the days when I curled up with a copy of “The Fantastic Mr. Fox” or “The Phantom Tollbooth.”

Much to his never-ending exasperation, Hubby will be the first to tell you that I am incapable of falling asleep without reading. Curled up on my side, the covers pulled up over my shoulder, with the book only inches from my face is my all time favourite place to read. Of course, were I Pinocchio I have a feeling that by now my books would be much, much further away from my face due to the number of times I have said the words, “Just until the end of this chapter,” and then proceeded to mentally block out all chapter headings in my quest to finish a good book. In fact, I’ve been saying it for so long, I’m pretty sure it will be my epitaph when I die.

Reading has always been my favourite way of escaping reality. I don’t remember the title of the first book I read as a child. I can’t even tell you the name of the best book I read as a child. But what I remember more than anything is reading and rereading all the books I could get my hands on. Orphans who change the lives of everyone they meet, figuring out why sanitary napkins require belts, or simply the desire not to be forgotten after you die -- I connected with the characters between the pages of countless books far more easily than I did with the people I knew I real life.

One of the things I love about going home to visit my family in Toronto is seeing my nieces and nephews reading the same books I did when I was their age. In fact, based on some of the markings some horrible infant made on their pages many years ago, I can tell you that they are the exact same editions I read as a child. I love the fact that these children of the new millennium might learn to love the same books that I read and loved despite the passage of time.

So to bring us back to the topic at hand, what is your favourite book from childhood? Which ones still have places of honour on your adult bookshelves? Since I’m not sure that I’m ready to pick a favourite, I’m going to go and read some Shel Silverstein and maybe invite some other dreamers, wishers, liars, and magic bean buyers to join me.

Challenging Reading

The ALA’s annual Banned Books Week celebrates something very close to my heart: the freedom to read. According to the American Library Association, more than 400 books were challenged in 2007. The 10 most challenged titles were:

1. "And Tango Makes Three" by Justin Richardson/Peter Parnell

Reasons: Anti-Ethnic, Sexism, Homosexuality, Anti-Family, Religious Viewpoint, Unsuited to Age Group

2. "The Chocolate War" by Robert Cormier

Reasons: Sexually Explicit, Offensive Language, Violence

3. "Olive's Ocean" by Kevin Henkes

Reasons: Sexually Explicit and Offensive Language

4. "The Golden Compass" by Philip Pullman
Reasons
Reason: Religious Viewpoint

5. "The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn" by Mark Twain
Reasons
Reason: Racism

6. "The Color Purple" by Alice Walker

Reasons: Homosexuality, Sexually Explicit, Offensive Language,

7. "TTYL" by Lauren Myracle

Reasons: Sexually Explicit, Offensive Language, Unsuited to Age Group

8. "I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings" by Maya Angelou

Reason: Sexually Explicit

9. "It's Perfectly Normal" by Robie Harris

Reasons: Sex Education, Sexually Explicit

10. "The Perks of Being A Wallflower" by Stephen Chbosky

Reasons: Homosexuality, Sexually Explicit, Offensive Language, Unsuited to Age Group

Banned Books Week

To mark the beginning of the American Library Association’s annual Banned Books Week, I I would like to share one of my favourite XTC songs.

"Books Are Burning"

Books are burning
In the main square, and I saw there
The fire eating the text

Books are burning
In the still air
And you know where they burn books
People are next

I believe the printed word should be forgiven
Doesn't matter what it said
Wisdom hotline from the dead back to the living
Key to the larder for your heart and head

Books are burning
In our own town, watch us turn 'round
And cast our glances elsewhere

Books are burning
In the playground
Smell of burnt book is not unlike human hair

I believe the printed word is more than sacred
Beyond the gauge of good or bad
The human right to let your soul fly free and naked
Above the violence of the fearful and sad
The church of matches
Anoints in ignorance with gasoline
The church of matches
Grows fat by breathing in the smoke of dreams
It's quite obscene

Books are burning
More each day now, and I pray now
You boys will tire of these games

Books are burning
I hope somehow, this will allow
A phoenix up from the flames

Something to Strive For

I spoke with my soon-to-be Arabic tutor yesterday morning and we agreed that my classes would begin in about two weeks. We also somehow agreed that I would show up for my first class at 7:30 a.m. Sunday morning. If I didn’t know better, I would think that I was either a) being Punk’d, or b) extremely intoxicated when I agreed to such an insanely early class. The last time I had to be coherent and socially acceptable at that hour of the morning, I was being paid a not overly insulting amount of money.

I am hoping that my tutor, whose name I didn’t actually catch because I was still in shock at agreeing to be ready to learn at 7 freaking 30 in the morning, will be willing to renegotiate our schedule. Let’s be honest, I’m not going to be up to learning anything at that hour of the morning. Heck, I’m barely up to being civil to my husband at that hour of the morning!

So how long do you think it will take until I can read a Harry Potter book in Arabic? What can i say, I'm the queen of unattainable goals!

Wrestling with Reality

As of today, I have been online for fourteen years. During virtually all of that time, I have been known as Typ0 and I have always tried to be careful about revealing too much of the real me. That said, I have met people from the Internet and occasionally revealed fairly personal things about myself. The only thing is that I didn’t really realize how much I did of the latter until an old friend from my Library days pointed it out to me the other day.

When I started this blog, I made a promise to myself and Hubby that I would not use our real names or post photos of our faces. I further committed to giving the same degree of privacy to our friends and family. I have taken that commitment to various organizations with whom I work by asking that they not post photos of me online. I thought I was being safe – paranoid but safe.

About a year or two ago, I joined Facebook and didn’t think twice about logging in with my real name although I continued my camera phobia by not posting an actual photo of myself. (Surprisingly, I don’t actually look like a giraffe.) I posted certain bits of information about myself but never enough, I thought, to let anyone track me down or steal my identity. Of course, I post updates about my location and what is going on in my life but, I told myself, I kept enough back to remain anonymous except to those who knew better. After all, no one could see my Facebook profile except people I had designated as my “friends.”

But my Library friend has forced me to think twice about my decision to even be on Facebook. More than that, he has made me question the existence of this blog. Am I giving too much away? Despite the paranoia I have cultivated about anonymity, am I really out there for everyone to find and track down? I don’t know.

This internal, and now blogged, debate also has me wondering if I can actually live without Facebook and all the camaraderie it brings with it. More importantly, I’d have to live without games like Scramble and Word Twist and that would leave dozens of hours each day that I’d be forced to fill with actual work or productivity.

So what do you think, Devoted Readers? Should I pack it in here and on Facebook and live with the anonymity I claim to desire? Or should I simply tone it all down a few notches? While I’m not sure how to be more vague here about who I am, I do know that I am incapable of not blogging as it gives me a wonderful outlet for my the parts of me that might otherwise run rampant and free like Godzilla in Tokyo. That said, this weekend my Facebook self will be taking a savage beating as I delete information and try to blur the lines between who I am online and who I am in reality. I just hope I can still find that line through the haze.

Nesting

One thing I have learned from our many moves is that I won’t be happy or content until I have made our apartment a home. There is something about hanging your own art on the wall, putting your clothes in the drawers where they belong, and arranging bookshelves just so that makes life in a new place easier to bear. Although we are still one shipment short of a real home, the process that Adelpha calls “nesting” has definitely begun.

Since we arrived more than a month ago now, I have been negligent about even simple things like deciding exactly which drawer t-shirts should be placed and how best to organize our sorry excuse for a kitchen. When our air shipment arrived last week, it was the final push I needed to remember that Cairo wasn’t just another hotel – it was our new home.

Due to the horrific condition our clothes arrived in, every single article of clothing had to be laundered including suits that were still in their plastic dry cleaner bags. Thankfully, I have a wonderful husband who spent numerous hours cycling our dusty clothes through the washing machine and hanging them on our drying rack. With his help, I spent most of the weekend putting things away, organizing, discussing where things should be put away, and folding mountains of laundry.

The biggest step toward feeling more at home has been underway for a few weeks now. Some of you may remember what our flat looked like when we arrived in August. Thanks to some artful pouting and polite complaining, the Housing Department took pity on us and sent over some slightly less hideous couches for our living room. When we were asked what we thought of our new seating, we diplomatically said that they were “a huge improvement.”

Sure, the new sofas weren’t ideal but I didn’t lie when I said we liked them more than our old ones. The pattern is less jarring to the eye and they’re high enough that adults can sit comfortably. I would call that an upgrade any day of the week.

In even better news, our new curtains were installed yesterday and to call them a simple upgrade doesn’t do them justice. We went from “attack of the floral monstrosity” to simplistic, white bliss.

To be honest, when Curtain Guy arrived I was beyond dubious. He laid out heavy white canvas sheets that he had cut to fit to our windows and then unpacked some lovely off-white sheers. I had a sudden fear that the ugliness was going on our side of the apartment and asked Hubby if he thought Curtain Guy would be willing to scrap the opaque curtains and simply hang the ones that would block peeping eyes but allow us to enjoy the Egyptian sun. Hubby insisted that I trust the person whose job it was to hang non-ugly curtains.

Given the odds, it was bound to happen eventually – Hubby was right and I was less right. (Unless you have photographic evidence, I am never actually wrong.) The new curtains look awesome. He hung the ugly opaque ones next to the window and they are covered quite lightly and elegantly by the off-white sheers. Better than that, I can open only the heavier layer, leaving the sheer toile-like fabric to filter the light and brighten my living room.

I realize that today’s blog is of little interest to anyone but me, but I’m excited about finally almost being comfortable in my new surroundings. The remainder of our things will arrive soon and my foray into nesting will be complete. Which leads us to the problem of what I’m going to do with my time when I finish nesting and the Housing Department works its way through the rather lengthy list I’m making of things that still need to be done to the flat. At this rate, I might be forced to go and get a life! *eek*

Clean at Last

For a girl who adored the bliss of not having to clean up after herself for the last three years I was incredibly negligent about hiring a maid when I arrived in Cairo. (Hubby Edit: Only the last three years??) It isn’t even as if I was going to dust or mop the floors myself while we waited for a maid to materialize. Sadly the dust-infested state of our flat was simply due to laziness and fear on my part.

The lovely lady I knew I would end up hiring, and didn’t want to hire, is evidently famous for inadvertently breaking everything in sight. I used to get upset at Tori for simply not returning my knick-knacks to the exact spots where I had placed them; I knew I couldn’t deal with someone who could possibly break those same beloved items.

In addition to my desire to save my highly fragile things from destruction was also the knowledge that my Arabic classes don’t start until next month and the most I can say in the local language is “left, right, and no cheese.” Interviewing a stranger, negotiating salaries, explaining duties, and developing a friendly relationship with the woman who will be folding my unmentionables is simply beyond my current linguistic abilities.

But the yuckiness of my living situation was finally beginning to become more oppressive than my unwillingness to look foolish in front of someone with whom I couldn’t communicate. So it was with no small amount of embarrassment that I asked Hubby to ask our baowab Ash to ask Queen if she would please come to clean our apartment.

After Hubby assisted with negotiations, Queen agreed to work for us twice a week. When she arrived the next day with her daughter in tow it was clear to me that she had noticed how filth-tastic I had allowed our home to become during the past four weeks. In fact, at one point she had swept a rather large Shame Spiral™ inducing pile of dust into one embarrassingly large pile. She patted me on my shoulder when she saw my mortified look of self-disgust and said something that I think probably translated to, “You’re a bad wife who does not care for her husband properly. But it is OK because now Queen is here for you.”

I’d like to take this opportunity to say that our flat didn’t appear that bad prior to her arrival. In fact, a few years ago before we had experienced the joy of maids, we probably would have considered it clean. But it was dingy. A point that was further highlighted by the way the apartment literally gleamed after Queen left later that afternoon.

So that’s the story of how Hubby and I hired and so far love our new maid. She may end up breaking things in the near future but for now she has brought cleanliness, the overwhelming scent of bleach, and less shame to our happy home.