something witty, i'm sure

Film review: Whatever Works by Woody Allen

2010-05-27T21:44:00.008+02:00

**this review contains spoilers (that shouldn't affect your enjoyment of the film at all)**

One of the constants of living in Prague is the dearth of good films in theaters. We do get plenty of American films, but it’s mostly just the blockbusters. The odd indie film will sometimes make it over, but that’s usually because of either the director or an actor being someone Czechs already know and like.

I discovered that the new Woody Allen flick, Whatever Works is playing, and, although it seems almost too easy to dialogue with a Woody Allen movie in the light of Ecclesiastes, I wasn’t sure Robin Hood’s pre-story was going to work for me. I knew nothing of Whatever Works going into it, except that Larry David stars. I know he was a producer and writer on “Seinfeld” (which I liked), and I saw part of an episode of “Curb Your Enthusiasm” (which I didn’t like).

Allen lays out his thoughts on religion and life immediately in this film, as David’s character, Boris, talks with his friends as the film opens (David takes the place of Allen’s usual neurotic New York Jew in this movie). Boris tells his friends that the main problem with all religions is that they assume goodness in people. He, on the other hand, sees humans as a failed species. The only thing to be done in this world is take pleasure where it can be had, because nothing means anything.

Boris starts talking into the camera, which he does throughout the film (a typical Allen device), to the consternation of the other characters, who don’t see the audience. Boris tells us of his first marriage, which looked great on paper, he says, but life is not on paper. As the marriage ended badly, he jumped out a window but landed on an awning, his life spared. One night a teen-aged runaway persuades him to let her into his apartment, and she ends up staying longer than he planned. He complains of her idiocy and naivete but grows so used to her and her way of parroting his own words that he decides to marry her. The girl, Melody, is from Louisiana, and first her mother and then her father come to New York to find her. Hilarity ensues.

The film actually is quite funny. There were plenty of laugh-out-loud moments, which is something I haven’t experienced in an Allen film for a while. Czechs tend to love Allen, testified to by the rather large number of audience members at 8 on a Wednesday night. I found myself laughing at the same time as the rest of the crowd, which doesn’t often happen, either.

Larry David has wonderful timing and seems to be pretty much playing himself as the kvetching old guy (what it must be like to sit in a room with David and Allen!). Evan Rachel Wood, as Melody, looks much younger than I remembered her, and seems to be doing her best Sookie Stackhouse impression. The scene-stealer, as always, is the fabulous Patricia Clarkson, as Melody’s mother, Marietta.

Marietta arrives after searching for Melody and is horrified at Melody’s choice of a husband, and promptly goes about finding a better match for her. Marietta just left her husband for cheating on her with her best friend, and she finds comfort (and life-changing career advice) from first one then a second friend of Boris. And goes from being a typical Southern Christian married woman to a Bohemian artist living with two men. Late in the film Melody’s father (Ed Begley, Jr., typically histrionic) knocks on her door, as well, and goes through the same protestations as Marietta about Melody’s life choices. In the end, he finds comfort at a bar in the arms of a gay man, and realizes he’s been a closet homosexual his entire life. Melody ends up with her mother’s choice for her, Randy, and divorces Boris, who again attempts suicide. This time he lands on top of a woman, a psychic, who recovers nicely and becomes his lover.

So all of our characters find love in the course of the film, although rather unconventionally. Which is what the title, Whatever Works, is referring to. Boris repeats his mantra of romance being crazy, and life not working out as you expect it to, so we all need to find love wherever we can, in whatever way we can.

Allen, via Boris, is extremely critical of religions and philosophies in this film. He’s pretty evenhanded in poking fun at all of them (one of the biggest laughs in the film involves concentration camps), and it occurred to me that, in this film, most of the people spouting religion or philosophy don’t know what on earth they’re talking about. They’re mostly saying what they’ve heard. And it all sounds ridiculous coming from their mouths, whether it’s religious Christianity or string theory. Empty thoughts, whether of God or philosophy, are simply empty.

Like Qoheleth in Ecclesiastes, Allen serves as a corrective to those who would offer the platitudes they find in religion. Life doesn’t work out the way we want it to: so we do what we can. Boris’s first speech to the camera could be a 21^st century nutshell version of Ecclesiastes. The world is an unfair, scary place (the horror!) that doesn’t make sense. We enjoy what we have and we are grateful. Boris’s last speech has lovely moments, like when he encourages us to be aware of and grateful for every temporary measure of grace, whatever love you can find, whatever happiness you have. He attributes these things to luck, and not to God, but he realizes they are a gift.

Allen is a cynic regarding humanity and God, for certain. But he is a believer in grace, in humor, and in love. This film is probably my favorite of Allen’s films, not only because of its light touch and great humor, but because of the way he allows love to triumph, even when it makes no sense. There are those who may disagree with Allen’s representation of loving relationships, and with a title like Whatever Works, it may be that he’s pushing the gay-marriage agenda, but I don’t think so. I think he’s more concerned with communicating the joy and grace love brings to our sad little lives.

assuming need

2009-08-02T23:36:00.002+02:00

went swimming in the ocean at san clemente pier today. last weekend when i was here the swell was way too big for swimming and i had to be content with wading up to my shins and letting my ankles get pounded and bruised by the rocks coming in on the surf. today it was much calmer and full of swimmers, with boogie boards and without.

i like swimming out past the breaking waves so i can float on the surface and bob with the waves as they go in. i wasn't quite prepared for the strength of these waves, though, or the riptide that accompanied them. soon i found myself out further than i planned. i watched the guy swimming near me start paddling in and decided to do the same. it was frustrating to feel like i was swimming but not getting much of anywhere, but i wasn't worried. i swim a couple days a week and, while i'm not a super strong swimmer, i can hold my own. so i didn't panic. i'm wondering if my face told a different story.

because suddenly there was a lifeguard in front of me with one of those red buoy things. i was so totally surprised that when he pushed it toward me i took hold of it. "there's a strong riptide here," he said, and started backstroking in. he was strong, because i could really feel the pull when the rope went taut. within a couple strokes we were back in a safer area, and all the people stood staring at me. i have to admit i was a bit embarrassed. i'm not even sure i thanked the lifeguard, but he was gone as suddenly as he had showed up.

the guy who had been swimming near me saw me and said, "you were ok, weren't you?" and i said, "yeah, i was fine. i don't know why he came out." and that was it.

i've been thinking about it more, and i realize i really didn't need the lifeguard to tow me in. in fact, i was so shocked that he was in front of me that i just did what he expected of me without thinking much about it. the reality is, i was fine and would have been fine without his help. if he had asked me if i was ok, i think i would have said, "yeah, but if you swim in beside me that would be cool." i knew i could make the swim myself but would have been fine with the knowledge that if i did need him, he would be next to me.

now, his training probably tells him it's better not to ask questions when it's a question of drowning in riptides and surf. and i respect that. but i started thinking about all the ways we assume others need our help. when we don't ask but just assume need, we don't give people a chance to say no or yes or not really, but it would be cool if you swam/walked/hung out beside me while i try to do this on my own. we also might figure that, since they said ok, they meant it. when the truth is, they might have been caught off guard, or not known what to say, or figured they couldn't say no.

i didn't like how i felt while being unnecessarily rescued, and i hope i remember what it feels like when i'm in a position to assume what others need at a given moment, and ask a question before taking charge.

happy easter, ya'll

2009-04-13T06:31:00.001+02:00

Sunday 12 april 2009 12:07pm.

Easter Sunday morning. I don’t usually go to church while I’m visiting my dad. Mostly because I’m usually only here a few days and I don’t like to miss my own church in CA so I go back on Sunday morning/afternoon. But, it being Easter, I thought I would go check out one of the local places. The paper showed about 20 different churches of all types of denominations. From traditional Catholic and Baptist ones to the Cowboy Church and the one I ended up at, Church out of Church. Weird name. I kept calling it Church not in Church in my head.

Coming from Prague, where there are only small or smallish congregations of the few churches in the city of 1+ million, I wasn’t sure what to expect out of church among many in a town pop 8 or so thousand. I pulled into the Flying J Ranch a little before 10 and was directed into a parking place and pointed to a wooden building. Walked into a dark room full of picnic tables and gravel floor and poured myself some coffee. Finding a place to sit shouldn’t have been difficult but I’m not used to the picnic table seating arrangement, so I kind of wandered a bit. Tried to sit near some people but it turned out they were saving seats for their family. So I went off to the side and sat alone.

Probably because it’s Easter, the whole place filled up by the time the service started. Hundreds of people. Making this small-town NM church more populated than any church in world-capital Prague. Apparently the family that was supposed to show up didn’t, and the woman who had refused me a seat stood up, caught my eye and tried to wave me over. I appreciated her effort but waved her off. I was fine where I was, actually.

This being New Mexico, there were plenty of cowboy boots and hats and tight Wrangler jeans. But also fancy fur-lined coats (the room was pretty cool and there had been a sprinkling of snow fall during the night) and even a few Easter sundresses. Those girls must have been frozen. I never took off my jacket.

The service itself wasn’t anything out of the ordinary, as far as churches go. I learned that it’s only been around since September. Wow. They’re focused on Jesus and loving him and the world and each other, which I’m on board with. They’ve started something where they go to trailer parks and other poor-folk places after the Sunday service, fire up a couple grills, and feed people. That’s pretty cool.

As frustrated as I can be with church in America, I most always appreciate being there, especially when it’s a group of authentic people who find hope in Jesus and realize they sure need it. I looked around and saw people happy to see one another, giving hugs and smiles away. And I realized what a lovely thing the church is and why it’s so necessary. We need to feel loved and cared for, and there aren’t many places to find that these days. You might find it in a local pub or hair salon or your office, but most people are searching for it. And I think it’s beautiful when people find it in church. That’s where it’s supposed to be, if I understand Jesus right.

The wind was blowing as I walked in and the sun hitting my eyes caused them to tear up, but I found myself getting teary during the service anyway. That often happens to me when I go to church in America. Odd. I haven’t figured it out yet, but it’s something in the words spoken, or sensing the Spirit or something else. But it almost always gets me.

The passage the pastor read of the Easter story was one of the ones read during the new Czech translation celebration I went to right before leaving Prague. The part where Peter and John go running to the tomb. Sadly, the pastor skipped the Mary segment, where she runs into Jesus in the garden and mistakes him for the gardener until he says her name. The actress who read that story was amazing and I loved how she interpreted the words with her tone. The Czech words were echoing in my head as I listened to it in English.

They had an egg hunt for the kiddies afterward and then hot dogs and hamburgers for everyone. Nice. I’ll probably go back another week. I wish I’d connected with some people, but there were a lot of families and probably a ton of visitors because it was Easter, so it might be easier to meet folks next week.

ninja on the metro

2009-02-04T00:50:00.007+01:00

first off, i don't have an iphone. maybe yet. so uploading the pics i took today has been a chore and, because i have no clue what the passcode is for the bluetooth part of my phone, i might never be able to upload them. which is a shame, but not the end of the world.

so, because there haven't been any terrorist attacks in prague, security on the metro is, shall we say, lax. the cops ride now and then, but i think they're on the lookout for vandals (graffitti taggers and sticker, um, stickers) more than anything. i regularly see guys in camo gear with paintball or other rifles on their way to some sort of war game.

but i've never seen anything like the ninja before.

also, i have to say, the prague metro is the place to see almost anything. drunks puking is old hat. drunks chatting up cute chicks happens all the time. rabid football and hockey fans are there anytime one of the local teams play. and once, in 1995, i witnessed a guy getting off a car with a HUGE owl on his arm, like he was about to go, well, not falconing, but owling, when he got off. the thing followed me with its huge eyes and swively head. that's when i thought i'd seen everything. well, no.

especially because a few years ago i saw a skinny little guy in full S&M gear waiting for the train. that was a little traumatic.

today i went down the stairs onto the platform and saw mr ninja guy in all black, including the big tunic, weaponing up. he was pulling one thing after another out of a big back to tuck into his wide leather studded belt. first one sword, then another. then a big stick. then another big stick. then another sword. mind you, everyone who walked past couldn't help but gawk.

and he was totally oblivious.

and i think my surreptitious picture-taking with my phone was probably not all that sneaky.

finally he held two wooden bows in his hands. didn't see a quiver full of arrows, flaming or otherwise. then he boarded the metro car like everyone else and stood (what else could he do?) for a few stops before exiting.

now, most folks stared initially, but then accepted his getup and looked away. not me. i could hardly take my eyes off him. partly because i couldn't fathom why he would unload his bag of goodies before entering the metro. why not wait until arriving at his destination, whatever that might have been (and i have NO idea what that could have been). why arm himself first? attention? maybe. convenience? not sure.

so weird.

but i couldn't help imagining what might happen if such a man would attempt to enter public transport in the states. or london. or madrid. or anywhere that takes weaponry as a threat.

certainly he would receive more than a few stares. he'd probably be tackled and quickly disarmed.

like i said, i've seen guys with rifles, even those not in cases. hop on the metro and hop off again with no interference.

it's terribly funny in many ways. but rather disturbing in others.

ok, got the bluetooth to work. here are the pics:

enough

2008-11-20T00:38:00.003+01:00

i went to the post office today to pay my phone and cable bills. and to buy some stamps. i've been sending cards to the states and i think it's nicer to have a stamp on each one than a big post office printed thing. it's similar to how they do it in the US. so, since i was thinking about it, i decided to buy 15 stamps for the cards i have sitting at home waiting to be written.

i haven't bought stamps in a while so i asked the woman how much was a stamp for a letter to the US. 18kc. great. i'll take 15. she gave me a look and said, ok, let me take care of your bills first. no problem.

after the bills are done she takes down the big book of stamps every teller has. it's not like in the states where they have them in books of 20 or rolls of 100. nope. each teller has this big (bigger than legal size--it's like a coffee-table book) book of heavy paper with stamps of varying denominations paper-clipped to the pages. this is true in every post office i've ever been in here.

at the main post office there's a special window just for stamps where you can buy all kinds of all denominations. again, more common to buy one or two or four than 100. at my post office, you have to go through a special door to do anything in bulk. but i only wanted 15. that's not bulk. right?

so the teller finds the 18kc stamps. and she says something about how 15 is quite a lot and did i really need that many. before i knew what we were working with, i said, well, maybe 10. she kind of screwed up her face in dislike. but then she found the right stamps. and it didn't look like too many...until she unfolded the second page and lo, there were more than 40! she asked again, how many? and i said, well, 15. you've got plenty. again with the discomfort on her face. as if i was taking something precious from her. reluctantly she tore off half the page and returned the other 20 or so to their clip in the book.

what happened there? are tellers specifically instructed to sell as few stamps as possible? keep as many in the book as you can. we'll be grading you on how few you sell and how many you retain. this is all you get for the month. if you run out, you'll be humiliated into asking other tellers to dig into their own books to help you out, and you don't want to do that. because there's not enough.

i think that's key. not enough. i think that's a basic principle in this country. for many decades there really was never enough, and now that there is, no one knows how to deal with it. my local grocery store regularly runs out of milk and sugar and eggs. if i run over on a sunday evening, i can't be sure i'll find milk. no kidding. somehow they haven't gotten the hang of ordering the right amount. that, or they just don't bother to put it out.

but there is enough. there are certainly enough stamps. there is certainly enough milk. but someone wants people to believe there isn't. i don't know what it is. keep the people frustrated? don't bother running a store or post office well? don't try to serve the people? fight them at every turn when they want something you think they shouldn't have?

it's not uncommon here to be scorned by a waiter, shop assistant, post office teller. why? we need each other to conduct our business. they have something i want. i have something they want. why are they so mad at me?

getting back to enough. i read an article about the idea of enough a while back. i wish i remember where. but it talked about the idea that, if we all realized there was enough of what we need or want in this world, we wouldn't be in such a hurry to trample other people to try to get it faster. complicated to try to tell this to people starving in africa or without medicine in asia, i know. but, for us westerners who really do have enough. why do we always think we don't?

goodwill

2008-11-05T22:03:00.004+01:00

i wasn't in europe on 9/11. i moved over here a brief month later. i'd lived in prague before and was somewhat surprised at the goodwill feelings shown toward americans and the desire to hear our stories about that day. most people liked america then (clinton had been adored) but this was at a level beyond the norm.

that didn't last very long. i'm not really sure when it changed, but certainly by the start of the war in iraq in early 2003 people in europe didn't display such good feelings toward america.

within a couple years i was constantly asked my opinion on the war (this has waned in the last 2 or so years for some reason), and my opinion on bush (laughter always ensued when i said i didn't think he was an idiot). and most europeans i talked to, while they still enjoyed the company of american people, had nothing nice to say about america as a whole and her government, specifically.

it's hard to explain what i'm feeling today. watching tv and reading stories online and seeing people around the world (and not just the expats living elsewhere) celebrating...what? american government?! it's unreal. and i can't help but compare it to 9/11.

i heard someone say that, on 9/11, everyone in the world felt the pain and all were new yorkers. i feel the same now, that the world is proud of america and everyone wants to share in the joy of what we have done. something great has happened and everyone wants to participate.

and, just as after 9/11, decisions were made and that goodwill swirled down the drain, there are choices to be made. and this goodwill will either continue or it will slip through our fingers. i hope obama makes good decisions. i hope that having a president with the middle name Hussein will indeed make radical islamists think twice about the evil of america. i hope that our country, which has been gashed and slashed by divisive and deceitful politics, can heal and come together.

we'll have to see.

Vote.

2008-11-03T22:01:00.003+01:00

i don't write that often anyway, but i've been avoiding writing about this election. well, barring that sarah palin thing. couldn't help it. mostly i've been avoiding it because i've been angry.

for months i have been receiving emails from family and friends. emails filled with lies, untruths and half-truths. all generated with the purpose of scaring people away from this man obama.

i can't watch pundits; i can't watch mccain or palin anymore either. i can't take sarah's snarky sarcasm (from someone well-versed in sarcasm). i can't handle mccain's exaggerations and anger.

i've lived overseas for most of bush's presidency. which doesn't mean i haven't felt the pain. i've defended my country countless times and regularly asked people to consider a perspective other than their own before judging. i've offered a different viewpoint and asked them to think about it.

i grew up in an extremely republican county (dupage) situated right next to an extremely democratic county (cook) in illinois. i considered myself republican and voted accordingly for most of my voting career. it made sense to me. or at least didn't seem offensive to me.

that has changed.

i have my thoughts about abortion, taxes, healthcare, greed, joe the plumber, socialism, muslims, same-sex marriage and everything else that has been thrown at us. and i don't want to talk about it any more, frankly.

our country has been so divided by race, by age, by education level, by coast, by state color, by religion, by ______. i feel it when i'm there and i can see it from here. i'm saddened that mccain and palin would resort to calling some of america the real america and letting the rest of the country wonder what part of america they are in, then. i'm saddened when people who want to see change in america and criticize where it currently stands are called unpatriotic or un-american.

cornel west said something like this: loving america is like being in a marriage. you don't always like it. but you love it. you say what is wrong because you love it and want it to be the best it can be. i think that criticizing what you see as wrong and doing something to change it is the most american thing you can do. it's in our blood. it's how we got to be americans. (it's what those prop-8 supporters are doing but don't like when others do.)

our country needs to heal from these last 8 years of darkness, lies, division, hatred and fear.

i don't see mccain as capable of helping that healing. he doesn't even see the need or he'd realize he's making the gashes deeper.

i wasn't convinced that barack obama was capable of helping, either. but i've listened to him talk. i've seen the other people who listen to him talk. i see that he's thoughtful, careful, a thinker. we haven't had that in 8 years.

i don't think i'll agree with or like everything he does if he is elected. i think he'll make mistakes and joe biden will keep putting his foot in his very big mouth.

but i think he can be the president who starts america down the road toward healing and unity, and who brings us back to the global stage as a model and not a cautionary tale.

let's not be afraid. let's refuse to be manipulated into fear. we need not fear who know Peace.

on sarah palin

2008-09-06T16:14:00.003+02:00

so, i've been thinking about this a lot and have decided to weigh in on the sarah palin circus, because i have a perspective that i haven't heard anyone else mentioning.

now, to start, i agree with barack obama and others who are saying family is off-limits and should not be a factor in people deciding whom to vote for. and i think it's ridiculous to blame sarah for bristol and levi's stupidity and carelessness. we all know that parents of 17-year-olds can't possibly control their every move. you raise them as well as you can, but they start making their own decisions and some of them are pretty stupid. (topic for another day=why teaching only abstinence is also careless. you'd think kids would know by now that, if you're going to have sex, for pete's sake use a condom. correctly. clearly, they don't. oh, and even nice Christian kids who go to church and all that are also having sex. it's a fact. realize you have to deal with it!)

sarah palin's qualifications or lack thereof for vice president do not begin or end with her abilities as a mother or the dumb things her kids do. running a country is hardly the same thing. this i can agree with and stand behind.

and as to dr laura's claim that palin should never have been picked because her responsibility is to her family first and that will be a hard call should she have to choose... well, plenty of women are able to find a way to make it work. not all can juggle it well, but it's not up to me to decide how much time she gives her kids--won't her husband be there for the kids, anyway? this sounds like a copout as i write it, and, while i'm inclined to think dr laura has a point, i'm not sure i can fully stand behind her on it.

no, my problem with sarah palin is this: how dare she thrust her daughter bristol and her out-of-wedlock pregnancy into the international spotlight like this? i keep hearing that this is a family matter and the family should be allowed to deal with it in private. yes, i agree. but clearly sarah did not. she knew her daughter was pregnant; she knew it would become news, all her 'how dare you's notwithstanding; she knew that everyone in the world with access to CNN would know the names bristol and levi, and be able to pick them out of a lineup. (honestly, i can't believe i do. i would never have known which kid had which phoenix-familyish name except for the pregnancy and poor trig.)

the one to blame here is mommy sarah. had the family already been on the campaign trail before the pregnancy, that would be one thing. but sarah knew about the pregnancy, knew what would happen, and pressed on with her own agenda anyway.

how mortifying must it be for bristol? she's 17 and pregnant, and now the whole world knows it. she was probably dreading the day she'd start to show and her friends would notice it. now, bump or no bump, we all know about it.

and this levi kid gets flown down to the lower-48 to be trotted out with the others so he can hold bristol's hand through the whole thing. ugh.

sarah palin is a young woman. she's in her early 40s. if she is such a valuable and clear choice for a running mate, she would certainly be asked again in 4 or 8 years. and then this mess with bristol would be completely behind us and just a footnote to her mother's life, instead of one of many sideshows. her time did not have to be right now.

i think it's rotten that sarah palin would knowingly subject her 17-year-old daughter to such intense scrutiny and publicity about her pregnancy. it's one thing for 600k in alaska to know the story; it's another completely for everyone with a tv on earth to know about it. (and don't tell me she couldn't know that; that's what they pay teams of people millions of dollars to know in advance.) this was a mother's decision and she placed her own career before the emotional and psychological health of her underaged child. ugh.

and, while i'm on the subject, i might as well say what i think about bristol and levi marrying. don't do it, kids. you're too young. this is such a brilliant possibility for demonstrating the beauty and selflessness of adoption. so you won't abort? great. but don't ruin your lives. give the baby to a couple who are ready for a child and have the resources, emotionally and financially, to care for it. that would be beautiful and a real power move for the pro-life folks to show that there's a third option beyond aborting or keeping for youself.

tell me all you like about how hard it is to give up a child you've carried for 9 months. i believe it. i've never heard anyone saying adoption is easy for the bio mom. but it's about the child, isn't it? abortion might be a selfish choice, but so is keeping a child you're not ready for.

dreams

2007-12-09T09:53:00.000+01:00

a friend of mine cut me out of his life almost two years ago now. it was the weirdest thing: we had recently talked on the phone while i was in prague and he knew i was coming to the US in a few weeks. when i arrived and called him, i got his voicemail. he never returned that call or any of the other messages i left during those weeks.

i kept giving him the benefit of the doubt that he was really busy or something...but he was usually good about calling me back.

then i talked with a mutual friend, who said casually, oh, he's cut you out of his life. he did it to me. i never thought he'd do it to you.

neither did i.

in an episode of 'friends,' the subject of cutting friends out of one's life comes up. it's played out through secrets revealed, hurt feelings, reconciliation, and through it all...humor. i have to say, i haven't found any humor in this.

i've been friends with this guy for almost eleven years. he was the first high school student i met when i was in the process of going on staff with the local church youth group. he was a senior then and lived close to my parents (where i was living) and struck me as a very intelligent, savvy kid. so the youth pastor suggested he help me and another friend plan a game that was to be our big introduction to the youth group.

we were immediately buddies. there wasn't anything inappropriate about our relationship, but we were very close. we understood each other. we'd talk about his girlfriends, culture, God, the future, my desire for life in prague, everything we were going through. he'd sometimes show up at my office in san francisco. i loved that. he would never sign in at reception--he'd just walk in like he owned the place and surprise me at my cube.

he shared a lot with me about his struggles pleasing and being understood by his parents. we had a lot of long, deep conversations. like i said, we were close.

then he joined the marines. i was part of the group that went to his boot-camp graduation in san diego. we were so proud of him standing there like a post in the pouring rain, shouting back to his drill instructor.

i was with him the day he sold his little black honda prelude. he called it negrito and he was sad to sell it, but he was shipping out for hawaii. that day he gave me the drum key from his own keychain. he wasn't going to be playing the drums much anymore.

while he was in hawaii i spent about 9 months in prague--through a very cold winter and difficult work and living situations. i discovered a cheapish way to call him and we spent lots of time on the phone through those long months. we understood well each other's loneliness and separation from the life we knew. he was a lifeline for me then.

by the time he finished with the marines i had spent a year in the US and was already back in prague, living here full-time--with a great job and a good place to live. his last year in hawaii he'd become less communicative and, by the time he was done with his four years, only rumors about his whereabouts moved through the groups of people who knew him.

i, and others, completely lost track of him.

then, about 4 years ago maybe, a friend of mine heard he was working in a restaurant in the town where my mom lives. so, while i was in town, we went to the restaurant. sure enough, there he was. and happy to see us. at least i thought so. i knew i was ecstatic to finally see him again.

over the next two years, we'd get together every time i was in town. we'd go for coffee; i went to lit. class with him once (he was getting his degree on the GI bill); we'd have long philosophical conversations. during one of those visits a mutual friend killed himself. my friend and i were, like everyone we knew, shocked, and we talked a lot about it together. there were times he'd be less communicative, and i'd have to show up at his place in order to talk with him.

i knew my good friend wasn't really happy. he always seemed to be, but also sort of not, to me. his years as a marine had, naturally, changed him tremendously. he didn't see the world or people the same way he did when he went in. he didn't think about God in the same way, either. he was determined (and said this to me) to kill the person he'd once been. it wasn't who he wanted to be. this made me sad, because i had dearly loved that other person, and i still saw him in my friend--it wasn't going to be easy to erase him away.

from prague we would carry on long discussions about life, relationships, philosophical ideas. i on my balcony looking at the stars through the long night hours, he at juice bars, coffee houses, wherever. we often disagreed, but in a friendly way. even when he got freaky about something and spent some months without communicating, he'd come back, and usually share something he'd written with me.

so the cutting off came as a surprise.

the mutual friend who named what he had done theorized that things had gotten too real with me: my dad had cancer and it had really changed our relationship for the better, but it wasn't certain how he would respond to treatment. i talked with my friend about this regularly.

i thought that strange, considering our deep conversations, but let it go.

i actually think that cutting me out was part of the necessary process to killing the man he had been. i was a close reminder of that. and i kept believing he was still there and encouraged it. but that's not who he wants to be. he wants to be a man without friends (maybe a couple marine buddies still, but not the married ones)--just drinking partners, bodies to share a bed with, co-workers, whatever. not anyone close, and not anyone who knew him when.

he's an asshole and that's who he wants to be.

i ran into another mutual friend the last time i was in the US and we talked about the marine. this other friend really misses him, too. i'm going to see him and his wife when i'm in town this winter. i'm hopeful we can track the marine down again.

last night/early this morning i dreamed about him. it's slightly hazy how the dream went. i know he kept disappointing me with his actions in the dream. he was wasting his life, his talents (of which he has many), his love on unworthy things in my dream. and i was sad. finally he talked with me. wrapped his iron-like arms around me and talked with me.

i would give a lot for a moment like that: to hug him and talk with him. listen to him and love him.

and my keys are still held together by the drum key.

chocolate chips and marriage

2007-12-06T23:35:00.000+01:00

i love the internationalness of life in prague. tonight i went to a friend's place to make christmas cookies. we made chocolate chocolate chip cookies (too sweet for me), sugar cookies (we frosted them with nutella!) and vanilla crescents, which are czech, and very similar to russian teacakes (which is what my family called them), but shaped like...crescents. delish.

the friend who hosted the evening is karla. she's costa rican. a lawyer educated at duke, she works for a multinational company and has been in prague for 9 months. she loves to text me at 8pm, asking if we can meet for a drink at 9 or 10. invariably i'm in my pajamas early that night. but i love her so i drag myself out again. and we always share some good laughs.

[this happened last night. but i had to go out anyway to pay a bill i'd neglected to pay while the regular post office was open--that's where i pay bills--so i had to go to the all-night one in the center. which put me in the two biggest squares of prague just as the mikulaš stuff was winding down. i totally forgot that the čerts (see yesterday's post) are all ratty and raggedy AND done up in a sort of crude blackface. they are scary. i waited in line for a langoše--like a funnel cake but not sweet and with garlic butter, ketchup and cheese on top; sort of a poor man's pizza: yum--behind one and i could see where the screams come from.]

anyway. it was really funny to me to hear karla rail about the lack of chocolate chips for sale in stores here. apparently she scoured her grocery store for one and was miffed that they didn't have any. honey, nobody has them here. ok, except culinaria, but their prices are highway robbery. so i told her we'd just do what everyone always does: chop up good chocolate.

the other guests were colleagues of hers. three czechs, a young woman recently arrived from the philippines, and a czech-canadian who was born here but raised in toronto. fun!

we talked about all kinds of things and someone asked my opinion on the war. i hate being asked this.

[this reminds me that i went to a new class at the high school today. great class of 15- to 16-year-olds. one student asked if i had any friends here. this is in the same breath as acknowledging that i've been here about 7 years. and i'm always incredulous when asked that question. seriously? do i have friends? where i've lived for 7 years? do you think i'm going to say no? what if i did? would that be ok with you? would you have friends if you lived in a foreign country for 7 years? yes, yes i do. i don't think i could survive without my friends. i'm ALWAYS curious at the rationale for that question. i want to scream at them for some reason. i never do. i'm always nice.]

anyway. we talked a lot about czech culture and american culture and for some reason i got defensive of the US on certain things. i think i hate when people point out the ignorance world-wise of americans without considering their own (example: most europeans have no idea what state chicago is in). we're just a bigger target, i guess. but it wasn't meant meanly or badly.

and then i was asked the question i am always asked: so, are you going to stay here forever?

this time, it was followed with the option: or do you have any plans? i like when that's there, because that's my answer: no, i don't have any plans. i figure there has to be something between 7 years and forever. if something better comes along i'll consider it. for now, i'm doing what i love....... my answer is usually something like that. maybe just in a different order.

and then.

ahhhh, one of the czechs (a married man--the only married person in the group; only male ,too) says. you want to fall in love with a man, get married and.... and here he trailed off.

no, i said firmly, there's no man in my decision-making equation.

what? exclaimed the czech-canadian with alarm, as she spun around to face me (she's engaged). you don't want to get married???

i didn't say that. i'm just not waiting to plan my life until i get married. i'm not waiting for a man so i can do something.

*sigh*

why is it that a woman--generally of a certain age, although this has been happening to me for years, and i KNOW no one in that room pegged me within 5 years of my age--can't make a comment about not basing her life and decisions around whether or not she is dating/engaged/married/looking hungrily for a mate without a cry of alarm and the nearly verbatim wide-eyed question: you don't want to get married?

*sigh*

why can't i celebrate my freedom, time, spontaneity, healthy relationships, etc., etc., while i have them as a single woman? most of my honest married friends realize they didn't enjoy their singleness as much as they wish they did. they didn't realize: they still get lonely, they can't just do what they want when they want, marriage is hard, they don't have time for things they used to have time for, etc., etc.

i have nothing against marriage. on the contrary: it's a miraculous, beautiful thing. but. i have a huge thing against the married folks who think everyone needs to be like them to be their friend. i have a huge thing against those who secretly think my singleness is my punishment for something or because i'm lacking somewhere spiritually or emotionally. i have a huge thing against anyone who doesn't realize that the relationships i have with students wouldn't really be possible if i were married with a brood of kids.

it's not that i don't want to get married. i actually find that question absurd and unanswerable. one doesn't marry in the abstract. one marries another person. the only reasonable question is: don't you want to get married to ______? or: why aren't you married to _____? when you feel confident inserting a name, we can talk. i'd be happy to tell you why i'm not married to mike. or steve. or erez.

so why not celebrate where each of us finds ourselves in life, huh?

bake some cookies and enjoy the sweetness. don't ask why the hands that made them don't have a certain ring on them.

st. mikulaš

2007-12-05T18:25:00.001+01:00

since it got dark this evening, at around 5, i've been treated to sounds of firecrackers and shouts echoing around the walls of my sidliště.

before i continue, bear with me as i discuss this word, sidliště. it is most commonly translated as 'housing estate,' which might make sense to a person from the UK, but makes no sense to a North American. i hear the phrase 'housing estate' and i think Tara or something similar: some sprawling compound like the bushes have in kennebunkport or the kennedys have in massachusetts. or, yeah, like scarlett's home. anyway, that's not at all what sidliště means. it's the word for the groups of prefab concrete blocks of flats that mar the landscape of most central and eastern european countries. built up primarily in the 80s and 90s and touted as living utopias, many are now in major need of repair. mine's mostly fine, although the old windows let in mighty drafts and the walls tend toward major cracks. but it's standard living conditions here, and many are extremely nice inside, thanks to money poured into renovation (God bless my landlord for making mine very comfortable). but they look like the projects of North America's big cities from the outside.

don't you agree? (this is a view from my balcony...mine is a mirror of this)

anyway. it wasn't my intention to discourse about sidliště today.

the fireworks, yelling and general commotion are because today is St. Mikulaš day here in czech. i suppose i should like it, since it's the closest thing the czechs have to halloween (one of my very favorite days of the year--what's not to like about a costume and sugar OD?). but i'm not sure. this evening, all over the country, young people dressed as St. Mikulaš (looks like a pope, tall hat and everything), čert (a devil-looking character) and anděl (an angel) walk around together in their rather odd groups of three. they go to the homes of small children (usually homes of family friends, but there have been papers around advertising triplets for hire for a couple weeks), or they congregate in town or local squares (most commonly the center squares of prague).

this is where it gets fuzzy for me what exactly their purpose is. i'm pretty sure candy is given to the little ones. the čert is meant to scare them; the anděl either just looks pretty and Mikulaš gives them the candy or the other way around. i don't really know how it goes. but sometimes only Mikulaš shows up--the čert is usually pretty scary for young eyes and parents don't want to provoke screams if they can help it. (here is where i'd like to give kudos to my wonderful niece kaitlyn, who apparently wanted nothing to do with the santa claus at the mall where my mom took her. only 2, and already knows what's up.)

i mention all this because it's yet another sign that God was, at some point in the not-too-distant past in this country, a significant part of how they did things. i realize i don't know the traditions surrounding the Mikulaš stuff, but my bigger point would be: neither do the czechs i know. everyone just knows it's a time to dress up, scare a couple naughty kids, give candy to some nice ones, and maybe do a shot or two with the parents before heading to the next flat. or at least make a hundred crowns or so ($5-ish) for your trouble.

but you can't tell me that there isn't huge religious (read: Christian) significance behind a motley crew of a popish saint, a devil and an angel. no one else lumps those guys together.

like other things, the tradition has remained. bastardized though it may be, it is still recognizable in its roots.

the czechs may think they're done with God, but holding on to such traditions, secular now though they may seem, says something different to me. they might argue that point and they're welcome to it.

but God's definitely not gone, and he's definitely not done with them.

which reminds me: welcome back, jan hus! i'm glad to see the škoda screen gone, for christmas anyway. i've missed you.

so much hate!

2007-12-04T22:17:00.000+01:00

i had a subscription to vanity fair magazine for a few years a while back. i loved the hollywood issue and lots of the fascinating articles. i still have the one from 1997 with princess diana on the cover--one of the last shoots she did before her death.

that's where i first encountered christopher hitchens. i wish i could remember examples of his articles i liked, but i can't. i'd have to do a little research for that and i don't feel like it. i do, however, know that i read enough by him to recognize his name when i saw it.

and when an article appeared in the new yorker reviewing his book God is not great, i remember having a positive initial response to seeing his name. that review, if i remember correctly (again, too lazy to hunt it down; but i would if i knew the date), didn't have a lot of nice things to say about the book. not that the new yorker is God's latest champion by any means; it was a fair and balanced (huh?) review of a book the reviewer didn't deem, well, great.

i haven't read that book. and it's not just because i happen to think God is, in fact, pretty great. i'm just not interested.

i did, however, just start reading an article by hitchens in today's slate. you can click here to read it. i admit, i didn't get very far. in fact, i got partway through and, instead of finishing, clicked on over to firefox to blog about it. and i don't think i'll finish it.

why? you ask.

i don't know what got hitchens so riled up these last few years, but he's got a serious problem with religion in general and it's getting ridiculous. i'm fine with people writing books based on their beliefs. it's healthy and promotes great discourse, in many cases. but he has reduced himself to a whiny, crabby little boy given to histrionics. he throws around words like 'supposed' and 'alleged' before pillars of the Christian, Jewish and Muslim faiths, and takes every opportunity to make unsubstantiated low blows and snarky swipes at each.

it's laughable. and i'm sorry that slate got in on the action. i'm disappointed that they would print such a poorly written piece, regardless of its author.

while i'm airing disappointments, i've been looking for frank's email address so i can complain about the porn on this week's postsecret. i don't mind nudity or sex shots when there's a profound secret involved, but the postcard he posted this week is blank. just a girl in a bra on her stomach, offering herself up (seriously!) to be taken. what's the point of that? where's the secret? it seems to me someone out there is cashing in on a bet. and instead of being let in on a secret, i'm faced with gratuitous sex, a secret not meant to be shared.

shall i keep going? i can...

lots of visitors to prague comment on the nudity and sex in advertising. after all, would home depot advertise with a topless woman on a newly tiled floor boasting, 'i did it myself!' ?

the other day i was traveling by metro to physical therapy and went through the mustek station, as usual. h&m has been buying up the wall space in the hallway of the station so i'm used to seeing models stare back at me as i walk from the trains to the street. i wasn't prepared, however, to see nearly naked ladies eyeing me coquettishly, clad only in bras and panties, as i followed the mob of commuters through the maze.

it's a victoria's secret catalogue, blown up bigger than life-size.

and, lest we think it's inappropriate, or pornographic or something prudish like that, there's a price tag next to the languidly posed beauties: the price of the bras. (the price of the panties isn't shown. which begs the question: couldn't they be wearing a little more down below?)

this frustrates, saddens, and angers me. how lovely, on a Fat Day or a Bad Hair Day (or any Crap Day) to have one's self-confidence punched down a bit lower by the sight of the heroin-thin but buxom models in the ads. and even more wonderful to feel the eyes of the men on the platform, killing time as they wait for the next train. not an appraising glance, mind you, but a wolfish up-and-down and perhaps a little linger here, and here. for some women it may truly be wonderful, but only because these women don't understand that such objects are not cherished, loved, appreciated or admired. they are savagely used without interest and discarded immediately. or maybe they've already been beaten down so far they're ok with being used. something is better than nothing, right? ...right...?

*sigh*

amazing to go from hitchens' peevish ranting to porn on the metro, but the trail is there. sad that apparently he feels there's enough in religion to prompt such spewage, while a land that wholly rejects religion glorifies such degradation. no wonder so many girls and women here, no matter what age, desire to look a way that seems to them sexy, no matter what the cost.

too much perfect

2007-10-04T22:14:00.000+02:00

outside the local grocery store a guy in a motorized wheelchair once tried to communicate with me. i don't always understand when people speak czech to me out of the blue, so when someone who has difficulty speaking addresses me, i sort of freeze. and that day, i did. i just didn't know what he wanted and i didn't know what to do, so i turned away and climbed the stairs to the post office. which allowed me to see someone else heading through that walkway moments later who stopped, listened to the man and, to my shame, took simple action.

all he needed was for someone to use his key to open the outer door of his building. the door opens out, not in, so he's unable to do it himself. i watched the other man unlock the door, hand the man in the wheelchair back his keys, and both continued on their way.

i didn't see the man for a long time, and then a couple months ago i saw him asking passers-by for help. now, this is a high-traffic walking area. the grocery store is right there, the post office and a bookstore are upstairs, there are a few smaller shops about 10 meters away, and the metro station is very close by. so it wasn't for a lack of people that he wasn't being helped, it was the same fear i experienced with him showing up in others. i saw him ask a couple people for help before i reached him, and they all sort of ignored him and moved on past. just like i had.

but this time i wasn't afraid. i knew what he wanted, and i knew i'd be able to communicate with him. his keys were in his hand, and i asked if he wanted the door open. he smiled and said thank you. i think he has cerebral palsy. i'm certainly no expert, but he strikes me as the kind of guy whose body just doesn't do what his brain is telling it to. it must suck to have a rebellious body. mine does pretty much what i ask it to. not that i demand much from it, either, but it's nice to know that i can stand up when i want, lift my arm to grasp something when i want, type cleanly and write legibly whenever i'd like. i have no idea what it's like to be at the mercy of a body that follows its own directions, with a mouth and tongue that don't cooperate the way they're told. this man is probably smarter than i am. and he lives alone--at least he doesn't have a caretaker with him all the time. hence his need for help from strangers.

it took thirty seconds of my day to open the door. maybe less. i asked if he needed anything else and he said no. i have to admit, helping him out brightened my day tremendously.

i saw this man again today. i was on my way to the post office to pay my rent. and i saw someone edge past him when he asked for help. as usual, i guess. so i went right over to him, smiled and took his keys. asked if it was the one with the blue rubber thing or the other one. the other one. i loved how happily he thanked me. Děěě-kuuuuu-juuuu, he sang. and a huge smile. took me a bit longer than thirty seconds this time. the key wouldn't turn. i started to try the other one and he said noooo even before the lock rejected it entirely. back with the other one. it won't turn! i tell him. he waits patiently and finally the key turns and he can go in. another thank you and the door closes behind him. how is it possible that my interactions with him make me feel so good?

i don't want to be self-congratulatory for helping this nice man out, especially because of my first experience with him. but i genuinely feel better for having done such a small thing as opening a door.

it must be very hard to be helpless in this country. or at least unable to open the outer door of your building. he has to humble himself and ask strangers for help every time he goes out! this, in a country where, to be a stranger is one of the worst things you can be. strangers are suspicious. strangers are outside (oh, by the way, the word for foreigner doubles for stranger). strangers aren't trusted. on top of that, he's in a motorized wheelchair with limbs flung every which way and he talks funny. no wonder they're scared.

one of my best friends is due to have her third child any day. her youngest is 12, so this will be sort of like starting over, i expect. during some tests last month it was apparent that the baby's head is larger proportionately to his (yes, his) body. they have informed the mother that there is a 10-20% chance that the baby has Downe's.

i was talking about babies with my physical therapist, šarka, this morning. šarka has a very soft heart. i mentioned my friend and the possibility of Downe's to her. she was startled and asked, didn't they do tests on her? i said well, yes, they could, but it's so close to birth, what would be the point. she'll just find out when he's born. šarka told me that here in the czech republic, pregnant women are tested twice for Downe's. aha. i then asked if most women terminate the pregnancies if the test is positive. her first answer was interesting: she said very quickly that it was a private decision for the woman. i said yes, but did she know if most women terminated. then she said yes, she thought so.

during the communist years, she said, children born with disabilities were shuttled off to institutions and kept out of sight. for all anyone knew, they didn't exist. now things are different, but only sort of. i see very few Downe's children here. very few. i could count on one hand the number i've seen in the seven years i've been here. she said it's different here than in the US, where they are assimilated as much as they can be, and a visible part of society. there are more articles in newspapers and documentaries on tv about families with Downe's children, but it's very new.

and that made me think how sad to live in a culture of perfection. my body doesn't look very perfect to me and i know most people live in that state of mind, but my body functions perfectly most of the time. but don't we lose something as a society if we don't include those who aren't perfect? people with Downe's have big hearts. they are enthusiastic, open, loving people. far more innocent than the rest of us. i have heard people say how tough it is parenting a Downe's child, but that they wouldn't change it for anything.

it seems to me, the imperfect people around us remind us most clearly of what it means to be human. helping readily. listening carefully. thanking cheerfully. laughing freely. forgiving deeply. we have to be people of mercy and grace when we interact with those with imperfect minds and bodies. but if we don't have them, all we are is a bunch of impatient people who can't believe they picked the slowest line at the grocery store. AGAIN.

two years from kristova leta

2007-06-11T12:20:00.000+02:00

already it's two years since i wrote about the kristova leta, the Christ years. time sure flies. i don't feel much different. but i know i am. twice recently i've had close friends, who don't see me very often because of many miles between us, comment that i'm softer than i used to be. i'm not sure i would have come up with that particular word on my own, but i agree with them. that change is pretty miraculous.

i watched a tv show recently where a character insists to another character that people don't change. she was speaking specifically of a marriage relationship, but it got me thinking. because at first, i agreed. yep, that's true, people don't change. or do they? i realize i have. so if i can, why couldn't anyone else? i'm not that special.

but what makes people change? is it a determination inside of them? is it an ultimatum from someone else--parent, spouse, boss? is it an outside force? all of the above? i tend to think it's often a combination of all three and possibly more. external forces exerted on a person don't make change happen unless there's a willingness inside that person to change. and sometimes the inner willingness needs an external kick in the pants.

i know one thing: change becomes easier and more possible when there's an agent of change present. like someone or something we desire to be like, who actually works to make that change happen in us--who influences us from within. prompting change and inspiring it.

hmm. that wasn't what i meant to write about.

i realized and verbalized something recently that just sort of slipped by until a friend pointed out how significant it is.

a new friend asked the other day if i want kids. i paused and out came a somewhat unexpected answer. i said i can't really think of things in those terms anymore, because i'm past the age of desiring something and having the luxury of plenty of time for it to come to fruition. basically: in two days i'm 35 years old, without a boyfriend, fiance, husband. (and i'm not interested in making myself into a single mom on purpose.) healthy women can give birth into their 40s, sure, but...it seems overreaching somehow to continue thinking as i did in my 20s. it's an interesting place to reach when options sort of run out because of circumstances beyond our control. i can't control my age, that's for sure. i usually feel much younger than 35. i'm told i look about 27, which is super cool. but time marches on.

yes, i could get myself married if i wanted to. don't kid yourself: anyone who wants to get married, can. it's not that hard. ah, but marrying the 'right' or 'compatible' or whatever person, at the right time, well, that's another story.

the US is not the well of eligible, hungry-for-marriage men some of my friends believe it is. how do i know? i have several amazing, beautiful, loving women friends in their 30s (who would love to share their lives with someone) who are single. and they, like me, are pursuing what they are passionate about--in most cases, some form of a life of service to others. so, returning to the US determined to find a husband would have to mean, most likely, putting aside my passions and desires in order to be, well, desirable or marryable. i know, there are exceptions, blah blah blah. but be honest. i'm looking at the big picture and the examples i already see.

dating sites like eharmony exist to help those who are frustrated at not meeting enough people to choose a mate well meet more people. [i am so curious what the divorce rate of folks who met all those compatibility markers will be in 10 years.] i've been asked if i would do something like that. i did, once, for less than the money-back guarantee time of a week.

i decided that marriage would be, i hope, a lovely thing. but if it means forcing myself out of the calling and life that i'm pursuing now, then that's not for me. i would happily move into another phase of life if it happened naturally, but i'm not searching for it. i would rather not be seeking the next big thing, and instead living life well exactly where i am, and following this calling with excellence.

there's just too much to do right now without focusing on the future. sure, i have hopes and dreams. but should i sacrifice the opportunities in the present for them? i think i shouldn't.

all in the perspective

2007-06-10T20:16:00.000+02:00

oh it's been so long again.

i had meant to blog all about my old landlord and the move and all that. oh yeah, i moved in february. (new place=amazing: beautiful, luxuries i NEVER imagined in a panelak, and a wonderful landlord.) there was a lot of hate in me for a while. it was really bad. poison. but from the beginning, sort of, i knew i was going to need to forgive my landlord for how he treated me. (and for keeping my security deposit. long story i'm not going to tell. sorry. more poison.)

the reason being that i consider myself a follower of Jesus. and it's not that there is some list of what you have to do as a follower, but part of the gig is caring for my soul. i believe we all have souls, that we are all eternal beings who will eternally live or eternally die. which direction we go is up to us. get busy living or get busy dying. it's true. we all instinctively know it, too, whether we admit it or not. anyway, caring for your soul is part of the eternally living thing. and that's what i'm about. so holding on to hate toward someone is not what someone who wants to lives will do. because hate and unforgiveness are all about death. death of the soul.

the crazy thing is, forgiveness is all about dying. not death, but dying. dying that leads to life. because some does, you know. i had to let die that part of me that knew i was right, that knew i hadn't done anything wrong. that knew i had in fact been wronged. i had to take it out back and shoot it so that my soul could live. because that need-to-be-right thing is poison to the soul. it's the ego or the mind or the sin or whatever. once the need to be right and reminded how right i was was dying (and it's always dying--never, in my experience is it completely dead. it's like kathy bates' character in misery. takes WAY too long to die. which means it can keep popping back up and you have to keep stabbing at its throat or smashing its face with an iron or something. because give it some air and some food and it will regenerate so fast--i know, we're past the misery reference now--that before you know it it will be strong and influential again and you're going to have to go through the whole process of dragging it out back again.), i could get on with living.

i left for the US in early march, still not having forgiven Mr. J. for what he'd done. but, lucky (or God, whichever you like to call him) for me, i arrived at shelter, my church in cali, in time for Lent. and one week i had a chance to nail my hate for Mr. J. to a physical piece of wood in the shape of a cross with a physical nail, and to write his name and actions on a piece of paper that i placed into a fire, burning up for all to see.

from the outside these may seem odd things to do and weird sort of ritualistic voodoo. well, i'll give you that it looks that way. but for me, those actions symbolized the path to freedom. i didn't walk out of church with a lighter step and a song in my soul. no, the real work had just begun. but i used those actions to claim the forgiveness of Mr. J. that i knew Jesus would provide for me if i acted in faith that he would do so. sound convoluted? maybe. but it was like, i knew it was time to start acting like i'd forgiven him. because that way, when the 'but i'm right! i was wronged! i'm going to let myself get worked up about this' thoughts came up (that kathy bates character) i knew that if i squashed them with the power of saying, 'nope, sorry, not going to entertain that because i forgive him,' they would lose strength. no food or air to aid regeneration. and even though they came up a lot at first, they would come up less regularly after that. and, pretty soon, i would find that i had indeed forgiven him. and my soul would be cared for and living. not easy. but possible through the faith that the strength and the impetus for it all came through Jesus.

he's the inspiration, after all. if he can put from his mind all the reasons he shouldn't have died for me (i'm not generally worth dying for) and focus on his love for me instead, i can forgive Mr. J.

and i have. well, it's in process. the way life is in process.

but back to perspectives.

i have really liked most of m. night shyamalan's movies. the ones i don't like are the ones i haven't seen yet because i heard they were no good. i need to stop listening to people. some people.

my friends amy and justin recommended lady in the water to me and i was so surprised they liked it. but they stressed that it's a fable. that was important to them. so i bought it and got around to watching it last weekend with a houseguest/friend. we loved it. i thought it was magical and rich and real. the way all of night's stuff is real because he recognizes and deals with the world beyond what we know and see and touch in creative, inventive ways. he knows it's there and he wants us to talk about it. and that makes his stuff more real than the average writer/director's. i don't know what kind of label he might give his faith, but he gets it.

i was so excited to show it to movie club. after all, if thank you for smoking could get us to a great conversation about purpose and meaning in life, how much deeper could a movie about purpose take us?

they hated it.

they thought it was stupid, with a dumb plot that didn't get more complicated but just stretched the movie minutes out more and more. predictable. dumb. one to one-and-a-half stars (out of five).

so we talked about it. we recorded our conversation and i hope it will reach the internet at some point as a podcast. then i'll link it for you. but i recognized (again) how everything, even how we see movies, is affected by our perspective, our world view. what one person sees as God, another sees as coincidence, fate, luck (all not-so-fancy names for God, by the way) or human endeavor.

i think there are two categories of people concerning fairy tales. 1) those who long for the happy ending, for the hero to win and for it all to be too good not to be true. 2) those who have had it with dreams of happy endings because the world just doesn't work that way so it's all bullshit to even entertain such notions.

these movie club students are in group 2. they know it. and i talked with them about how the movie appeared to me as metaphor, a joyous metaphor of the truth of life: the interconnectedness of people and how magic happens when we work together for a common purpose. justice that comes not too early nor too late. a world that we know from glimpses and stories and dreams. and one of them commented that it is similar to how i see the world and God. and he's right. i'm predisposed to believe in the fairy tale because i know that i am part of the greatest one ever.

and we all are. we can rejoice and live in it and drink of it and soak in all we can and let it heal our wounds and bring us together, or we can fight it, rationalize it, be cynical about it, and die as a result.

it's our choice. it's always our choice.

i can't stop showing movie clubs the movies i see as life-giving, even when they hate them. because it's about the conversation, the journey. i have tremendous hope for them on their journey to believing and living the fairy tale. not because of being right or wrong, but because of life or death. i long for them to live.

landlord, LANDLORD!

2007-03-01T15:43:00.000+01:00

it was either a dramatic reading of a poem or a line from a play i heard in high school, but i can still hear the voice saying that word, more insistent and righteously angry the second time. i can relate.

landlord troubles are, i think, a universal problem. most of us have or have had landlords in the past. it's a rare soul who has traveled through life without encountering a landlord who made life difficult.

i'd lived in prague on three separate occasions before moving here to stay in october 2001. different housing situations each time. the first time i was in a panelak, or panel building. they group them together here (and throughout eastern europe) and so the sidlistes, or housing estates, as the brits like to call them, really just look like the housing projects you'd find in any major american city, constructed circa 1950-60. only here, they were constructed circa 1990-95, and it's not just the low-income types that live there. it's anyone and everyone. anyway, i never met my landlord that time because the language school i was working for arranged it. and i was only there two months, anyway.

the second time i was in another panelak, this time in one that had received the smallest bit of reconstruction. the three-plus-one (three rooms plus kitchen) had been changed into a five-plus-one when a room from the adjoining flat was added and the living room was split into two rooms. two of us lived there and our landlord lived next door. we never had any problems with him. and nothing major happened with the flat. we were only there five months.

stay number three i lived in a family home. this was not so fun. two rooms on the main floor had been set aside for renters. one was a long, narrow bedroom and the other a living room that led into the tiny galley of a kitchen; this living room was also my roommate's bedroom. and then of course a bathroom and toilet, which was situated so that it shared a wall with the family's living room. i saw that landlord most every day and had to ask him many a time to unclog our ancient toilet. not fun. but again, no major problems. there nine months.

each time i left a flat i simply packed my stuff and left. the furniture was never mine and i don't recall ever doing a major clean-up.

so, october 2001. i'm in the US planning to move to prague. my sole co-workers at the time, bill and lori, find a three-plus-one (the size i'm looking for) in a panelak right next to a high school. actually, in the same building where i lived on visit 2. it's the only place they look at but they really like it. partially reconstructed: tiled floors in the hall, bath and kitchen, and tiled walls in the bath and toilet. plus some storage areas. they suggest i take it and i do. on the way from the airport we stop at the flat, i meet the landlord, and i agree that it looks good. first hint of problem: when i ask the landlord if i can paint the walls he asks why i would want to paint the walls--what's wrong with them?

second sign of problem: when i'm moving into the place a few days later and a bunch of friends are there to help me, the landlord grills each of them on where they live, what their job is, why they are there. everyone thinks he's weird.

as the years pass, the problems with the landlord increase. he raises the rent by over $100 after the first year, and another $100 the year after that. and that with negotiation. he does some shady accounting to cover for the fact that he hadn't thought to include payment into the co-op fund in my rental agreement and demands $500 from me for it on the spot, berating me severely for having to run to the ATM to get it. (i learned later how illegal and outside our contract all of this was.) he was like jekyll/hyde when he came to town (his living in switzerland and rarely making visits made life a little easier). first he would be friendly when he walked in the door, then he would criticize my choice of decor and living style, he would be abusive, aggressive and belligerent when it came to dealing with money, and when the financial part was done and he had gotten what he wanted, he would be all smiles again and uberfriendly.

i dreaded his phone calls announcing that he was in town. he never gave much warning of his arrival on my doorstep. usually just a day. i learned to fear interaction with him and would jump when my apartment phone would ring, thinking it might be him.

at one point a few years ago i considered moving out. but the market at that time wasn't so good and i discovered that the price i was paying was pretty accurate for the area. besides, i liked where i lived a lot, and didn't really want to move. for one thing, now i had furniture!

for three years i didn't hear from my landlord, except for the occasional visit from his wife, who was always sweet to me. she would sit on my couch and we would chat and she seemed so decent and normal, i couldn't imagine how she managed to live with such a psychotic man. (i realize there is no way that i am the only person in his life who he treats this way.)

then came december. i have to admit, i don't remember the whole conversation. my czech friend/supervisor was there with me to help me with translation, because the landlord never had any tolerance for my less-than-perfect czech. funny, his wife and i would speak czech together and talk about anything with no problem, but he decided i was impossible to understand and couldn't really speak the language.

he was immediately scornful of how the place looked (never got the part about me paying for the place and therefore being able to keep it as i wished as long as i wasn't damaging anything). berated me at length about not keeping the place up to his liking (?), said he wouldn't sign the paper for my visa because we needed to renegotiate the lease contract (more $$$), and said he wouldn't replace the old windows unless i agreed to pay more money. it was an awful meeting. i really don't remember much about all that was discussed, but he and martin, my friend, left together. martin called me minutes later and his first words to me were: 'you have to move.'

riding on the metro

2005-11-08T00:31:00.000+01:00

part of the deal in living in a major city in europe is the public transportation. and part of the gig with public transportation is just that...it's public. everyone uses it.

here in prague the normal system of subway trains, trams and buses shuts down at midnight, at which time the night system of buses and trams takes over. i've seen some gnarly things on night trams, including a major fight between a drunk guy and his equally intoxicated girlfriend. all i have to say about that is this: the foley artists (guys who do sound effects for TV and movies) make fist-to-flesh sound a lot cooler than it actually does; AND i do everything i can to avoid night trams.

so the really drunk folks--the ones who didn't quite make it to the last metro--use the night system to drag their butts home. and the ones who got an early start (say, 10am) grab the last metro.

praguers are notoriously private on public transportation. self-preservation from communist times, or so i hear. you can find the random person who makes eye-contact in a non-staring kind of way (the more pervasive, cold, dead-eyes kind of thing) but it's usually within the context of admiring a cooing baby or wiggly puppy. my own self-preservation comes in the form of my ipod and phone, which is conveniently equipped with a monopoly game i've gotten pretty good at (it's the british version: anyone else know the british boardwalk?).

then there are the drunks. i have pictures on my phone of men sprawled out on the pleather seats--the men who probably are awakened at the last stop by the train operator and forced to walk home or sleep it off on a bench outside the station. then there are the ones who are drunk enough to be obnoxious, but not so drunk they are already asleep. like tonight, for example.

a couple stops into my 25-minute journey home i noticed a man pacing the car. this is pretty unusual in itself, but this guy had the added charm of carrying a full bottle (unopened) of cheap czech rum, a cloth sack over his shoulder full of bottles of beer (probably full as well--i couldn't hear the clinks thanks to the aforementioned ipod), and various wildflowers draped over his person. my drunk alert became heightened immediately. i've seen plenty of drunks become unstable when the train brakes for a stop and go sailing into the unwelcome laps of those who just enjoyed a night at the opera. that was not going to be me. my section of the car was pretty full of people. mostly men. a single woman across from me and a well-dressed couple next to her. i allowed myself a grin as the drunk moved past me into another part of the car and noticed that one of the men across and down from me was sharing my amusement. i might be on alert but i can laugh at someone else's idiocy!

as i watched the drunk weave unsteadily away from me i witnessed another not-unheard-of sight. a young man seated two sections from me suddenly lurched forward and puked onto the floor (i couldn't see much of the actually event thanks to the woman seated in the section between us). immediately the women near him grimaced and got up with their male companions to stand near the next door down. but he wasn't done. nope. he puked at least twice more. once i heard the splash (must have been between songs) and so, finally, did the couple across from me. the woman hid her head in her man's shoulder for a few stops.

the wanderer stopped in front of the sickie and kindly offered him a swig of his rum, which the puker wisely waved off. he spent the rest of his ride looking a little green. i was thankful for a) sitting on the same side as him with b) the woman's lap in the way so i didn't have to see the puddle in front of him; i sometimes sense that i could become a sympathy puker.

and then the drunk made his way back down to my end. i stared at my phone as if my game was the most interesting thing on earth and hoped he wouldn't talk to me and force me to tell him off: foreign accents in czech just cause interest among the belligerent. he offered his now-open rum to the woman across from me, who did her best to ignore him. so he moved down to the couple, who likewise refused. he must have touched the dress coat on the man because his companion made a great show of brushing it off repeatedly. he then went to the other woman (oh yeah, then i noticed another one) next to the man with the dress coat. she turned down his offer, which prompted him to get down on his hands and knees before her. i couldn't quite see what he was doing but she tried valiantly to ignore him at this point and didn't quite succeed. somehow being on all fours didn't provide him the balance i would have expected, and he sprawled on the floor, his bottle nearly rolling away, when the train braked at the stop before mine. when the train started moving again he got to his feet and offered the rum to me on his way to the doorway, which i ignored intensely.

here's where things got really tricky. my stop is very popular and i realized we might all be exiting together--which means anything could happen. sure enough, the wanderer stayed in the doorway nearest me and the puker rose to his feet at the next door as the train slowed, slipping in his puddle as he did so. i shot out of the seat and waited for the doors to open, turning my back on both of them. as the doors opened i felt someone bump into my back. F---! i said loudly (ok, go ahead and judge me, but first consider what you would have said if you thought that the guy who just slid in his own vomit had crashed into you), which, as predicted, sparked curiosity. i saw that it was only the wandering drunk, who immediately repeated the word with mounting interest. i didn't wait around to see where he was going and sped up the steps, muttering to myself about the ridiculousness of this country all the way from the exit doors, across the street and to my door.

it feels so good to share this with you. i have not imbellished anything, either. why would i when the story is this good?

it made me reflect, though, on how everyone gets to witness everyone else's crap when you're all stuck on public together but maybe suffering through rather harmless drunks on the metro is better than the alternative. in the U.S. the wanderer would probably have crashed his car into a tree and the puker would have gotten it all over himself and the friend who was kind enough to drive him home if he didn't pass out on the floor and then choke on it. this way, the vomit puddle stayed on the floor of the metro and, even though it got tracked through the whole car thanks to the wanderer, a metro employee will hose it down, everyone will get home relatively safely--home being a term i use loosely enough to possibly mean the vestibule of one's apartment building, and tomorrow night they'll be back at it.

pain

2005-10-26T18:24:00.000+02:00

so, at the risk of jason's head exploding in surprise, here it is: a second post in as many days.

i have two herniated disks between L4 and L5 and S1. for those who would rather i write in intelligible english: i have two swollen disks of cartilage between the three lowest vertebra in my back. the first major sign of this took place last month while i was home in prague, four days before i planned to fly to lisbon, portugal, for the wedding of my co-workers and friends.

the pain started while i was already sick in bed with a cold. i sneezed three times in an awkward position and suddenly felt pain like knives stabbing me in the lower back and all the way down my left leg. i could barely find a comfortable position to lie in, never mind walk or sit. genius that i am, i thought maybe a walk would help things (because walking is for me a good preventer of back pain). i could barely change into different pants without keeling over in pain and i had to wrangle my socks on using not my hands but the toes on my other foot. should have been a sign. i got about 50 steps from my door before turning around, it was that bad.

i went to a doctor of physical therapy here in prague who made some gentle adjustments, did some glass therapy, which involves suction to promote circulation, and gave me an injection to shrink the swelling and relieve the pain. within a couple days the pain was gone, i could walk a bit more normally, and i was given the ok to fly to lisbon. while in lisbon things seemed to improve. went to the wedding, which was beautiful, gazed at the pounding waves of the atlantic ocean, and hung out in the city, enjoying the cafe culture.

then on sunday morning (flight back to prague scheduled for monday morning) while in the shower, i felt something move in my back when i twisted and bent--reaching to adjust the water temperature. i could not sit still in church that morning. the whole right side of my body from the waist down had this dull sort of pain that was only alleviated (while sitting) when i torqued my body weight completely onto my left hip with my right leg crossed over the left. the image of the pain that keeps coming into my mind is of heavy lead weights within my leg, pulling at it. that doesn't even make sense as i read it but it's what i remember.

the pain eventually got so bad sunday evening that i called my doctor in prague from my friend nelly's phone while waiting for a table at the hard rock cafe. i'd taken two swallows of darn good beer when something seemed to move again and the pain became unbearable even while standing. and now my toes were numb and tingly, too. my doctor's orders were short and sweet: get to a hospital immediately.

the details of this story could take 10 posts to tell but suffice it to say that within 10 or so days i went to 2 hospitals in lisbon and was treated in 1 emergency room, was examined 2 days later by a portuguese orthopaedic surgeon, was stuck in lisbon for 2 extra days, went to an emergency room in prague, got a CT scan, had 4 drug infusions through IV, and took more medication than i have in years. i was out of it for a while. i feel kind of bad for the people i emailed during that time. i don't know how coherent anything was, and they may not have realized that i truly was tripped out on legal drugs.

the thing that has taken adjusting to (besides becoming comfortable with stripping down to bra and underwear every time i walk into a doctor's office) is describing the pain. i never realized how difficult it can be to pinpoint pain and put it into words.

now, while a person is in pain it's usually relatively simple to describe it. dull or sharp, inside or on the surface, achy or stabbing, constant or intermittant: when you're feeling it it's not so hard to tell a doctor exactly what it's like. however, when you don't feel it all the time, and it's not as bad as the pain you were feeling two weeks ago (because what i felt then was so much worse than what i feel now, is it really pain? or just pressure? something?), it becomes much more difficult.

i've heard that our brains have convenient ways of forgetting exactly what pain feels like. once it's over we can remember that we were in pain but we can't physically relive that pain in the same way again.

about 5 years ago i had a stomach infection that lasted a month. didn't know it was a stomach infection until the end of that month. and what got me to finally see a doctor was a) a fever b) demands from my friends that i do so and c) pain so bad i was hallucinating. let me explain c. i remember lying in bed, scrunched in the fetal position. the pain wasn't constant; it came in waves. and when each wave came i saw the pain in my mind: it had colors and movement. but that's all i remember of the pain. i remember how it looked. weird.

have you ever had a cold or something where you forgot what it feels like to be healthy? as if you've never been anything but sick or never not felt the pain. it's strange to me that when we're healthy we have a hard time refeeling pain, and when we're in pain or otherwise unhealthy, we can't remember not being in that condition. are we such creatures of the present that we can only feel the physical sensations of our current condition? is it protection by the brain that keeps us from reliving the actual sensations of pain? because it seems to me that the physical sensations of pleasure or absense of pain are difficult to relive as well. (psychological and emotion memories of pain and pleasure are, conversely, rather easy to relive.)

is that what keeps people returning to the same pain or the same pleasure over and over again--the impossibility to relive the actual sensation without stimula of some kind? scientists all over the world continue to do experiments relating to pain and pleasure. honestly, i don't know what their findings are. guess i'd have to do some research on that (this is why people blog. no need for evidence). but my hunch is that people (or other animals) may learn to get around pain, but if they have to endure pain to get to pleasure or something else they want, they will take the pain every time. because the memory of it isn't quite concrete enough to keep them from trying for what they want. just a hunch.

what does this lack of sensation memory prompt in us? on some level i think it pushes us forward. were we able to relive pleasure concretely, we might not leave the house some days. were we to relive pain we likewise might stay behind locked doors. is it the hope of physical pleasure--be it a soft sweater, a juicy pear, a passionate kiss--that motivates us? is it the absence of fear of pain--be it a stubbed toe, a fresh papercut, a herniated disk--that allows us to move through the day?

and what of those who live in chronic pain? i don't think my mom has painless days anymore. i think there are terrible days, bad days, and not-so-bad days. but i don't think, pain-wise, she has good days anymore. she leads a chronic pain group. and i think it's the only place she can really talk openly about life with pain. because her family doesn't really understand what she lives with. we live mostly free from pain. she lives with occasional moments of less pain. and she probably can barely remember what life without pain felt like. (the only time we've ever bonded or really spoken as, well, peers, over pain was when i complained recently about having to describe it to my doctor after the fact and she agreed that it's difficult and annoying to try to answer a doctor's questions concerning the detailed aspects of pain. i realized as she talked that i have no concept of the kind of pain she lives with.)

the pain in my leg came back about 10 days ago and it felt like i had a muscle cramp in my calf. i could barely sleep and any comfortable position i found lost its comfort within about 5 minutes. but the pain has subsided and i'm now judging the severity of the disk problem not by how much pain i feel, but whether or not i have feeling in my foot--which has stayed numb the whole time. you'd think numbness would be preferable to pain, but in some ways it's not. i could seriously hurt my foot right now (i think i twisted my ankle pretty badly while still in lisbon) and not know it and not seek treatment for it, and suffer permanently. i wouldn't think i'd ever desire pain, but it's possible that i might choose pain over nothing at all.

coupla things

2005-10-25T17:59:00.000+02:00

hey, i never promised anyone i'd be a good poster. i think i admit to being a lousy poster most every time i drag myself to my computer to write. and then i get reflective. i enjoy writing. it's good to get thoughts to paper or, well, screen. maybe i should hustle to get that wireless router so i can have my laptop anywhere i go in my apartment instead of just the home office that sometimes feels too office-y. regardless. here i am and i do have more to say after i watch a movie. 'the virgin suicides.'

anyway. fyi for all of you others out there whose lives were changed by eric schlosser's book 'fast food nation': mcdonald's owns mexican fast-food joint chipotle. just found that out today. we have exactly zero chipotles here in prague but i plan to keep this in mind when i'm back in the US. others of you may want to find another burrito place. hint: go somewhere not part of a chain!

the other thing of note strikes me as rather funny: the male version of the czech word for 'virgin' is 'panic.' as in the 40 let panic (40-year-old virgin). i'm used to looking at that with my czech eyes but i realized as i looked at my ticket that panic is a rather ironic word to translate into 'virgin.' commence jokes now.
funny to see two movies in two days with 'virgin' in the title. wait--what am i, 13 again?

too long

2005-08-24T00:41:00.000+02:00

it's been a long time.

blogging has proved harder than i thought it would be. i think it's a discipline thing. there are days when i come into my computer room, scan new emails and then walk away. ok, that's most days. actually sitting down to write something somewhat meaningful has become intimidating. as if every blog should be earth-shattering. not true, i know.

i still write for myself, in a little notebook i carry around with me to jot things down when i am inspired. that, too, takes discipline, and that, too, has long empty stretches.

i traveled this summer. with friends to visit friends and make new ones. i learned that i can't stand trying to vacation in touristy cities. that most certainly comes from living in a touristy city. prague in the summer is a nightmare. those days when i am required to venture into the center, i find myself silently screaming at the mobs of italians, germans, americans, japanese to get the crap out of my way so i won't be so late getting to the astronomical clock to meet my friends who are themselves tourists because if they weren't we'd certainly be meeting somewhere less crowded. and, yeah, i still like to mess with people watching the slow-as-molasses movement of the apostles through the foot-high windows on the world as the skeleton rings his little bell and vanity checks himself in his mirror. i encourage whoever i am with to clap and cheer loudly when it's all over, just to make everyone around us think that they must have missed something, because clapping for what they saw is surely overkill.

oh yeah, traveling. there are wonderful people out there. people who will sit and talk with you as you while away the hours in their restaurant, enjoying the delicious food their mother started preparing at 5am and drinking the wine they keep bringing to you in little half-liter metal pitchers. and after you've come by a couple times to sit in the pedestrian walkway that serves as their main seating area, under eaves of grapevines with rattan chairs poking through attic windows of the building across the way, or edging your chair just underneath the awning they scrambled to let down so the mid-afternoon shower won't dampen your hair, they won't let you pay them for the delicious mom-made food anymore because you are no longer customers, you're family. who take you out to experience their culture in a way other visitors never even hear about, again not allowing you to pay, but singing in your ear a translation of the love songs being belted out not 20 feet away, all to hand over their bed to you at 6am and themselves sleep on a spongy air mattress so that you can have a few hours of rest before getting on an airplane, then preparing a lovely late breakfast on the balcony for you and filling you with food and coffee and then dragging you out for more coffee because they have a starbucks, and you are american.

or the folks who are so thrilled that you've come to stay with them in their vacation home that they won't let you pay for a thing, not even the dessert and coffee you ordered while you waited for them to come get you from the town square because it was too confusing to give you directions to their place.

or the hotel owner who takes pity on you for having 'problems' at midnight, when you should be arriving in the above-mentioned town but because you, the driver, didn't listen to your passenger, you made a huge circle on a single mountain on a very large peninsula and ended up back in the touristy beach town with only one hotel that seems to be open. and said owner has now walked in on the two of you, sitting sheepishly in the corner of his darkened restaurant, waiting for either him to show up or the opening bars of 'the shining' theme to begin playing. half-price for a bed for the night ain't bad.

or the friends who keep playing your favorite card game with you even though you can beat them with one eye covered by a sleeping mask (true story) just because they know you love it. the same friends who tried to tell you it was going to rain and maybe traipsing through ruins more than a mile from the car isn't such a good thing with such angry-looking clouds approaching, but who cheerfully splash with you through puddles as you trudge back to the car, hopelessly soaked. the same friends who listen to you share the deepest sadnesses of your heart and the darkest moments of your desert and who tell you they love you and give you warm hugs without trying to make you snap out of it.

these people give me hope against the others out there who desire to take, use, and destroy. those who see another as a distraction from the pressure they are feeling and who will use a warm body the way they use alcohol: to delete the voices and pain in their heads. those who will plant false hope and give empty promises in order to take what they want. those who see others only for what they can provide for them at that moment and who refuse to admit they might have been wrong. those who are so callous to the yearnings of their own souls that they don't desire to see into the soul of another.

i thank God for the good people out there. who show Jesus to me without even knowing it.

kristova leta

2005-06-14T19:16:00.000+02:00

i realize i've done a lot of stuff in czech on here. sorry if that's weird to you. it's the world i live in and it seems normal to me. i meander in and out of czech and english all the time and sometimes we just don't have equivalent words in english to the czech. take the above phrase, for instance. it means, literally, "Christ years."

for the last year as i told people my age when they asked i got a smile and nod as they said, 'oh, next year is your Christ years.' i was 32 until yesterday. the first time i heard this i demanded that the speaker go back and explain to me what that phrase meant to them and how on earth the most atheistic nation in europe retained such a biblical description for a year of one's life.

the usual response to this demand is 'uhhh. isn't that how old he was when he died?' and the answer is, of course, yes. the question is almost always put back to me, 'don't you say this in english?' and my response is usually 'uhhh. no.'

amazing. i sat down with my czech tutor today and we went through many of the czech phrases that come from the Bible and/or a judeo-christian background. some were familiar to me because of their english equivalent: sacrifical lamb, forbidden fruit, doubting thomas. others are not used in english: job's news (bad news); benjaminek (given to the youngest member of a family, team, group, etc); 'don't stand there like lot's wife' (!); and others. i can give you more if you're interested.

it's remarkable how much has been retained by the language and the culture that flows from it. God promises a remnant when belief in him and faithfulness to him wanes. and it seems to me that no matter how dark this place seems and feels and is, there is a remnant of belief in God here—evidenced in the language of this place.

so how should this year be different from all the others? it is, after all, my Christ years. that's quite a mantle to hoist on an age. (and i always thought there were no more good birthdays to look forward to after 25.) i don't really know. a good friend send me an sms last night that said, in essence, since it's your Christ years, stay sober! hm. i'm not sure what prompted that but it's not bad advice. staying sober insures you won't miss something (well, unless you fall asleep or aren't paying attention) that you would if you...ahem...weren't sober. and i, for one, have had plenty of regrettable moments that would have been blessedly avoided had i followed the above advice.

i can say without hesitation that i hope my Christ years will not end with public (or private) crucifixion. and i hope not with another form of death either. but it is odd to realize that, at my age, Christ had been walking alongside his 12+ friends—teaching them, healing others, dining with outcasts—for three years already, and he was almost done. i think i'm just getting started. i might have used my time much differently had i known i only had 36 months or so to accomplish my goals. that's a startling thought and not one i'm sure i want to entertain. (do i really want to think that through?) one thing is certain: i don't feel old enough to be done with life, and i don't feel old enough to know much about life, either. i'm just getting started.

at least i hope that's the case.

civilized or just dumb?

2005-05-21T15:59:00.000+02:00

i went wednesday to see the midnight showing of star wars episode 3 (benefit of living in europe: seeing the premiere at least 6 hours before anyone in the US). and i just have to say: well done, george. seriously. i wasn't a huge fan of 1 or 2 (i considered joining the 'i hate jarjar' fan/antifan club), and certainly didn't hold any sort of special place in my heart for anakin, thanks to the walking plywood performance of hayden christensen in 2. i have since heard that george directed him to be as oakish as possible and can only say to that: whatever.

in 3, hayden has aged and looks less *Nsync-y and more Nirvana-y as he moves with stealth (and oh so much less whine) toward Darthdom. and now i feel free to love darth again with that love reserved only for the truly evil. so much better. and ewan, thank goodness, has lost some of his beardliness and looks less wookie and more jedi. now, lest you think all i did while watching the movie is check out the hotties, let me say the story was fantastic and answered so many questions that i, as NOT a fanboy, did not already know the answers to. (man, just wait for darth's first breath through the mask!)

the first two episodes were decent movies in themselves but didn't feel very connected to the initial three. however, watching 3 made me want to pop in 4 and go, oh yeah. what can i say? the whole thing is clearer and *sniff* even better now.

alright. enough of that. the title of this blog refers to a common practice of prague cinemas (movie theaters to the north americans out there): assigned seats.

usually i consider assigning seats in a movie theater a bit of a pain and kind of useless, like when there are only 10 or so people in the auditorium and the ticket person has put you in the back row left. then, i move. you would, too.

but as i finished getting ready at home before the midnight show (braiding the hair and fashioning my best attempt at leia's sticky-bun headphones—that takes a lot of dexterity and bobby pins to do yourself, fyi), i began to have flashbacks to premieres i attended in the states and to the long lines and *gulp* pushing shoving biting and running into auditoriums so as not to be stuck in the front row left. as my breathing sped up and i found my braids slipping through my clammy hands i suddenly remembered the way czechs do it: assigned seats. aaaahhhh.

rob and i arrived at the theater with about 20 minutes to spare and found tons of people crowding the entrance but, on closer inspection, realized everyone was just standing around having a very civilized group smoke before heading in. four auditoriums were hosting the show and as we took our seats—calmly, with no running or pushing or shoving—i thought to myself, 'well now, isn't this civilized?' isn't it? choose your seats the hour, day or week before you plan to see the movie. keep the system loose when the theater is mostly empty, but for the big shows and premieres: what a relief.

then, of course, the panic set in that we might be watching a dubbed version of the movie. rob kept trying to reassure me that it was for sure titled. i believed him, sort of. i was all ready to scream 'NNNNOOOOOOO' and go running from the theater when the titles didn't appear and a czech voice started reading 'a long time ago in a galaxy far, far away.' but, thankfully, the czech subtitles came onscreen when the english words did.

sorry to say, the braided buns came out the second lucasfilm started glowing. but i wasn't alone. i saw two girls on the metro in full leia regalia: the white flowing robes and belt of bling. way to go, girls.

hoši děkujem!

2005-05-16T00:25:00.000+02:00

(ha! i discovered that the czech diacritics work.)

the 10 million or so folks on this planet who call themselves czechs are sleeping with smiles on their faces tonight. they kicked some canadian booty. world champions with a score 3-0. good job, guys.

the first goal came early in the first period. the second in the middle of the third and the third goal late in third period, on a canadian power play with an empty goal to boot. Josef Vasiček sent it down the ice and into the goalie-less net. very nice aim, Pepa.

my friend rob and i joined 30,000-40,000 of our closest friends in old town square (staromak) to watch the games on big screens (AND be entertained at the breaks by a hilarious cover band called Las Vegas). by the end of the second period fireworks were already being lit and 'we are the champions' was being sung. maybe a little premature, but it all worked out in their favor.

the cameramen in vienna favored reaction shots of the supermodel girlfriends-slash-wives (no surprise) while the crowd in prague screamed, spilled beer (all over rob), and smashed bottles onto the cobblestones. all in all a fantastic night.

now the metro is full of shouting fans (the one night passengers are actually alive and breathing on public transportation it seems) and cars zip through the center, blaring their horns and hanging flags out the windows. i'm very happy for the czechs. they are extremely proud of their hockey, as well they should be. this is their 11th world champion title. the 6th, apparently, since 1996 (i had to look at fox sports for that stat--the story was listed 5th on a sidebar...pretty important news to americans, i know).

i'd like to say to all of the americans out there who are ashamed of their nationality when they travel and prefer to say they are canadian, thinking they'll get better treatment: well, tonight that was surely NOT the case! (and shame on you, anyway.)

the canucks played a very good, very physical game. the shutout was thanks to Tomaš Vokoun, the czech goalie who has done a tremendous job filling the very big skates of Dominik Hašek. they did, however, make idiots of themselves by picking a very large, longer-than-necessary fight in the last 45 seconds. gentlemen, gentlemen. please. so three very unhappy canadian players had to sit out the last few moments pouting in the penalty box. bad show.

it's easy to sound patronizing when saying that i'm glad czech won but i really am glad, grateful, proud for them. hockey is such a big deal here and there's so little for major national pride. and anyway, i doubt the canadians were gathered in a big public space in ottowa cheering on their players. these celebrations aren't typical in north america. so glad i'm here.

rob and i delayed our ride home by toasting the team in a nearby restaurant. we sat near the door and watched the happy czechs with flags blanketing their shoulders and faces painted red, white and blue walk past screaming their chants. and along came a sanitation worker dressed in orange, pushing a wheeled bucket with a broom sticking out of it. i wouldn't want his job tonight. old town square is covered in broken glass, strips of toilet paper and cigarette butts (i'm somewhat amazed my hair didn't go up in flames. rob was, too--about his own, which he said was FULL of product).

you say hockey, i say hokaj

2005-05-15T00:41:00.000+02:00

did you know the hockey world championship finals are tomorrow? if you are in the U.S., the correct answer to this question is 'no.' unless, of course, you are a die-hard hockey fan and have been seriously jonesing for a hockey fix with your precious nhl out of commission this year.

for the first time in who knows how many years, the world teams are not suffering as their best players remain in the U.S. to play for their moneyed teams--fulfilling contracts and the like as they battle for the stanley cup. nope, this year the gang's all here.

the joke here is that babies are born with skates on their feet, hockey is so much a part of the national fabric. but it seems to be wearing thin these days as i ask students if they play hockey or skate. the answer is usually a sullen 'no.' oh yes, i forgot--playing hockey means wrenching yourself away from your computer screen.

anyway, when hockey championship season rolls around, you will find czechs filling local pubs and bars, cheering for their mostly expatriate sons--who only seem to find their ways back to playing in the czech red, white and blue when the worlds or olympics are at stake.

i live in a huge panelak--one of those big communist-built hulks of a concrete building whose walls (prefab) are so, well, crappy, that when i am awakened at 7am by someone drilling five floors down and two entrances over it feels like it's next to my head. those times when i'm home watching hockey i can be away from the tv with the sound off and still know when a goal has been scored by the shouting echoing through the building.

czech played U.S.A. (why do i capitalize that? who knows? love of motherland?) thursday afternoon in the semi-final round. i was on my way to a graduation party in the countryside with a bunch of czech students and some of their teachers. on the bus ride there someone got a text message with the score 1-0 in favor of the U.S. and suddenly, as one, all heads whipped around to me. i don't play hockey! i protested. the rest of the afternoon i had to keep repeating 'today i am czech' so that no one would kill me and eat me as one of the more drunk teachers suggested. fortunately for me the czech players pulled off a mirrored game to last year's against the U.S.

that was here in prague, at the new arena (built by sazka, the company with gambling centers around the country. doesn't that seem odd and sort of a conflict of interest?). the score was tied at 0 even after overtime and the U.S. team won in the penalty shootout round. very disappointing and my students really didn't believe me when i said i was cheering for czech. they believed me this year when i joined in their 'kdo neskace neni czech: hop, hop, hop' (whoever isn't jumping isn't czech: jump, jump, jump) cheer as the czechs won in the penalty shootout round this time. whew. i escaped with my life--barely, it seems.

so i have had no problem telling czech friends that i am much more interested in a czech victory than an american one, not least of all because i don't think many folks in the U.S. even know it's happening. and here? well, i'm sure there will be video screens set up in old town square for the gold-medal game tomorrow night. i was there in 1998 when czech beat russia for the gold at nagano, so i think it would be right for me to be there again. i'm hoping czech pulls out a victory against canada as they did against sweden in vienna tonight. national pride doesn't show up too often here, but it does where hockey is concerned.

'tis the season

2005-05-11T22:30:00.000+02:00

...for maturita.

yes, here in the czech republic, spring is not only the time when the dirty black snow has finally melted and the trees being showing green again, but students hit the books. hard. the gymnasium (college-prep high school) next door to me is an 8-year school and i am close to several of the 8th-year students. this week was their maturita.

maturita is one of the smattering of latin-based words found in czech. two guesses what it derives from. in german it's called the abitur, if you cared to know. the maturita is a set of 4 15-minute oral exams. yes, oral. and before you start with the 'psshaw, no problem' line, allow me to explain further. the students are required to speak on czech literature and either english or german (most at this school choose english) and then choose two more subjects. common ones are: yet another language, math, history, geography, chemistry, biology. more random are: social sciences, computer programming. for each subject they are to be prepared to answer one of 30 questions that they will choose by picking a number out of a bag. seriously. they receive the questions beforehand and study from them.

'questions provided beforehand=easy as pie' you say? let's do the math. 120 possible questions and you have to be prepared to talk (at least once in a foreign language) for 15 minutes (including answering questions from your teachers, which may or may not help you) on each of them or risk failing. add to this the pressure mounted by your teachers, who tell you over and over again throughout the year that this is a really big deal and you HAVE to study hard, compounded by knowing that you might not get into university if you get a failing grade, not to mention the shame to yourself and your family of the dreaded 5 (no A-F here in favor of the more clinical 1-5).

and so, students begin studying for their maturita in the fall, and really get serious after christmas, and the cramming reaches fever pitch around easter. the kids are given the week before the exams off as 'holy week' and many don't show up the week before that, either. the students i know and love told me that for the last 9 or so days they hadn't showered, they've barely slept, and rarely eaten. i think lukas is the big exception to that rule. more on him later. daria tells me she subsisted on chocolate.

yesterday i ventured into school for the afternoon segment, as a support to vera. the first thing i saw when i rounded the corner was vera, excited to see me and reaching out for a hug. the second was a very red-eyed classmate of hers who was clearly somewhere in the middle of a cry. she had received a 5 and was not doing well with it. i listened sympathetically as she talked with vera and then, when vera left, i smiled at her, squeezed her arm and said, 'keep breathing.' this earned me a smile and she sighed and said she was going home to sleep. can't blame her.

i think the 5 scared the crap out of vera, though. she was extremely nervous. english was her first subject.

oh, have i mentioned possible topics? no? here are a few:
english: australia; british education system; washington d.c., and points of interest; early american history (vera asked me at one point if the first continental congress was in 1774. i laughed and said i have NO idea)
geography: the universe
history: ancient egypt, mesopotamia; czech history from WWII
it goes on. basically pretty broad but rather random. creates a need to study useless facts so that they can be parroted back on demand and promptly forgotten.

let me make a long story short (too late). even though vera panicked before each exam (english, history, czech lit., social science) she got good topics and answered them very well (in so many ways it's all about the luck of the draw). 4 hours after she started she was informed she got 4 1s. i'm so proud of her. and i was honored to be there as her support and for her to tell me i was exactly the person she needed there with her. doesn't often get better than that.

this morning i went back to support eliska and daria. both of them had studied long and hard and they were both surprisingly relaxed. they had the same subjects: english, czech lit., biology and chemistry. neither of them was sure what their grades would be. daria got all 1s and eliska got 1s and a single 2. the students are told their grades alone in the room with the teachers. daria came zooming around the corner out of the room yelling 'samy,' meaning only 1s. very exciting.

this afternoon iva and lukas went in. iva is late for everything and her maturita was no exception. she didn't miss anything but she cut it closer than anyone else would have. she brought a heavy backpack full of books and her older sister weighed down with more of the same. before each subject she spent her 30 minutes of downtime cramming for the next. she dragged me into her study room before english to get warmed up. lukas, on the other hand, was the picture of relaxation. he had shown up the day before and we chatted while vera talked about czech literature. he said he knew that he knew all he could know and so he was going to play volleyball. he told me today he slept well last night and was so bored this morning he just sat watching tv until it was time to come to school. lukas (english, math, czech lit., programming--he's been working at a multinational company most of the year as a computer whiz) got all 1s as well. iva (czech lit., enlish, history, geography) got 2 1s and 2 2s. she immediately took off to find her geography teacher to ask why.

i am so proud of all of them for the work they put into it and for the poise with which they went through the ordeal. each one of them said it was somewhat easier than they imagined and that they can't believe it's over. all they have been pressing for for so long finally done with. all that's left is a short ceremony on friday morning. they are now free. well, free until they have to take college entrance exams, which begin in about 2 weeks. tomorrow we head to their classmate's cottage for a night of celebration.

welcome one, welcome all

2005-05-09T16:57:00.000+02:00

...to my blog.

first off, i would like to comment on the lack of caps. if this bothers you tremendously, such that you are unable to read this blog, i'm super sorry.

gee, did that sound trite? no? dang.

a friend, jason (see his blog here and check out day 58 specifically), recently flipped out while peeking over my shoulder as i wrote an email to a friend. he was mortified and nearly personally offended at my lack of capitalization. well, too bad. i would like to say that later in the day, as we continued (can you believe it?) to discuss the email slang/different grammar rules he did say that when he was in college and just starting the email thing, he said the way he and his friends figured they could get away with not capitalizing the letters requiring it was to just type the whole thing with the caps lock button depressed. oh, i said, THAT is better than no caps? first of all, harder to read. second of all, i don't want to be yelled at for a whole email. third, for emphasis you'd have to go to italics, and we all know that's a bit much. anyway, that made his whole criticism of my pinkie laziness moot, because he'd gone the other way himself. hmph.

emails are emails. folks, i'm an english major. i know grammar, i know spelling, i know punctuation. and i choose not to capitalize. once upon a time when i was the editor of a weekly newspaper entertainment section, a friend, kelly mcevers, wrote a review of the latest liz phair. and kelly wanted to do it a little differently so we agreed she'd write it as a friendly email. part of that was no caps, random misspellings and limited slang (this was 1995--it was still pretty new). we laughed as my copy editor went into spasms of disagreement but style won the day and the review ran in our email form.

now. would i do that with every review/article/feature that came along? heavens, no. but emails are allowed to have their own style and quirkiness--things you wouldn't allow in formal communication. and yes, if i have to write a "formal" email, i do capitalize. hey, i'm not trying to piss anyone off or make some kind of political statement. i just like the look of no caps. ever heard of bell hooks?