And even the disguise kit.

You know you're immersed in 1970s masala films when:

• you can follow the plot of a masala film even if your DVD doesn't have subtitles. ("Okay, the girl is working for the criminals, but she's played by Hema Malini and looks to be the love interest, so she must not want to be a criminal. Oh, yep, she and her mom are both crying and explaining something. And they just said the word for "father." So the bad guys must have taken her dad captive and are forcing her to work for them to keep him safe. Oh yeah, that guy in the dungeon must be the dad, and here the bad guy is taunting him about the daughter and about how he's committing crimes in the dad's name. Here the two long-lost brothers are meeting for the first time for several years but don't recognize each other, so I bet the dialogue is full of infinite irony. And this is the part where the brother on the wrong side of the law changes his ways and starts working with the good guys to help free the girl's dad and set everything right. And it all ends happily. Fabulous.")
• people give you funny looks when you quote your favorite movies.
  
  
• you finish watching a movie and think, "I don't know, that might have been too realistic for me," and then you remember the part where the heroes ran through machine gun fire unscathed because they were carrying holy books, and all the parts where they dishoomed lots and lots of bad guys at once, and the unrealistic legal proceedings, and that really bizarre scene where the disabled soldiers started dancing with crutches to prove that they were capable of taking care of themselves, or something. But after further thought, you remain convinced that the movie was still too realistic.
  
  
• you think modern actresses look unhealthy and anorexic, and you realize that your body image has improved a great deal.
  
  
• someone walks into the room when you're watching a movie and says, "Wow, that's a crazy outfit," and you realize that 70s fashions look completely normal to you now.
  
  
• you try to decide how you'd design your villain's lair if you became a smuggler or black marketer (the careers of choice for bad guys in India in the 70s, apparently).
  
  
• you're surprised when a good guy on a TV show doubles over in pain after he's punched in the stomach, instead of doing a backflip in the air, landing on his feet, and dishooming the villain back.
  
• you wonder why you don't have a selection of handy disguises ready at hand like everyone else seems to.
  
• you expect every movie you watch to be made of awesome -- and as long as you stick with 70s masala, you're usually not disappointed.

a sad realization

According to the Disney princesses quiz, I'm Sleeping Beauty. Clearly though, this is incorrect. Think about it: I can't sleep if there's light in the room, or if the neighbors are jumping up and down upstairs, or if anyone in my apartment is awake, or if the light rail outside the hotel is clanging its bell and making lots of noise, or if I don't have a mattress to sleep on. If I do manage to sleep under these circumstances, I wake up with a splitting headache or back problems. Much less 100 hours, I can't even sleep a full eight hours unless the environment meets my exacting requirements. Clearly, I'm not Sleeping Beauty; I'm the princess from The Princess and the Pea. That's right, the lamest princess in fairy-tale history. I'm too lame to even get a movie made about me.

Well, we can't all be awesome like Chantal (or Rosie, who is definitely a Sleeping Beauty).

better than flowers

No offense to anyone who loves the holiday, but I've always thought Mother's Day was rather boring and pointless. But now, after reading about some promotional events conducted by an enterprising group of drug dealers, I realize that I just haven't been celebrating it right. Don't you think Mother's Day would be more fun with a "crack scramble," where your neighborhood crack dealer spreads crack throughout the hotel parking lot and then everyone rushes to gather up as much as they can? That would certainly make the holiday more interesting. Another holiday that can easily be spruced up is Easter, made much more exciting when you're hunting for crack instead of stupid plastic eggs, with free food for everyone who buys crack.

Now that's the entrepreneurial spirit that makes America great.

as my sister's roommate's mom would say

How awesome is the BYU football team?

So awesome.

yes, I am a prescriptivist

So, I was watching some TiVoed Olympic coverage just now, and I heard something truly terrifying. According to the commentator, one of the divers "literally fell apart in the semifinals."

Really? That's horrifying! Was it like spontaneous combustion or something? Were little pieces falling off as he walked until there was nothing left of him? Did he explode upon impact with the pool?

I can't believe these wasn't more news coverage about this.


In other news, I learned from watching the Olympics that I apparently live in abject poverty. According to one commentator, one of the athletes was so poor for a while that he didn't even own an ice machine, if you can imagine that. I guess that means I've been poor my entire life.

current gripes

Dear Roommates,

The AC is fine --
Opening the back door too.
Don't do both at once.

Love, Cindy


Dear Gateway,

Your computers stink.
Crashing hard drives, cracked hinges --
Why does nothing work?

Love, Cindy


Dear Upstairs Neighbor,

I want to sleep now,
So stop stomping and jumping.
Silence is golden.

Love, Cindy

lunch-break poetry

Haiku

Softer than the floor,
Less lumpy than couch cushions,
Mattresses are great.


In the Style of G. Gavin Gunhold

Pain strikes, like a knife in my back.
Lying on the couch cushions, waiting for sleep,
I longingly think of the mattress I once owned.
Soft as an angel's wings, supportive as a knee brace, beautiful.

On camping trips, a sleeping bag and foam pad sufficed.
Pine cones occasionally intruded, but I slept well.
These lumpy couch cushions might benefit from a pine cone.
They couldn't get much worse.

I used to sleep on the floor, and then on an air mattress.
I fear my years are catching up with me.
No longer can I sleep on the bare floor.
No longer can I make do without a real mattress.
I am too old.


Sonnet

O mattress, queen of household furniture,
'though I am cheap like Scrooge, I must admit
That thou art worth a great expenditure.
I will obtain thee soon, if fate permit.

I tried to sleep on floors; I tried the couch.
I pulled the cushions off and on them slept.
But rest was hard to find -- my back cried, "Yowtch!"
And thinking of past mattresses, I wept.

Without a mattress, life is not the best.
I wish to read but have nowhere to sit.
I wish to nap but can obtain no rest.
Without a mattress, I have lost my wit.

Tonight, I hope a mattress comes to me.
Tonight, if all goes well, I'll be pain-free.


Limerick

Some weeks now I've slept on the floor.
It's been longer than ever before.
With a mattress tonight
I'll be filled with delight.
My back couldn't take any more.

hidden talents

As my mom can attest, I tend to think that things I haven't done before are really hard and that I won't be able to do them. Sometimes I'm right, but sometimes I end up being surprised at how easy something is. Take, for instance, housebreaking. I always thought it took some skill to pick locks, but yesterday I was able to break into my house in about 15 seconds.

I think my roommate was right when she said that we should use the deadbolt more often.

trippy

Have you ever thought to yourself, "I wonder what it would be like if Spiderman were a woman and she flew around doing Bollywood dancing with Superman?" If so, you should probably get your medication checked out. But also, you should check out this clip. (My favorite part is around 2:30 to 3:00, but it's all pretty fabulous. Even better than the flying couch in Rangeela.)

I haven't seen this movie, so I have no idea what the context of the scene is. But I think the people who made Superman Returns should have borrowed from this scene.

recommendations

Occasionally, I read books that aren't trash. To mention a few recent reads:

In the category of books that make me laugh: Anything by P.G. Wodehouse. Fun, silly, improbable -- they're my cup of tea. As co-clerk Dave once astutely remarked, Wodehouse books manage to be light reading without being unintelligent, an all-too-rare trait.

In the category of books that make me think: The Great Partition, by Yasmin Khan. How do people go from being decently civil to killing one another by the millions? I still don't know, but this book about the partition of the Indian subcontinent gave me a lot to think about. Also, I'm now slightly less clueless about the history of India and Pakistan.

In the category of books that are just what they ought to be: The Fablehaven series by Brandon Mull. If you like children's fantasy literature, you should really check these books out. Imaginative and well-paced, they get the highly coveted Cindy Seal of Approval. I'm eagerly anticipating the release of the fourth book next April.

I could write a book

I have a confession to make. Sometimes I like reading really stupid and poorly written novels, especially sappy historical-fiction born-again-Christian romances. They're so dreadfully earnest in their horribleness. I think I'd like to write one myself. I've noticed that historical accuracy, theological soundness, attention to grammar and style, realistic relationships, and good plots are all completely optional, so I figure I ought to be able to handle it. You've just got to include lengthy descriptions of the characters' physical appearance, cutesy fighting/flirting scenes between the love interests, and a chapter in which either the hero or the heroine saves someone's soul. I think my novel will start like this . . .


"Mother, I haven't seen you since lunch. What are you doing out near the willow tree in this isolated part of our homestead plot of land here in the state of Kansas?

The older woman sighed wearily as she looked at her son, whose cleft chin and rugged good looks reminded her so much of her husband at the time she first met him. "Andrew, I am waiting for your brother to arrive. As you may recall, he left home five years ago, and we have not seen him since. I received a telegram from him one month ago saying that he would return on this date, and I am standing by this beautiful green willow tree awaiting his arrival. However, I feel a strange foreboding, almost as if this is the beginning of a story in which complications will arise. I only pray that I am wrong."

The young man looked admiringly at his mother, whose strength had helped the family survive during those bleak years after his father's death and whose looks still suggested the beauty she must have been in her youth. "Mother, at times like this, I can't help thinking of Father. It is a pity that he died 15 years ago, in the year 1832. I always remember the year because that was when Andrew Jackson became president. Do you remember those mysterious words Father uttered as he passed on to the next life? Sometimes I lay awake at night and wonder what they mean, when I'm not busy praying and thinking sanctimonious thoughts."

The older woman looked sadly at her son, noting the unshed tears in his beautiful hazel eyes, which were so like her dead husband's. "Yes, I do remember those mysterious words, which I need not repeat here because you no doubt remember them. If only we knew what they meant---"

She broke off speaking as her clear blue eyes detected a wispy trail of dust off in the distance. "Look, I think it your brother, Hayden, returning. But who is that with him? It looks like a girl. Why would your brother have a girl with him?"

Andrew's hazel eyes turned in the direction his mother had indicated. Looking closely, he could see the dusty wagon and its dustier occupants. "Mother, it is indeed my brother Hayden returning. But that girl does not look Christian. How could he have fallen in with an unbeliever, and how should we treat her?"

The mother sighed deeply once more. "I do not know, Andrew, nor do I know what his relationship is with her. But just remember my handy formula for dealing with unbelievers: 35% patronizing kindness, 43% concern for their immortal wellbeing, 15% sanctimonious self-righteousness, and 7% aloofness so as to avoid contamination from their sinful natures. You can't go wrong with that approach"

As Andrew looked at the approaching wagon and reflected deeply on his mother's wise counsel, he suddenly felt that his life was about to change. And how.

TO BE CONTINUED . . .



Well, I'm off to see my publisher. I think I've got a bestseller in the making.

probably true

Me: Maybe I've got plebeian tastes, but I find hip hop far more entertaining and interesting than contemporary dance.

Roommate: I think your use of the word "plebeian" automatically means that you're not.

a special message for Chantal

Don't stress out too much.

akele hmmm?

In the Hindi movie I watched last night -- Akele Hum Akele Tum, for those who care -- the hero, an aspiring music composer, is forced to sell all of his original compositions to some villainous but well-known guys who put their names on his work and receive an award for a song he composed. It's all very sad. Except, well, have a listen to his song that those dastardly composers are claiming as their own.

Doesn't something about it strike you as a wee bit familiar? (If not, click here. Also, listen to the radio this December.)

I'm not sure whether this was an intentional, subtle acknowledgment of the rampant plagiarism that sometimes occurs in the film industry or whether the composer and producer thought that no one in the audience would be familiar with the original song. I'm leaning toward the second option, partly because the pathos of the situation is greatly reduced if our hero is himself plagiarizing other people's work and partly because, according to my internet sleuthing, at least three other songs in this film, as well the plot itself, also "borrow" heavily from other sources. Either way, though, I find this scene delightfully ironic. Indian cinema, I love you.

Bollywood: a tale of adoration and addiction

Our story begins on December 24, 2007, when my parents basically forced us to go down into the basement at my uncle's house and watch a Bollywood movie they liked, called Kuch Kuch Hota Hai. I was reluctant at first, but I was totally drawn in. The intense emotions, the songs, the dances, the seemingly intentional cheesiness -- it was strange and fascinating and surprisingly enjoyable. A few days later, we watched another movie, and I decided that my enjoyment of the first movie wasn't just a fluke. After several days of repeatedly watching the second movie over and over again, I decided that I loved Bollywood. The next two movies I watched weren't so fabulous, but not even the spandex horror of Dil To Pagal Hai or the boring melodrama of Yaadein could change my mind.

In February, I went online and, for the first time ever, bought DVDs for myself -- all Bollywood, of course. In the process of researching which Bollywood movies would be good, I started religiously reading the bollywhat.com forum, where I learned a lot about films, stars, and more. I've now watched 32 Bollywood films, plus one from Kollywood, and my roommates have gradually become accustomed to my new obsession. They even recognize several of the actors, although they just say something like, "Hey, it's that one guy who was in that one movie, with the bad clothes."



Recently, I discovered the joy of 70s masala films, so called because they include a little bit of everything. Consider, for instance, the fabulous Amar Akbar Anthony. Song, dance, religious imagery, miracles, tearful reunions of long-lost family members, romance, evil stepmothers, murders, kidnappings, reversals in fortune, bar fights, disguises, comedy, lots of dishoom dishoom action, fabulous 70s clothing, burning houses, damsels in distress, villainous musclemen wearing high heels and bedazzled tanktops, an unsubtle allegorical message about Indian unity and religious tolerance, and, of course, Amitabh Bachchan jumping out of a giant Easter egg.



Seriously, even my dreams don't reach this level of inspired craziness and fun.



I'm Cindy, and I'm a Bolly-holic.

my favorite new pick-up line

I'll let you know how well it works.

O RLY?

From an old Iowa case:

Plaintiff is a widow living alone. She has no family. Her exact age does not appear but a former employee of defendants and a favorite dancing instructor of plaintiff testified "that during the period from 1957 through the fall of 1960 she was 68 years old."

Syester v. Banta, 257 Iowa 613 (Iowa 1965).

Now that's pretty amazing.

in the biblical sense

Flipping through a case just now, I was rather confused about a threat the defendant made to his neighbor. "Wait a minute," I thought, "this inner-city drug dealer's neighbor owned a donkey? And why would the drug dealer threaten to kick the donkey? It seems like kicking a donkey is . . . .Oh, I think he wasn't referring to a donkey after all."

Apparently I lead a sheltered life.

update

This is pretty much what I'll look like for Rosie's wedding.

Bollywood wedding

I think I just found the perfect outfits for the bridal couple and the groomsmen.




These would be great for Rosie's wedding. And don't worry, Rosie -- I'm sure I'll be able to find a nice bridesmaid dress for myself. You don't need to worry about picking one for me.

helpful hint for very tired travellers

When you get back to your hotel room after breakfast, you can go in, even if there's a "do not disturb" sign on the door. You put it there to stop the hotel cleaning staff, not yourself. Remember?

helpful hint for tired travellers

If you wake up a few minutes after breakfast at your hotel has officially ended, and you manage to get there in time to grab some scrambled eggs and hash browns, only to discover that all of the silverware has already been put away, just remember this: those little coffee stirrers may be too flexible to make good chopsticks, but they'll do in a pinch.

Ben and Me

Today the judge asked me locate an obscure and rather abstract idea that he had read in "an essay or book" by Benjamin Franklin. In the process, I discovered that Benjamin Franklin wrote far too much. But I also learned a very interesting and little-known fact: Benjamin Franklin invented a time travel machine and traveled to the present day.

After else, how else could he so clearly describe many commenters on online message boards and blogs?

Rules for Making Oneself a Disagreeable Companion

RULES, by the Observation of which, a Man of Wit and Learning may nevertheless make himself a disagreeable Companion.

Your Business is to shine; therefore you must by all means prevent the shining of others, for their Brightness may make yours the less distinguish'd. To this End,

1. If possible engross the whole Discourse; and when other Matter fails, talk much of your-self, your Education, your Knowledge, your Circumstances, your Successes in Business, your Victories in Disputes, your own wise Sayings and Observations on particular Occasions, &c. &c. &c.;

2. If when you are out of Breath, one of the Company should seize the Opportunity of saying something; watch his Words, and, if possible, find somewhat either in his Sentiment or Expression, immediately to contradict and raise a Dispute upon. Rather than fail, criticise even his Grammar.

. . . .

4. When modest Men have been thus treated by you a few times, they will chuse ever after to be silent in your Company; then you may shine on without Fear of a Rival; rallying them at the same time for their Dullness, which will be to you a new Fund of Wit.

Thus you will be sure to please yourself. The polite Man aims at pleasing others, but you shall go beyond him even in that. A Man can be present only in one Company, but may at the same time be absent in twenty. He can please only where he is, you where-ever you are not.

The Pennsylvania Gazette, November 15, 1750

more Holi pictures

I'm proud to say that the pink on the left side of Rosie's roommate's face is my handiwork. (She was the one with the green powder, by the way. As you can see from the picture of me, she gave as good as she got.)




I should point out that much of the color had rubbed off our clothes by this point. You should have seen us earlier.

by popular request

Here's a picture of my new haircut.



As you can see, I look quite different now.

What dreams may come

Last night I dreamed, at various times, about spies, escapes, secret passages, spacial anomalies, family intrigues, inheritances, poison, disguises, and faked deaths. Almost all of my dreams involved mortal peril, and the villains included Nazis, extraterrestrials, wicked stepmothers, an evil witch from the forest, some girls who were mean to me in 7th grade, and Amitabh Bachchan.

It's no wonder I couldn't get up this morning. I had a busy night.

a noninclusive list of reasons why I'm happy right now

I'm on a business trip, which means that I get lots of free time to do whatever I want.

Contrary to my expectations, I'm staying in the beautiful Magnolia instead of the stupid Sheraton where we usually stay. I'm in a cute little pocket-sized room where everything is within easy reach, and I get, for free, wireless internet access, breakfast, fabulous smelling shampoo and other stuff, and, best of all, chocolate milk and cookies at bedtime. Also, the doormen here are much friendlier than at the Sheraton. I love this hotel.

I've got my laptop and a good selection of movies to entertain myself with, so I don't have to resort to watching 5000 episodes of Law & Order like I usually do on business trips. (There's not much on TV when we get done with work around 2 in the afternoon.)

I absolutely love my new haircut. Every time I look in the mirror I feel happy that my looks aren't breaking the glass any more.

Despite missing the freeway exit yesterday, I managed to make it to the airport on time, and we arrived here at the scheduled time with all of our luggage. I didn't even have water dripping on me during landing. So it was a pretty good day of travel.

Rosie is going to be returning Jab We Met to me on Sunday, so I can watch it again. (Hint hint, Rosie.)

Inspired by Crutches’s recent blog entry, I will attempt to quantify something that philosophers have been pondering for ages: What would Cindy’s ideal man be like?

This is a hard question to answer, but I’ll do my best.

On a niceness scale of one to Roger Hamley, he would rank between 92.5 and Crutches (the pseudonymous person, not the object).

On a cuteness scale of one to Shahid Kapoor, he would rank between puppies and, well, Shahid Kapoor.

On a scale of one to Miranda, he would be as fun to be around as Miranda.

On a scale of one to Einstein, he would be as smart as me.

On a scale of one to Bill Gates, he would be richer than a church mouse.

On a scale of one to the sound effects game on Whose Line Is It Anyway, his ability to make me laugh would rank between this Snide Remarks column and 84.2.

old people

My Old Person has been sick recently, so I don't have any stories about her to tell. But if you want to read some interesting conversations with an old person, you should check out Jeremy Blachman's blog entries about his grandma. http://jeremyblachman.typepad.com/jeremy_blachman/my_grandma_reviews/index.html

Most of their conversations are about movies, but today's entry is a conversation about prostitution. It's . . . interesting. Grandma doesn't take the side you might expect she would.

a conversation at a party

Edna: Your roommate is always on the prowl.

Herbert: What do you mean?

Edna: He's always looking for new girls to flirt with.

Herbert: Oh, that's true. After institute he tries to get dates with random girls.

Edna: Tries?

Herbert: Well, the last few girls he's talked to have all turned out to be lawyers.

Cindy's roommate: What's wrong with lawyers, Cindy wants to know.

Cindy: Yeah, what exactly did you mean by that?

Herbert: Oh, well they just don't have time to date because they're lawyers.

Mabel: I'll have to start using that approach too. "Why did you think I was studying music, George? I'm totally a lawyer. But otherwise I would go out with you."

Cindy: This may explain some things.

nipping it in the bud

Last night I dreamed that people kept mailing me drugs to help me get over my crack addiction. I was worried in the dream about what I was going to do with all the drugs without getting my friends in trouble for mailing them to me.

Also, I couldn't figure out why everyone thought I used crack. Just because I've mentioned it a time or two on this blog does not mean that I'm a user. I'd just like to take this opportunity to state for the record that I do not use crack, I've never used crack, and I don't plan on taking up the habit in the future. So please, stop mailing me drugs, everyone. Thanks.

a deep dark secret

I always find it hard to play those get-to-know-you games where you have to come up with a fact about you that other people don't know. I don't really have that many deep dark secrets, nor would I want to share them in a game if I did. (I'll parenthetically note here how uncomfortable it was when a girl in one of my law classes used "my father is having an affair" as one of her truths in Two Truths and a Lie.)

But today, I thought of a deep dark secret that I'd like to share with you, my blog readers, because you're so special to me. So here it is: I was actually afraid of the floating green translucent special effects snakes in Doc Savage: Man of Bronze when I watched that movie as a kid.


Sure, I made fun of them with the rest of my family, but deep down inside, I actually found them scary. Yes, the special effects were really bad, and yes, such magical translucent floating green snakes probably don't exist -- but what if they do? For about a year after watching that movie, I was afraid to be in a locked room by myself. (It's true that the snakes seemed to magically be able to lock rooms that hadn't been locked in the first place, but I still felt more safe without the door locked.) Fortunately, my bedroom had the swamp cooler in it, and I knew from the movie that the best way to defeat the creepy translucent floating green snakes was with a fan or other wind-making device. So I planned out in my head how I would run over to the swamp cooler and turn it on if I got attacked by the magical floating green snakes, and that gave me some peace of mind.



Well, I feel much better now that I've gotten that off my chest. I've been hiding that shameful secret for years.

Now I'll have to think of something else to mention the next time I play one of those games.

a conversation with the Old Person

Old Person: I don't like flying. It's too scary.

Me: When's the last time you flew?

Old Person: Oh, about sixty years ago.

Me: Wait, did you say sixty?

Old Person: Yeah, it must be sixty. I was pregnant with my son Joe at the time, and it's his sixtieth birthday this month. My husband liked flying, so he took me up on a little four-seater plane. It was really bumpy, and I got sick. It was a scary experience, and I haven't flown since then.

Me: Have you ever flown on a jet plane?

Old Person: No, and I don't need to. Maybe it would be kind of different from the little plane, but I don't need to go anywhere by plane, and I already know that flying is scary.

foredoomed to fail

In the course of one day of (attempted) air travel, my fellow passengers and I experienced the following inconveniences:

• weather delays;


• a computer problem that caused every Delta employee and every person in the airport, with the exception of the gate agent and the flight crew, to believe that our flight was leaving at 3:30 rather than at 2:30, when it actually left;


• gate agents who refused to reopen the gate or tell the pilot about the computer problem "because of FAA regulations," even though the plane hadn't moved and it was the computer glitch that caused people not to be in the boarding area;


• a flight that was allowed to take off with luggage belonging to passengers who hadn't made it onto the flight, in spite of FAA regulations;


• a several-hour wait for the next flight;


• more delays;


• flight information that disappeared from the screens throughout the terminal and in the boarding area more than an hour before boarding began, causing several passengers to fear that they had somehow missed this flight as well;


• a paranoid passenger freaking out because there were some Middle Eastern men on board


• seat changes for "security reasons"


• a lengthy de-icing process;


• knocking in the engine;


• an engine de-icing and testing process that took an hour and a half, even though we'd been told that we couldn't leave the boarding area because it would take only 20 or 30 mintues;


• the sound of an alarm going off a few minutes after take-off;


• the smell of smoke in the cabin area;


• the sight of a flight attendant sprinting down the aisle with a worried look on her face;


• an emergency landing that took a really long time, apparently because they had to get fire trucks into place first;


• gate agents who had no idea what was going on or when we'd ever be able to make it to Oklahoma City;


• after 12 or more hours in the airport, a return to our own homes if we lived in Salt Lake City or an uncomfortable night in the airport if we didn't.

Other notes:

One passenger received an email and a phone call from Delta telling him that the flight had been pushed back until 3:30, and when he checked in at the curb at 2:00 or so, they told him that his flight was leaving at 3:30. The gate area was crammed with people, due to the weather delays earlier in the day, so he decided to wait in the lounge until closer to the departure time. And then the plane left without him, but with his luggage.

Another passenger apparently was actually in the gate area and still missed the flight. Around 2:15 or so (if I understood her story correctly), she asked the gate agent if this was the correct gate for Oklahoma City. The gate agent said it was, so the passenger found a seat nearby to wait for departure. About an hour later, she began wondering when they were going to board the flight. She asked at the gate, and the agent said, "Oh, well that flight already left. You missed it." The passenger pointed out that the gate agent knew that she was on that flight and that she hadn't left the general gate area, so the agent obviously hadn't tried very hard to announce the departure. The gate agent refused to care.

After our second deplaning procedure on the second flight, the gate agents told us that we definitely wouldn't be leaving that night and they didn't know what would happen with rescheduling. They said the morning flight was booked, but ExpressJet might book an extra flight in the morning to take care of all of us. However, if this happened, it wouldn't happen until 3 or 4 in the morning, so they couldn't tell us anything at this point (around 1:30 am). When I called at 6 in the morning to find out what was happening, the Delta employees I talked to thought I was making up all this stuff about ExpressJet maybe scheduling an extra morning flight. They said that the next available flight was the 7:30 pm flight that night, so they booked me on that flight. However, it turns out that at one point an extra morning flight was indeed scheduled, for 8:15 am. One guy who had paid for a hotel room that night apparently went back to the airport for the 8:15 flight, only to discover that it had been canceled. Another passenger, somewhat luckier, got woken up by a phone call from Delta at 5 in the morning to tell him that the 8:15 flight had been canceled. So, the flight was apparently booked and then canceled before I called at 6. They evidently cited "crew problems" as the reason for the cancellation. I'm not sure what kind of crew problems arose between 4 and 5 in the morning, but whatever.

Of course, the people who were just in Salt Lake on connecting flights had a much worse time of it than the Salt Lake residents did. One guy was flying from Boise to Oklahoma City and ended up getting stuck in Salt Lake for 36 hours because of Delta's incompetence and ExpressJet's smoking engines. In exchange for all of this inconvenience, Delta very graciously offered him a $7 food voucher. That's right -- one $7 food voucher to make up for a 36-hour layover. Supposedly, Delta has a quota for hotel vouchers every night, and they'd already canceled too many flights before canceling our flight at 1:30 in the morning. They did helpfully volunteer to bring some little airplane pillows and blankets out so that people could sleep in the terminal, although of course they wouldn't be allowed back in the terminal if they wanted to fetch their luggage so they could brush their teeth or something.

Delta basically refused to take any responsibility for any of this because it was an ExpressJet crew and plane. Well, here's the thing, Delta -- it was your company we paid money to, and it was your name on our tickets, and it was your ticket agents and gate agents we had to deal with. So don't try to shirk all responsibility for the fiasco. Don't do business with ExpressJet if they're not reliable, but don't try to place all the blame on them when you're profiting from the relationship and you're at fault too.

I was supposed to arrive in Oklahoma City at 5pm Monday night. Instead, I got there around midnight on Tuesday. And I had the great pleasure of hanging out in the airport for 15 hours or so, plus driving to the airport twice and boarding airplanes thrice. It was great fun.

thoughts while chatting online with Gateway support

Dear Gateway,

I know what the problem with my computer is. I just need to buy a replacement fan. Why must you keep asking me irrelevant questions?

You don't carry replacement parts for a computer that you're currently selling? Nice.

But you will repair it for me for an estimated $300 plus shipping plus tax? That's generous.

You know, the last time you "repaired" my computer, it worked for about two weeks before dying again. So let me think, would it be worth that much money for me to send it to you so that your technicians can jiggle some things around and pretend that they're fixing things?

Tough one. I'm going to have to go with . . . not in a million years.

And I know all about your shipping scam. If I say I'll send it in for repairs, you'll tell me that I need to use a special box that costs $70 to ship it to you. You've tried that one on me before.

Don't even try to tell me that I can take it to a Gateway store for in-shop repairs. I know full well that your store employees aren't authorized to work on laptops. If you wanted me to fall for that one, you shouldn't have told Other Law Student Cindy that her warranty was voided because she had allowed unauthorized technicians -- your store employees -- to attempt to fix her Gateway laptop.

The day I give any more money to you is the day I have given up all hope of life ever having any joy again.

And you might as well stop calling me. I'm not going to answer my phone.

Love,

A One-Time Gateway Customer

more thoughts while watching Yaadein

This Very Special Edition of my blog will allow you to vicariously enjoy the experience of watching Yaadein, minus the horror of all those transparent tanktops and other scary clothes. We'll focus on one of my favorite scenes: the anticlimactic crocodile scene.

To catch you up to speed, the hero is Ronit, played by Hrithik Roshan, and the heroine is Isha, played by Kareena Kapoor.

Without further ado, here is a Very Special glimpse of my thoughts during this fabulous scene.



What is this? Some kind of weird spring break scene?

Isha and her friends look awfully happy to be going to an island with danger signs posted everywhere.

And now they're running and screaming in terror. Is King Kong hiding out on the island or something?

So, they were scared because someone started playing clips of a crocodile walking around in a zoo? Okay. I do like the sound effects, but they might be more effective if the roars were coordinated with footage of the crocodile's mouth moving.

Wait, how did Isha get so far away from everyone else? They just got to the island a minute ago.

Wow, that's a nice stuffed crocodile. And I like the way they're cutting between the stuffed crocodile next to Isha and the crocodile footage from the zoo.

Hey, movie, the 1950's are calling. They want their special effects back.

You know, they should at least have attached a string to the stuffed crocodile's mouth so they could move it up and down. It's really hard to be scared of a crocodile that's not moving at all.
I think Kareena Kapoor would agree. The fake-scared looks in The Lost Skeleton of Cadavra were more convincing than this.

Oh, so now Isha's friends are leaving without her. Way to be manly, guys. Leave the girl behind with the scary crocodile while you race off in your boat.

Oh, but they're telling Ronit about it, and he'll be manly and save the day. It's a good thing he was hanging out by the docks on the mainland.

Never mind, it looks like Isha's going to take care of it herself. She'll get rid of the crocodile by . . . throwing her shirt at it? Um, okay.

And here's Ronit, looking muscular. Maybe now he'll wrestle the crocodile or something. That would be sweet.

No, I guess the crocodile is just going away. Maybe it was scared off by his massive biceps. Or by his sense of fashion.

Oh no, Ronit just found Isha's shirt. Maybe he'll think the crocodile ate her and he'll start crying manfully and stuff.

No, I guess not, because there's Isha. Sleeping? In a tree?
Oh, I think she fainted or something. In a tree.

Although she kind of looks like a lion's kill.

All right, so they're back in the boat again. I guess the crocodile didn't attack them after all. That was anticlimactic.


Dude, Ronit, we get the point. YOU HAVE BIG MUSCLES. WE KNOW. You don't need to keep flexing them every few minutes.

Heh heh. They're out of gas. Ronit, your little rescue attempt might have been a bit more impressive if you'd remembered to fill up the gas tank first.

Okay, I take it back. It is more impressive to rescue the girl by swimming back to the mainland with the boat in tow. I just hope the water isn't as infested by dangerous beasts as that island was.

And he's still swimming. How far away are they anyway?

Maybe there is a point to his muscles after all.

Still swimming. But look, there's a boat right there. Ronit, look to port! There's a boat. I bet they'll loan you some gas, or even give you a lift, if you ask them.

Okay, I guess he wants to do it the hard way.

So now it's dark outside? Seriously, how far away are they?

And it's morning again, I guess. Dude, Isha is still unconscious. When that girl faints, she doesn't mess around. Or maybe she woke up, saw that the man was doing all the work, and didn't see any point in letting him know that she was functioning again. I dig that.

Oh good, they made it to shore. And Ronit's in the hospital with a funky hospital cap on? Okay.

Wuss. Can't even rescue a girl without ending up in a hospital.

But it's all good, because now she knows she's in love with him.

Wow, that was so romantic, I guess.

But seriously, why didn't he wrestle the crocodile?

thoughts while shopping with the old person

So, you didn't like the movie Harvey because it's about a bunny rabbit? Um, okay.

Can we go home yet? We've been at Walmart for ages.
Okay, I guess we've only been here an hour, but it feels like ages.

I really doubt the sizes on this rack have changed during the last five minutes. There probably is still nothing your size here.

Yes, this is still a size XL, just like the last two times you asked me to look at it.

Sorry, Old Person, but I doubt that we'll find anything your size in the juniors' section.

Hey, there's a mirror.
Wow, I'm looking kinda fat.
And look at that -- pants with "Love" written at the waist line. Yeah, like anyone needs help spotting my love handles.

No, Old Person, I don't think you'll find anything you like in the boys' section.

You know, I suddenly feel a lot of sympathy for the Ghost of Marley, doomed to roam the aisles of Walmart eternally. No, wait. He wasn't stuck in Walmart. Lucky.

In fact, I bet Hell is a lot like Walmart. And all the catering in Hell is done by the McDonalds here.

At least I don't have to drag a mile of chains behind me. Not yet, at least.

thoughts while watching Yaadein

Dear Hrithik Roshan,

You are an attractive man. However, that does not excuse your many crimes against fashion.

The hats are a little goofy, but I'll let them pass.





This, on the other hand, is just not acceptable.



Please fire the person who told you that see-through tanktops are attractive and manly. They're not. And maybe you should cut back on the headbands as well.



Why don't you try something with sleeves? I promise, we won't forget that you have muscles.



And please, if you must wear clothes made out of black garbage bags, at least go with Hefty. I hear Hefty bags are less likely to rip.



Love,

A Concerned Fan

thoughts on the bus

Dear Drunk Guy,

Perhaps there was someone on the bus tonight who would have been charmed by your slurred speech, beer breath, and skill at boxing imaginary opponents. "My hands are really cold. Feel them. Go on and feel them" might have been just the right line to use to melt her heart into a sticky pile of goo.

But I was not that someone. Better luck next time.

Love, the girl staring studiously at the advertisements on the walls

more helpful advice

Dear Walmart,

You know how you've got that goal of having the worst customer service in the universe? Well, I've got an idea for you. Instead of hiring people who are brain dead, you should start staffing your stores with people who are actually dead. It's true that they would be no more apathetic than your current employees, but they would be a little bit slower, so that's a plus. And you'd be saving money at the same time. I really think it would suit your business practices very well. Give it some thought.

Love,

A Disgruntled Customer

for Chantal

Here are 6 random facts about me that you probably didn't know:

1. I'm a little bit superstitious. This is most evident in my computer-game playing. For instance, I won't change lanterns in Moria if my character has made it past a certain level because I'm afraid my luck with run out if I get a new lantern. It's irrational I know, but there you have it.

2. I have a compulsive habit of using the bathroom immediately before I go to bed. This started years ago when my mom told me that it might help reduce the frequency of my nightmares.

3. When I see a dog, I immediately start repeating in my head "I am not afraid of dogs. I am not afraid of dogs." It helps control my fear to some extent. One day in my first year of law school, I was walking home from the library after midnight on a Friday night, and I had to walk through a crazy loud frat party that was taking over the sidewalk. After I got past the partyers, I realized that I was repeating to myself "I am not afraid of boys. I am not afraid of boys." This made me laugh.

4. For as long as I can remember, I've always had at least one wart on one of my hands.

5. My favorite TV show of all time is Star Trek Voyager. I can't explain why. It just is.

6. My roommate says that my street name should be Random.

Cindy's travel tips

Pack your pajamas. They're easy to forget.

Pack deodorant.

Bring a pen that you don't mind parting with in case you need to jerryrig a malfunctioning toilet to stop running.

Don't drink out of the glasses in your hotel room. If you do drink out of one, don't do it while watching a news special about how maids actually clean them.

Don't arrive after hours at a little local hotel that just leaves your keys under the doormat. If your room hasn't been cleaned, there's nothing you can do about it.

Don't fly in or out of Philadelphia.

If you fly America West, expect your flight to be delayed due to mechanical problems.

If you fly American Airlines, try to avoid sitting in the very back row. If you do sit in the back row, wear a rain poncho, since there's a slight chance of showers.

Don't trust the baggage claim monitors in the Salt Lake airport. Your baggage will rarely be where it is supposed to be.

Eat an almond pretzel at Auntie Anne's. They're yummy.

helpful advice v.3

Dear Mumblers of America,

If you want me to actually listen to the words you're saying to me, you must, at a minimum, do one of two things:

(1) enunciate, or

(2) say something very interesting.

It's exhausting trying to decipher what you're mumbling about, so if you want me to put in the energy, you need to make it worth my while. "Mumble mumble laundry you know mumble you know mumble mumble just kidding! Mumble mumble um mumble" doesn't cut it. If I don't hear something interesting after a few minutes of straining to understand you, you might as well just stop talking, because I'm not listening any more.

Or you could just stop mumbling. At least then your conversation will only be painful in one way.

Love,

Me

a pathetic tale

Hi. I'm Cindy, and I'm a computer-game-aholic.

Based on some pointed remarks at General Conference, as well as a few unfortunate incidents involving Minesweeper in the preceding week, I decided to take a break from computer games for the rest of October. And, I'm pleased to report that I've been mostly computer game free since October 8, 2007. (I say mostly because the secretary at work emailed me a link to a Halloween thing that ended up being a game of hangman, and almost before I knew what was happening I'd been playing hangman for a couple of hours. But other than that I haven't touched the stuff.)

This goal been difficult for me. A few weeks ago, I was going through some really painful withdrawal. And then I realized something. I only promised myself not to play games on the computer.

Like an alcoholic swigging down vanilla extract, I found a way to get my fix.

Snuggles, Little Bear, and Mrs. Bunny prepare for another rousing game of Seven Up.

I lost the game, but it was totally worth it.

to sleep, perchance to dream

The secretary at work recently told me that she thinks my interesting dreams are a result of me stifling my creative side by not writing novels as I ought. So, which of my recent dreams do you think would make the best basis for a story?

1. The one where I smuggled methamphetamine across the country in my hollow pinkie toe. (I carried prescription meds in the neighboring toe.)

2. The one where I could instantly go places by pointing at a location on an online map, but sometimes I accidentally went back in time as well. And then I met my grandfather 50 years ago, and he told me what a pain his fourth-oldest son was. I told him I thought his son would turn out just fine.

3. The one where I was trying to escape from a futuristic slave mining camp with the help of a talking Ken Jennings doll that an old insurgent gave to me before the bad guys shot him.

4. The one where I accidentally started a war.

helpful advice, column 2

Dear Stupid Dog Owner,

Over the past several months, I have noticed that you walk your dog about 50 times per day. Despite the frequency with which the dog is taken on walks and the fact that you incessantly tell the dog to "Go Potty" while walking it, the dog has apparently not learned the point of going on walks. This is so even though you act like the animal has discovered the cure for cancer every time it does finally do its business.

I advise you to get a smarter pet. Perhaps a goldfish or an earthworm.

Love, The Girl Whose Window Abuts Your Favorite Dog-Walking Location

helpful advice, column 1

Dear Sister-in-Law,

Congratulations on the anticipated visit from the stork in November. I know you said you don't need help with name suggestions, but I don't think you really meant it. So, I'm come up with some great ideas for you.

Option 1. Since Kid #1 was born in July and is named after a gemstone starting with the letter J, perhaps Kid #2 should be named after a gemstone starting with the letter N. I suggest Nephrite.

Option 2. You know how babies born in December are often named Christmas-y names, like Holly or Noelle or Cindy Lou? Well, I think your November baby should get a Thanksgiving name, like Pocahontas or Pilgrim or Turkey. You could also go for a nice Veteran's Day name like Camouflage or Armistice. But I think you should stick with Turkey.

Let me know if you want any more suggestions. My advice is free, and worth every penny.

Love, Cindy

links

If you have some time to kill, the "blog" of "unnecessary" quotation marks is rather funny.

More humorous reading is a prisoner's lawsuit against Michael Vick. Who knew that in addition to arranging dogfights Michael Vick also purchased missiles from Iran, used drugs in school zones, and subjected people to microwave testing?

Also on the legal front, a dissenting judge expressed his feelings about jukeboxes and jazz in 1956:

In the eyes and ears of many people, including the writer of this opinion, a juke box confined to ‘jazz’ records may be a nuisance. It robs the air of sweet silence, it substitutes for the gentle concord of stillness the wailings of the so-called ‘blues singer,’ the whinings of foggy saxophones, the screeching of untuned fiddles, the blasts of head-splitting horns, and the battering of earshattering drums. It makes a mockery of music, it replaces harmony with cacophony, tonality with discord, and peace with annoyance.

[Read more here.]

all my children

This week I played Dance Dance Revolution at a party hosted by one of the agencies in my building. While I was dancing, I heard a woman behind me comment, "She's really good at this. She must play it with her kids."

Say what? Do I really look that matronly? I guess people my age do have kids, but still.


And in case you were wondering, it is stupid to play DDR with turf toe, even if the toe seemed to be healing well.

old people give interesting medical advice

Old Person: So, what did the doctor say about your foot pain?

Me: He said the only real problem he could see was that the muscles on the back of my legs are really tight.

Old Person: That don't sound right. I don't see how that could cause your problems. I think you probably have nerve damage, because my son's feet hurt and they found out that that's why.

Me: I really don't think that's what it is.

Old Person: Well, you should ask another doctor, because most doctors don't know what they're talking about.

Me: I have been to a lot of doctors. And it's true that some of them are incompetent, but I think this doctor knew what he was talking about.

Old Person: Didn't you say before that your problems had something to do with the bones?

Me: Well, that's what my one podiatrist said. He said that they were angled downward, and that was causing problems.

Old Person: Have you ever had your blood tested? Because you're really pale, which is a sign of leukemia, and leukemia causes bone problems.

Me: I'm pale because I'm white. I don't have leukemia.

Old Person: Okay, but I think you should get tested. You're really very pale.

Me: I'm naturally pale. Really, I don't think I have leukemia, or anything like that.


The next day . . .

Old Person: You really look pale. Maybe you have lupus. Have you ever gotten tested for that?

Me: I'm just white. I'm quite sure I don't have lupus or any other serious medical condition like that.

Old Person: Well, my daughter had leukemia, and she was really pale and bad looking for a while before they diagnosed her. I think you should get tested. Lupus or leukemia is probably causing your feet problems and making you look pale.

Me: I don't think my paleness and my foot problems are related, except to the extent that they're both conditions I was born with. But my paleness is not indicative of illness. Really, I'm just very fair-complected. And besides, I've had blood work done, and my blood is perfectly normal.

Old Person: Okay, but they might have gotten the tests wrong. You can't trust doctors.

Me: Really, I'm fine. I don't have lupus or leukemia. My terminal heart disease, on the other hand . . . .

(Okay, so I didn't really say that. The Old Person doesn't understand jokes.)

above and beyond

This past week some girls in my ward woke up at 2 in the morning to the sounds of someone trying to break into their apartment. They called one of their home teachers, then the police. The home teacher got up to go to their apartment, but he thought he should bring something along for protection. He looked around for a baseball bat or something like that. He didn't see a bat, but he remembered that he had recently bought a sword off the internet. So he pulled out the sword and walked over to the girls' house. He started looking around the house to see if anyone was out there. At this point the police arrived.

He was startled to see them, as he didn't know they were coming. They weren't exactly startled to see him, but they did reach the wrong conclusion. They yelled at him to drop his sword and put his hands above his head. He wisely complied and then told them that the girls had asked him to come investigate. They all went inside the house, where the girls confirmed that he was not the prowler. At that point the police became friendly and started asking him where he got his sword, which is apparently a pretty cool one.

And so it all ended happily, although the girls are still kind of upset about the whole experience. And now the guy can have something to say if our home teacher ever brings up the story about how he had to remove a rotting dead mouse from our doorstep.

A Cindy Retrospective

For my loyal fans, here is an exclusive, behind-the-scenes look at the beginnings of my illustrious career as a writer. A writer of boring legal stuff that doesn't have my name on it, but a writer none the less.

So, for your edification and enjoyment, here are some excerpts -- chosen more or less randomly -- from my first journal ever. Spelling and capitalization are as in the original, but unfortunately I can't reproduce the interesting handwriting.

From the first page:

On Cristmis 1987 I got a Bear And BIBLE. [Ed. I also got the journal, but I thought that was too obvious to warrant mention.] The day actor Cristmis is my birthday. I got skates. And we went to our grandma's home. We had fun. . . . On Thursday JANUARY 1988 I had my warts freesed. And my tempuchr wuss 98 point 1. The day actor that my tempuchr wus 102 point 6. T. day actor that my tempchr wus 103 point 4. On Sunday I rote in my journal. And my temperaturt was 100.

Page 11:

babtisim
I was babtised on my birthday. I was at my Grandma and Grandpa's house. My Grandpa is a p bishop! We went to a church, it was the wrong one. So we went to the right one.

Page 12:

snow!
It snowed on Feb. 8th and 9th 1989. [Ed. That's all that's written on the entire page.]

From page 40:

Dec. 1, 1990
. . . . I am on Mosiah on the book of Morman. I like Mosiah and Alma best, because they have lots of wars. I like The Man From Snowy River 1 and 2. We saw part one yesterday. I better read alot in the book of Morman to finish it by my birthday. I have a goal to read the B of M and write in my journal every day.

From page 43:

Dec. 25, 1990
I finished the Book of Mormon. I got neat presents. I got a clock/radio, backpack, book, bathrobe, 2 jumpropes, 3 puzzels, a set of the 7 Anne of Green Gables set, and a video. [Ed. If you think this list is bad, you should see the entry from Easter, where I cataloged every kind of candy I got, including "20 jelly beans (of the regular 1 black, 3 green, 3 pink, 3 orang, and 2 white, of the speckled 2 green, 1 purple, 1 blue, 2 orange, and 2 yellow."]

Dec. 26, 1990
I'm on Genisis 3, Nephi 4, and D and C 85. I got a cassete tape reckorder for my birthday. We had a half a cheesecake since the sewer backed up.

And there you have it. If that's not some compelling writing, I don't know what is.

your tax dollars at work

On Wednesday, I was sitting at my desk wondering what I should do now that I'd finished up all of my work. And then I noticed that the police were barricading off our street. I looked down the block, and I saw that they had barricaded the next block down as well. They also seemed to have blocked off the cross street south of us. I pointed this out to the secretary, and we saw that there were several police cars around the Carl's Jr. across the street. Oddly enough, however, the police weren't stopping all of the gawking pedestrians who were sauntering along the street.

A couple of unmarked police cars were waved through the barricades and went to the Carl's Jr. A news chopper circled overhead. But there was nothing on the radio or online to tell us what was going on.

We saw the cute security guard from our building go over to talk to the policeman who was blocking State Street. But then we saw someone ask him what was going on, and he shrugged his shoulders like he didn't know.

Then the UPS guy called to say that he wasn't going to make it to the building, since the area was all closed off. He said that he was in the Marriott, and that they were debating evacuating the building. He also informed us that the reason for all the fuss was a suspicious package that had been seen somewhere, although he didn't know where. The secretary said, "I can tell you where. It's at the Carl's Jr." The UPS guy also told us that he had been told that our building was in lockdown. The secretary and I looked at each other and said, "I sure hope that's not true." People had been coming and going from the building the whole time, and they hadn't announced anything over the loudspeakers.

Finally, about two hours after everything started, we heard a soft exploding sound, and we figured they'd detonated the package. Sure enough, about fifteen minutes later they started removing the barricades.

That night I saw a brief story about this on the news. Turns out the package contained . . . a trumpet. They'd sent a bomb robot over to inspect it and then detonate it. So some poor guy lost his trumpet. But at least we all got some entertainment.

The news story said, "Police say this underscores an important lesson. If you leave something somewhere please tell the police." That's some good advice. "Someone call the police! I think I left my book on the bus! And I left my trash in the trash can! And I left my car in the parking lot!"

a shopping expedition

As you all know, I went without a car for a long time, so I know what a pain it is. Also, lots of people were very nice about giving me rides places. And so, I promised myself that when I got a car, I would use it for Good. That's why I hang out with the Old Person every weekend. And that's why, when my ward passed around a sign-up sheet for those who owned cars and would be willing to take others grocery shopping, I signed up, even though I'd rather go to the dentist than go shopping.

I then got a phone call asking me if I'd be willing to take a Korean girl in my ward to Walmart. I said sure, and the girl on the phone said, "That's great! I told her you would, and she's really excited." The girl then said something about us going at 9:30, and I asked if she meant 9:30 that night. She said, "No, of course not. You should arrange it with Korean Girl. But I told her 9:30 on Saturday morning."

I hang out with the Old Person at 10 on Saturday mornings, so I called Korean Girl and told her that I would be free after 2 on Saturday to give her a ride. "Okay," she said, "2:00." "Are you saying that you want to go at 2:00?" "Yes, 2:00." "Okay, I'll see you at 2:00 then."

I sometimes give Korean Girl rides to church, and she usually comes up to my apartment to meet me, since we live in the same complex. I assumed she would do the same on Saturday, but she hadn't shown up by 2:20. I gave her a call to ask if she was ready and whether she was going to come up to my apartment or whether I should pick her up in the parking lot by her apartment. "Parking lot." "Okay, I'll see you in the parking lot then. I'll be there in just a minute." "No, at 3:00." "At 3:00? I'm ready to go now, so is now okay?" "No, at 3:00. We go at 3:00." "All right."

At 3:00, we left for Walmart. I figured we'd be there about an hour. Little did I know . . . .

It turns out the Korean Girl was not only unfamiliar with Walmart's layout, she was also almost completely unfamiliar with American products. "What is this kind cheese, Cindy? What is Hot Pockets? What is good kind food?"

We spent about 45 minutes looking for the kind of meat she wanted. "I want meat, Cindy." "What kind of meat?" "Meat. Um, beef. Yes, beef. I want beef." "Okay, what kind of beef?" "Normal." "Ground beef?" "Yes, ground beef. I want ground beef." I took her over to where the ground beef was. "No, not this kind beef. Not ground beef. I want normal beef. For cooking." "Okay, so a cut of beef?" "Yes, but not steak. I do not want steak." "Do you want a roast?" "Yes, roast. I want roast." I showed her the roasts. "No, I do not want this kind beef. I just want normal beef. For cooking. This beef is too . . . not thin. How you say other than thin?" "Thick?" "Yes, thick. Too thick. I need less thick beef." "Okay, well the rest of the cuts of beef are in this section, so why don't you just look around for what you want." "Um, I do not know. I want normal beef." "Yes, I know, but I never buy cuts of beef, so I can't help." "You do not buy beef?" "No, so I can't help you."

Somewhere around this point, she pulled out her electronic translator. It wasn't very helpful, however, since the word that came up was fatback, and she specifically said that she wanted beef and not pork. Her next idea was to ask someone else. She spent about twenty minutes looking for someone to ask. (I think she was looking for a Walmart employee, which was clearly a lost cause.) Finally, she just took the kind that looked right to her. Which would have been the sensible solution from the beginning.

And then we moved on to hotdogs. She came over to me with hotdogs in her hand and asked, "What is good kind sausage?" "Well, those are hotdogs. Do you want sausages, or do you want hotdogs? They're different." "I want this." "Okay, so you want hotdogs?" "Yes. Is this good kind sausage?" "Hotdog. That's a hotdog. And I don't buy hotdogs, so I don't know." "You don't buy hotdog either?" "No, I don't like them." "Oh, but what is good kind?" "I don't know. I don't buy them." "Okay, but what do people in America like?" "I don't know. I don't like hotdogs, so I don't discuss them with others." "Okay, but do you know this kind, Oscar Meyer? Is it good sausage?" "It's a hotdog, and I don't know what kinds of hotdogs are good." "Okay, how about this kind? Is this kind good kind hotdog?" "I still don't know. I don't know what kinds of hotdogs are good." "Okay, but you know this kind? Is this kind good?" "I don't know what kinds of hotdogs are good." "Okay, we should ask somebody. Who should we ask?" "If you want to ask somebody, that's fine." "No, I will not. Maybe I get this kind. Wait, what is difference between this kind and other kind?" "Well, the one is long and skinny, the other is short and fat." "Which is good?" "That depends on whether you want a long and skinny one or a short and fat one." "Okay."

We mananaged to get through the juice and milk section in only about 20 minutes. Then it was laundry detergent. "What is good kind laundry detergent?" "Well, I use Tide, but I don't know which is best." "Oh, but what do Americans think is best?" "Everyone likes different kinds. There's not one kind that everyone agrees is best." "Okay. What is All?" "Um, it's a kind of laundry detergent." "How is All different from Tide?" "Advertising? I don't know." "Okay. What is this word?" "Bleach? Um, it's like an extra cleaning thing, or something. And it can fade colored clothes." "Okay. What is difference between this kind All and this kind All?" "Um, scent, maybe? You can smell them to see which smells better." "Okay. I like this smell. But what is concentrate?" "That means you can put in a smaller amount, and get the same result." "Okay. But maybe I should get other bottle, because it is bigger." "Yes, but the concentrated one says it washes more loads. Because you don't need to put in as much." "Okay, but it is still smaller." "Yes, but that doesn't really matter." "Okay. Maybe I get big bottle. Oh, but what is Wisk?" "It's just another brand of laundry detergent." "Is it better than All?" "I don't know. I always buy Tide." "Oh, but do Americans like it better than All?" "I still don't know. You're just going to have to pick one yourself."

Finally, we had to find lettuce. "I do not see kind lettuce I want." "Well, maybe they don't have it here." "We must ask someone else." "Okay, go ahead." "No, you must ask. I do not speak English well enough." "But I don't know what you want." "I want lettuce. Other kind, not this kind." "I don't think that's going to help." "You must ask." "Sorry, but I'm not going to ask the surly Walmart employee what kind of lettuce you want."

And so it went.

And at this point I should probably apologize to anyone who ever took me shopping, since I know I'm a pain to shop with too. Although I've never made anyone spend 3 hours grocery shopping.

a modern fable

One day a girl named Cindy was watching football on TV, and the announcer said that one of the athletes was suffering from turf toe. "Turf toe," Cindy laughed. "Is that like a minor case of athlete's foot or something? Maybe that football player should stop being such a big baby."

Shortly thereafter, Cindy got turf toe herself. "I want to die!" cried Cindy. "The pain is too horrible to bear!"

From time to time, Cindy's turf toe injury recurs. Then Cindy is in much pain, and she wishes she hadn't made fun of the football player.

Moral: Laughter is not always the best medicine.

Alternate moral: Don't mock people's pain unless you're willing to walk a mile in their orthotic shoes.

An educational conversation

Bus passenger: Did I ever tell you about how Napoleon went to Mexico?

Bus driver: No.

Passenger: Well, he did, and I can prove it.

Driver: That would be hard to prove, since that was before anyone knew about America.

Passenger: Well, I can prove it, just like I proved that the sun revolves around the earth and not the earth around the sun.


Hopefully tomorrow we can cover more enlightening topics, like
Elvish Reactions to the Aztecs' Defeat at Waterloo;
Atlas's Weight-Training Regime; and
The Hollow Earth: Was it discovered by Leonardo da Vinci or Vasco da Gama?

A Bewildering Phone Call from the Old Person

. . . wherein adverbs are overused and explanations are awaited.

Phone, loudly: *Ring*

Me, responsively: Hello?

Old Person, agitatedly: I'm sorry to bother you, Cindy, but we've got a problem. They've changed the numbers, and they won't tell us the new ones, and I don't know how to get them, so do you think we should call Aging Services about it?

Me, befuddledly: What?

Old Person, frantically: The numbers! They changed them! And they won't give me the new ones, and I don't know what to do. They said they'll only give them to the firemen and emergency services and paid help, and the access cards cost $8, and I told them that you're an unpaid volunteer, but they still wouldn't give them to me. And they told the doctor's office not to give the numbers to me either. Can you believe it? It don't seem right that they'd do something like that. I just don't know what to do. What do you think we should do?

Me, confusedly: I have not the pleasure of understanding you. Of what are you talking?

Old Person, deliberately: The numbers. At the gate. Where you come in. It's locked on Saturdays. They won't give me the new numbers, and they said an access card would cost $8.

Me, comprehendingly: Gotcha. You're saying that they changed the entry code at the gate to your complex.

Old Person, anxiously: Yes, and they won't give me the new ones. You should call my manager and ask for them and explain that you're an unpaid volunteer. And call me back tomorrow after you've talked to her.

Me, reluctantly: Okay.

Old Person, annoyedly: I don't see how they can do that. This is HUD housing, and don't they have to respect the rights of the people? How can they take away our rights like this? You're sort of like a paralegal or something, so what do you think?

Me, patiently: I'm not licensed to practice law; even if I were licensed I wouldn't be licensed in Utah; and even if I were licensed in Utah, I still wouldn't know anything about housing law.

Old Person, resignedly: Okay, well just call me back tomorrow after you talk to my manager.

Me, conclusively: All right. Goodbye.

compliments from the old person

Yesterday when the old person and I were at Walmart, looking for the 100th time at the bin of cheap DVDs, I saw two girls in my ward. Both of these girls, I must add, are older than I am. However, the old person was shocked when I told her that they lived in my apartment complex. "They do! But you look so much older than them." Pause. "Not that you look old. I think that it's because they're so tiny." Pause. "Not that you look fat. It's just that you're, um, tall, and um, womanly."

Nice recovery there, old person.

strange things taught in church

Relief Society Teacher: "Are any of you mad at God for making us forgive everyone? Like, he made it a commandment, so we have to do it. Does anyone find that really frustrating? Anyone? None of you are annoyed with God for requiring us to forgive others? Well, okay then. Let's move on with the lesson."



Sunday School Teacher: "We all think of Jesus being perfect and all, but let's read Mark 8:22-25. So, the first time Jesus tried to cure the man's blindness, the man couldn't see correctly, and Jesus had to do it again to get it right. That makes me feel better, because it shows that even Jesus didn't get everything right the first time."


Me: Okay then. Maybe I'll just read the scriptures to myself instead of listening.

book tag blog game, take two

The Pickwick Papers, by Charles Dickens

"Now sir," said the little man, as he carefully closed the door, "is there no way of accomodating this matter -- step this way, sir for a moment -- into this window, sir, where we can be alone -- there, sir, there, pray sit down, sir. Now, my dear sir, between you and I, we know very well, my dear sir, that you have run off with this lady for the sake of her money. Don't frown, sir, don't frown; I say, between you and I, we know it.

Wow. Those were some long sentences.

(The book that was closest to me was actually my journal, but page 123 is blank. So, I couldn't use that.)

book tag blog game (say it fast ten times)

For further enlightment, go to Ben's blog.

The rules of the game:

1. Find the nearest book to you.
2. Name the book and author.
3. Turn to page 123.
4. Go to the fifth sentence on the page.
5. Copy out the next 3 sentences and post to your blog.
6. Tag three other people.


Book: United States Code Annotated, Title 18, Crimes and Criminal Procedure. Author: Congress, with annotations by Westlaw.

Excerpt: "As a necessary adjunct of the exclusive power delegated to Congress to establish uniform rules of naturalization, Congress had power to determine that an alien could not, with impunity, falsely claim to be a citizen when in fact he was not, and to make such false and willful representation a crime. U.S. v. Anzalone, W.D.Pa. 1951, 100 F.Supp. 987, reversed 197 F.2d 714. . . ."

Are you sure you want me to continue? It doesn't get any better.

Maybe I'll find a different book when I get home from work.

on TRAX again

Worst pickup line ever:

"Really, I'm not a stalker. I just want to know all about you. And please, be specific."

strangers on a train

Things overheard and/or said to me on the bus or on TRAX:

"Hello there, little lady. May I sit here?"

"What do you think of those trans-sexuals?"

"Your hat matches your scarf. I like that."

"I like riding TRAX. It makes me feel high-class."

old people are interesting to shop with

A conversation with the old person.


Old person: I need to get some DVDs for presents for my family. Let's see what they've got here.

[Some time later . . . ]

Me: Here's one I like. Have you seen About A Boy? It does have a fair amount of swearing, but I like it.

Old person: What's it about?

Me: Well, it's about how a guy learns that we need other people, that we don't live for ourselves alone, stuff like that. It's a really sweet movie.

Old person: No, that doesn't sound like something my family would like.

[Some time later . . . ]

Old person: Oh, this looks like a good one.

Back of movie cover: Fifteen-year old Girl falls in love with Boy who mysteriously appears at her grandfather's ranch. Although her grandfather forbids their love, they don't let that bother them. When she becomes pregnant, her grandfather sends Boy away and explains that Boy is actually her half-brother. She marries Some Other Guy, who helps her raise her kid, but that marriage ends in divorce. Twelve years later, she runs into Boy again, but she's now dying of cancer. Will their love cure her cancer?

Me: Okay then.

old people give interesting career advice

Another conversation with the old person:


Old Person: So what do you do at your job? Do you run the typewriter?

Me: No, I use a computer. I do legal research and writing. On a computer.

Old Person: So you just do paperwork?

Me: Not exactly. I look up cases and other legal information on the internet, and I draft opinions and stuff like that.

Old Person: That's kind of weird. When nurses go to nursing school, they practice doing the kinds of things they'll do as nurses, but you're just doing paperwork, which isn't what lawyers do.

Me: Actually, lawyers do a lot of legal research and writing like I do.

Old Person: Well, lawyers talk a lot. Are you sure you can be a lawyer? You'll have to talk a lot more if you become one.

Me: It kind of depends on what kind of law I decide to practice. Many lawyers spend a fair amount of time sitting in their offices and doing legal research and writing, not talking.

Old Person: Well I think you should become a paralegal. Then you wouldn't need to talk.

but only in my dreams

In the past few days, I have dreamed that I have done the following things:

1) taken my little sister to see Ursula, the sea witch, so she could get a Snickers bar;

2) produced a musical about seasonal depression;

3) run through a hurricane to try to stop my fellow physician from taking a performance-enhancing drug that he thought was innocuous, but which I had discovered would cause his skin to rot and fall off; and

4) become a really good driver.

say what?

The court reporter seems to have had some difficulty taking down the lawyer's argument here:

"Many of us have been taught to love thy neighbors theist but not to love thy neighbor nor unanimous oust."

It sounds like the biblical spam I get on my school email account.

crazy men and old people

Scene: The McDonalds inside of Walmart
Characters: The Crazy Man, The Old Person, and Me

Old Person: Look at this food. This MacDonalds has sure cut back on their quality. I can't believe they sell this stuff. They don't even give you fry sauce. Isn't that weird!

Crazy Man (from behind me): [something unintelligible]

Old Person: That man is talking to himself. He's probably doped up -- you know, on drugs. You'd be surprised how many people are on drugs.

Me: Probably not. That's what I spend the majority of my time on at work.

Old Person: What's he drinking? It's green. I've never seen any kind of drink like that before.

Me: I think it's some kind of sports drink, like Gatorade.

Old Person: I don't know what it is. It's really weird, isn't it? It don't look like soda or anything.

Me: Yes, but it looks like Gatorade.

Old Person: I don't know. It's really weird.

Crazy Man: Rosemary!


Old Person: So, you're a lawyer, right?

Me: Sort of. I'm not licensed.

Old Person: Okay, so is there like some law or something saying that cleaning services can't abuse the elderly?

Me: Um, I can't give legal advice.

Old Person: They always abuse me, like that one girl -- she was a Polynesian, and they're not that clean, you know -- and she drank from my soda. Can you believe that? See, she brought my soda to me, and there was a straw already in it. They don't give it to you like that, so I know she must have been drinking out of it. And I asked her why she drank out of it, and she said, 'I never drank out of your soda.' But I know she did, and who knows what kinds of diseases she's got. Can you believe she did that? And then when I complain, Aging Services say that the cleaning people say I abuse them, but I never abused anyone in my life.

Crazy Man: Cilantro!

Me: I don't know anything about that area of law, and even if I did, I couldn't give legal advice.

Crazy Man: Vinegar!

Old Person: Well, it seems real weird that they can abuse the elderly and there's no law against it. And then they accuse me of abusing them. You wouldn't believe the kinds of people they send to clean our houses. They're all mentally ill.

Crazy Man: Parsley!


Old Person: I don't think they should let that man in here when he's on drugs. Who knows what he might do people. And he's drinking that weird stuff.

Me: I really think it's Gatorade.

[Silence for a few moments as we eat our surprisingly low-quality McDonalds food.]

Old Person: I can't believe how hard it is to find clothes here nowadays. They don't have good stuff like they used to. And it's all two-piece. Just shirts and skirts -- all two-piece. Isn't that weird?

Me: Umm . . .

Crazy Man: Rosemary!

Old Person: And everyone wears jeans nowadays, even if they're fat. I don't think fat people should wear jeans, do you?

Me: I haven't given it that much thought.

Crazy Man: Sage!

[The Old Person speaks to one of the employees.]

Old Person: The girl said that man is not on drugs -- he's just schizophrenic or something. I don't think they should let him in here if he's crazy. Of course, he seems pretty harmless. He just seems to think he's making some kind of a stew. But that still means he's crazy, and who knows what delusions he'll start to have next.

Crazy Man: Rotten milk!!!