How to get hate mail without really trying...

Your humorous Archaeogoddess will be back soon.  Until then I give you my thoughts about a recent article in USA Today - NYC panel clears way for mosque near Ground Zero.

There was some discussion on the interwebs about whether or not this was a good thing or a bad thing.   I seem to be once again in the minority, but what else is new?  Sure you can send me angry emails or leave argumentative comments, but as William McAdoo said (awesome name, by the way) "It is impossible to defeat an ignorant man in an argument."  If you think I'm ignorant, then there's no point in arguing with me and since I'm bound to think that you are ignorant if you tell me I'm an idiot, then I'm not going to be drawn into an argument with you.

Here's my two cents:

I have absolutely no problem with this center being built.  It's two blocks away - in NYC, that's practically on the other side of the island.  According to the article, it's the city officials that are saying the decision was based on freedom of religion and property laws, the organization that is responsible says it's a space for moderate muslim voices.  It's already a prayer space and will include a memorial to those who died on 9/11 - who were of many nationalities and many religions.

People are forgetting that it wasn't Muslims or Islam that attacked the city that day, but a group of men with hate in their hearts.  Do we ban churches from being built near abortion clinics that were bombed or in downtown Oklahoma City?  No, because the so-called Christians who carried out those attacks of terror are not seen as representative of their religion, but rather for what they are - fanatics, lunatics, and evil people perverting a message of peace into one of war against other human beings.   We don't ban Germans from the US because of Hitler and the Nazis, we recognized that sharing a nationality or religion with an evil person does not make everyone of that nationality or religion bad.  I exhort you to remember with regret how we interned the Japanese-Americans in WWII (a national shame that should never be forgotten and never again repeated), and yet we seem to be once again prepared to trample over the rights of American citizens because of a lunatic living in a cave ranting to the world by cassette tape!

Let us take a moment to remember what really happened on 9/11 - 19 men, following the rambling speeches of a sociopath, murdered 2,976 people from over 70 (some say over 90) nations, most of them civilians.  They claimed we brought this upon ourselves because we have a base in Saudi Arabia, support Israel, and had sanctions against Iraq.  The casualties from the other countries apparently brought it on themselves by working to provide for their families.

They may have hoped to provoke a world wide Islamic uprising, but instead the attacks received condemnation by the vast majority of the planet, despite the videos of some idiots celebrating.  Even though these evil, mad men have issued fatwa after fatwa, saying it is the duty of every Muslim to kill Americans, outside of the theater of war, how many Americans are targeted and killed by Muslims?  Very very few.  This is not a war between the US and Islam.  Being a muslim does not make you an enemy or even a fundamentalist sympathizer.  Muslims in America have born a multitude of hate crimes and 10 years of discrimination based on their religion.  People of Middle Eastern decent have also suffered for the color of their skin, no matter what religion they practice.  Building a community center to serve the needs of the American citizens who are Muslim in no way should be seen as a validation of the fanatics who erroneously claim to be true believers.  Instead it shows that the US is committed to maintaining its values and the rights of its citizens despite the perversions of a few.

Face/palm

Ever going along in life, minding your own business and then suddenly you learn that something you thought to be one thing is in fact something totally different and for the last 30 years of your life you've been an IDIOT?

And I'm not talking about the discovery I made after coming to Denmark: did you know celery has an edible root? That came as a real surprise.

This is celery... with root ball. The root ball is called celeriac so that chefs will not be confused when they are told to add it to soups. 'Cause it matters if you have to add celery leaves vs celery stalks vs celery root to soup. This, at least, I know.

But hey, I'm not a farmer and in the US the fruit and veg section is HUGE in our mammoth sized supermarkets so the fact that I had never seen celeriac before is NOT MY FAULT.

At least that's my story and I'm sticking to it.

No, I'm not refering to that revelation. I'm referring to something that I bet you all know (or at least after this post you are going to pretend that you all knew because you don't want to look like the complete and utter idiot that I'm about to reveal myself as).

You know how people in belegured countries are always going to The Hague to talk to the UN International Court of Justice? Yeah, did you know The Hague is a CITY??

I swear to god, I thought it was like The White House. You know, a building. Because you read that the UN head quarters is in The Hague and that the President of the US lives in The White House so it never occured to me that The Hague is a city.

WHO THE HELL NAMES THEIR CITY WITH A 'THE'?

The Dutch.

Thank god I read guide books from cover to cover. Discovering that The Hague is a city in the Netherlands came as a shock. A pure WTF moment. Followed by me thinking, "I can't be the only one not to know this." Immediately following that thought was this, "oh, yes, I can."

Compounding the idiocy is the fact that my BFF studied the UN in high school for Academic Decathlon (think nerd competition with real medals and ribbons and trophies and stuff) and somehow, in the 13 years since, "The Hague is not a building" never came up in conversation. What the hell kind of best friend does not mention this? Laura, you were supposed to say, at some point over the last 13 years, "psst, by the way, don't know if you know this, but you really ought to before you make a complete and utter ass of yourself on the interwebs, The Hague is a city. Not a building. No, I know it sounds like The White House, but it SO ISN'T!"

This is the UN headquarters in the city named "The Hague," I don't know what the hell the building itself is called. Probably something snazzy like "The UN Headquarters in The Hague which is a city and not the name of this building."

Actually, it's called the Peace Palace. What kind of stupid name is that? The Hague is a MUCH cooler name.

So there you have it folks. I am an idiot. It's now public knowledge. Feel free to tell me of any idiot-revealing revelations you may have had in the comments.

(Oh and to learn y'all something new: face/palm is when you smack the palm of your hand to your face out of the sheer and utter stupidity of it all.)

And on a completely random note: I spent more time trying to get the fonts to work for this post than I did writing it. Either I'm wicked fast at admitting my stupidity or I am way worse at using blogger's "helpful" buttons than I thought. Next time I'll just learn the stupid html codes and type it up m'self.

Arcane advice from the archaeogoddess

In Denmark we usually do not have dishwashers of the automatic persuasion. We have the elbow grease kind. (More and more homes are getting dishwashers... but it's not going to happen in this home any time soon.) So this advice is only relevant to those who are still doing their dishes the archaic way: by hand with a scrub brush in a bowl of hot soapy water.

Have you ever had the problem where after washing a dish that was, say heavy on the cheese that you get melted cheese in your brush and you can JUST NOT GET IT OFF? I would then throw away the brush and get a new one, grumbling loudly. But then it came about that I was eating these cheesy dishes more frequently than I wanted to buy new brushes. I don't like to throw them away. Yeah, they're cheap, but they're also plastic and they'll never break down in the dump!! In the days of yore, when I had a dishwasher, I could just throw the brush into the dishwasher and the magic soap would dissolve it. But that didn't happen with the liquid soap here. And since we have no dishwasher, we obviously have no dishwasher soap.

Enter husband. Husband says, "try laundry soap." Exit husband.

It works! By golly it works! I had Penne a la Vodka last night from the Pioneer Woman and it left a bit of a cheesy mess. Dumped some laundry detergent in the pot along with my scrub brush and the eating and serving utensils and watched a Dr. Who episode (To be Continued??? NOOOOOOO!!!!) before going back and finding a miraculously clean pot et al.

I don't know where the cheese goes. It's magic.

This also works on the baked-on grease on oven dishes and any and all egg problems (what you've never glued bread to a pan with egg? Oh, it's just me then? Never mind).

O Wonderus Internets!

So I had a comment from an amazing person, GutsyWriter, which I traced back to her blog (as one does). The post she had today included a video. It was kinda long, 20 minutes and while I was intrigued by her post, I wasn't sure if I was going to watch it or not. I ought to be putting new data into my dissertation. But then, it was lunch time and I can't type while I eat a salami sandwich with jalapenos (you have to keep the top of the sandwich tight against the bottom because those jalapenos want OUT, you really need both hands).

I highly recommend this video. It's smart, it's funny, it's not really that long. It's about creativity, intelligence, and education. I felt very validated for my choice of profession, even if I never make any money at it. I also feel slightly embarrassed for being one of those disembodied heads he mentions. Explains my inability to keep myself from running into things that are quite obviously hard and unyielding. If you have ever been educated in a school setting, you will relate. If you have children who are going through the system, you will relate. If you think British people are funny, you will relate.



I think I would very much like to have an art room now. I want to get my paints out and do something with glue. That would be the room for any kind of creative expression, not just picture art, because creativity comes in all kinds of forms and I want to celebrate them all!

When realization hits you like a ton of something heavy

When I was little, someone asked me, "which weighs more, a pound of sand or a pound of water?" And I thought really long and hard and decided water. It took even longer for it to be explained to me that a pound of something WAS THE SAME WEIGHT as a pound of something else. Sometimes I just get caught up in the details and TOTALLY miss the big picture.

Kinda like how this post is supposed to be about realizations and I'm nattering on about weight measurements.

Anyway, two days ago I noticed that I had a rather large lump on my head. My husband had a peek and said, my god woman, you've been bleeding, how the hell did you do this? And for the life of me, I couldn't remember. I'm pretty bad about stuff like this, I often have odd unexplained bruises on my legs from where I walk into things when I'm not paying attention or on my arms (which look an awful lot like defensive injuries) from leaning on my desk at a bad angle for a long period of time and stoically refusing to give into the pain and move them (and then being shocked, SHOCKED I tell you, to see that it left a mark)! If I ever end up in the hospital from one of my rather insane mishaps, he'll probably be arrested for spousal abuse. But I didn't have any other unexplained bruises, so it's not like I knocked myself unconscious somewhere. You'd expect there to be some bruising if I fell unconscious to the floor, right? Eventually we came to the conclusion that I must have hit my head while I was concentrating on something else, probably when I was under the bed, retrieving stashed clothing.

But not ten minutes ago, as I went to sit down and call my best friend, I scraped my head against the ceiling (slanted ceilings, we live in the attic) as I tried to avoid the piles of research on the floor, couch, desk, bookshelf, and table. Trying not to knock these things over, while holding the phone in one hand is a recipe for some kind of disaster. And as soon as a whacked my head, a few light bulbs came on. They said:
1) ouch!
2) ah, now I remember doing this two days ago!
3) hey, is that leftover popcorn?

So the mystery was solved, I now remember how I hurt my head. Of course, now my head is hurting AGAIN so that sucks. There isn't any blood on the ceiling... which is almost a shame seeing how hard I whacked it. And that WAS popcorn, but it was stale, thanks for asking. Meanwhile, I have GOT to try to remember to maneuver myself a little more carefully in the future... or at least the next week so my head can heal.

Wisdom... let me impart some to you

In my previous post I warned you about the nail trimming capabilities of potato peelers. Now let me tell you about knifes. Knifes are sharp. If you can't cut something with your knife, it may NOT be that the knife is not sharp, but that your, let's say "onion" for example, is not so crispy fresh. If you decide to proceed with sharpening your knife without testing the knife on something else first, like ANYTHING ELSE IN YOUR KITCHEN, then you should make sure at all times to watch the KNIFE and NOT the SHARPENER. In fact a GREAT idea would also be to married or dating someone who is not blood squeamish.

I live, you learn.

It wasn't that bad, I hit my hand with the knife I was so happily dragging through the sharpener and gave myself a good sized paper-cut-like injury. But there was some blood. The love of my life, who can lift heavy things and reach the high up places, is not one for blood. He called me out of the kitchen where I was staunching my wound to look at the Danish chimney sweepers, who still wear traditional clothing for their job. Which, yes, does include a stove-pipe hat. I took the opportunity to show him my war wound whereas he beat a hasty retreat. Had to get back to painting. He later apologized for not helping me with the bandaging but he "didn't realize it was bad." This is because he couldn't bear to look. It's okay. I can do first aid on myself most of the time and have no problems tearing medical tape with my teeth.

Blood and needles don't bother me. But I can't deal with vomit. When we have small people I will deal with skinned knees and he will handle the stomach flu.

So my right hand is out of action for painting purposes. That's fine, I'm left handed... oh, but if you do nothing but paint with your left arm all day... you wear it out. Arm, wrist, elbow, you name a part of my left arm, it hurts. But sore hurts. Not like tendon tearing hurts. I'll be fine.

I can see you all now thinking "gee AG, you need to take better care of yourself" and "stop injuring yourself! take things easy!" This is what my husband says to me, right before he asks me to grab the other end of the couch so we can haul it down three flights of stairs. (I did throw the christmas tree down from the balcony rather than carry it, but it wasn't really heavy to begin with.) To me "taking it easy" involves drinking wine on the couch and watching episodes of Stargate SG-1 (now playing on our new tv channel "for men" - should include "and for archaeogoddesses"). But I don't think this is what he had in mind.

Anyway, you all worry too much. I tell you these things so that you will LEARN from my errors and become better, wiser, stronger people! So take this lesson with you: knifes are sharp.

Most people learn these things early in life, I was obviously not paying any attention at the time.

Don't read this if you don't like stories about vomit!

Last night was a fairly standard one, where no one gets much sleep for various reasons. But for me there was about 10 minutes of heightened horribleness that will be long remembered.

Unable to sleep I had gone and parked myself on the couch. Saturday nights in Denmark are notorious for bad American Movies, last night was no exception. I watched Phantoms - which is a TERRIBLE movie. Save yourself two hours of your life, don't watch it. It's so terrible that even I, who jump at loud noises and still have nightmares about Resident Evil (don't ask), was not in the least bit scared by this movie.

But that is not the point. I'd gotten very tired and slid very far down on the couch. I really should have gotten up at that point and gone to bed, but lets not dwell on my little mistakes and instead focus on the big one.

I was thirsty, there was a full glass of water, I attempted to drink it whilst lying down. Fatal error, I inhaled it. A lot of it.

I don't care who developed the human throat (this is a VERY GOOD proof AGAINST intelligent design) but having the windpipe attach to the esophagus is a BAD idea.

As I was desperately trying to suck air into my lungs and cough up the water (which is what normally happens when you inhale a BIT of water) my diaphragm went into action. Convulsions occur in order to force that water up and out - putting undue pressure on my stomach as well as my lungs. Then as water begins to come up and out, it triggers the gag reflex and the next thing you know, you are not trying to breathe, you are trying to stop vomiting all over yourself. And the blankets. And the couch. In the movies, people who have just been rescued from drowning vomit up all the water they got in their lungs. Apparently they haven't eaten within the last 24 hours.

Unlike the stomach flu where you get some sort of warning (nausea, over abundance of saliva) you get none from almost drowning. My train of thought went something like: "Gak! Can't breathe! Don't panic! Don't WOW WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING STOP THAT!"

At which point I jumped up, opened the door of the living room, ran (with all the blankets, who've had better nights) across the dining room, opened the door to the hallway, took two steps, opened the door to the bathroom, dumped the blankets in the shower and leaned over the toilet - just as I finished the spasmodic vomiting and began to breathe normally again.

As vomiting experiences go, it wasn't that bad. Like the times I've been violently ill after eating pickles, it was pretty much vomit-and-go! No nasty side affects and you can go right back into the kitchen for a glass of water. I recommend it over the stomach flu, where you spend hours draped over the toilet feeling horrible, or alcohol poisoning which would be vomit-and-go, except that you pay for it later.

So I leave you with an important reminder: Remember to sit up before taking a drink! It could save your life, or certainly your upholstery.