I was interviewed yesterday by a Danish journalism student about being part of the "invisible immigrant" group. That would be those of us foreigners who look Danish enough to "pass" and are therefore not the focus of the Department of Integration and yet are completely effected by the DI mad policies. We are never studied because it is just assumed by Denmark that we'll melt into Danish society completely and joyously. But a group of journalist students were suspicious of this. They had a feeling that we aren't all about homogenization. So they started to look at the ex-pat blogs and were crazy enough to ask me if I would be interviewed.
I see myself becoming the face and voice of the lurking non-Danish minority of western european non-integrating foreigners! I'll call it the LNDMWENIF-party! I'll be famous! I'll be elected to Parliament! And then I'll become Queen of Denmark!!
*pant pant pant*
Kidding!
I *was* interviewed. It was interesting. I learned that there were something like over 100,000 "white" immigrants running around out there. I also learned that we are apparently the go-to segment of society for quotes about how wonderful Denmark is. I also learned that Danes have voted themselves amazingly good at English. My interviewer asked what I thought about that and was very nice when I laughed hysterically. I talked about pronunciation and the push for us to speak perfect Danish, but with all the accents in Denmark, Danes don't even understand each other, so why are we mocked? I really hope I managed to not to accidently steal someone's clever saying, because I tried to keep it all to my own words. I'm pretty sure I didn't give out any names, mentioning "a fellow expat" or "one of my classmates". So your privacy is respected, although your experiences were shared.
But you know what was really nerve wracking? Being asked to recall specific examples from 5 years ago. I think the lunch incident, where I ate the wrong food in the wrong order in the wrong combinations thus bringing lunch to a complete and utter standstill as people looked on horrified, appalled and in some cases, nauseous, happened on the first trip to Sjælland... we'd gone for a birthday and a christening and the lunch was a family affaire, but relating to which, the birthday or the christening??
I worry too much about this stuff.
Because of this, I had several dreams last night where I remembered things from my distant youth and tried to remember exactly when and where these events took place:
1) Being trampled on a trampoline
2) Swimming in someone's pool with all my clothes ON because I was too modest to swim in my underwear with all the other little kids from my class
3) Eating honeysuckle while standing next to a pile of cow manure, thus ruining any taste they may have had
Anyway, I did mention that I don't think I could make it here in Denmark without the other fabulous foreigners I have met. You lot are the net that catches me when I'm down and cheering crowd that celebrates my successes. You remind me that it's okay to not be happy all the time, that life is hard and sometimes it totally sucks and that that is OKAY. You are there to tell me that I am lovely and wonderful and funny. Yeah, my husband tells me that often, but he's biased and knows I'll over-salt his food. YOU are the reason I can say, with all honesty and with great enthusiasm, "I CAN DO THIS!" I also appreciate my sane Danish friends who have taught me to spit when someone mentions Pia whatshername and to throw shoes at the TV when she's on. You are living examples of what this country theoretically ought to be, but isn't. My sane Danes, you give me hope!
Hugs! Hugs to all! Big over the top American style hugs, with patting and rocking and squeezing and hollering!
Friday, May 15, 2009
Thursday, May 14, 2009
I woke this morning to discover I wasn't dead. Pity.
No, I'm not suffering from depression or suicidal tendencies. I even like my Danish class because it's fun and we've gotten far enough along we can chat with each other in Danish, so I don't dread going at all. I just didn't really want to get up.
So first I took stock of my health. I mean, if I was sick, I could stay in bed.
Hm, no headache. Back is okay. Legs feel fine. Let me stretch.... nope, no muscle pains.
*cough* Nope, that's not a real cough and *la la la* my voice sounds fine. Blow nose. Well, try to blow nose. Stupid allergy pill is working just FINE.
Ugh, I have a pimple IN my nose. IN! That's painful! Can I call in sick to class?
Probably not. I can imagine the secretary taking my call: "What is wrong with you?" Me: "I have a terribly large unpleasant pimple IN my nose." Her: "On your nose?" Me: "No IN! I looked up my nose and you can see it if I tilt my head back and squint. And so it hurts to blow my nose!" Her: "Do you have a runny nose?" Me: "Not since I took the allergy pill." Her: "I think you have to come in to class."
I cut myself on the trash can the other day and even though I washed and dressed it properly, it hurts. But not the kind of hurt that suggests you should see a doctor about it. *Glares at finger* Spoilsport.
So I got up and staggered about. The coffee pot was acting weird. I wondered if I could use that as justification for going back to bed... but it turned out that my husband was making 10 cups of coffee instead of the usual 7, so it took longer for the water to trickle through the grounds.
My internet was slow this morning (kinda like me), but I had no new emails and there is no good reason to miss school because your dissertation committee has NOT returned your dissertation with corrections.
Sad to say, I got ready and went to class.
Wednesday, May 13, 2009
Has anyone seen my time? I seem to have lost it....
I have NO idea what happened to Sunday. Tuesday is also a mystery. I know those days happened, but here it is Wednesday and I keep talking about the lovely ladies I met again for the first time ever (what do expat bloggers who've never met face to face talk about when they get together - everything), but keep referring to the meeting as happening "yesterday." It wasn't yesterday. It was Saturday.
It was Saturday, right?
Bloody hell, what day is it? What country am I in? Who are you people? Is that soap?
At some point in the recent past (as I shall now refer to all times that came before RIGHT NOW, "recent" being optional) I carefully copied the instructions for cleaning our apartment onto my computer. The instructions were in Danish, mind you, but apart from some minor automatic corrections ("i" kept becoming "I" which is the difference between "in" and "y'all" leading to some hilarity) I did a damn fine job. My husband at first tried to explain to me what errors in grammar I had made until I showed him the original and pointed out that I can't construct Danish sentences in the passive voice, I just copied what I saw. Present, past, future, and short imperative, I can do that. I only know passive voice from my grammar check, which thinks I should stop writing about how things were in the past and start writing about how things are in the past. Or something. Dude, I don't really know, I just string a bunch of words together and hope it flies so they'll let me go play in the dirt.
Anyway, the printer doesn't connect to my computer so I transfered the file to my husband's computer where he struggled mightily to work with it under my user profile, getting frustrated that Word was in English. "How do you change it?" sprøg han. "I dunno," svar jeg. "Well, how did you type it in the first place without Danish?" "I know where the shortcuts are for special symbols." "Okay, so how do I make an 'æ'?" "Dunno." "But you typed it!!??!!" "Yeah, on my Mac, your PC sucks!"
These sort of exchanges seem to drive him crazy. He makes this cute noise like a boiling kettle about to burst. I think he also vibrates at a sub-atomic level.
Finally I calmed him down enough to explain to him that he can stick the document into "Shared Docs" and then open his user person thingy and retrieve it and THEN the Danish dictionary would be present and so would the "proper" keys. Because he REALLY didn't like the idea of memorizing a bunch of shortcuts. (Although, it's really only ø, å, and æ. Not "a bunch." I think that may be an opinion I will keep to myself.)
Later he boggled (you know, "mind boggling"? Past-tense verb form is boggled. Would I make this sh*t up?) about my ability to type Danish on an English keyboard. I smugly pointed out I know how to type French, German, Spanish, AND Danish on my keyboard. With just a quick snap of the "option" key.
I have to point out my goddessness from time to time, you know.
Friday, May 08, 2009
Before and After
I stole this questionar from The Writer, who didn't *tag* me, but in her own way challenged me to give it a go.
Before:
Q: Before you knew you'd be coming to Denmark, for whatever reason you originally came to Denmark, truthfully how much did you know about the country?
A: I had read Number the Stars as a little girl, watched WAY to much Victor Borge and heard quite a lot about my father's parent's trip to Denmark. My grandfather was mostly Danish, my grandmother was Swedish, Norwegian (probably), and Danish.
Q: Did you learn about Denmark in school when you were growing up?
A: Only a little bit about the Vikings. My family used to go to Solvang in California fairly regularly.
Q: Do you have family who is Danish or Danish heritage?
A: Yup. See the first answer.
Q: Were you aware the language the Danes spoke was Danish and not German or any other language?
A: Yes.
Q: Had you ever lived outside of your home country for longer than one month prior to living in Denmark?
A: I spent 6 weeks digging in Israel... does that count? And I moved from the West Coast to the East Coast. That was quite a culture shock in of itself.
Q: Had you learned to speak any other language than your own, even if only partially so, before coming to Denmark?
A: I took French, Spanish, Latin and German for reading before coming to Denmark. I sucked at all of them.
Q: When you learned you'd be coming to Denmark, did you feel it was important to learn Danish?
A: Yes, I really didn't want to be surrounded by people who could talk about me in front of my back! I also harbor dreams of raising brilliant multi-lingual children.
Q:Did anyone prepare you with information of any type before you came to live in Denmark, did you attempt to find information on your own, or did you come to Denmark without preparing?
A: I arrived the first time in Denmark without knowing much more than I already knew. But I did read my guide book cover to cover on the plane! Over the years, before I finally got a residency visa, I'd learned a lot more.
Q:How did your friends and family react when they learned you'd be moving to Denmark?
A: Everyone was pretty bummed. It's really far away from California and my best friend doesn't have the money or the health to come and visit. My family did make it out for the wedding. I think my mother would have been happier if I'd married a Brit. She's such an Anglophile! My dad was tickled pink to get to come to Denmark. But I'm a daddy's girl, so he misses me dreadfully.
Q: What did you think would be your biggest challenge living in a foreign country? Or did you feel you would face any big challenges?
A: I thought language would be the hardest because I suck at languages. I thought the rest of it would be fairly easy, since it was a western European country and I was prepared for some culture shock. HA!
After:
Q: Upon arriving, can you remember the overall impression you had in the first 48 hours?
A: It was all just slightly different from America. Like walking across a slightly tilted floor. Everything is just off-balance but you can't really point to something and say, oh, this is completely different. My then-boyfriend-now-husband picked me up at the airport and we took the train across Denmark. I remember being excited to 1) be there with him and 2) take a train. I couldn't get enough of the train travel. Still can't, it's my favorite means of transportation.
Q: Tell me about your bicycle, if you have one. Is it borrowed/rented or do you own it? And how often do you use it weekly? Have you ever had your bike stolen? Feel free to mention and elaborate about anything special concerning experiences you have/had with your bicycle.
A: I have a bike. It's in the basement. I *thought* I knew how to bicycle when I came to Denmark. But I keep looking at the rear reflectors and expecting them to light up when people brake. I had one bad accident when I ran into the bike in front of me and toppled into traffic. The car swerved and I jumped up with only some bruises, but I won't bike in the city any more.
Q: Name three of your favorite things about the Danish culture which first come to mind:
A: I like the history. The old buildings, the old graves, the old stuff in the museums that actually comes from here!
I like a lot the food. I would go crazy if I had to eat it all the time, but if we ever move away I will force my husband to make frikeddella (how do you spell that) and I'd miss the herring. I'd also really miss drinking beer and schnapps with lunch, especially now that I've learned how to do it without getting completely trashed.
I like how, when it's cold, all the bars and many of the restaurants provide heaters and blankets for outside drinking and dinning. I just think that's cool.
Q: Of the things you never knew before coming here, what have you learned about Denmark
A: OMG! Where do I start? It's a lot more conservative than I ever imagined. And by conservative I mean, disliking change and upsetting the status quo. It may have a more progressive social policy for welfare and health care, but it's very stagnent and even if it is broke, no one wants to change it... because change is bad.
Q: Culture shock. Does this ring a bell?
A: Oh yes. For a while there was the "honeymoon" period. And then it sort of came crashing down when I finally got residency and I realized, this is it, I could be living here for the rest of my life!! Things that I used to shrug off began to really bother me. But at least I no longer feel guilty about not always loving it here.
Q: How far have you come with learning Danish?
A: Passed my Danish 1 test. Continuing with Danish 2. I can read a lot of Danish and I understand quite a lot, but my speaking is still pretty random. I can chat with my husband now about simple things like what I did in class and what I did yesterday and what I'd like to do tomorrow. He's learned to not correct me and just let me chatter.
Q: Has your view on politics or world issues changed from how you previously viewed things before living in Denmark?
A: I joke that I've become much more conservative since I moved here. I see the problems with socialism and a welfare state and I find myself getting frustrated with the complacency of the Danish voters and the ineptitude of the Danish political system. The US may only have two parties, but we get shit done! Here it doesn't matter who's in charge, nothing ever changes!! And people here really lack a work ethic. I am all for working less and having more time for social things, but Danes take it to extremes.
Q: Since living here, have you learned anything new about yourself? Or perhaps have you learned anything else new? A new hobby or a new way of life?
A: I learned to cook! I learned to love cooking! I learned that I am not as career driven as I thought and that I'd rather be happy than successful (thank god I live here where that's okay, even if it sometimes pisses me off). I thought I was flexible and adaptable before... now I know I am.
Whew, that took a while! I'm now faint with hunger. Oh, peanut butter and jelly sandwich, I hear your siren call! PB&J with sour cream and onion potato chips and an apple.... mmmmm. Tonight I make spicy mac and cheese.
Before:
Q: Before you knew you'd be coming to Denmark, for whatever reason you originally came to Denmark, truthfully how much did you know about the country?
A: I had read Number the Stars as a little girl, watched WAY to much Victor Borge and heard quite a lot about my father's parent's trip to Denmark. My grandfather was mostly Danish, my grandmother was Swedish, Norwegian (probably), and Danish.
Q: Did you learn about Denmark in school when you were growing up?
A: Only a little bit about the Vikings. My family used to go to Solvang in California fairly regularly.
Q: Do you have family who is Danish or Danish heritage?
A: Yup. See the first answer.
Q: Were you aware the language the Danes spoke was Danish and not German or any other language?
A: Yes.
Q: Had you ever lived outside of your home country for longer than one month prior to living in Denmark?
A: I spent 6 weeks digging in Israel... does that count? And I moved from the West Coast to the East Coast. That was quite a culture shock in of itself.
Q: Had you learned to speak any other language than your own, even if only partially so, before coming to Denmark?
A: I took French, Spanish, Latin and German for reading before coming to Denmark. I sucked at all of them.
Q: When you learned you'd be coming to Denmark, did you feel it was important to learn Danish?
A: Yes, I really didn't want to be surrounded by people who could talk about me in front of my back! I also harbor dreams of raising brilliant multi-lingual children.
Q:Did anyone prepare you with information of any type before you came to live in Denmark, did you attempt to find information on your own, or did you come to Denmark without preparing?
A: I arrived the first time in Denmark without knowing much more than I already knew. But I did read my guide book cover to cover on the plane! Over the years, before I finally got a residency visa, I'd learned a lot more.
Q:How did your friends and family react when they learned you'd be moving to Denmark?
A: Everyone was pretty bummed. It's really far away from California and my best friend doesn't have the money or the health to come and visit. My family did make it out for the wedding. I think my mother would have been happier if I'd married a Brit. She's such an Anglophile! My dad was tickled pink to get to come to Denmark. But I'm a daddy's girl, so he misses me dreadfully.
Q: What did you think would be your biggest challenge living in a foreign country? Or did you feel you would face any big challenges?
A: I thought language would be the hardest because I suck at languages. I thought the rest of it would be fairly easy, since it was a western European country and I was prepared for some culture shock. HA!
After:
Q: Upon arriving, can you remember the overall impression you had in the first 48 hours?
A: It was all just slightly different from America. Like walking across a slightly tilted floor. Everything is just off-balance but you can't really point to something and say, oh, this is completely different. My then-boyfriend-now-husband picked me up at the airport and we took the train across Denmark. I remember being excited to 1) be there with him and 2) take a train. I couldn't get enough of the train travel. Still can't, it's my favorite means of transportation.
Q: Tell me about your bicycle, if you have one. Is it borrowed/rented or do you own it? And how often do you use it weekly? Have you ever had your bike stolen? Feel free to mention and elaborate about anything special concerning experiences you have/had with your bicycle.
A: I have a bike. It's in the basement. I *thought* I knew how to bicycle when I came to Denmark. But I keep looking at the rear reflectors and expecting them to light up when people brake. I had one bad accident when I ran into the bike in front of me and toppled into traffic. The car swerved and I jumped up with only some bruises, but I won't bike in the city any more.
Q: Name three of your favorite things about the Danish culture which first come to mind:
A: I like the history. The old buildings, the old graves, the old stuff in the museums that actually comes from here!
I like a lot the food. I would go crazy if I had to eat it all the time, but if we ever move away I will force my husband to make frikeddella (how do you spell that) and I'd miss the herring. I'd also really miss drinking beer and schnapps with lunch, especially now that I've learned how to do it without getting completely trashed.
I like how, when it's cold, all the bars and many of the restaurants provide heaters and blankets for outside drinking and dinning. I just think that's cool.
Q: Of the things you never knew before coming here, what have you learned about Denmark
A: OMG! Where do I start? It's a lot more conservative than I ever imagined. And by conservative I mean, disliking change and upsetting the status quo. It may have a more progressive social policy for welfare and health care, but it's very stagnent and even if it is broke, no one wants to change it... because change is bad.
Q: Culture shock. Does this ring a bell?
A: Oh yes. For a while there was the "honeymoon" period. And then it sort of came crashing down when I finally got residency and I realized, this is it, I could be living here for the rest of my life!! Things that I used to shrug off began to really bother me. But at least I no longer feel guilty about not always loving it here.
Q: How far have you come with learning Danish?
A: Passed my Danish 1 test. Continuing with Danish 2. I can read a lot of Danish and I understand quite a lot, but my speaking is still pretty random. I can chat with my husband now about simple things like what I did in class and what I did yesterday and what I'd like to do tomorrow. He's learned to not correct me and just let me chatter.
Q: Has your view on politics or world issues changed from how you previously viewed things before living in Denmark?
A: I joke that I've become much more conservative since I moved here. I see the problems with socialism and a welfare state and I find myself getting frustrated with the complacency of the Danish voters and the ineptitude of the Danish political system. The US may only have two parties, but we get shit done! Here it doesn't matter who's in charge, nothing ever changes!! And people here really lack a work ethic. I am all for working less and having more time for social things, but Danes take it to extremes.
Q: Since living here, have you learned anything new about yourself? Or perhaps have you learned anything else new? A new hobby or a new way of life?
A: I learned to cook! I learned to love cooking! I learned that I am not as career driven as I thought and that I'd rather be happy than successful (thank god I live here where that's okay, even if it sometimes pisses me off). I thought I was flexible and adaptable before... now I know I am.
Whew, that took a while! I'm now faint with hunger. Oh, peanut butter and jelly sandwich, I hear your siren call! PB&J with sour cream and onion potato chips and an apple.... mmmmm. Tonight I make spicy mac and cheese.
Thursday, May 07, 2009
Randomness....
This is not a well thought-out post. Just thought I ought to warn you, since you might be thinkin' that those last two posts were really with it, what with the photos and the related writing and stuff. 'Cause you'd be thinkin' wrong, my friend.
I have "The Battle Hymn of the Republic" stuck in my head. Some of you might know it as "that 'Glory, Glory Hallelujah song". Catch yourself humming that under your breath in the supermarket and you might wonder if you are as nutty as the woman standing in front of me at the check-out.
I don't think she was nuts. Probably a high-functioning autistic. (Proper nuts are the people who believe they are Jesus and go around baptizing people with bottled water, whether you want them to or not.) I did think she was going to have an episode when she couldn't get her plastic bag to open, but she managed and the people behind me gave her her space and didn't get frustrated that she was taking a very long time to pack her stuff into her bags. I imagine as she biked home, she was thinking, "who was that humming lunatic in SuperBrusen! I have *got* to stop shopping there!" I kept trying to not hum. But then I'd realize I was. I've even learned to hum as I breathe in... how annoying.
Danish class continues to amuse. We lose more students to divorce and break-ups as time goes on, but we did lose one girl because her job felt she knew the Danish they wanted her to and so they wanted to stop paying her to go to Danish and put those hours into work. (I'm not so sure that sentence makes sense.) We're down to about 10 and we get along quite well. There is usually much laughter.
One of the girls from Morocco has been missing a lot of class recently. As a result, her Danish is really slipping and she's also been very distracted in class. Today a man with a large folder of paperwork came in at break when the teacher was out and talked to her at length. We were all trying to not listen, while translating what he was saying in our heads. Ugh, it's become impossible to ignore people these days. I'm always curious to know if I can understand what they are saying!!
Anyway, he finished talking to her by asking if she'd understood, and she said "yes" so he left. We didn't quite understand, so we asked her what that was all about. She had no idea. In almost perfect unison we cried, "Men du sagde du forstod!" (But you said you understood!) We tried our best to help her out (with the bits we'd been trying so hard not to overhear while we were listening intently), but she seemed completely uninterested in what had happened or in how to fix the problem. The other woman from Morocco was rather frustrated with her. This foolish girl got quite the lecture in Arabic. There are times and places to pretend you understand what someone is saying, but any official looking person with paperwork, who calls you by name... that's the person you should tell if you don't get what they are saying.
Good God! That's how you end up with extra auto insurance for a car you don't even have!!
Something is going on there with that woman, but it's not like she's going to tell me and it's not like there's anything I can really do about any problem she may have. But sometimes I'd really like to slap her and yell, "it's YOUR life, take some responsibility for it! Do something, don't just wait for someone to do it for you!"
Speaking of which, the left-overs will not reheat themselves. Lazy bastards!
*hmmm hm hm hum hum hum la da la dadda da ta da*
I have "The Battle Hymn of the Republic" stuck in my head. Some of you might know it as "that 'Glory, Glory Hallelujah song". Catch yourself humming that under your breath in the supermarket and you might wonder if you are as nutty as the woman standing in front of me at the check-out.
I don't think she was nuts. Probably a high-functioning autistic. (Proper nuts are the people who believe they are Jesus and go around baptizing people with bottled water, whether you want them to or not.) I did think she was going to have an episode when she couldn't get her plastic bag to open, but she managed and the people behind me gave her her space and didn't get frustrated that she was taking a very long time to pack her stuff into her bags. I imagine as she biked home, she was thinking, "who was that humming lunatic in SuperBrusen! I have *got* to stop shopping there!" I kept trying to not hum. But then I'd realize I was. I've even learned to hum as I breathe in... how annoying.
Danish class continues to amuse. We lose more students to divorce and break-ups as time goes on, but we did lose one girl because her job felt she knew the Danish they wanted her to and so they wanted to stop paying her to go to Danish and put those hours into work. (I'm not so sure that sentence makes sense.) We're down to about 10 and we get along quite well. There is usually much laughter.
One of the girls from Morocco has been missing a lot of class recently. As a result, her Danish is really slipping and she's also been very distracted in class. Today a man with a large folder of paperwork came in at break when the teacher was out and talked to her at length. We were all trying to not listen, while translating what he was saying in our heads. Ugh, it's become impossible to ignore people these days. I'm always curious to know if I can understand what they are saying!!
Anyway, he finished talking to her by asking if she'd understood, and she said "yes" so he left. We didn't quite understand, so we asked her what that was all about. She had no idea. In almost perfect unison we cried, "Men du sagde du forstod!" (But you said you understood!) We tried our best to help her out (with the bits we'd been trying so hard not to overhear while we were listening intently), but she seemed completely uninterested in what had happened or in how to fix the problem. The other woman from Morocco was rather frustrated with her. This foolish girl got quite the lecture in Arabic. There are times and places to pretend you understand what someone is saying, but any official looking person with paperwork, who calls you by name... that's the person you should tell if you don't get what they are saying.
Good God! That's how you end up with extra auto insurance for a car you don't even have!!
Something is going on there with that woman, but it's not like she's going to tell me and it's not like there's anything I can really do about any problem she may have. But sometimes I'd really like to slap her and yell, "it's YOUR life, take some responsibility for it! Do something, don't just wait for someone to do it for you!"
Speaking of which, the left-overs will not reheat themselves. Lazy bastards!
*hmmm hm hm hum hum hum la da la dadda da ta da*
Tuesday, May 05, 2009
That other dig I do...
Usually, in August, I also dig in Jordan with the University of Copenhagen. Well, I don't actually dig, I use my prodigious skills as registrar, who is the person who sits in the non-air-conditioned metal walled office recording all of the things that have been excavated. The students usually think I have a cushy job until they come into my office to get something. "Phu, it's hot in here," they say. Ah, ja, so it is.
The Roman city of Jerash is the second most famous site in Jordan, right after Petra, of course.
Most of what remains are Roman and early Christian ruins. This is because most archaeologists from the last 100 years were western archaeologists who helpfully cleared away those pesky muslim ruins in order to get to the good stuff. You can't hear the sarcasm in my voice, but it's there.
The director of the dig, however, is one of those more interesting fellows who wants to know about the whole history of the site, specifically the Umayyad period (that would be the first rulers after Mohammed), when we know the region was full of life and progressive architectural programs. The most important building in an Islamic city was the mosque. A small mosque-like building was found on the edge of town, but that makes no sense when you consider that Jerash was one of the largest cities in the area with something like 14 *known* churches (more will turn it, Jerash is paved in churches). So Herr Director looked at an overhead photo of the site and said, there, that's where the mosque will be.
And BAM! He found it in the first season. They've been digging there for a while now. Under the mosque was a Byzantine bathhouse and next to the mosque are shops and a rather odd collection of buildings that we don't quite understand yet. This is common in archaeology. You have a bunch of walls and rooms and then, one day, there will be the "ah ha!" when it all fits together.
People often ask, "how do you know where to dig?" We tell them, "we have a map." Intelligent people will get the joke, but some of the workers on our site truly believe that the dig director has a map in his room with X's telling him where to dig. They wonder why he doesn't just dig up the gold and stop all this dirt moving foolishness. Then maybe they'd get paid early. Sorry, the answer is much more disheartening. We don't know what we're going to find. We make educated guesses based on what we know about city planning and ceramic surface finds. We aren't always right either. Take my dig in Israel, we had NO ceramic from the Hellenistic period and only some from the Roman, but as soon as we began to dig, we hit a good sized Roman farm (possibly farm, we only have a few rooms and a floor at the moment) and a large Hellenistic god-knows-what under that. Ceramic surface finds are often like that. You only get what happens to have been dug up by rodents. Perhaps the rodents at our Israel site like Roman and Hellenistic vessels. For putting on their little rodent side tables, doncha know.
Life at Jerash is very different from what I get on the other side of the Jordan River.
I usually go without the mosquito net, since I get up in the night and find it very difficult to escape. I just slather myself in bug spray. Including the hair. The damn mozzies are determined. We also keep the fan on during the night, even though it gets cold, because it keeps us from hearing all the buzzing. The toilets don't flush, you take the water you save from your shower and dump it in the toilet ONLY when you must. Toilet paper goes in the trash. We empty it regularly. And it could be worse, down in Egypt they often don't even have toilets, let alone showers. Some of the stone age sites in the Jordan desert are in the middle of NOWHERE and you are on SERIOUS water rationing. I'm glad I don't have to check my bed for scorpions. (Though they have been known to get into the rooms sometimes.)
Because it is a muslim country, we go about in pants and longer sleeved t-shirts. Women don't have to be veiled, but we do take a man with us into town. There won't be trouble, but it makes the locals more comfortable to know that the women are properly looked after.
We work a 6 day week. We head into Amman on Friday night and come back Saturday night. The first Friday night we're all exhausted but are also desperate for beer. It's a dry dig, no drinking on site. Ever. What's hilarious is watching all the Danish students not realize that a week of sobriety and hard labor means you get smashed after two beers. No one feels very well when they have to go out on a tour of ancient Amman Saturday morning.
No, that's not ancient Amman. That's one of the more humorous things I've seen in Amman. Between the New Yourk Nigt Club and the Kempinski, you really need to know your way around to find somewhere affordable that is NOT a dive. These locations are still a hazard, I was watching my step (it was dark and there were uneven stairs) and walked into a metal beam, giving myself a mild concussion.
The "long" weekend (two nights free!) the students head for Petra.
Yeah, yeah, everyone takes that picture. No, there are no Nazis.
Is that a more unusual Petra shot? Unadorned rock cut tombs are everywhere, and if you have a tall person in your group, they can boost an archaeogoddess into a window for a funny picture.
This year I am not going to Jordan. August is Ramadan, and it would be completely unfair to ask the workmen to neither eat, nor drink, nor smoke during the day while making them do hard manual labor in 50 degree CELSIUS heat (that 122 F, for the rest of y'all). So the dig got moved to June. Which is when I'm in Israel. And since I'm an area supervisor working on the final publication of the site, I should really be THERE instead of sweating in my little metal office in Jordan.
But I'll be thinking of my dear friends as I sit in my air-conditioned cabin, cutting lemons for the gin and tonics.
The Roman city of Jerash is the second most famous site in Jordan, right after Petra, of course.
Most of what remains are Roman and early Christian ruins. This is because most archaeologists from the last 100 years were western archaeologists who helpfully cleared away those pesky muslim ruins in order to get to the good stuff. You can't hear the sarcasm in my voice, but it's there.
The director of the dig, however, is one of those more interesting fellows who wants to know about the whole history of the site, specifically the Umayyad period (that would be the first rulers after Mohammed), when we know the region was full of life and progressive architectural programs. The most important building in an Islamic city was the mosque. A small mosque-like building was found on the edge of town, but that makes no sense when you consider that Jerash was one of the largest cities in the area with something like 14 *known* churches (more will turn it, Jerash is paved in churches). So Herr Director looked at an overhead photo of the site and said, there, that's where the mosque will be.
And BAM! He found it in the first season. They've been digging there for a while now. Under the mosque was a Byzantine bathhouse and next to the mosque are shops and a rather odd collection of buildings that we don't quite understand yet. This is common in archaeology. You have a bunch of walls and rooms and then, one day, there will be the "ah ha!" when it all fits together.
People often ask, "how do you know where to dig?" We tell them, "we have a map." Intelligent people will get the joke, but some of the workers on our site truly believe that the dig director has a map in his room with X's telling him where to dig. They wonder why he doesn't just dig up the gold and stop all this dirt moving foolishness. Then maybe they'd get paid early. Sorry, the answer is much more disheartening. We don't know what we're going to find. We make educated guesses based on what we know about city planning and ceramic surface finds. We aren't always right either. Take my dig in Israel, we had NO ceramic from the Hellenistic period and only some from the Roman, but as soon as we began to dig, we hit a good sized Roman farm (possibly farm, we only have a few rooms and a floor at the moment) and a large Hellenistic god-knows-what under that. Ceramic surface finds are often like that. You only get what happens to have been dug up by rodents. Perhaps the rodents at our Israel site like Roman and Hellenistic vessels. For putting on their little rodent side tables, doncha know.
Life at Jerash is very different from what I get on the other side of the Jordan River.
I usually go without the mosquito net, since I get up in the night and find it very difficult to escape. I just slather myself in bug spray. Including the hair. The damn mozzies are determined. We also keep the fan on during the night, even though it gets cold, because it keeps us from hearing all the buzzing. The toilets don't flush, you take the water you save from your shower and dump it in the toilet ONLY when you must. Toilet paper goes in the trash. We empty it regularly. And it could be worse, down in Egypt they often don't even have toilets, let alone showers. Some of the stone age sites in the Jordan desert are in the middle of NOWHERE and you are on SERIOUS water rationing. I'm glad I don't have to check my bed for scorpions. (Though they have been known to get into the rooms sometimes.)
Because it is a muslim country, we go about in pants and longer sleeved t-shirts. Women don't have to be veiled, but we do take a man with us into town. There won't be trouble, but it makes the locals more comfortable to know that the women are properly looked after.
We work a 6 day week. We head into Amman on Friday night and come back Saturday night. The first Friday night we're all exhausted but are also desperate for beer. It's a dry dig, no drinking on site. Ever. What's hilarious is watching all the Danish students not realize that a week of sobriety and hard labor means you get smashed after two beers. No one feels very well when they have to go out on a tour of ancient Amman Saturday morning.
No, that's not ancient Amman. That's one of the more humorous things I've seen in Amman. Between the New Yourk Nigt Club and the Kempinski, you really need to know your way around to find somewhere affordable that is NOT a dive. These locations are still a hazard, I was watching my step (it was dark and there were uneven stairs) and walked into a metal beam, giving myself a mild concussion.
The "long" weekend (two nights free!) the students head for Petra.
Yeah, yeah, everyone takes that picture. No, there are no Nazis.
Is that a more unusual Petra shot? Unadorned rock cut tombs are everywhere, and if you have a tall person in your group, they can boost an archaeogoddess into a window for a funny picture.
This year I am not going to Jordan. August is Ramadan, and it would be completely unfair to ask the workmen to neither eat, nor drink, nor smoke during the day while making them do hard manual labor in 50 degree CELSIUS heat (that 122 F, for the rest of y'all). So the dig got moved to June. Which is when I'm in Israel. And since I'm an area supervisor working on the final publication of the site, I should really be THERE instead of sweating in my little metal office in Jordan.
But I'll be thinking of my dear friends as I sit in my air-conditioned cabin, cutting lemons for the gin and tonics.
Saturday, May 02, 2009
200th post?!? How about I tell you a little more about myself?
Good grief! 200 posts? The posts will slow down a bit, now that the sun is out, I have fun and friendly roommates and I have to read my entire dissertation for "conversational english" and remove it (poo on that). But I am dedicated to trying to keep people informed about my life, since one blog post is SO much easier than writing 10 emails and there seem to be some other people out there who are interested/entertained by what I'm doing, so although the posts may slow up a bit, I'll keep blogging. I'll even try to blog while I'm out digging this summer.
But for today's special 200th post, I figured I'd give you a treat. A little taste of what I do and why I am the Archaeogoddess. (These pictures were not taken by me. When I'm out in the field I can check with the director and get permission to use better photos that I will try to take for blogging purposes.)
We live on a kibbutz in some swanky air-conditioned cabins with hot and cold water, cable-tv, and did I mention the air-conditioning? The dig director has lived in tents and other crappy accommodations when she was a volunteer archaeologist and decided she would never do that to her volunteers or staff. Bless her!
Alas, because it's a kibbutz, we aren't getting fine cuisine. In fact, many jokes were made about our starchy dinners. Lunch was hot with meat... dinner.... well, we were glad we had gin to wash it down.
We get up at about 4 am, Monday through Friday (we work the American week, rather than the Israeli), tumbling out to the site before 5. This photo of our site was probably taken around our "fruit" break, 10:45ish. We go in at about 12:30, because it gets to be too hot.
Believe it or not, we spend a lot of time "cleaning" the dirt. We sweep the sides of the square and we sweep the ground. Then we pick axe the dirt and scrape it flat with our back-breaking hoes and sweep it again! Look at the dust. Imagine for a minute what happens to the poor archaeologists who work in areas without daily showers.
After lunch, we wash the ceramic finds that have been soaking overnight. We have to soak them or the soil would never come off.
Then, after all of this work, four weeks of excavation, a bulldozer comes and fills in the squares you have "finished." This is very depressing and usually none of us wants to go to watch. We sit on the porches of our cabins and drink instead. When you work in a muslim country, where drinking alcohol is prohibited, the atmosphere can get particularly morose. Of course, filling in the excavated squares means that you no longer have to walk around four open pits to get to the soil dump, but it's hard to not remember the hours of work put into digging those holes in the first place!
And just in case you weren't jealous enough of my life, a final picture:*
* The Archaeogoddess appears in this photograph - can you find her?
But for today's special 200th post, I figured I'd give you a treat. A little taste of what I do and why I am the Archaeogoddess. (These pictures were not taken by me. When I'm out in the field I can check with the director and get permission to use better photos that I will try to take for blogging purposes.)
We live on a kibbutz in some swanky air-conditioned cabins with hot and cold water, cable-tv, and did I mention the air-conditioning? The dig director has lived in tents and other crappy accommodations when she was a volunteer archaeologist and decided she would never do that to her volunteers or staff. Bless her!
Alas, because it's a kibbutz, we aren't getting fine cuisine. In fact, many jokes were made about our starchy dinners. Lunch was hot with meat... dinner.... well, we were glad we had gin to wash it down.
We get up at about 4 am, Monday through Friday (we work the American week, rather than the Israeli), tumbling out to the site before 5. This photo of our site was probably taken around our "fruit" break, 10:45ish. We go in at about 12:30, because it gets to be too hot.
Believe it or not, we spend a lot of time "cleaning" the dirt. We sweep the sides of the square and we sweep the ground. Then we pick axe the dirt and scrape it flat with our back-breaking hoes and sweep it again! Look at the dust. Imagine for a minute what happens to the poor archaeologists who work in areas without daily showers.
After lunch, we wash the ceramic finds that have been soaking overnight. We have to soak them or the soil would never come off.
Then, after all of this work, four weeks of excavation, a bulldozer comes and fills in the squares you have "finished." This is very depressing and usually none of us wants to go to watch. We sit on the porches of our cabins and drink instead. When you work in a muslim country, where drinking alcohol is prohibited, the atmosphere can get particularly morose. Of course, filling in the excavated squares means that you no longer have to walk around four open pits to get to the soil dump, but it's hard to not remember the hours of work put into digging those holes in the first place!
And just in case you weren't jealous enough of my life, a final picture:*
* The Archaeogoddess appears in this photograph - can you find her?
Wednesday, April 29, 2009
Just a few days to go...
And maybe we can stop fixing up the apartment!! I've noticed over the last few months that "his" projects have become "my" projects and things "we" will do becomes things that "I" will do. Like moving the couch. It was never going to happen, but it had to, because I had to empty that room. Mind you, my husband has been CRAZY busy ever since the media got ahold of the swine flu and suddenly my husband's editor realized WAIT, there are a lot of swine in Denmark... WE'RE ALL GOING TO DIE!!
So I had to move the couch mahself. How does a 125 lb woman move a 100 lb couch (I have no idea how heavy the couch is, I can't really get it to hop on my scale and still be able to read the weight)? She rolls it. Up on one end, turn in desired direction, put up end down. Repeat as needed. Through a doorway and across the floor. I didn't even bother to take the legs off. Yup, I rock. I'm all about rolling furniture. If there was an olympic sport in furniture rolling, I'd be taking the gold. I managed to get a HUGE wardrobe up stairs all on my own, it took two men to get it back down. I told them to roll it, but they got all offended looking. I also have been known to pack boxes very tightly with things that are too heavy for me to lift, and then after some judicious taping, roll them up and down the stairs as needed.
The living room is set, the entry way has been pared down to two jackets each and two storage units of shoes per person (I only use one, the other is for hats, scarfs, and mittens), and the two bedrooms that will be inhabited Friday and Sunday are mostly clear (I need to know where to roll some items). I rocked out the doors from the kitchen and put them back on. I'll take an after shot AFTER I clean the kitchen thoroughly. What remains? My husband's project: the bathroom. It's not done. I'd go in and do it, but I'd get my head bitten off. There's priming and painting and sanding involved and I don't know which step he's at. Best not to get involved at that point. But I need my bathroom back. I'd like to NOT get out of the shower onto plastic. I'd like to be able to keep a towel in there and not worry about getting paint on it. I want to clean the bathroom!!
That last photo is of the hallway. Why is there so much crap in the hallway?
1) Nothing could be in the bathroom: see above
2) I had to spread the cabinet doors out over two rooms and when you are traipsing back and forth will oil paint, you do NOT want to drip, smear, or step with painted foot on your very nice floor. So you put down random newspapers.
My cabinet doors.
Yessiree, I take some mighty great photos of my life. Bet you are excited.
Promise, better ones to come soon. I found my other (prefered) camera. The EOS digital scares the bejeezus out of me, so fancy, too expensive for me to do anything other than cry if I drop it! I'll take the Elph, thanks.
So I had to move the couch mahself. How does a 125 lb woman move a 100 lb couch (I have no idea how heavy the couch is, I can't really get it to hop on my scale and still be able to read the weight)? She rolls it. Up on one end, turn in desired direction, put up end down. Repeat as needed. Through a doorway and across the floor. I didn't even bother to take the legs off. Yup, I rock. I'm all about rolling furniture. If there was an olympic sport in furniture rolling, I'd be taking the gold. I managed to get a HUGE wardrobe up stairs all on my own, it took two men to get it back down. I told them to roll it, but they got all offended looking. I also have been known to pack boxes very tightly with things that are too heavy for me to lift, and then after some judicious taping, roll them up and down the stairs as needed.
The living room is set, the entry way has been pared down to two jackets each and two storage units of shoes per person (I only use one, the other is for hats, scarfs, and mittens), and the two bedrooms that will be inhabited Friday and Sunday are mostly clear (I need to know where to roll some items). I rocked out the doors from the kitchen and put them back on. I'll take an after shot AFTER I clean the kitchen thoroughly. What remains? My husband's project: the bathroom. It's not done. I'd go in and do it, but I'd get my head bitten off. There's priming and painting and sanding involved and I don't know which step he's at. Best not to get involved at that point. But I need my bathroom back. I'd like to NOT get out of the shower onto plastic. I'd like to be able to keep a towel in there and not worry about getting paint on it. I want to clean the bathroom!!
That last photo is of the hallway. Why is there so much crap in the hallway?
1) Nothing could be in the bathroom: see above
2) I had to spread the cabinet doors out over two rooms and when you are traipsing back and forth will oil paint, you do NOT want to drip, smear, or step with painted foot on your very nice floor. So you put down random newspapers.
My cabinet doors.
Yessiree, I take some mighty great photos of my life. Bet you are excited.
Promise, better ones to come soon. I found my other (prefered) camera. The EOS digital scares the bejeezus out of me, so fancy, too expensive for me to do anything other than cry if I drop it! I'll take the Elph, thanks.
Monday, April 27, 2009
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).
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).
Friday, April 24, 2009
If I keep this up - I'll hit 200 posts in NO TIME!
Having figured out how to upload images from the camera to my computer and then to the blog, I now have some catch up work to do. Namely give you pictures of things in my life.
Like my exploded kitchen.
Yeah, it may look fairly tidy to YOU - but when I walk in all I see is everything I own WAVING AT ME!!
But this, my friends, is the Archaeogoddess Culinary Institute for American Cooking in Denmark. Sans doors.
Like my exploded kitchen.
Yeah, it may look fairly tidy to YOU - but when I walk in all I see is everything I own WAVING AT ME!!
But this, my friends, is the Archaeogoddess Culinary Institute for American Cooking in Denmark. Sans doors.
Photo test!
The question: Can I get a photo of the violent purple cabbage soup from just a few weeks ago to appear on this blog?
Survey says: yes, but it's going to take a long time to upload your pictures, you memory hog, you.
Survey says: yes, but it's going to take a long time to upload your pictures, you memory hog, you.
And for tonight's glorious feast!
I'm going American.
'Cause I just spent $10 for a jar of Jif and $15 on a six pack of A&W Root Beer. I'm eyeing the $12 box of Bisquik.
I have to calculate the cost, because if I don't, I'll just keep buying stuff because it's there. I probably didn't NEED to buy the peanut butter, I can get Jif in Israel, so it's not like my whole life has gone Jif-less. But sometimes a girl really needs a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and I just can't bring myself to do that with gourmet peanut butter (which pound for pound might actually be cheaper than the Jif, but leave me my delusions, kthnx).
Anyway, the root beer was a real treat. I have vanilla ice cream in the fridge. I have tall fill-me-up-with-root-beer-floaty-goodness glasses. And a balcony.
Yessir-ee-bob, I'll be sticky and sunburned by tomorrow night, mark my words!
Anyway... about tonight's glorious feast. It involves NEITHER root beer or peanut butter. Because I'm perverse like that. It will be oven-baked hot wings (or thighs because they have wingless chickens here in Denmark) (unless somewhere there are people wondering why all they ever get in the supermarket is wings and no thighs) with french-fries and home-made blue cheese dressing.
Because the only downside to having to make all your own American food is discovering that most of it is better when you make it yourself. Ranch and blue cheese are two of those things. Except Jensen's Bøfhuset (or something like that) - which makes a MEAN ranch and if you ever see it in the store, buy and and mail it to me. They used to sell it in my store, but then they stopped. I think I licked the last bottle clean. It's the best stuff to put on raw carrots, no lie. I have no idea what it tastes like on salad, it never gets that far. And I don't care what you say, blue cheese dressing is NOT just ranch with blue cheese and "hvidløg" is not ranch. Nor is "creme fraise dressing". Nope. Not ranch. And even if they WERE ranch, I am NOT dumping blue cheese into them to make some half-assed blue cheese dip. Alas, I don't particularly care for the American brand of salad dressings they're selling in the supermarket. I'll just keep making my own ranch and my own blue cheese.
Returning to tonights dinner. I am going to try to take pictures of the process. I took pictures of some other stuff too, like my exploded kitchen, my office pre-move, some random cooking shots and a really great graffito (singular of graffiti). All I need is to find the damned camera cables. Figure out how to get them onto the computer... and then I'll slap them up here. But the biggest challenge is already complete: I took photos. Hurrah for me!
'Cause I just spent $10 for a jar of Jif and $15 on a six pack of A&W Root Beer. I'm eyeing the $12 box of Bisquik.
I have to calculate the cost, because if I don't, I'll just keep buying stuff because it's there. I probably didn't NEED to buy the peanut butter, I can get Jif in Israel, so it's not like my whole life has gone Jif-less. But sometimes a girl really needs a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and I just can't bring myself to do that with gourmet peanut butter (which pound for pound might actually be cheaper than the Jif, but leave me my delusions, kthnx).
Anyway, the root beer was a real treat. I have vanilla ice cream in the fridge. I have tall fill-me-up-with-root-beer-floaty-goodness glasses. And a balcony.
Yessir-ee-bob, I'll be sticky and sunburned by tomorrow night, mark my words!
Anyway... about tonight's glorious feast. It involves NEITHER root beer or peanut butter. Because I'm perverse like that. It will be oven-baked hot wings (or thighs because they have wingless chickens here in Denmark) (unless somewhere there are people wondering why all they ever get in the supermarket is wings and no thighs) with french-fries and home-made blue cheese dressing.
Because the only downside to having to make all your own American food is discovering that most of it is better when you make it yourself. Ranch and blue cheese are two of those things. Except Jensen's Bøfhuset (or something like that) - which makes a MEAN ranch and if you ever see it in the store, buy and and mail it to me. They used to sell it in my store, but then they stopped. I think I licked the last bottle clean. It's the best stuff to put on raw carrots, no lie. I have no idea what it tastes like on salad, it never gets that far. And I don't care what you say, blue cheese dressing is NOT just ranch with blue cheese and "hvidløg" is not ranch. Nor is "creme fraise dressing". Nope. Not ranch. And even if they WERE ranch, I am NOT dumping blue cheese into them to make some half-assed blue cheese dip. Alas, I don't particularly care for the American brand of salad dressings they're selling in the supermarket. I'll just keep making my own ranch and my own blue cheese.
Returning to tonights dinner. I am going to try to take pictures of the process. I took pictures of some other stuff too, like my exploded kitchen, my office pre-move, some random cooking shots and a really great graffito (singular of graffiti). All I need is to find the damned camera cables. Figure out how to get them onto the computer... and then I'll slap them up here. But the biggest challenge is already complete: I took photos. Hurrah for me!
Thursday, April 23, 2009
If a bomb went off in my kitchen...
would anyone notice the difference?
I haven't washed dishes in two days. Moving an office and decimating dust bunnies (though, I hope I did more than decimate, because that only means kill one in ten and I'm really hoping I got more than that) leaves one with odd aches and pains (why, for instance does my elbow hurt?) and all the whacking my head and slipping on slippery floors and bashing my fingers didn't really help either, so I just can't bring myself to wash dishes. Even though I am out of spoons.
Who needs spoons anyway? I can drink my soup and eat the fiddly bits with a fork. And when I run out of forks there are knifes and wine bottle openers. And some other odd implements in my what-is-it drawer that I've never found a use for. Until NOW!
But then I prepped the kitchen for some last minute painting. Husband *was* planning on painting the cabinet doors. So I took 'em all off the cabinets, cleaned 'em, made a newspaper protective carpet for the floor, set up the banana boxes, laid out the cabinet doors (sans handles), and cleaned the areas around where the doors had been. Making kind of a mess in the process, but ... bygones, the doors are READY.
But then husband got some phone calls from some sources and then the newspaper and has spent most of the day working on a story that had been shelved until suddenly it WASN'T and he had to do something about it.
So my kitchen as it stands... or not so much at the moment... is doorless and the cabinets all naked and exposed, with food and towels all higgeldy piggeldy (I swear I folded the towels before I stuffed them onto the that shelf) and dishes pilled in haphazard post-modernist sculptures (at least they are rinsed so it's not like dried food is holding the piles together... oh, wait, then what IS holding the piles together?) and screws and knobs in rows (sometimes I can be VERY OCD).
Speaking of OCD, I was pondering how to organize my husband's tool boxes (he just got another one for a birthday present) (yes, his birthday was actually some time ago, no I didn't get him anything other than the continued presence of my wonderful self) (whadday mean it's weird for ME to organize my husband's tool box?)...
Too many parenthetical sub-clauses and things... let me regroup.
Right, so I was thinking of how I can organize my husband's tool boxes and I decided that one box should be for things that screw.... And I laughed so hard I had to sit down. Then I got up and began dancing (more like spastic sashaying) and singing (in my head, thank the lucky stars) "Screws to the left of me, hammers to my right and here I am... stuck in the middle with glue!" Which led to me leaning on the wall and gasping for air.
No one saw me. And that's probably a good thing, since I'd be posting this from the loony bin otherwise. But, boy, I crack myself up!
I haven't washed dishes in two days. Moving an office and decimating dust bunnies (though, I hope I did more than decimate, because that only means kill one in ten and I'm really hoping I got more than that) leaves one with odd aches and pains (why, for instance does my elbow hurt?) and all the whacking my head and slipping on slippery floors and bashing my fingers didn't really help either, so I just can't bring myself to wash dishes. Even though I am out of spoons.
Who needs spoons anyway? I can drink my soup and eat the fiddly bits with a fork. And when I run out of forks there are knifes and wine bottle openers. And some other odd implements in my what-is-it drawer that I've never found a use for. Until NOW!
But then I prepped the kitchen for some last minute painting. Husband *was* planning on painting the cabinet doors. So I took 'em all off the cabinets, cleaned 'em, made a newspaper protective carpet for the floor, set up the banana boxes, laid out the cabinet doors (sans handles), and cleaned the areas around where the doors had been. Making kind of a mess in the process, but ... bygones, the doors are READY.
But then husband got some phone calls from some sources and then the newspaper and has spent most of the day working on a story that had been shelved until suddenly it WASN'T and he had to do something about it.
So my kitchen as it stands... or not so much at the moment... is doorless and the cabinets all naked and exposed, with food and towels all higgeldy piggeldy (I swear I folded the towels before I stuffed them onto the that shelf) and dishes pilled in haphazard post-modernist sculptures (at least they are rinsed so it's not like dried food is holding the piles together... oh, wait, then what IS holding the piles together?) and screws and knobs in rows (sometimes I can be VERY OCD).
Speaking of OCD, I was pondering how to organize my husband's tool boxes (he just got another one for a birthday present) (yes, his birthday was actually some time ago, no I didn't get him anything other than the continued presence of my wonderful self) (whadday mean it's weird for ME to organize my husband's tool box?)...
Too many parenthetical sub-clauses and things... let me regroup.
Right, so I was thinking of how I can organize my husband's tool boxes and I decided that one box should be for things that screw.... And I laughed so hard I had to sit down. Then I got up and began dancing (more like spastic sashaying) and singing (in my head, thank the lucky stars) "Screws to the left of me, hammers to my right and here I am... stuck in the middle with glue!" Which led to me leaning on the wall and gasping for air.
No one saw me. And that's probably a good thing, since I'd be posting this from the loony bin otherwise. But, boy, I crack myself up!
Tuesday, April 21, 2009
Dust bunny mafia wars
Dust bunnies ("nullernix" in Danish) have invaded my home. They were confined to the office for some time (I don't know about you but I don't unload and move bookcases just to vacuum behind them). Yesterday and the day before, they were unleashed by some idiot who decided to move her office to the other room.
Wait, wasn't that me?
Crap.
I'd been pretty good about keeping the rest of the apartment clean so we could show out the rooms. Apart from the Amazing Popcorn Kernels, who seem to appear out of thin air in the middle of the floor EVEN WHEN NO ONE HAS EATEN POPCORN, dust bunny evidence was NIL.
But yesterday as I betook myself to the restroom to do that thing I do... TMI!!... I noticed... DA DUM... I noticed..... DA DUM... I realized DA DA DA DA DA DA DAAAAAAA!!... I was surrounded on ALL SIDES by dust bunnies. And ALL SIDES is kinda hard to do when you are sitting on the can... TMI!! But it was true! I bent around and looked.
Everywhere!! And not little baby dust bunnies, but full grown MASSIVE dust bunnies. They're in the hallway. They're in the kitchen. They're in the entry way. I even found one out on the balcony, lurking in a corner.
I've been running around for the past two days with a vacuum cleaner. Thankfully I have a very long cord. But like the Hydra, it seems that for every one that I remove from this earth, several more leap up to take its place.
And it's a fight for life, my friends. Because while my allergy medicine is taking spring in stride and I can frolic in the outdoors and drive my pollen ridden car with the windows down and the radio blaring, I am miserable in my own home.
So, I've declared war. I will vacuum this house within an inch of it's life. But first I need to spray my nose, down a spare Benedryl and lay down with a damp cloth over my sinuses for about an hour. Would I cut off my nose to spite my face? Yes, if it meant it would BLOODY stop itching!
(Really, tragically, I am breathing better when I'm outside standing next to freshly mowed grass, which ALWAYS kills me, than I am in this dust bunny infested yet tastefully renovated apartment. ARGH!!)
Wait, wasn't that me?
Crap.
I'd been pretty good about keeping the rest of the apartment clean so we could show out the rooms. Apart from the Amazing Popcorn Kernels, who seem to appear out of thin air in the middle of the floor EVEN WHEN NO ONE HAS EATEN POPCORN, dust bunny evidence was NIL.
But yesterday as I betook myself to the restroom to do that thing I do... TMI!!... I noticed... DA DUM... I noticed..... DA DUM... I realized DA DA DA DA DA DA DAAAAAAA!!... I was surrounded on ALL SIDES by dust bunnies. And ALL SIDES is kinda hard to do when you are sitting on the can... TMI!! But it was true! I bent around and looked.
Everywhere!! And not little baby dust bunnies, but full grown MASSIVE dust bunnies. They're in the hallway. They're in the kitchen. They're in the entry way. I even found one out on the balcony, lurking in a corner.
I've been running around for the past two days with a vacuum cleaner. Thankfully I have a very long cord. But like the Hydra, it seems that for every one that I remove from this earth, several more leap up to take its place.
And it's a fight for life, my friends. Because while my allergy medicine is taking spring in stride and I can frolic in the outdoors and drive my pollen ridden car with the windows down and the radio blaring, I am miserable in my own home.
So, I've declared war. I will vacuum this house within an inch of it's life. But first I need to spray my nose, down a spare Benedryl and lay down with a damp cloth over my sinuses for about an hour. Would I cut off my nose to spite my face? Yes, if it meant it would BLOODY stop itching!
(Really, tragically, I am breathing better when I'm outside standing next to freshly mowed grass, which ALWAYS kills me, than I am in this dust bunny infested yet tastefully renovated apartment. ARGH!!)
Saturday, April 18, 2009
Archaeology post!
Treasure trove found on Funen!
Neato!
"Ancient Islamic coins and silver jewellery were discovered in one of the biggest finds of its kind on Funen by a local man with a metal detector.
An amateur archaeologist hit the jackpot when he discovered a hidden cache of buried silver in a rural field on Funen earlier this year.
Odense City Museums has since taken advantage of the recent stretch of fine weather over the past few days to further unearth the unique and valuable Viking-age find.
So far, archaeologists have found 41 silver coins, a silver bracelet and half of a highly decorative Thor’s hammer. Most of the coins originate from the ancient Islamic times of the caliphs, while some are from the area covered by present-day Russia.
The bracelet and hammer are thought to be Scandinavian in design.
The find lay undiscovered in the field near Ringe for more than 1,000 years and museum curator Jesper Hansen said that is the biggest coin find of its kind on Funen.
Odense City Museums indicated that the foreign coins are ‘yet another sign of the vast connections and trading relations, which were an integral part of Scandinavia during the Viking age’.
It is likely that the treasure finder, Benny Pennerup, will receive a finder’s fee from the National Museum."
Neato!
The Great White North
I am a fan of Stuff White People Like.
It amuses me and often I find myself thinking, "doh, what a white thing I just did!"
Of course, I *am* white, so it's not like I'm trying to be a different ethnic group or anything.
I love this web-site because I can sit and laugh and say to myself (out-loud because I lack all social skills) "oh, that is so true! I have *got* to stop doing that!!" Not that I'm going to stop recycling or desiring North Face gear or throw away my pea coat, but at least I can laugh about it. I have a great love of laughing at myself, so maybe that's why I am so entertained.
Anyway, part of the premise of this web-site is to "teach" others how to interact with white people. And I'm thinking to myself, this could be an instruction manuel on how to interact with Danes. Because Denmark is THE country of white people. Almost every post relates to it.
#120: Taking a year off
This is THE Danish thing to do. Personally, I think it's a great idea... but then, I'm white. :-) While most Americans can't really afford to do this AND go traveling (taking a year off is more often than not a chance to work your butt off and make some cash for college), Danish kids don't need to save up for school. Since they're not only getting a free education, but also get some money from the state to do so, they can blow their savings on a nice exotic tour of somewhere. And for Danes, Europe is just south of them! I get so frustrated with Europeans (this is not limited to Danes) who are so surprised that I haven't visited Spain or spent summers in southern Italy. Um... it was kinda farther away from me than it was for you. And I sorta had to work to pay off my school.
This led to a discussion last night with my over-tired cranky husband. He laughed when I told him how I managed to get thought my education for very cheap and how I'm proud of how low my loans were. He was amused because he's been paying my bill for the last two years and to him, $6000 a year is NOT cheap for school. Telling him how much it normally cost didn't make much of a dent. Trying to explain that there is tuition, fees, and health care bundled together as well as food and housing costs that are far above what we pay in rent here really didn't compute. Finally getting really mad and pointing out that I was working to pay my food and housing costs because this is not covered by anyone sort of got through to him. Most American kids have to work to pay for food and housing costs. They then take out loans to cover the tuition et al. By going to inexpensive schools, I managed to keep the tuition down and fortunately my parents were able to put money towards it and I was able to keep my grades high enough to get some scholarships. I worked to cover the incidental needs, food, roof, etc. I did have to take loans, but only small ones to cover what was left. Graduate school is more like the Danish system, because they pay you and they waive your tuition. Until you run out of funding, but hopefully by then you just have to pay a minimum fee, as I do.
I'm still a bit frustrated about the discussion last night, as you can probably tell.
#97: Scarves
I don't know when the keffiyeh became part of the Danish wardrobe, but you can buy it in H&M with sparkly strings woven through it. It's like "wow, how hip, pretty, and political!" And you can't really ask the Dane wearing it if they actually support the Palestinian movement (almost all the keffiyehs on people around here are black and white = Palestinian) because the answer is "of course!" Not that they've been there or follow the news in the Middle East with regularity, but that's okay, you can support a political position without knowing anything about it - just ask Republicans. HA! Sorry, so sorry. I really couldn't resist. I have sane Republican friends (as well as several insane Republican family members), really. (Is that like certain politicians who say they have black friends or gay friends in order to try to suggest they aren't racist homo-phobic asshats?)
Anyway, as you can see in my picture, I am wearing a keffiyeh. So who am I to talk? Well, I wear it to keep the sun out of my eyes and the sweat off my brow. I don't wear it as a scarf. I don't wear it outside of Israel. Yes, I do wear it in Israel. Yes, I do know what political message I am sending when I wear it there. I usually keep it to the field. I'm not walking around downtown Jerusalem wearing it. Because, duh, it's really for men. Women do not wear keffiyehs. I'd look like a complete idiot tourist wearing it around town!
What I've learned from reading "Stuff White People Like" is that upper-middle class America is ridiculously Dane-like. Probably one of the reasons so much of Denmark seems normal to me. It also explains why I get so frustrated with Denmark some times. I feel like some of the worst behavior I thought I'd left behind followed me here. If we were to follow the lead of certain American who are calling for the end of immigration, making English the official language, and insisting on institutionalizing American-ness, we'll end up like Denmark! Too much white, too much homogeneity! Ack!!
There is good stuff about Denmark. Really. The idea that people ought to be treated equally and have equal access to education and health care is a noble one. It gets a little perverted when it becomes "all people are equal, which means same, and if they aren't, well, we'll just come up with a system for making sure they are." I want to go hit people about the head. "Equal does not mean SAME!" GAH!
(Meanwhile if one more Republican friend or relative tries to convince me that Obama is Satan and America is becoming a socialist ungodly nation, I'm going to scream.)
It amuses me and often I find myself thinking, "doh, what a white thing I just did!"
Of course, I *am* white, so it's not like I'm trying to be a different ethnic group or anything.
I love this web-site because I can sit and laugh and say to myself (out-loud because I lack all social skills) "oh, that is so true! I have *got* to stop doing that!!" Not that I'm going to stop recycling or desiring North Face gear or throw away my pea coat, but at least I can laugh about it. I have a great love of laughing at myself, so maybe that's why I am so entertained.
Anyway, part of the premise of this web-site is to "teach" others how to interact with white people. And I'm thinking to myself, this could be an instruction manuel on how to interact with Danes. Because Denmark is THE country of white people. Almost every post relates to it.
#120: Taking a year off
This is THE Danish thing to do. Personally, I think it's a great idea... but then, I'm white. :-) While most Americans can't really afford to do this AND go traveling (taking a year off is more often than not a chance to work your butt off and make some cash for college), Danish kids don't need to save up for school. Since they're not only getting a free education, but also get some money from the state to do so, they can blow their savings on a nice exotic tour of somewhere. And for Danes, Europe is just south of them! I get so frustrated with Europeans (this is not limited to Danes) who are so surprised that I haven't visited Spain or spent summers in southern Italy. Um... it was kinda farther away from me than it was for you. And I sorta had to work to pay off my school.
This led to a discussion last night with my over-tired cranky husband. He laughed when I told him how I managed to get thought my education for very cheap and how I'm proud of how low my loans were. He was amused because he's been paying my bill for the last two years and to him, $6000 a year is NOT cheap for school. Telling him how much it normally cost didn't make much of a dent. Trying to explain that there is tuition, fees, and health care bundled together as well as food and housing costs that are far above what we pay in rent here really didn't compute. Finally getting really mad and pointing out that I was working to pay my food and housing costs because this is not covered by anyone sort of got through to him. Most American kids have to work to pay for food and housing costs. They then take out loans to cover the tuition et al. By going to inexpensive schools, I managed to keep the tuition down and fortunately my parents were able to put money towards it and I was able to keep my grades high enough to get some scholarships. I worked to cover the incidental needs, food, roof, etc. I did have to take loans, but only small ones to cover what was left. Graduate school is more like the Danish system, because they pay you and they waive your tuition. Until you run out of funding, but hopefully by then you just have to pay a minimum fee, as I do.
I'm still a bit frustrated about the discussion last night, as you can probably tell.
#97: Scarves
I don't know when the keffiyeh became part of the Danish wardrobe, but you can buy it in H&M with sparkly strings woven through it. It's like "wow, how hip, pretty, and political!" And you can't really ask the Dane wearing it if they actually support the Palestinian movement (almost all the keffiyehs on people around here are black and white = Palestinian) because the answer is "of course!" Not that they've been there or follow the news in the Middle East with regularity, but that's okay, you can support a political position without knowing anything about it - just ask Republicans. HA! Sorry, so sorry. I really couldn't resist. I have sane Republican friends (as well as several insane Republican family members), really. (Is that like certain politicians who say they have black friends or gay friends in order to try to suggest they aren't racist homo-phobic asshats?)
Anyway, as you can see in my picture, I am wearing a keffiyeh. So who am I to talk? Well, I wear it to keep the sun out of my eyes and the sweat off my brow. I don't wear it as a scarf. I don't wear it outside of Israel. Yes, I do wear it in Israel. Yes, I do know what political message I am sending when I wear it there. I usually keep it to the field. I'm not walking around downtown Jerusalem wearing it. Because, duh, it's really for men. Women do not wear keffiyehs. I'd look like a complete idiot tourist wearing it around town!
What I've learned from reading "Stuff White People Like" is that upper-middle class America is ridiculously Dane-like. Probably one of the reasons so much of Denmark seems normal to me. It also explains why I get so frustrated with Denmark some times. I feel like some of the worst behavior I thought I'd left behind followed me here. If we were to follow the lead of certain American who are calling for the end of immigration, making English the official language, and insisting on institutionalizing American-ness, we'll end up like Denmark! Too much white, too much homogeneity! Ack!!
There is good stuff about Denmark. Really. The idea that people ought to be treated equally and have equal access to education and health care is a noble one. It gets a little perverted when it becomes "all people are equal, which means same, and if they aren't, well, we'll just come up with a system for making sure they are." I want to go hit people about the head. "Equal does not mean SAME!" GAH!
(Meanwhile if one more Republican friend or relative tries to convince me that Obama is Satan and America is becoming a socialist ungodly nation, I'm going to scream.)
Thursday, April 16, 2009
How did your easter chocolate come to you? If you believe it was a rabbit, you might want to keep that information to yourself while traveling abroad
For anyone who has ever tried to explain a strange (but normal to you) belief or behavior in a foreign language to someone from another culture.... this is for you. For those who haven't, it's still funny. Especially the end. Go on, it's not that long.
Meanwhile, I laughed so hard I had a mild heart infarction. You have been warned.
Meanwhile, I laughed so hard I had a mild heart infarction. You have been warned.
Signs of Spring and other stuff
Finally! I think the tree in my courtyard is beginning to show signs of budding! Of course, it still has some dead leaves still clinging to it, but the tips of the branches have gone and turned red and I *think* I see buds.
Also in the fruit and veg section of the supermarket, the green onions are now from Italy again and not China. The coriander is coming in full bunches (instead of the poor yellowy leaves of a week or so ago) and I smell barbeque when I go out to buy groceries.
Also, my husband started wearing t-shirts under his sweaters. Geez he's gotten pale! I mean, I'm not nearly so brown now, but he's been missing out on several summers of good excavating fun, so he's almost translucent.
I exaggerate. Even at his palest he's still ruddier than many Danes. His hair is definitely brown, though. Okay, light brown-dark blond something something. He normally bleaches out in the sun, ending up a blond tanned picture of health.
Meanwhile, as part of the integration process, I've been invited to a "welcome to our town" get-together for all the newbies in the area, in May. In an hour and a half they're going to cover everything you need to know about living in Denmark. Hah! But I'm going to go anyway. I'm curious. What do *they* think we need to know? One of the funny things in the invite is that they tell you that they'll answer all your questions, like "where do I learn Danish?" Um, first, the invite is in Danish, so if I can read it, then I probably know where to learn Danish. And secondly, one of the first things the kommune did was sign me up for Danish. They signed me up so fast I don't think the ink was dry on my visa. Who actually manages to live long enough in Denmark to get one of these invitations and yet does not get nabbed by the taler-danske-gestapo?
Yesterday I was so bone-tired that I was nauseous most of the day. I hate that! I managed to snooze long enough to manage to get out to the store and buy the things I needed for taco salad, salsa and guacamole. I was a little heavy handed with the cumin in the guacamole, but at least I tasted it before I added any jalapenos. The excitement of yesterday was getting THREE jars of jalapenos for the price of TWO! Since I have been putting jalapenos on EVERYTHING lately, this was great. They also started stocking my favorite salami again. Thank god! What a bad two weeks that was! I can't stand most other lunch meats and I refuse to eat the "salads" Danes put on their bread. *Psst* Denmark, that stuff is terrible! Put it down! Back away! And stop mocking my love of peanut butter.
I really need to get my butt in gear and put together my illustrations. But I'm still reveling in NOT having a chapter to write, NOT having a writers block, and NOT worrying about research. Nope, now I'm worrying because I'm not worrying. Very restful. I'd kick back and pour myself a drink, but I did that on Tuesday and ended up RAGING drunk. Well, not raging, because I'm a happy drunk, but I did babble a lot when I guy came over to look at the rooms in the apartment. OOPS! I read "thursday" instead of "tuesday" because my husband wrote the note in Danish and I am complete crap at telling the difference between the two. I also suck at differentiating between "lordag" and "sondag" - "lordag" is saturday, but I keep seeing "lord" in the word and then think, ah, this is a state-religious place, so of course they name the day after God. But they didn't. "Sondag" is sunday and you'd think that would be easy to remember. Nope. Nada. Ab-so-freaking-not.
On that note, I also should relate a story about how I say "oh Lord" quite a lot. I don't know why. Why isn't important. Anyway, I get to Denmark and EVERYONE is saying it. Hm, I think to myself, maybe I have some latent Danish in my DNA that rises up and speaks Danish!
Uh, no.
No no no no.
People around here are saying "oh lort" which means "oh sh!t." Which means that every time I say "oh Lord" rather than some horrible swear word because I'm trying to be polite, I'm actually swearing in Danish. My husband's grandmothers probably think that I have the most awful potty mouth and that my husband has been teaching me to swear in Danish rather than how to say nice polite things to little old ladies.
Well, crap!
Also in the fruit and veg section of the supermarket, the green onions are now from Italy again and not China. The coriander is coming in full bunches (instead of the poor yellowy leaves of a week or so ago) and I smell barbeque when I go out to buy groceries.
Also, my husband started wearing t-shirts under his sweaters. Geez he's gotten pale! I mean, I'm not nearly so brown now, but he's been missing out on several summers of good excavating fun, so he's almost translucent.
I exaggerate. Even at his palest he's still ruddier than many Danes. His hair is definitely brown, though. Okay, light brown-dark blond something something. He normally bleaches out in the sun, ending up a blond tanned picture of health.
Meanwhile, as part of the integration process, I've been invited to a "welcome to our town" get-together for all the newbies in the area, in May. In an hour and a half they're going to cover everything you need to know about living in Denmark. Hah! But I'm going to go anyway. I'm curious. What do *they* think we need to know? One of the funny things in the invite is that they tell you that they'll answer all your questions, like "where do I learn Danish?" Um, first, the invite is in Danish, so if I can read it, then I probably know where to learn Danish. And secondly, one of the first things the kommune did was sign me up for Danish. They signed me up so fast I don't think the ink was dry on my visa. Who actually manages to live long enough in Denmark to get one of these invitations and yet does not get nabbed by the taler-danske-gestapo?
Yesterday I was so bone-tired that I was nauseous most of the day. I hate that! I managed to snooze long enough to manage to get out to the store and buy the things I needed for taco salad, salsa and guacamole. I was a little heavy handed with the cumin in the guacamole, but at least I tasted it before I added any jalapenos. The excitement of yesterday was getting THREE jars of jalapenos for the price of TWO! Since I have been putting jalapenos on EVERYTHING lately, this was great. They also started stocking my favorite salami again. Thank god! What a bad two weeks that was! I can't stand most other lunch meats and I refuse to eat the "salads" Danes put on their bread. *Psst* Denmark, that stuff is terrible! Put it down! Back away! And stop mocking my love of peanut butter.
I really need to get my butt in gear and put together my illustrations. But I'm still reveling in NOT having a chapter to write, NOT having a writers block, and NOT worrying about research. Nope, now I'm worrying because I'm not worrying. Very restful. I'd kick back and pour myself a drink, but I did that on Tuesday and ended up RAGING drunk. Well, not raging, because I'm a happy drunk, but I did babble a lot when I guy came over to look at the rooms in the apartment. OOPS! I read "thursday" instead of "tuesday" because my husband wrote the note in Danish and I am complete crap at telling the difference between the two. I also suck at differentiating between "lordag" and "sondag" - "lordag" is saturday, but I keep seeing "lord" in the word and then think, ah, this is a state-religious place, so of course they name the day after God. But they didn't. "Sondag" is sunday and you'd think that would be easy to remember. Nope. Nada. Ab-so-freaking-not.
On that note, I also should relate a story about how I say "oh Lord" quite a lot. I don't know why. Why isn't important. Anyway, I get to Denmark and EVERYONE is saying it. Hm, I think to myself, maybe I have some latent Danish in my DNA that rises up and speaks Danish!
Uh, no.
No no no no.
People around here are saying "oh lort" which means "oh sh!t." Which means that every time I say "oh Lord" rather than some horrible swear word because I'm trying to be polite, I'm actually swearing in Danish. My husband's grandmothers probably think that I have the most awful potty mouth and that my husband has been teaching me to swear in Danish rather than how to say nice polite things to little old ladies.
Well, crap!
Tuesday, April 14, 2009
What a mad 24 hours!
In the last 24 hours I have:
- read 3 books in Danish, preparing for a test that, as it turns out, isn't until the 24th of April
- turned in the polished draft of my dissertation to my advisor, for further polishing (YES, THAT MEANS I AM NO LONGER DISSERTATING, I AM NOW REVISING!) (don't get out the champagne yet, my advisor may suggest I write a whole 'nother chapter or rewrite a chapter or something horrible - we'll party once he gives me the 'all clear' to proceed to sending my disastertation to my readers)
- presented my dissertation research to reputable scholars who didn't laugh of disagree, but did suggest that 350 years of scholarship on one particular plate was wrong and it was not 4th century but 6th century. I looked at the evidence they suggested, my god they're right, I changed it and if I can whip it into a paper I can actually do something meaningful in my field!
Right. So what do I do now?? Oh, wait, I have a bibliography to check, plates of images to prepare, a list of illustrations and plates to put together and corrections to make once my advisor gets back to me on that THING.
No rest for the wicked they say. But what do they know? They got the dates wrong! They assume Julian was responsible for the "classical renaissance" that didn't happen (there was a rise in classicism in the 4th century, but we can't really attribute it to one unpopular emperor who only reigned unopposed for 18 months). They are idiots!! Screw them! I'm taking the night off.
BTW, since it was such a small select group at my presentation, we had more of a round table chat. I spoke and answered questions for 2 hours. TWO HOURS!! But I answered every question. I sounded intelligent. I got people excited about what I was doing. And I made people laugh at my jokes. I rock.
Double shot of whiskey for me!! Although... I think I have vodka and tonic and a lemon around here somewhere...
- read 3 books in Danish, preparing for a test that, as it turns out, isn't until the 24th of April
- turned in the polished draft of my dissertation to my advisor, for further polishing (YES, THAT MEANS I AM NO LONGER DISSERTATING, I AM NOW REVISING!) (don't get out the champagne yet, my advisor may suggest I write a whole 'nother chapter or rewrite a chapter or something horrible - we'll party once he gives me the 'all clear' to proceed to sending my disastertation to my readers)
- presented my dissertation research to reputable scholars who didn't laugh of disagree, but did suggest that 350 years of scholarship on one particular plate was wrong and it was not 4th century but 6th century. I looked at the evidence they suggested, my god they're right, I changed it and if I can whip it into a paper I can actually do something meaningful in my field!
Right. So what do I do now?? Oh, wait, I have a bibliography to check, plates of images to prepare, a list of illustrations and plates to put together and corrections to make once my advisor gets back to me on that THING.
No rest for the wicked they say. But what do they know? They got the dates wrong! They assume Julian was responsible for the "classical renaissance" that didn't happen (there was a rise in classicism in the 4th century, but we can't really attribute it to one unpopular emperor who only reigned unopposed for 18 months). They are idiots!! Screw them! I'm taking the night off.
BTW, since it was such a small select group at my presentation, we had more of a round table chat. I spoke and answered questions for 2 hours. TWO HOURS!! But I answered every question. I sounded intelligent. I got people excited about what I was doing. And I made people laugh at my jokes. I rock.
Double shot of whiskey for me!! Although... I think I have vodka and tonic and a lemon around here somewhere...
Unforeseen consequences
One of the unforeseen consequences of taking Danish is that you start to speak English in short easy sentences. I go home. I eat lunch. I go to do shopping. I sound like an idiot.
Okay, that last one I actually can't say in Danish.
Anyway, I have to go up to the university in a few hours and say, among other things, the following sentence: Individuals, in their process of comparing themselves to members of their own group or members of other groups, rely heavily on symbols that communicate social and physical similarities and differences.
And: The envaluation of items with socially imbued meaning is a social strategy to further communicate social distinction.
It's all well and good, because at least all this is written down in a crazy long text for me to read. 15 pages = aprox. one hour speaking. With a power point presentation.
But what if they start asking questions? IN ENGLISH!!??
I have ideas. They are good ideas. Silver is very pretty. It is for rich men. There are many rich men. Sorry, I can not understand you. See you later! Goodbye!!
Maybe if I keep reading what I've written my English will come back! I hope so, otherwise I'm going to be left with very poor English AND Danish and no hope to ever communicate on an intelligent level ever again! ACK!!
Okay, that last one I actually can't say in Danish.
Anyway, I have to go up to the university in a few hours and say, among other things, the following sentence: Individuals, in their process of comparing themselves to members of their own group or members of other groups, rely heavily on symbols that communicate social and physical similarities and differences.
And: The envaluation of items with socially imbued meaning is a social strategy to further communicate social distinction.
It's all well and good, because at least all this is written down in a crazy long text for me to read. 15 pages = aprox. one hour speaking. With a power point presentation.
But what if they start asking questions? IN ENGLISH!!??
I have ideas. They are good ideas. Silver is very pretty. It is for rich men. There are many rich men. Sorry, I can not understand you. See you later! Goodbye!!
Maybe if I keep reading what I've written my English will come back! I hope so, otherwise I'm going to be left with very poor English AND Danish and no hope to ever communicate on an intelligent level ever again! ACK!!
Monday, April 13, 2009
My Dane
You gotta hand it to my Danish husband. He has to put up with all kinds of madness. But at least we crack each other up.
Yesterday, after he'd worked an exceptionally long taxi shift, he finally got himself into bed, at about 7:30. 7:45 and I roll over, punch him, and take the blanket. I had NO idea he'd come home. I was just trying to stretch. I realized after I grabbed the blanket that the pillow I punched was strangely warm and unyielding. I woke up, apologized profusely and fell back asleep. He got up and went to the spare bed to get some uninterrupted sleep WITH a blanket.
Yesterday, after he'd worked an exceptionally long taxi shift, he finally got himself into bed, at about 7:30. 7:45 and I roll over, punch him, and take the blanket. I had NO idea he'd come home. I was just trying to stretch. I realized after I grabbed the blanket that the pillow I punched was strangely warm and unyielding. I woke up, apologized profusely and fell back asleep. He got up and went to the spare bed to get some uninterrupted sleep WITH a blanket.
Sunday, April 12, 2009
The kitchen sink recipe I think I may have perfected
So I've had this "Oven Frittata" recipe in my files for some time. The first time I made it, it was a disaster. The wonky oven might have had something to do with it. The second time I made it, earlier this week, we were definitely closer to the truth. Last night, I whipped it up again and I think I finally got it all worked out. I even tried to figure out the proportions so that I could write it down and post it for you all. And myself. If I don't write it down I'll never remember.
This may become a common recipe in my portfolio. It was easy and very good.
Serves only the two of us. But we tend to just pile it on our plates and forget the side dishes. After all, all the possible side dishes just went into the dish.
Ingredients
1/2 tsp olive oil (for greasing a baking dish)
2 cups (500 ml, not grams, use a measuring cup) macaroni or other shaped pasta
1 or 2 leeks or a bunch of spring onion, chopped I suppose you could use some other onion... or none at all.... but I really suggest getting a leek just for this recipe, it's a LOVELY addition.
4 cups of frozen vegetables any combination of veg is good, corn and peas for example, or wok mix, which is what I had in my freezer last night
1 red pepper optional, especially if you go with wok mix
3 eggs
200 ml milk (just under a cup) Can you tell that I have a strange mixture of measuring devices in my kitchen?
1 tbsp HEAPING of fresh thyme OR 1 tsp HEAPING of dried thyme possibly even a bit more, I get a good pile in my palm and chuck it in
2 cups or 200 g of shredded cheese the recipe says chedder, but you know what, mozzerella is also very nice
2 tbsp grated parmesan ran out of this, didn't notice a problem
salt and pepper to taste although, you will be adding it to raw egg, so you can't REALLY taste and check, so maybe about 1/4 tsp salt and 1/8 pepper... go with your gut
Instructions
1. Preheat oven to 190 C (375 F). Grease a baking dish with olive oil. Check and make sure that the dish can hold 8 cups or 2 liters of liquid first. It sucks when you use too small of a dish and then run around the kitchen trying to find another pan. Not that that's EVER happened to me. Pshaw!
2. Cook pasta in boiling salted water for 8 minutes. Add all the veg and cook an additional 2-3 minutes. Drain and tip everything into the baking dish and mix well.
3. Beat together eggs, milk, thyme, salt and pepper. Add most of the cheese. Pour into the dish and mix gently. Scatter the rest of the cheese on top. The liquid mixture should come almost up to, but not over the top layer of pasta and veg. If it doesn't, you may need to whip up another bit of egg and milk and thyme. I am lazy so I don't, I've had almost an inch of pasta and veg showing and it's still okay to eat. A little crispy, but still okay.
4. Bake for 35-40 minutes. Cool for a few minutes. Serve with salad. Unless you live in Denmark where there is no salad, in which case you serve with whatever you want or nothing at all.
This may become a common recipe in my portfolio. It was easy and very good.
Serves only the two of us. But we tend to just pile it on our plates and forget the side dishes. After all, all the possible side dishes just went into the dish.
Ingredients
1/2 tsp olive oil (for greasing a baking dish)
2 cups (500 ml, not grams, use a measuring cup) macaroni or other shaped pasta
1 or 2 leeks or a bunch of spring onion, chopped I suppose you could use some other onion... or none at all.... but I really suggest getting a leek just for this recipe, it's a LOVELY addition.
4 cups of frozen vegetables any combination of veg is good, corn and peas for example, or wok mix, which is what I had in my freezer last night
1 red pepper optional, especially if you go with wok mix
3 eggs
200 ml milk (just under a cup) Can you tell that I have a strange mixture of measuring devices in my kitchen?
1 tbsp HEAPING of fresh thyme OR 1 tsp HEAPING of dried thyme possibly even a bit more, I get a good pile in my palm and chuck it in
2 cups or 200 g of shredded cheese the recipe says chedder, but you know what, mozzerella is also very nice
2 tbsp grated parmesan ran out of this, didn't notice a problem
salt and pepper to taste although, you will be adding it to raw egg, so you can't REALLY taste and check, so maybe about 1/4 tsp salt and 1/8 pepper... go with your gut
Instructions
1. Preheat oven to 190 C (375 F). Grease a baking dish with olive oil. Check and make sure that the dish can hold 8 cups or 2 liters of liquid first. It sucks when you use too small of a dish and then run around the kitchen trying to find another pan. Not that that's EVER happened to me. Pshaw!
2. Cook pasta in boiling salted water for 8 minutes. Add all the veg and cook an additional 2-3 minutes. Drain and tip everything into the baking dish and mix well.
3. Beat together eggs, milk, thyme, salt and pepper. Add most of the cheese. Pour into the dish and mix gently. Scatter the rest of the cheese on top. The liquid mixture should come almost up to, but not over the top layer of pasta and veg. If it doesn't, you may need to whip up another bit of egg and milk and thyme. I am lazy so I don't, I've had almost an inch of pasta and veg showing and it's still okay to eat. A little crispy, but still okay.
4. Bake for 35-40 minutes. Cool for a few minutes. Serve with salad. Unless you live in Denmark where there is no salad, in which case you serve with whatever you want or nothing at all.
Simple Rogan Josh for the curry impaired
Right, I made this earlier in the week and it worked out... sorta. Gotta get me some cardamom. Needs the cardamom. Now here's the kicker - you don't actually need cardamom seeds, which is good because lord knows where I'd get those. I have not found any here in Denmark, but I may not be going to the right places. I'm going to bring some back from Israel, but I'm not going there until June and I'm not waiting that long to make this again. So here's the cheat: 10 pods of cardamom = 1 1/2 tsp ground cardamom. So all I have to do is find GROUND CARDAMOM, which I think might be easier, and try this recipe again.
Apart from being a little bland (lack of cardamom), it came out pretty darned good.
I nabbed the recipe from BBC, and I think I even linked to it in a previous post, but I'm going to give you the recipe here with my alterations.
Ingredients
6 garlic cloves
1 large onion, roughly chopped
thumb sized piece of ginger, peeled and roughtly chopped
1 tsp ground cinnamon
2 tsp ground cumin
2 tsp ground coriander
1 tbsp paprika
1 tsp chilli powder
1 tsp salt
1 tbsp tomato puree
4 tbsp vegetable oil
1 kg lamb or beef
8-10 cardamom pods lightly crushed OR 1 1/2 tsp ground cardamom
1 can or bottle of beer (300 ml/10 oz)
Instructions
1. Using a food processor, blender, or immersion blender, puree the garlic, onion, ginger, all the ground spices (including the ground cardamom if you are using it instead of the pods, but NOT the pods if you are using pods), salt and tomato puree. I used an immersion blender in a glass and it worked fine, after a fashion. If you have none of these things, you can still make this by shredding the onion and ginger, and mincing the garlic, that's what I did the first time I made it and it worked out okay.
2. Heat the oil in a large pot and add the meat and the cardamom pods, if you are using the pods. Fry it all up so the meat is brown. Stir in the spicy paste and cook for about 5 minutes, stir frequently and turn on the fan. Whew that's spicy stuff!
3. Add the beer and bring to a simmer. Cover with a lid and cook for about 1 to 1 1/4 hours, stirring occasionally. Let the dish sit for 5 minutes before serving. Serve over rice. Make naan if you can. I can't... or at least... I haven't yet. There's that whole let it sit and rise for an hour that I just can't remember to plan for.
My attempts to buy lamb at the butcher didn't work so well. It cost too much. If I'd wanted a sheep head or a sheep leg, it would have been cheap, but I wanted a kilo of nice muscle. Tsk. So I went with beef, which is much cheaper. I bought a huge lump of it and cut it down myself. I need to get my fancy knives out of storage, de-tendon-ing the beef was rather difficult with my tiny little knife. I imagined I was a caveman trying to scrape meat with an obsidian blade. Grunting a lot helped with the tricky bits. This has probably grossed out the vegetarians by now. Sorry about that. But I do love the smell and feel of raw meat.
Apart from being a little bland (lack of cardamom), it came out pretty darned good.
I nabbed the recipe from BBC, and I think I even linked to it in a previous post, but I'm going to give you the recipe here with my alterations.
Ingredients
6 garlic cloves
1 large onion, roughly chopped
thumb sized piece of ginger, peeled and roughtly chopped
1 tsp ground cinnamon
2 tsp ground cumin
2 tsp ground coriander
1 tbsp paprika
1 tsp chilli powder
1 tsp salt
1 tbsp tomato puree
4 tbsp vegetable oil
1 kg lamb or beef
8-10 cardamom pods lightly crushed OR 1 1/2 tsp ground cardamom
1 can or bottle of beer (300 ml/10 oz)
Instructions
1. Using a food processor, blender, or immersion blender, puree the garlic, onion, ginger, all the ground spices (including the ground cardamom if you are using it instead of the pods, but NOT the pods if you are using pods), salt and tomato puree. I used an immersion blender in a glass and it worked fine, after a fashion. If you have none of these things, you can still make this by shredding the onion and ginger, and mincing the garlic, that's what I did the first time I made it and it worked out okay.
2. Heat the oil in a large pot and add the meat and the cardamom pods, if you are using the pods. Fry it all up so the meat is brown. Stir in the spicy paste and cook for about 5 minutes, stir frequently and turn on the fan. Whew that's spicy stuff!
3. Add the beer and bring to a simmer. Cover with a lid and cook for about 1 to 1 1/4 hours, stirring occasionally. Let the dish sit for 5 minutes before serving. Serve over rice. Make naan if you can. I can't... or at least... I haven't yet. There's that whole let it sit and rise for an hour that I just can't remember to plan for.
My attempts to buy lamb at the butcher didn't work so well. It cost too much. If I'd wanted a sheep head or a sheep leg, it would have been cheap, but I wanted a kilo of nice muscle. Tsk. So I went with beef, which is much cheaper. I bought a huge lump of it and cut it down myself. I need to get my fancy knives out of storage, de-tendon-ing the beef was rather difficult with my tiny little knife. I imagined I was a caveman trying to scrape meat with an obsidian blade. Grunting a lot helped with the tricky bits. This has probably grossed out the vegetarians by now. Sorry about that. But I do love the smell and feel of raw meat.
Saturday, April 11, 2009
Quiz!!
Nabbed from The Writer, it's another quiz!
I like this one. Apart from my dissertation, I don't often have mental blocks. On the contrary, I have verbal diarrhea. Sometimes I have so much to say that it gets clogged up and nothing comes out. Or I skip over the important connecting thoughts and lose people in the process. I have been known to take sleeping pills at night just to get myself to stop thinking blog posts, conversations, and speeches.
That's been the hardest part of the interview process. I tend to babble and then get carried away and then the interviewee and I are involved in a conversation about cows or something.
Sorry folks, no pictures, I'm not going to post pictures and give you my impressions on people I don't really know who may end up being my roommates. I'll just say, so far all the people we've interviewed who might work out are all nice girls in their early 20's and finishing off their first year of university, or in one case about ready to start. We decided we liked students and girls better. Girls are cleaner. They come to interviews showered. Really, I can't say the same of the guys. Students are more flexible. Students are more likely to move out once they get a job and can afford to live on their own. Students are young enough that they aren't so set in their ways that they can't conceive of people being different. Most of these girls are in international programs or have classes with other foreign students or have lived in a foreign country. Only one hasn't and yet she's very friendly and open and has the most fantastic english. She watches a lot of American tv, she says. We babbled at each other for some time.
But speaking of pictures, I discovered today that I don't have any pictures of where I live or the area in which I live on my computer. I'll hunt around and if I still can't find any, maybe I'll go do something about that. Or not. I'm really bad about this photo thing.
Your Personality at 35,000 Feet Is Friendly and Gregarious |
 Deep down, you vastly prefer being with others to being alone. You love to engage people in conversation. You are good with your place in the world. You are confident and comfortable with who you are. Your gift is having a way with words. You know how to express yourself well. You are inspired by almost anything. You don't have many mental blocks. You are happy as long as you are given some personal space. It's important for you to have your own private life. |
I like this one. Apart from my dissertation, I don't often have mental blocks. On the contrary, I have verbal diarrhea. Sometimes I have so much to say that it gets clogged up and nothing comes out. Or I skip over the important connecting thoughts and lose people in the process. I have been known to take sleeping pills at night just to get myself to stop thinking blog posts, conversations, and speeches.
That's been the hardest part of the interview process. I tend to babble and then get carried away and then the interviewee and I are involved in a conversation about cows or something.
Sorry folks, no pictures, I'm not going to post pictures and give you my impressions on people I don't really know who may end up being my roommates. I'll just say, so far all the people we've interviewed who might work out are all nice girls in their early 20's and finishing off their first year of university, or in one case about ready to start. We decided we liked students and girls better. Girls are cleaner. They come to interviews showered. Really, I can't say the same of the guys. Students are more flexible. Students are more likely to move out once they get a job and can afford to live on their own. Students are young enough that they aren't so set in their ways that they can't conceive of people being different. Most of these girls are in international programs or have classes with other foreign students or have lived in a foreign country. Only one hasn't and yet she's very friendly and open and has the most fantastic english. She watches a lot of American tv, she says. We babbled at each other for some time.
But speaking of pictures, I discovered today that I don't have any pictures of where I live or the area in which I live on my computer. I'll hunt around and if I still can't find any, maybe I'll go do something about that. Or not. I'm really bad about this photo thing.
Wednesday, April 08, 2009
And a G&T makes everything better!
So we got a little wasted last night, the husband and I.
Not only have the money issues been weighing heavily, he's been also having a hard time at work. He's covering this trial and his articles are getting reworked to fit into the prevailing view that immigrants are bad and need to be locked up. He's going to try to pitch an idea at his editor where he goes and interviews the families and tries to show that the kids are human beings and not that different from the the Danski kids who throw rocks and yell "fuck the po-liti", but he expects it to be turned down. He's absolutely livid at Århus Stiftidende, the woman covering the trial was there for 10 minutes, heard the police chief on the stand, ran out and wrote this report about how dangerous Gellerup was and how the police are scared for their lives and are threatened by this young group of kids. The truth? Five are on trial for burning a kindergarten (on a Sunday night, no injuries). Two or three have never been in trouble before, two others have rap sheets as long as your arm. The cops saved up a list of things that these kids have done over two years and they're all being thrown at them now. Twenty plus counts for one kid. And then this woman's story got picked up by Ritzau and is now being printed in all the news-sources as if it's fact. All five are lumped together as being part of the crime wave that engulfs the ghetto. Of course, hers is a much more exciting story that his and fits in better with the zeitgeist.
So a couple of G&T's later and we were feeling lots better. We also had half a crack-brained plan to divest from civilization, although I think I lost my husband somewhere around the time I told him I could learn to make soap from bear fat.
We also discovered, while drinking away our worries, that we were dressed the same again. Jeans and maroon sweaters. And we interviewed a possible roommate this way! (Pre-G&T, never fear.) How embarrassing. We dress similarly ALL THE FREAKIN' TIME. And never on purpose. He went to work long before I rolled out of bed. I had no idea what he was wearing. It's just too bad neither of us noticed until we were tossed.
We're doing more interviews tonight. This time I am DEFINITELY checking to see what he's wearing.
Not only have the money issues been weighing heavily, he's been also having a hard time at work. He's covering this trial and his articles are getting reworked to fit into the prevailing view that immigrants are bad and need to be locked up. He's going to try to pitch an idea at his editor where he goes and interviews the families and tries to show that the kids are human beings and not that different from the the Danski kids who throw rocks and yell "fuck the po-liti", but he expects it to be turned down. He's absolutely livid at Århus Stiftidende, the woman covering the trial was there for 10 minutes, heard the police chief on the stand, ran out and wrote this report about how dangerous Gellerup was and how the police are scared for their lives and are threatened by this young group of kids. The truth? Five are on trial for burning a kindergarten (on a Sunday night, no injuries). Two or three have never been in trouble before, two others have rap sheets as long as your arm. The cops saved up a list of things that these kids have done over two years and they're all being thrown at them now. Twenty plus counts for one kid. And then this woman's story got picked up by Ritzau and is now being printed in all the news-sources as if it's fact. All five are lumped together as being part of the crime wave that engulfs the ghetto. Of course, hers is a much more exciting story that his and fits in better with the zeitgeist.
So a couple of G&T's later and we were feeling lots better. We also had half a crack-brained plan to divest from civilization, although I think I lost my husband somewhere around the time I told him I could learn to make soap from bear fat.
We also discovered, while drinking away our worries, that we were dressed the same again. Jeans and maroon sweaters. And we interviewed a possible roommate this way! (Pre-G&T, never fear.) How embarrassing. We dress similarly ALL THE FREAKIN' TIME. And never on purpose. He went to work long before I rolled out of bed. I had no idea what he was wearing. It's just too bad neither of us noticed until we were tossed.
We're doing more interviews tonight. This time I am DEFINITELY checking to see what he's wearing.
Tuesday, April 07, 2009
And the bank fuckery moves to America
WARNING: THIS POST IS RATED R FOR LANGUAGE.
And general assfuckery.
Just in case you wondered if Danish banks had a monopoly in assholeness, think again. My credit just got cancelled because they can tell by looking at my bank records that I don't have a steady income, therefore I must be unemployed, therefore I shouldn't have.... wait for it.... $3,000 in debt. Yes folks, I am the reason for the recession. My wild borrowing habits have ruined, simply ruined the economy.
By the way, if you calculate in the debt I have from over 10 years of higher education you get a whopping.... $7000.
Yes that includes the three grand mentioned above. Boy, if only I'd pay that back, the stock market would rise and babies would smile, China would start following human rights directives and Hamas, Fatah, and Israel would sit down and start singing Kum-bay-yah.
I called the bank because I couldn't use my credit card so I wanted to transfer that money to my checking, because I can make withdrawals no problem. Turns out it's not a problem with my card, it's a problem with ME.
That's when they grilled me about my income. And my husband's. And what did I want to use my money for and when was I going to be able to pay it back and why can't I tell her right now how much money my "family" makes in a year and I keep telling her I DON'T LIVE IN THE US - THE MONEY I MAKE IS IN KRONER, THE MONEY MY HUSBAND MAKES IS IN KRONER AND IT STAYS IN DENMARK!! Of course I don't have a steady income in the US. I'M NOT FUCKING THERE!! Have I missed a payment? Nope. Have I got money to cover the next two payments? Yup. Does it look like I'm living off my credit card? Are there lots of payments to grocery stores and gas stations? NO BECAUSE I DON'T FUCKING USE IT UNLESS I NEED TO. Last purchase on credit card? Computer. In OCTOBER! Yeah, I'm totally fucking living off my fucking credit card you stupid fucking bitch.
She told me that I could get my credit back when I got a job.
Did I tell her off? No. What was the point? Telling her she's a horrible person and I hope she gets cervical cancer and dies may make me feel better, but only until I realize that it probably won't happen just because I wish it to.
Did I cry? Not on the phone. Again, no point. She was a bitch and tears weren't going to sway her. Only make me look like a sad little girl who obviously doesn't deserve a "grown up" account.
I got off the phone and THEN had my temper-tantrum.
And I'm going to do what I feel is appropriate. Change fuckin' banks. No money other than what I owe will be going into Bank of America. When my credit card is paid off, I'm closing it out. I will not make any more purchases on that card. I will pay it off as fast as I can to minimize the interest they can charge me. I will not put any more money in the bank. I will not recommend Bank of America to my friends. I will never use Bank of America again. And when I close out my account I will tell them why they lost me as a client.
Anybody know any good banks?
And general assfuckery.
Just in case you wondered if Danish banks had a monopoly in assholeness, think again. My credit just got cancelled because they can tell by looking at my bank records that I don't have a steady income, therefore I must be unemployed, therefore I shouldn't have.... wait for it.... $3,000 in debt. Yes folks, I am the reason for the recession. My wild borrowing habits have ruined, simply ruined the economy.
By the way, if you calculate in the debt I have from over 10 years of higher education you get a whopping.... $7000.
Yes that includes the three grand mentioned above. Boy, if only I'd pay that back, the stock market would rise and babies would smile, China would start following human rights directives and Hamas, Fatah, and Israel would sit down and start singing Kum-bay-yah.
I called the bank because I couldn't use my credit card so I wanted to transfer that money to my checking, because I can make withdrawals no problem. Turns out it's not a problem with my card, it's a problem with ME.
That's when they grilled me about my income. And my husband's. And what did I want to use my money for and when was I going to be able to pay it back and why can't I tell her right now how much money my "family" makes in a year and I keep telling her I DON'T LIVE IN THE US - THE MONEY I MAKE IS IN KRONER, THE MONEY MY HUSBAND MAKES IS IN KRONER AND IT STAYS IN DENMARK!! Of course I don't have a steady income in the US. I'M NOT FUCKING THERE!! Have I missed a payment? Nope. Have I got money to cover the next two payments? Yup. Does it look like I'm living off my credit card? Are there lots of payments to grocery stores and gas stations? NO BECAUSE I DON'T FUCKING USE IT UNLESS I NEED TO. Last purchase on credit card? Computer. In OCTOBER! Yeah, I'm totally fucking living off my fucking credit card you stupid fucking bitch.
She told me that I could get my credit back when I got a job.
Did I tell her off? No. What was the point? Telling her she's a horrible person and I hope she gets cervical cancer and dies may make me feel better, but only until I realize that it probably won't happen just because I wish it to.
Did I cry? Not on the phone. Again, no point. She was a bitch and tears weren't going to sway her. Only make me look like a sad little girl who obviously doesn't deserve a "grown up" account.
I got off the phone and THEN had my temper-tantrum.
And I'm going to do what I feel is appropriate. Change fuckin' banks. No money other than what I owe will be going into Bank of America. When my credit card is paid off, I'm closing it out. I will not make any more purchases on that card. I will pay it off as fast as I can to minimize the interest they can charge me. I will not put any more money in the bank. I will not recommend Bank of America to my friends. I will never use Bank of America again. And when I close out my account I will tell them why they lost me as a client.
Anybody know any good banks?
Massive Shrinkage!
So I'm presenting my dissertation (no it's NOT DONE, I finished my rough draft, sorta, and I'm proof-reading before I send it off to my advisor, but that doesn't stop interested people from inviting me to speak about the random crap that I've been working on) to the Classical Archaeology department at Århus University. I'm told I have an hour to an hour and a half, but that I should plan on leaving some time for questions.
Oh, I only have to talk for an hour? How kind.
I can babble at people for an hour.
I can give a darned good explanation of stratigraphy, complete with white-board stick figures in an hour.
And if you stop me in Tel Aviv airport and give me a a security test in which you ask me about stratigraphical analysis using pottery sherds, I can go on for even longer. True story. I was still talking about seriation and typology when they took me to the back room to check my bra for explosives.
But my dissertation? You want me to speak intelligently, right? Maybe even, you know, use some big words.
Bloody hell.
I gave a 20 minute presentation about 2 years ago. I read through it again today. HAHAHAHAHA! That must have been someone else's dissertation, because it certainly isn't mine. It's missing all the good stuff I've written in the last year. Oh.
Damn good power point though.
A 20 minute presentation took up about 8 single-spaced pages of text with spaces for "[SLIDE 4]". So... an hour or so would be, like 20 single-spaced pages of text. Okay, all I have to do is smash a 250 page dissertation down to 20 single-spaced pages.
EDIT!!!
I've chopped down the first half of my dissertation, which is all theory and prolegomena (what you need to know or might like to know or I might like you to know before I let you loose on the rest of this dissertation) (see why we use the word "prolegomena"?) and it comes to: 11 and a half pages.
My god, I might just be able to do this.
And it's going to totally suck when I have to read it to myself in order to time myself.
An hour?
Christ on a candlestick.
Oh, I only have to talk for an hour? How kind.
I can babble at people for an hour.
I can give a darned good explanation of stratigraphy, complete with white-board stick figures in an hour.
And if you stop me in Tel Aviv airport and give me a a security test in which you ask me about stratigraphical analysis using pottery sherds, I can go on for even longer. True story. I was still talking about seriation and typology when they took me to the back room to check my bra for explosives.
But my dissertation? You want me to speak intelligently, right? Maybe even, you know, use some big words.
Bloody hell.
I gave a 20 minute presentation about 2 years ago. I read through it again today. HAHAHAHAHA! That must have been someone else's dissertation, because it certainly isn't mine. It's missing all the good stuff I've written in the last year. Oh.
Damn good power point though.
A 20 minute presentation took up about 8 single-spaced pages of text with spaces for "[SLIDE 4]". So... an hour or so would be, like 20 single-spaced pages of text. Okay, all I have to do is smash a 250 page dissertation down to 20 single-spaced pages.
EDIT!!!
I've chopped down the first half of my dissertation, which is all theory and prolegomena (what you need to know or might like to know or I might like you to know before I let you loose on the rest of this dissertation) (see why we use the word "prolegomena"?) and it comes to: 11 and a half pages.
My god, I might just be able to do this.
And it's going to totally suck when I have to read it to myself in order to time myself.
An hour?
Christ on a candlestick.
Monday, April 06, 2009
Nacho Chicken Casserole
Right, I CANNOT figure out how to post backwards. So you'll just have to bear with me and scroll down and maybe even read backwards. If someone could tell me how to drag and drop posts in a different order, I'd be much obliged.
Anyway, last recipe for the moment... only if you are reading this in order it's the FIRST recipe...
Gad, it's like a time warp thing here!
Nacho Chicken Casserole
5 cups slightly crushed tortilla chips - DIVIDED: 3 cups and 2 cups
4 cups cubed cooked chicken (aprox. 500 g or maybe a bit more... or maybe about three chicken breast fillets - seriously your guess is as good as mine)
2 16-oz jars salsa (which is 2 x 500 g!! So use 2x the salsa for cooking recipe found in the Spanish Rice post)
1 10 oz package frozen whole kernel corn (315 g) and I have no idea what that becomes in cups. I dump a little over half a 500 g bag in. Or maybe a can of corn, drained, if that's what you've got.
1/2 cup sour cream or creme fraiche (125 ml)
2 tbsp all-purpose flour (30 ml)
1 cup (4 oz or 125 g) cheese, like mozzarella or if you live in America and have access to these wonderful things, Monterey Jack with jalapeño peppers, drool -THIS IS THE TOPPING!
Instructions
*cook the chicken if you are like me and don't mess about with pre-cooked chicken or have enough left over chicken to make four cups*
1. Lightly grease a rectangular baking dish. One of those 9x12 or whatever, the normal sized rectangular baking dishes. Place 3 cups of the tortilla chips in the bottom of the dish. In a large bowl combine COOKED chicken, salsa, corn, sour cream, and flour BUT NOT THE CHEESE!! Pour over the tortilla chips.
2. Bake UNCOVERED, in a 350 F (180 C) oven for 25 minutes. Sprinkle with the remaining 2 cups of tortilla chips and the cheese. Bake, uncovered, for 5 to 10 more minutes until the cheese is all melty and gooey goodness.
Anyway, last recipe for the moment... only if you are reading this in order it's the FIRST recipe...
Gad, it's like a time warp thing here!
Nacho Chicken Casserole
5 cups slightly crushed tortilla chips - DIVIDED: 3 cups and 2 cups
4 cups cubed cooked chicken (aprox. 500 g or maybe a bit more... or maybe about three chicken breast fillets - seriously your guess is as good as mine)
2 16-oz jars salsa (which is 2 x 500 g!! So use 2x the salsa for cooking recipe found in the Spanish Rice post)
1 10 oz package frozen whole kernel corn (315 g) and I have no idea what that becomes in cups. I dump a little over half a 500 g bag in. Or maybe a can of corn, drained, if that's what you've got.
1/2 cup sour cream or creme fraiche (125 ml)
2 tbsp all-purpose flour (30 ml)
1 cup (4 oz or 125 g) cheese, like mozzarella or if you live in America and have access to these wonderful things, Monterey Jack with jalapeño peppers, drool -THIS IS THE TOPPING!
Instructions
*cook the chicken if you are like me and don't mess about with pre-cooked chicken or have enough left over chicken to make four cups*
1. Lightly grease a rectangular baking dish. One of those 9x12 or whatever, the normal sized rectangular baking dishes. Place 3 cups of the tortilla chips in the bottom of the dish. In a large bowl combine COOKED chicken, salsa, corn, sour cream, and flour BUT NOT THE CHEESE!! Pour over the tortilla chips.
2. Bake UNCOVERED, in a 350 F (180 C) oven for 25 minutes. Sprinkle with the remaining 2 cups of tortilla chips and the cheese. Bake, uncovered, for 5 to 10 more minutes until the cheese is all melty and gooey goodness.
Spanish Rice
So the most important recipe you can learn when making "American" food in a foreign country is how to make salsa. The stuff in the jars is just gross. So you learn to cut up tomatoes and onions and garlic and jalapeños and cilantro/coriander and away you go. Until you discover that you need to put salsa into something in order to bake it. But then you don't want to use your fresh salsa, because it isn't the right concistancy. You need the jar stuff. Only if you live in a foreign country you may not have access to it OR it may be so freakin' expensive you can't quite figure buying 4 bottles of the stuff for a recipe. (You need crap loads of the stuff for the Nacho Chicken Casserole.) Wadda ya gonna do??
Archaeogoddess's Instant Fake Salsa for Cooking
don't eat this with chips, it's not a proper salsa, really
1 can stewed or chopped or diced or whatever tomatoes
2 tsp chili pepper (flakes or powder if that's what you got)
3/4 tsp oregano
1/2 tsp garlic salt
1 tsp cumin
*optional: add a diced green bell pepper and onion if it's not already in the recipe you're using this cheat for
MIX
Now you are ready to make
Spanish Rice
2 tbsp oil
1 onion
1 1/2 cups uncooked rice
2 cups chicken broth (or 2 cups water and correct amount of bouillon)
1 cup salsa or one recipe of instant fake salsa for cooking
Instructions
1. In a pot, heat oil, cook onion until soft.
2. Add rice and brown or not, because parboilled rice doesn't like to brown and brown rice is well, kinda brown already so it's hard to figure. For what it's worth, I dump in the rice, swirl it around until it has absorbed the oil and is mixed with the onion.
3. Add broth and salsa. Bring to a boil and simmer, covered, for 20 minutes.
By the by, I love this reheated the next day with a fried egg and some jalapeños. Because I OBVIOUSLY do not get enough acid in my stomach from stress already.
Archaeogoddess's Instant Fake Salsa for Cooking
don't eat this with chips, it's not a proper salsa, really
1 can stewed or chopped or diced or whatever tomatoes
2 tsp chili pepper (flakes or powder if that's what you got)
3/4 tsp oregano
1/2 tsp garlic salt
1 tsp cumin
*optional: add a diced green bell pepper and onion if it's not already in the recipe you're using this cheat for
MIX
Now you are ready to make
Spanish Rice
2 tbsp oil
1 onion
1 1/2 cups uncooked rice
2 cups chicken broth (or 2 cups water and correct amount of bouillon)
1 cup salsa or one recipe of instant fake salsa for cooking
Instructions
1. In a pot, heat oil, cook onion until soft.
2. Add rice and brown or not, because parboilled rice doesn't like to brown and brown rice is well, kinda brown already so it's hard to figure. For what it's worth, I dump in the rice, swirl it around until it has absorbed the oil and is mixed with the onion.
3. Add broth and salsa. Bring to a boil and simmer, covered, for 20 minutes.
By the by, I love this reheated the next day with a fried egg and some jalapeños. Because I OBVIOUSLY do not get enough acid in my stomach from stress already.
What I'm Eating This Week
So I did my shopping and apart from a few things I still need to get I have food for a week. The tricky bit is finding some cheap lamb, but I think I'll swing by the halal butcher and see what I can do.
I was going to do this in a nice planned out menu way and then realized that I don't know if I'm going to have leftovers tonight or not, so screw planning.
During this week, including last night I'm going to have:
Nacho Chicken Casserole and Spanish Rice (last night's chow), Hot and Sour Cabbage Soup, Simple Lamb Rogan Josh, and Oven Frittata. All of those will provide some left-overs and if all else fails I'll whip up a French Onion Soup.
I have all these recipes written out on scraps of paper, except the Rogan Josh, which I got from BBC, LINK.
Googling resulted in NOT finding where I got these recipes. I certainly didn't assemble them all at once, let me tell you. Some of them have several different colors of pen, suggesting that I have been up to no good. So I'll post some recipes for you above or below or something.
I was going to do this in a nice planned out menu way and then realized that I don't know if I'm going to have leftovers tonight or not, so screw planning.
During this week, including last night I'm going to have:
Nacho Chicken Casserole and Spanish Rice (last night's chow), Hot and Sour Cabbage Soup, Simple Lamb Rogan Josh, and Oven Frittata. All of those will provide some left-overs and if all else fails I'll whip up a French Onion Soup.
I have all these recipes written out on scraps of paper, except the Rogan Josh, which I got from BBC, LINK.
Googling resulted in NOT finding where I got these recipes. I certainly didn't assemble them all at once, let me tell you. Some of them have several different colors of pen, suggesting that I have been up to no good. So I'll post some recipes for you above or below or something.
QUIZ!!
I'm sure I've mentioned before that I am a total sucker for quizes. I mean, seriously. Total nut. I liked what this one had to say about me. Especially the stable part. Heh. It's probably true, at least a lot of people think I'm stable. But then a lot of people haven't seen me when I'm watching "Extreme Makeover: Home Edition" and I'm bawling like a baby when they move that bus.
You Color Your Life With Intense Warmth |
 You are a down to earth, stable person. You can be relied on. You enjoy the outdoors. There's something about being in nature that makes you feel really blissful. While you are responsible, you aren't boring. You have a lot of flair and style. You enjoy creative projects of all sorts. You're a very visual person. |
Sunday, April 05, 2009
What to do?
What to do when your husband comes to you and says "look, we've paid the mortgage, and some of the bills, but we got nothing until pay day in two weeks time, and we need to shop for food."
First, overriding despair. It means we really really need the guy coming on Tuesday or Wednesday to rent our apartment for the amount we've asked without us having to do more than the basics to get it ready. But that means moving, leaving our lovely apartment and finding something small and cheap. This will probably not be Gellerup, because we can't get into a two room apartment and we can't afford a three room and a single room is just too freakin' small. I don't know where we'd go. Maybe we'll get lucky and come up for a two room in the next month. But I was getting used to the idea of roommates again, roommates on our own terms.
But then the challenge. I like having a budget for food. It makes me creative in a way I don't normally have to be. Call me nuts, but I like a challenge from time to time. Yeah, a BETTER challenge would be to NOT have to figure out how many meals I can make out of a head of cabbage, but something along the lines of "we need to visit 5 European capitals in 6 days - GO"... but you do what you gotta do with what you've got.
Thankfully I have collected enough recipes that I can sit down and sift through them, figuring out which ones I have most of the food for and what I can make without buying more than one or two items. I'm glad I stocked up on chicken last month. Also I'm glad that Netto is open the first sunday of the month until 5. We ate up all the spaghetti last night.
Right carpe diem... or better yet, carpe cabbage!
First, overriding despair. It means we really really need the guy coming on Tuesday or Wednesday to rent our apartment for the amount we've asked without us having to do more than the basics to get it ready. But that means moving, leaving our lovely apartment and finding something small and cheap. This will probably not be Gellerup, because we can't get into a two room apartment and we can't afford a three room and a single room is just too freakin' small. I don't know where we'd go. Maybe we'll get lucky and come up for a two room in the next month. But I was getting used to the idea of roommates again, roommates on our own terms.
But then the challenge. I like having a budget for food. It makes me creative in a way I don't normally have to be. Call me nuts, but I like a challenge from time to time. Yeah, a BETTER challenge would be to NOT have to figure out how many meals I can make out of a head of cabbage, but something along the lines of "we need to visit 5 European capitals in 6 days - GO"... but you do what you gotta do with what you've got.
Thankfully I have collected enough recipes that I can sit down and sift through them, figuring out which ones I have most of the food for and what I can make without buying more than one or two items. I'm glad I stocked up on chicken last month. Also I'm glad that Netto is open the first sunday of the month until 5. We ate up all the spaghetti last night.
Right carpe diem... or better yet, carpe cabbage!
Murphy's Law
Murphy's Law rules my life. It seems there's not a darned thing that I can do to stop it.
So, I'm sorry, but I think it's going to rain.
See, I washed the windows yesterday. It took me 2 1/2 hours, 2 rolls of paper towels, half a bottle of glass cleaner, half a bottle of general cleaner and countless buckets of water. I hung my ass out of the second story (third for the Americans) to get the outside of the windows. I cursed the preservation society yet again for insisting that we have two sets of windows in each window instead of ONE set of DOUBLE PANED windows. (Their reasoning is that the light reflected off of the glass is different from the way the light would have reflected off the glass in 1640. Well no shit sherlock, they also made shitty glass back then you stupid fucks! Sorry. I get REALLY pissed off because my windows are NOT good and let warm air out and cold air in and are rotting after only 5 years and we're going to have to spend a fortune on buying more specially made windows that suck.)
Anyway, lots of windows. Lots of mould. Ugh. The sealant that holds the panes in place is coming off, which means we have to keep an eye out for falling panes of glass. Well, actually WE don't, because we live up here and it's the poor sods that live below us that need to watch out, but I'm nice enough to try to stop falling glass before it happens.
Oh and on the new special windows, the paint is STILL not dry and when they painted it they smeared it around on the glass and it just does not come off. But I am not leaning THAT far out with a razor to scrape it off. I have a terrible fear (self-preservation set at "high") of falling.
So, I'm sorry, but I think it's going to rain.
See, I washed the windows yesterday. It took me 2 1/2 hours, 2 rolls of paper towels, half a bottle of glass cleaner, half a bottle of general cleaner and countless buckets of water. I hung my ass out of the second story (third for the Americans) to get the outside of the windows. I cursed the preservation society yet again for insisting that we have two sets of windows in each window instead of ONE set of DOUBLE PANED windows. (Their reasoning is that the light reflected off of the glass is different from the way the light would have reflected off the glass in 1640. Well no shit sherlock, they also made shitty glass back then you stupid fucks! Sorry. I get REALLY pissed off because my windows are NOT good and let warm air out and cold air in and are rotting after only 5 years and we're going to have to spend a fortune on buying more specially made windows that suck.)
Anyway, lots of windows. Lots of mould. Ugh. The sealant that holds the panes in place is coming off, which means we have to keep an eye out for falling panes of glass. Well, actually WE don't, because we live up here and it's the poor sods that live below us that need to watch out, but I'm nice enough to try to stop falling glass before it happens.
Oh and on the new special windows, the paint is STILL not dry and when they painted it they smeared it around on the glass and it just does not come off. But I am not leaning THAT far out with a razor to scrape it off. I have a terrible fear (self-preservation set at "high") of falling.
Thursday, April 02, 2009
And randomly....
I'm tending bar at Ridehuset tonight for the Spleen United concert, if any of you all out there are going. Swing by and say hi if you are. And don't be all offended if I don't recognize you by your picture or something. I suck at facial recognition.
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