30

Since I'm in L.A., last week I had lunch with Drew (Barrymore), Angelina (Jolie) and Nikki (Taylor). We talked about work, and the pressures of fame, and turning 30. Can you believe we're 30? Nikki wanted to invite Tiger (Woods), also 30, but Drew and Angie were totally against it. I haven't seen him in ages, so I was up for it, but . . . whatever.

So, yeah, it was a nice lunch. Your 30th birthday is kinda like New Year's Eve, because it makes you look back on the past. I did at least. Angie confessed she slept through her 30th because she was on her way to Cambodia to buy another son, or clear some landmines, or something. So she didn't use the day to examine the past 30 years. But I did. I now remember events that happened 25, 26, and even 27 years ago. And it hit me that when my *new* niece is 30, I'll be 60. Hmmm.

So on my birthday I went to see friends Hannah and J.D. at their new house in Venice. Beforehand I stopped at the store to buy a bottle of wine. The cashier looked at me, hesitated, and then unhesitated and said, "I was gonna ask for your I.D., but you look 30." I wish she had re-hesitated. And then Hannah's friend came over for dinner and said "I'll be 30 in September." And before I could say another word, she said, "I know, I don't look 30!" And I do???

And three days later I found a gray hair.

Annual FREE Credit Report

Did you know that we (the American readers) are entitled to one free credit report a year? I didn't. You can get yours at www.AnnualCreditReport.com.

Hospitality

I've read that "Hospitality is the art of making someone feel at home when you wish they really were."

I think Aila wished we were all "at home" when the *new* baby, and me, and numerous cousins and aunts and uncles, and her grandparents, invaded her peaceful life. There were people sleeping in the guest room, on her bedroom floor, on the futon in the living room. And messy boy cousins were messing up her orderly pink bedroom. Aaron and Andy (three and two) had made themselves at home in her bedroom, which meant pulling out ALL the toys and books. Aila walked in and, after surveying the damage, she said only two words: "Uh oh."

And then, when I had been making myself at home in their guest room for about a week, Aila entered to retrieve a red belt of mine (which she calls a "jump rope"). The bed was unmade, there were clothes and shoes here and there, and Aila announced her verdict to us at the kitchen table: "Messy."

Reverse Psychology

My sister has become an expert in reverse psychology since having kids. Two weeks ago when her three-year-old nephew was visiting, Maria pulled an amazing stunt: she confused him with politeness. Aaron had been kicking the ball inside the house, and it was confiscated. He wanted it back. Read on...

Aaron: "Tia Maria, can you get me that ball because I want to play with it and I won't kick it, I just want to roll it? Can you get if for me, please?"

Maria: "No thank you." And walked away.

End of conversation.

Dinner Conversation

(In case you're a new reader, Pete and Irma are my parents.)

Irma: "What would you like to drink?"

Anna-Lisa: "7-UP, please."

Pete: "You can use plastic 7-UP bottles to catch snails."

Anna-Lisa: "Really?"

Pete: "Yeah, it works the same way as a fly catcher. You make an opening that they can crawl into, but one they can't get out of. Farmers will put them near the chicken coop."

Anna-Lisa: "Really?"

Pete: "Actually, a two-liter 7-UP bottle works best." (see here)

Irma: "But I won't buy two liters of anything."

Pete: "Beer is good bait."

Irma: "That's a waste of good beer."

Anna-Lisa: "Can I have another sausage?"

Irma: "We have a creature in our yard that is eating all the snails and leaving empty shells in the planter. I think it's a tree rat."

Pete: "I think it's an opossum because I don't think rats eat snails. Maybe we could raise them for escargot. Remember when Pinky (the cat) caught a rat in the neighbor's yard when we lived in Somis? The neighbors who owned the carnival rides?"

Anna-Lisa: "The O'Connor's? You've got your timeline wrong because they didn't move in until about 1987, and Pinky died when we lived in Germany. Kidney failure."

Irma: "No, it was the neighbors who were from New York and the wife worked as a nurse at Pleasant Valley Hospital."

Anna-Lisa: "The ones whose car rolled down into our yard because they didn't put the hand brake on?"

Pete: "Yes, and when Pinky caught the rat in their yard they told us they only had one rat."

Irma: "Yes, and she was a nurse. I couldn't believe that she would say that. She was a nurse after all."

Anna-Lisa: "Pinky died in 1980. It was Mirri who caught the rat."

Pete: "Well it was one of our cats."

Irma: "That reminds me of the time I was walking Muffin at night and I almost pet an opossum."

Anna-Lisa: "Can I have more 7-UP?"

I wrote a song

Maria's *new* baby cries just like a little lamb. So I wrote a song. Please sing to the tune of "Mary had a little lamb":

Maria had a little lamb, little lamb, little lamb,
Maria had a little lamb who looked just like a baby.

Poolside Interview

Americans are friendly, or something. I went down to the pool last night for a quick swim. Already in the pool were two girls, a boy, and their father. Then their mother arrived poolside. And one of the girls swam near me and said, "hi." And my first reaction was, "what's wrong with you? Don't you know that people don't talk to each other, unless they're drunk?"

Then I heard, "are you here for the weekend?" from the mother.

"Who, me??" I asked. Maybe she's drunk. Or maybe she was asking her 11-year-old son.

Twenty minutes later, this is what I had learned:
Patrick is 2 years and three months older than the twins, Kelly and Krysta, so she had three kids in diapers, and her husband works night shifts, and they're in Palm Springs for the long weekend with two other families, but they got here first, and she wakes up at six every morning, and the kids go to bed at 9pm, and from then until midnight is the only time she has to herself. And then she demonstrated how she was able to bottle feed the twins at the same time when they were newborns.

Was I annoyed that my swim was interrupted? Was she drunk? Is she crazy? Does she like people, and does she like to talk? No, no, no, yes and yes.

Then her cell phone rang and she started speaking in Spanish, and actually interrupted the phone call to explain to me that her mother's dog Bailey had run away, but her mother found the dog on Montgomery Avenue, and was so relieved that she couldn't be mad at the dog any more. Turns out her mother is Mexican, but her father is of German descent, so she burns easily, but the twins, who are 8, turn a beautiful golden brown. Fraternal twins. In fact, they're special twins: Krysta was born at 10:00 pm on August 2nd and Kelly was born at 2:00 am on August 3rd. And Patrick just turned 11 on May 21st. "Happy Birthday." "Thank you."

"Have a good night. See you around. Nice to meet you. Bye."

And then I realised she never introduced herself. Whatever.

Reporting from California

Yes, your California correspondent here.

It's 143 degrees* outside and I'm freezing because my dad, Pete "iceberg" Sandstrum, likes to keep the air conditioner at 59 degrees*. We are at the Courtyard Marriott because, well, because we are of no use at my sister's house. Nurse Irma is rocking the *new* baby, and folding her in blankets, and using other nursing witchcraft.

The journey from Edinburgh to Palm Springs included the following highlights:
1. A 6'5" tall man feinting on the plane from Edinburgh to Paris. He was met by an ambulance. Perhaps an attention-seeker. Perhaps a diabetic. We'll never know.
2. Seeing a bumper sticker on the L.A. freeway that said: "Catholic, the Original Christian." What??
3. Meeting baby Anaise Katarina, who has my hands. Seeing Aila Maria again!
4. Hearing Spanish, and being called "hon" by the waitress.
5. Seeing the sun.

More later.

*Please note, all measurements are in Californian for the time being.

Finally!

Anaise Katarina has finally arrived.
May 23, 2005
10:40 PM
8lbs 4oz
20 inches

more to follow

That Famous Camp Song

There's a camp song that goes:

You're late!
You're late!
You're late, you're late, you're late, and you're uuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuugggggly.

It is to be sung to kids or counsellors who arrive LATE to a meeting. I will have to hesitate to sing that to Peter Marie when she FINALLY arrives. The update from Maria is that she is having light contracts, 40 or so minutes apart, and is nesting. She's cleaning and cleaning and cleaning. Maria has a doctor's appointment tomorrow.

When Maria told my mom that she was having light contractions, the Irma was pleased and said, "she's getting ready to come out!"

"She's been getting ready to come out for a f*#%*n month," Maria told me. "My would-be Taurus is a Gemini now."

Interview Tomorrow

Paul: Are you nervous about your interview tomorrow?

A-L: No, I bought a pair of pink trousers today. I'm not wearing them to the interview, but they've calmed my nerves. Do you want to ask me some practice interview questions?

Paul: Hello. Thank you for coming to our offices today. Tell me a little bit about yourself.

A-L: I bought pink trousers yesterday.

Paul: Where do you see yourself in 5 years?

A-L: Sitting in your chair.

Paul: Thank you for coming.

A-L: When do I start?

Paul: When it's acceptable to wear light pink trousers to an interview.

The Hunger Site

Visit the Hunger Site and click to donate food.

The Real Masterminds

The other night "Junior Mastermind" was on T.V. Oh, the perfect opportunity for Paul and me to feel smart . . . Beating an 11-year-old at trivia is quite satisfying.

So, there was a boy in "the hot seat" and the question posed to him was:

"What U.S. windy city has a downtown area called "The Loop"?"

Kid answers: "Italy."

Yes, Italy, that famous U.S. windy city.

And then we watched the next contestant, a girl named Emily, and Paul actually sang these words:

"Ha, ha, Emily, I got one more right than you."

So we turned the television off and spent the rest of the evening changing the maps in our flat and moving Italy to the Mid West.

40 Weeks and Goin' Strong

Maria is 40 weeks along. Actually, earlier she reminded me that today is the beginning of her 41st week of pregnancay. Officially, Peter-Marie is late. My dad would say that's a familiar trait in Sandstrum women. My father always said that his father always said that his mother would be late getting ready if the house was burning down. Maria might argue that Peter-Marie is not a Sandstrum, but a Romero. But genes travel well through different last names.

Maria said she is at the "comedy of errors" stage of her pregnancy. She said the other day she was chopping onions, dropped half of it on the floor, and it took her 20 minutes to pick up the onion and wipe the floor. "It's like carrying a medicine ball around, and every time you sit down you feel like you're sitting on the baby's head."

And she reports that the contractions she was having intermittently a day and a half ago, have ended. More later.

Guess Their Major

Last night Paul and I took a stroll along to Edinburgh Uni's student union to meet Stu and Su for some games of pool. (I was watching, they were cueing. And when Paul asked me why I don't ever play pool, I said that it was because my dad once told me, "if someon'e good at pool, it tells you only one thing: they've spent too much time in bars.")

By the time Su, Stu and Paul had played about 50 games between them, I had devised a few ways of entertaining myself. After I horrified and offended the freaky goth kid at the next table by smiling at him (after he kept staring at us), I turned to the table to our right, which was occupied by seven early-20's young ladies. They weren't particularly stylish, or unstylish, but they were dressed neatly, not at all revealingly, and most were without makeup. The next logical question was: "Paul, what do you think they major in? To me they look like Biology or Nursing majors."

Paul: "I think they're medics."

A-L: "Paramedics."

Paul: "No, studying medicine."

A-L: "That's what I thought, Nursing majors."

Paul: "No, not Nursing. Proper medicine."

A-L: "Oh, I see. I'll be sure to tell my mom, who has delivered hundreds of babies, that you think she's an imposter. By the way, what's the difference between God and a doctor?"

Paul: "What??"

A-L: "God doesn't think he's a doctor. Anyway, they look like Biology majors."

Paul: "Wouldn't that be ironic: Survival of the Ugliest!"

A-L: "What??"

Paul: "Those girls are definitely not Maths or Physics majors. Especially not that one with the curly hair. Doesn't she know perms are out of style?"

A-L: "I don't think she had her hair permed like that. No one would. I think it's natural. And I've decided they're biology majors. They look practical."

Paul: "That would make sense. Darwin went to Edinburgh Uni."

A-L: "Charles? To Edinburgh Uni?"

Paul: "Yes, all the greats did."

A-L: "Like Ronald Reagan?"

Paul: "Yes, Adam Smith, Charles Darwin, David Hume and Ronald Reagan."

A-L: "My mom loves Reagan."

Paul: "I thought they might be English Lit majors, but they're not funky enough. Maybe they're Language majors. Those people always dress plainly."

A-L: "I'm pretty sure Adam Smith was Economics. They could be French majors."

(Giggling and laughing from table of Biology/Nursing/Languages majors next to us, as the "white ball" totally misses its target.)

Paul: "Well, they're definitely not majoring in Geometry."

A-L: "Or Physics."

Paul: "Don't quote me on this, but I think they go to Napier."

The Gym

Paul is a member at Escape, a local gym (although it does sound like the name of a suspicious massage parlor), and invited me along to sample the delights of running machines, free weights, stair climbers, the pool and the sauna. Did I mention the pool and the sauna?

Well, I used to run a bit when I lived in a place that was closer to the sun, a land called California where it's not 4 degrees in May, a land where water falls out of the tap, not out of the sky. Long story short, these legs haven't run in a while. So I ran for about eight minutes. Which brings me to the sauna and pool. They were lovely.

In the sauna I poured so much water on the rocks in an attempt to show off my half Finnishness that I ended up driving myself out of there, leaving a Welshman as the sauna champion. And then I made the faux pas of jumping straight from the sauna into the swimming pool without rinsing off, which in terms of Finnish hygiene protocal Chapter 3, Verse 1, means I can have my Finnish passport revoked. In fact, they might even summon me to Helsinki just so they could deport me.

But the best part about Escape, which could make it worth the 35 GBP monthly fee, is that you get to use AS MUCH free shampoo and conditioner and body wash as you want. I washed my hair twice.

Monday Afternoon Entertainment

Happy Monday afternoon to America. Are you bored? Well, I'll entertain you.

What's more entertaining than a blog with photos of German animals, in German, in Germany? I won't even try to answer that question.

How about my cousin Minna's web site featuring photos of her twin girls?? In Finnish, in Finland.

What else can I offer you?

A site about musicals (for Stuart and Paul, especially.)

The Old Man

My father has been balding and greying since he was 19. Inside, he's still 19, much to my mother's dismay. His white hair and shiny dome lead many to misoverestimate his age. Add to that the fact that he sometimes talks to himself, and one might get the totally wrong image of him, as he wanders the airports of the western world. (In reality, he's the kind of guy who tells the waitress, when she asks if he wants a glass for his beer, "it already comes in a glass!", not some frail old man.)

My mom recently related that well-meaning strangers have approached him at the airport, as he navigates the crowds with a large suitcase and toolbox, and have offered to help him carry his luggage. He smiles, accepts their kind offer, and then laughs when they can't lift his heavy toolbox.

Newsflash - Sun Hovers Over Scotland

The sun was out and about here in Edinburgh Friday, Saturday AND Sunday and has now retreated back away from Scotland. And it's freezing again. But faces have seen the sun and are now slightly brownish and not so greyish. Read more about Scotland's peculiar weather.

The Oracle of Camarillo

I think my mom, who left Finland for the US at the age of 27, feels a kinship with Ted (my Polish flatmate) who is living far away from his family and struggling to learn English. She always asks about him, and wants to know how he is doing. Well, when she heard that Ted is in awe of Teflon pans and wanted to send some to his wife in Poland, my mom stepped in and said she wanted to send them. So, Ted gave me Magosha's address in Poland. There was a letter or two in the address I couldn't decipher, and asking Ted if it was an L, R, J, C or K led to nothing. So I just mailed my mom the scrap of paper he had written on. She phoned the other day to enquire about the mystery letter and ended up speaking to Paul. Talk of Teflon pans and Polish addresses led to a political discussion. And apparently she managed to slip this into the conversation, "but it didn't matter, because Roosevelt was a socialist anyway."

A Lecturer By Any Other Name

The students have handed in their first assignment. They have to put my name on the cover page. These are some of the ways my name was spelled:

A. Lindstrom
Anne,elise,Sandstrom? (complete with commas and question mark)
Lisa-Ann Sandstrum
Anne-Lisa Sandrum

Too bad Maria and Hector have already chosen a name for the baby (Peter-Marie, or Anaise Katarina). They could have farmed some names from this list. I'm particularly fond of Anne,elise,Sandstrom?. It's very post-modern.

Dear Peter-Marie,

Your due date is not until May 19th but I am anxious to meet you. Let me know when you're on your way.

Elgin

Guess where I went this weekend? Yes, I went to Elgin. And let me tell you, it was both Magical AND Mythical. (see previous posts)

Paul, Stuart and I took the Megabus up on Friday, from Edinburgh to Inverness, a route which takes you through some of the most Magical AND Mythical scenery in Scotland. Maybe even the world. The bus ride cost 5 GBP.

Some weekend highlights included:

• Elgin's broken cathedral
• a scenic drive to visit Stuart's Granda near Inverurie
• seeing a "Jesus is coming. Look busy." magnet on the refrigerator at the home of the Reverend and Mrs Rollo
  

Photographic Evidence

Granted you can't see his feet, but this is what Sandstrum-Jackson does with his arms when he's moonwalking.

The Moonwalk

The other night the subject of "the moonwalk" came up and I felt obliged to mention that my dad is an excellent moonwalker. I'd say it's his signature move.

Someone asked when my dad started moonwalking, and where he learned it.

I don't think he knows he's doing the moonwalk, per se, and I think he's probably been dancing it since the 50s, and come to think of it, he might have invented it.

"Does your dad know Michael Jackson?" someone asked.

No. I don't think so. And I'm not sure when MJ stole my dad's move.

Snooker News

The World Snooker Championship Final is on now. Why aren't you watching??

Jewellery Designers (read: drug smugglers)

Tonight at Kebab Mahal two Argentinian gentleman came and sat down next to us. So I turned to them and asked them where they were from, how long they had been in Edinburgh, and why they were here.

Argentina. A year and a half. To work.

What do you do?

Design jewellery.

Neither had a piece of jewellery on. And they didn't look like the designery type. So I continued the interrogation. What other languages do you speak?

Spanish, Turkish and Albanian.

What were you doing in Turkey?

Designing jewellery.

What were you doing in Albania?

Designing jewellery.

By then I had decided they were hit men, or baby thieves, or drug smugglers.

So I said to them in Spanish: "My sister Maria's husband is Mexican." Which sounds like a line out of a 9th grade Spanish textbook.

And then I pulled out the other phrase I know in Spanish: "The cowboy mouse drew his two pistols."

And then for some reason they moved tables???

Weirdos.

Plumbing Mysteries

Last Saturday morning, there's a knock at the door. I open the door to see a strange woman.

Strange Woman: I live downstairs and there's water streaming down the wall in my kitchen can you check if you have a leak?

A-L: Sure. (Thinking: how could there be a leak, we haven't washed dishes or done laundry in days??)

I check under the sink to find nothing, besides 72 almost empty bottles of laundry detergent. So I return to the lady who I left standing in the stairwell.

A-L: No, our sink isn't leaking.

S W: Maybe it's your wash machine because it's on the back wall.

Should I let her in so she can see for herself? But our house is "in a bad way".

A-L: Would you like to come in and show me where the water is coming from? I'm sorry, our flat is such a mess, so please don't look around.

S W, looking around: Oh, I'm not even allowed in my son's flat!

S W checks out the washer, and says: Yes, that's where it's coming down the wall. Can you call your landlord and get it fixed?

A-L: Sure, I'll take care of it right away. (Too bad I can't remember our landlord's name or number and Paul is in Elgin, where they have no phones, so I'll have to send a carrier pigeon.) Are you the one with the kittens?

S W: No. They belong to the people in the building next door whose children have their own yard but always play in ours.

She exits.

I quickly fashion a sign that says "Kaput/Broken" (so that both Paul and Ted will understand) and fasten it to the wash machine.

Two days pass. Laundry piles up.

Monday morning, knock at the door.

S W: There is now a huge bulge in the ceiling and it's about to collapse. Have you been using the wash machine? You know you can't use it! Have you called the landlord?

A-L: I'll call right now.

S W: You haven't called yet? My husband is going to go ballistic when he sees this.

A-L, to herself: Don't threaten me with the wrath of your husband. I'm American, I'll sue you for distressing me. Out loud: OK.

I shut the door.

Call Paul for the number, then call the landlord who explains that water damage is considered an Act of God and we are not liable for it unless, unless, they can prove negligence on our part.

A-L, meekly: What do you mean, "negligence"?

Landlord: Well, like if they told you about it a week ago and you did nothing about it.

I see in my mind's eye time-lapse photography of water droplets slowly destroying the downstair's neighbor's ceiling as I gallavant about St Andrews all day Sunday. And then I see myself dragged to prison by the insurance company because I can't pay for the water damage. So I call the plumber who says: Don't use the wash machine.

Really??? Because I've been pouring water onto the floorboards since I heard of the problem downstairs. And I've been running a laundry business and washing heavy loads just so I can be to blame for the water damage.

Tuesday morning a note is put through our mail slot:

"Can you please give me your landlord's number for insurance purposes?"

So on Tuesday the appliance guy determines there's nothing wrong with the washer, besides the fact that it doesn't collect, dry and fold laundry, and says the water must be coming from somewhere else. Which brings us to today's visit from the plumber.

Buzzer rings, plumber comes upstairs. I summon Paul to enter stage right.

A-L to plumber: Are you Mike? I mean Michael? Hi, I'm Anna-Lisa. We cleaned up for you, can you tell?

Wry smile from plumber.

Plumber Michael: Are they home downstairs? I think I'll go take a look at the damage.

Plumber Michael returns and starts examining under the sink and the washer: Have you been using the sink?

A-L: Huh, no, can't you tell?? (Pointing to pile of dishes, and thinking I'm hilarious...)

Plumber Michael: Did you use the wash machine after she reported the leak?

I ignore the question.

Paul: Do you think the lady downstairs made it up?

Wry smile from plumber.

A-L: Maybe it was coming from the flat above ours, because the washer repair guy was here yesterday and said there's nothing wrong with the washer, so I can't be sued for negli..., I mean, so there's no logical explanation.

Plumber Michael: They have just a slight stain on the ceiling downstairs, but it would be along this wall here, so I'm not sure where it was coming from.

A-L to herself: So I'm not going to prison for being a lazy, inconsiderate neighbor. Out loud: She made it sound like their whole ceiling was caving in.

Wry smile from plumber.

A-L: Maybe the flat downstairs is haunted.

Wry smile from plumber.

Plumber Michael: Well, I don't see anything wrong. I really don't know where it was coming from. I'm going to go back downstairs. I told they guy I'd stop back in and tell him what I found.

Paul: That his wife is pathalogical??

A-L: Yes, that we've diagnosed his wife as a crazy??

Plumber exits, quickly.

My Brussels Correspondent

Gemma Lougheed, erstwhile Napier University publishing student and now EU politial expert, writes here about a surprise best seller in France.

Cutenessness Squared

Aila and "Paappa"

Dear Reader

Do not be alarmed. It's a whole new look, but the same niece-centric content. And my thanks to Paul for showing me how to upload photos. Now I can post a picture of Aila every day.

Cutenessness

Niece Aila Maria

English Lessons

We had an English lesson today and Ted learned "this/here" and "that/there". It was a bit of a struggle and we had to call in reinforcements and translators (his sister-in-law, not "sister-in-love" as Ted used to say).

I now know to preface grammatical concepts with the Polish word "Gramatyka" as a warning. Ted has a small travel phrasebook which is known to us as the "English/Polish, Polish/English small book." When I say that, he knows it's time for "Gramatyka".

The book is only somewhat helpful. Today Ted asked about the difference between "work" and "job" and I decided it was time to introduce nouns and verbs, but I couldn't find those terms in the "English/Polish, Polish/English small book." Someone decided that non-English speaking Polish travellers do not need to know "verb" or "noun" but they do need to know:

fritter - roztrwonić

gherkin - korniszon

Harvey Wallbanger - wódka z sokiem pomarańczowym

plimsolls (!) - tenisówki

Ted speaks Polish at work all day which does hinder his progress, but his English is improving. He has now replaced his home-grown phrase "new week" with the correct phrase "next week" and the above-mentioned "sister-in-love" is gone, which is kind of a shame...

Finnish-Japanese

I'm not quite sure what's happenin' here - I'll have to spend about six hours deciphering it with a Finnish-English dictionary - but at first sight it looks as if three Finnish men travelled to Japan to find Japanese brides. I'm sure that's not what's going on, but you never know. I'll have to get Irma on the case. But it's just lovely to see the beautiful vowel-laden Finnish language in full effect.

Footnotes to Magical, Mythical Elgin

1 "She actually produced it [West Side Story]," said Paul, "same shit though."

2 "Yeah, 750 or so tickets sold every night of the show. Every year they make about 6,000-7,000 GBP and they donate it to Christian Aid."

Magical, Mythical Elgin

Flatmate Paul returned safely from Elgin with reports of having attended a production of "West Side Story" directed by his mother. The show was on Thursday, Friday, Saturday, and Paul said he attended the Saturday show "because my mom had an extra ticket for that night."

"It was sold out?" I asked, trying to imagine this special little town where the minster's wife directs an annual sell-out musical.

"Yeah, it always sells out."

As Sara would say, "Can you even??"

No Sara, I can't.

Animal Instinct

This afternoon I made Ted (the Polish flatmate) leave his dark room and join me for a walk through Edinburgh's lovely Royal Botanic Garden. It's a brisk 10-minute walk from our flat. Well, it was a lovely sunny afternoon and we were joined by squirrels aplenty and busied ourselves reading all the plant names and trying to guess where they were from. China, mostly. But Ted did see a few trees that also live in Poland.

Just as we were leaving the RBG we saw a group of people gathered around the base of a large tree. The attraction? A cat who was perched in the tree comically swiping at all the birds that passed, and scaring the bejeesus out of a treed squirrel. The sideshow was a frantic lady who was of the opinion that house cats should not be allowed in the RBG. Why not? "That cat's scaring the squirrel and he's trying to chase it and I don't want him to hurt it and why is that cat in the Garden?? Who does he belong to?" she asked, looking at me, as if I'm the guardian of all Edinburgh cats. Let me just check my Edinburgh cat rota. "Where does he live?" Again looking at me, and Ted. "I don't want him to hurt that squirrel," she said to Ted whose saving grace was that he only understood the word "I". Now addressing the cat directly, she said: "Go home and eat your Whiskas and leave that poor squirrel alone." Now me addressing the lady as if I were the cat: "Look lady, I'm just following my instincts." It was clearly time to leave the RBG.

Lunch mit Wilhelm

Yesterday Patrick (Stuart's German friend) and I drove to St Andrews. The "reason de reise" was three-fold: 1. so Patrick could see the town and decide if he will attend university there next autumn, 2. so I could hijack someone into speaking German with me for more than 10 minutes, and 3. lunch with Prince William, of course.

You can't help but look for Prince William when in St Andrews. Try it. Impossible. Everywhere are tall, light-brown haired fancy looking 20-somethings wearing collared shirts. We even looked for the Prince in the library. Much neck craning, and a few false sightings, but no William. Oder Wilhelm.

Good News

Paris Hilton says the next season of her T.V. show will be "funner." That's good news for everybody!

Hold Tight

Dear Readers,

Thursday update:

1. The 'r' on my keyboard is broken now so I have to cut and paste it every time I need to type 'r'. Otherwise the 'r' acts as a 'home' key and returns me up to the start. "It took me 15 minutes to type 'horror'," the b/f told me.

2. The b/f's dissertation is due April 29. He's living at the computer lab now.

3. Paul has escaped to Elgin for the weekend.

4. The Polish one is up to his old shenanigans of working all hours and spilling cooking oil on the kitchen floor late at night and cleaning it up in the fashion of a six-year-old (ie: smearing it around with a cloth). So I left the mop out.

5. The b/f referred to me as his g/f in an e-mail, so from now on he's the b/f.

6. Lecture tomorrow. Gotta run.

Jury Selection

RE: "Contempt of Court" posted April 15, 2005

Irma was not selected for the jury.

Wrong German Guy

Dear Paul, (not flatmate-Elgin Paul, but Salzburg-Portland Paul)

In the event that some dear readers don't make it to the comments realm, and therefore might be deprived of some needed hilarity, I'll address you here. RE your latest comment: Information about the *new* Pope, Joseph Ratzinger, cannot be found, as you assert, by following this link.

The *real* *new* Pope has a fan club, formed in his mere Cardinal days. (At www.ratzingerfanclub.com. Wasn't working when I tried it. No doubt besieged by membership enquiries.)

Tony McBlair

Is Tony Blair Scottish because he was born in Scotland? (Edinburgh, actually.) I think he would give his nationality as British. Read more on the difference between being English, Scottish, Welsh and British.

Germany Wins

So I hear that the Germans have won the Papacy. Mr Ratzinger, as I have always known him, is the *new* Pope. Some say he might be a "devisive" Pope. I hope he's "indevisive".

Whaddya Know

As if you needed another reason to visit Scotland . . . but here it is: The gentleman who penned 'Wee Willie Winkie', William Miller, is buried in Glasgow, at the Glasgow Necropolis. There you have it. As I like to say, what time does your flight land??

Roving Reporter

Yesterday I spoke with my correspondent in Coachella, CA, who gave reports of a cousin's birthday party and barking dogs. Yes, Aila had much to report. My sister had to confiscate the phone from Aila because she was walking towards her room with it to show me something. Bless.

Contempt of Court

My mom gets called for jury duty and spends a long, boring day at the Ventura County Courthouse hoping she doesn't get chosen for a three-week long construction lawsuit. The other jurors are dropping like flies. Irma is still standing, and it's too late to pull the "I no speak much English" trick. So some "young guy who's a manager at two restaurants" is sitting next to her, and a lady in a rainbow shirt, "really bright, almost shiny", comes into the courtroom and my mom turns to "the young guy" and says, "I wonder if her shirt glows in the dark?" My mom's excuse for cracking-wise in the courtroom is "well, you have to entertain yourself somehow". So the next person called up to the stand is the lady in the glow-in-the-dark rainbow shirt, and she walks right in front of my mom and "the young guy" who "almost start laughing". Troublemaker.

Dear Paul,

You're being anti-social by using the computer in your room. It's much more fun when we both sit in the living room using our laptops. So come through to the living room. Oh, Norette just phoned, she and Robbie are staying over tonight. They're driving down from Dingwall, and should be here around 11. We're going to The Bongo Club.

Anna-Lisa

Where's Emma?

Yesterday evening, from the No. 23 bus, I spotted my friend Emma walking up The Mound, towards the Royal Mile. I swear it was her. "It was the spit of her," as my Irish friends would say. So, I turned to Paul and said, "I hope that wasn't my friend Emma because I would be more than a little upset if she travelled all the way to Edinburgh from Portland, Oregon and didn't visit me." So, Paul, ever the consoling friend, said to me, "that would be hilarious if it was her." So I told him that his entire family was here last weekend, stayed at the Balmoral Hotel, and invited Stuart and me to brunch and made us promise not to tell Paul.

P.S.
Brunch was delicious!

Baby #2

When Maria was pregnant with Aila, we knew all the stats. Aila was, after all, the first baby to grace our family since me - back in the summer of '75. So, when Maria "fell pregnant" as the Irish would say, we were delighted and uber attentive. (Please excuse the missing umlauts.)

We knew Aila's due date: Maria's doctor had calculated it as September 4, and my mom (have I mentioned she's a witch doctor, I mean midwife?) said September 2 (or was it the other way around??) so Aila, ever the diplomat, arrived on September 3. My mom was available 24 hours a day to provide up-to-the-minute reports on Aila's blood pressure and heart rate, in utero.

With baby #2, who y'all know has been christened Peter Marie, we know nothing.

I asked my mom the other day, "When is Peter Marie's due date?"

"Sometime in May, I think."

Great. Guess there's no need to bring a camera, or buy a baby book.

Dear Readers,

I know there are thousands of you, and in lieu of writing each of you a letter, I'll update you here on the goings on of this broad abroad:

1. The 'g' on my keyboard is 'on the fritz' again, as they say. So excuse any missing gs

2. It's winter again in Edinburgh, although yesterday it was summer. Who knows what tomorrow brings? (Who sang that song? I think it was a duet, in fact I know it was. Answers accepted until 3pm PST. Caroline, I'm counting on you...)

3. As we speak, so to speak, I am preparing tomorrow's Publishing Mangement lecture on the stages of a publishing project, and the different tools (ie documents) available for project evaluation.

4. Two days ago, on my way to meet some friends for lunch, I was held hostage (in conversation) by a gentleman who kept using the phrase, "If you know your history . . ." followed by some obscure historical fact that he knew. It turned into a festival of one-upmanship which traveled from his knowledge of Italy and the Italian language, side stepped over to my knowledge of Finnish and Finland's glorious history, and then ended when he said: "I have that problem when I speak Ukrainian." And then the number 13 bus arrived, before I was able to pull out the trump card of speaking German. Damn.

5. The Polish flatmate has stopped doing dishes altogether, and yesterday, as I stood at the sink washing his dishes, he told me, 'I don't have time to wash dishes.' So I told him that I am going to charge him 5GBP every day that I wash his dishes. Why didn't I think of this earlier? I'd be a hundredaire.

6. My friend Erin, and her husband Keith, welcomed Ella Elisabeth Matlock into the world, and beautiful Southern California, on April 8, 2005. Congratulations. Erin's mom told my mom who told me that Keith was "walking on air." Isn't that sweet? Yes, it is.

7. I'll be stateside May 25 to June 20 which means you should be bracing yourself for American-centric news reports.

8. More later.

Fair Weather Friends

My dad wants me to move to Spain because he's scared of cold weather. He once traveled to Chicago, mid-winter, with no socks. That was the last time he and my mom packed his suitcase 'together'.

My parents were going to come to Scotland, last November, for my graduation, but then they realised it was November, and Scotland. My mom said something about bringing a raincoat 'in case it rains'. It's November, and Scotland. So they ended up not coming because they 'couldn't get the flights'. All booked up, I suppose. November is the best time to come visit Edinburgh, for the Festival of the Grayness.

But now it's spring, which is why it was freezing this past weekend. Mother Winter made one last show, just for kicks. Someone has installed solar panels on the south-facing side of one of Napier University's buildings. April fool's joke, maybe. Stuart pointed them out to me. (I never look up, because then your neck gets cold.) I believe these solar panels would be equally effective if they were installed underneath the building. Fancy a visit?

This is NOT a Hoax

ALL day yesterday I was fending off questions from readers of my blog (there are thousands) about my ties to the D.C.-based author Amanda Hill. Are you really friends with her? Have you known her since you were 16? Did you used to go clubbing in L.A. together? Are you in her book, Love Like That?

Yes, yes, yes and you'll have to buy it to find out.

Books

So I've strayed away a bit from the book theme that was the initial purpose of this blog. As we know, The Ferocious Reader has turned into a site where Sister Maria, Cousin Amy and I make comments about how cute my niece is. Oh well. So back to the books. I've found one that we ALL can read.

It so happens that my friend Amanda Hill, who I have known since we were 16-year-olds driving around Ventura in Kelli Sampson's candy-apple red BMW, has written a romance novel Love Like That. It's out now. I think we should all buy three copies. Read reviews here.

LATE BREAKING NEWS:

My dad, Pete, reports that he got a hold of an advance copy of Love Like That and says he "can totally relate" to the "quick-witted, impulsive, aggressively unambitious" main character, Dalton Moss, who is "a halfhearted assistant to a Hollywood events planner" and spends her days "haggling over the price of chicken Florentine and waiting for the workday to end". Thanks Pete!

P.S.
Today just happens to be Kelli Sampson's 30th Birthday. Mandy, will you pass on Birthday wishes to Kelli?

Collect All Six

So, this morning, at about 11:24 when I walked into the kitchen and saw Paul washing dishes, I knew somthing was amiss. Pleasantries exchanged, and Paul pipes up, "Judy's coming over for coffee." This is Judy Rollo. THE Judy Rollo. Paul's older sister, and the ONLY one of the six Rollos I haven't met.

A-L: "Really! Great. When??"

Paul: "Oh, 11:30 or so."

A-L: "What?? You're kidding. I have 6 minutes to make our flat presentable to the eldest Rollo sibling? Our kitchen looks like a gypsy encampment."

Paul: "It's ok, Judy Rollo is always late..."

A-L: "This calls for a toilet scrubbing!! Judy Rollo can't see a dirty bathroom. And hide the Polish flatmate, he hasn't showered yet."

Four minutes later the buzzer goes. There was no time to distract her in the stairwell. No chance to put beer bottles away . . . And then she appeared: Judy Rollo. (With fiancee Gerry, who is kind and funny.) Nice to finally meet you Judy. Come over any time.

Well, Is She Still a Girl?

My sister had another ultrasound on Tuesday to see if Peter-Marie is still a girl. I haven't heard a word. Feel free to add comments. (they're fixed now, so anyone can post)

That's nice

Feel good stories about minority students in Northridge always make me happy.

PJP2

The BBC just told me that the Pope is ailing even more than previously. I'm not Catholic (I'm Lutheran, like all good Finns) but I'm a ward of the Catholic church, having attended Catholic High School and University. And Lutheran is about as close as you can get to Catholic. It's Catholic Lite: "Catholicism without the guilt". That's how we market it. Anywho, I meet PJP2 in March of 1995, when our Salzburg group (not a cult) visited Rome on our Spring Tour. PJP2 said mass and during the blessing I wasn't paying attention so my religious trinkets weren't properly blessed.

So PJP2, thanks for blessin' a Lutheran (Martin would be proud). Sendin' that blessn' right back at ya'.

Peace.
ALS1

Pigeonholed

Yesterday my flatmate Paul returned from a two-week trip to San Francisco with tales of fabulous cafes, Mexican food, views of the Golden Gate Bridge, a snowboarding journey to Tahoe, and most importantly, the acquaintance of a new cat. Here was the conversation:

Paul: "Gregor and Caitlin have the sweetest kitty. The softest fur in the world. Four years old, from the humane society."

Anna-Lisa: "Large or compact?"

Paul: "Quite compact, as a matter of fact."

A-L: "Long- or short-haired?"

Paul (after petting the imaginary cat in his lap): "Short."

A-L: "Lap cat or armchair sitter?"

Paul: "Lap cat for sure. Head butter as a matter of fact."

A-L: "I know the type."

Easter Monday

On Easter Monday we (me and others) went whitewater rafting in Aberfeldy, on the River Tay. SPLASH! was the company, cold was the temperature, freezing were my hands and feet, horizontal rain was in the face, rapids fun and good, and Toby our English guide with Australian accent deserved a tip. But the Brits don't tip.

1975

Yes folks, it's been the year of the 30th birthday party. Today another 30 cheers for Erin Matlock (nee Leonard). Erin and I became friends at St Bonaventure High School shortly before her 16th birthday. So we've been friends for 14 years. That's an eternity when you're raised as a gypsy, like I was. I know people who are still best friends with their kindergarden classmates. Impossible for the nomadic Sandstrums. I don't even remember if I went to kindergarden. I must have. By the time my sister was 11 she had been in 42 schools. I have 31 yearbooks. So, to make a birthday wish a long story, happy birthday Erin.

tGif

It's Friday. Good Friday to be precise. And it also happens to be Greek Independence Day, which I know only because it's my friend Sara Checkal's birthday, and EVERY year I use the same tired joke of calling her up and saying "Happy Greek Independence Day", and then at the last minute pretending to remember that it's also her birthday. And this year I added to the hilarity and hijinks by calling and wishing her a Happy Good Friday, which isn't all that funny, if you're Christian. Because the Christians are supposed to be in church today, allllllll day, remembering the suffering of Jesus on the cross. But thank God the Brits didn't get the memo. They're all off today, shopping. And one of my students told me we don't have class today because it's a bank holiday. Yes, Jesus was a huge figure in the British banking community.

Eavesdropping

Last night Stuart and I had dinner at The Apartment, and sat next to a table of four: three men and one woman - two Americans, a Brit, and one VERY LOUD Australian man.

It seemed the American woman, and her British husband, and their American colleague were embarking on a business venture with the Australian man. (I would recommend against it.)

I decided not to say a word, to anyone, not even Stuart (except whispering), for fear that they would detect my American accent and censor their most interesting conversation. There were some gems.

Gem 1: Loud Australian Man (LAM) on California: "San Diego has no history."

Anna-Lisa to LAM (in her head): "Tell that to the Mexicans and the Native Americans, you idiot."

Gem 2: LAM after speaking in French to American Lady (AM) and in reponse to the American Man (AM) saying that he took French for two years and didn't understand what LAM said: "Yes I knew you wouldn't understand, I was using slang, and you wouldn't know it."

Anna-Lisa to LAM (in her head, but louder): "You jackass, where do you get off trying to discourage people from speaking, or trying to speak, a foreign language by intentionally using slang and then insulting their skills??"

Gem 3: British Man (BM): "When I was in California, I couldn't get over how vacuous people were."

Anna-Lisa to BM (in her head): "I'll be sure to pass that on to the folks at CalTech, and at the Jet Propulsion Lab, while I'm at it."

Anna-Lisa to Stuart: "What does 'vacuous' mean?"

Gem 4: LAM on his vast knowledge of America: "When I go to the States, people tell me 'you unsettle me with how much you know about the U.S.'"

How unsettling.

If you're a thrift shopper . . .

. . . you will enjoy this delightful blog with photos and writings on all things Thrift Store. Namely fabulous finds. We (meaning me, writing in the style of a gay man) love this site. (Note to my father: I am NOT a gay man.)

Go Wales

Many congratulations to Wales, which has just won the Six Nations Rugby Tournament, "in Grand Slam style," adds Stuart. It's a huge win for the small nation, and cost one Welshman dearly when they beat England in February. Oh dear.

Spring Break 2005

My dad, the seasoned business traveler, has a word of advice for people traveling this coming week: "Don't."

Pete has just experienced the joy of traveling during Spring Break 2005. The airport was apparently filled with millions and millions and millions of "college kids."

"They're all over the place," Pete said, "and they just don't know what they're doin', they don't travel so they don't know where to go, and they ask questions."

The nerve of them.

I imagine by the time you've been flying four times a week for thirty years, your airport routine is pretty well choreographed, and these "amateurs" just get in the way. It took Pete 24 hours of traveling time to get from Medford, Oregon, to Los Angeles, via San Jose, uh, no, flight cancelled, make that via Portland and Denver, not counting an overnight stay at the Marriott in Portland.

Welcome home Pete. Where ya' flyin' to this week?

Spring Has Sprung

Edinburgh was springy and sunny and warm today. Folks went crazy, wearin' t-shirts and shorts and such. And when I say "springy and sunny and warm" I'm talkin' 50 F.

Only in Scotland

Stuart to Anna-Lisa: "My grandad used to have that exact same trailer. It's for hauling sheep."

My Conversation With Aila

Yesterday I spoke with Aila on the phone. I had called my sister to get a recipe, so while she looked for it, she put Aila on the line.

This is how it went:

Anna-Lisa: Hi, what are you doing? I miss you. You are so cute. What's going on?

Aila: Ad nentisedtty diosnmek beeboondim.

Maria (in the background): We're coloring.

Anna-Lisa: Are you coloring?

Aila: yea

Anna-Lisa: Are you having a good time?

Aila: yea

Anna-Lisa: Do you miss me?

Aila: No.

Read . . .

...what's happening tomorrow, according to the International Herald Tribune.

A Book In The Works??

If you followed the Scott Peterson trial, which maybe I did, this guy might write an interesting book.

Aila's Art

Three original pieces of artwork by my niece Aila Maria will be on display in Edinburgh on Monday, March 21st, delivered by Noreen, a co-worker of my sister's who is a dealer in the high stakes world of International Baby Niece Art. In other words, Maria is sending with Noreen some paper Aila coloured on. It will be Edinburgh's National Gallery soon, I'm sure.

Did you know?

"They"* call TJ MAXX, TK MAXX.

*those pesky Brits

Overheard (not Overhead) in Britain

Overheard on the bus: Lady to husband/longtime boyfriend, "I think I should just be straightforward with Karen." (When is that NOT a good idea?)

Paul to Stuart: "Do you remember that dog training show that used to be on television?" (British television is full of hidden, slightly dusty gems.)

Fear Not Dear Readers

I am here to talk you through your Friday afternoon. The loooooong Friday afternoon when every hour stretches for many minutes more than the real hour until you look at the clock and think it's 4:04 p.m. and it's 11:33 a.m. I am here for you.

Scenic Camden

Yes, I know I titled a very recent post "Scenic Lebanon", but there are no Syrians in this story, and no "drive for democracy to distract from America's need for a pipeline through Lebanon" subtext.

So forgive me, Caroline, when you sent me a link to a festival in Camden I immediately thought Camden, England, home of the world-famous Camden Markets. Well, Caroline is selling a very different festival. One whose web site includes this quote:

"Begin your adventure in the Great Hall of the United First Methodist Church smack in the middle of town with the festival banners flying!"

Yes, you guessed it, the Camden Daffodil Festival, 12th Annual, might I add, in Camden, Arkansas. You can even "dance in the streets".

My Silly Friend John

. . . is making salmonella at home. Read how.

And Another One

on one-upmanship. Read this hilarious exchange between super-geeks.

Nationbuilding & One-upmanship

The Scene: The bustop at Craighouse Campus of Napier University, this afternoon.

I approached the bustop and recognized my friend Mark. He studies Sociology and is speaking to two people I don't know. One is a woman, thirties, another is a man, twenties, with his back to me, who has an American-ish accent. Possibly Canadian.

Mark: "What is your e-mail address?"

Guy With Back to Me (GWBTM): "It's on the sheet. Or, you can Google me."

Woman in Thirties (WIT): "Nothing comes up when you put my name in Google."

GWBTM: "A lot comes up when you Google me."

Anna-Lisa: (interrupting) "Where are you from? Are you American?"

GWBTM: "I was raised in Iowa."

Anna-Lisa: "But you're not American? Where are you from?"

GWBTM: "I don't really believe in nationalities. What are borders? Why should I conform to borders that were set up arbitrarily by the government, some imaginary line that I can't freely cross?" (like it's the thousandth time he's recited this verse.)

Anna-Lisa: "What kind of passport do you have?"

GWBTM: "A blue one, but I'm getting a red one."

Anna-Lisa: "Oh, so you're American. How are you getting a red one?"

GWBTM: "I have 'Indefinite Leave to Remain'."

Anna-Lisa: "How did you get that?"

GWBTM: "Well, my partner's British*, and so through her. I think I'm supposed to be really grateful that I got it. I had to go through a lot of red tape. Are you over here studying?"

Anna-Lisa: "Actually," (insert condescending long pause while I think about how cool I am), "actually, I just finished my Masters**, and I'm working here, at Napier. What are you doing here?"

GWBTM: "I just finished my PhD at the University of Edinburgh and I'm teaching 'Gender & Sexuality' here at Napier."

Anna-Lisa: "Oh, cool." Quickly turns to Mark who is from the Sheltand Islands and asks: "How are the ponies?"

*(Mentally interrupting him here saying, "I thought you didn't believe in nationalities?????!!!!" (in the style of an 11-year-old)

**It was capitalized in my head.

Scenic Lebanon

I can't wait until the Syrians get out and we can all go to scenic Lebanon. My dad always says, "You know, they used to call Beirut the 'Paris of the Middle East' and then they ruined it." Well, Peter, maybe in a few years we can go visit.

Publishing Management I - Lecture 4

I am putting together the presentation for this Friday's lecture on assets and liabilities and I came up with this super-original genuis quote:

"In financial matters, if there is one word that clearly expresses a concept, there will be three words for it."

The, A, or Your?

This morning as I was getting ready for work Ted appeared in the kitchen. I was wearing a black top, black skirt and black boots and Ted said to me, "you look like manager." His manager, a manager, or the manager??? It's been troubling me all day. Somewhere I have a staff.

Oops

They said Gidget died last week so I've been mourning Sally Field who it turns out is alive and well. Oops.

Billie Jean

So this afternoon I tricked my flatmate Ted into cleaning by hypnotizing him with the music of Michael Jackson. Ted and Michael and I did the dishes, scrubbed the counters, and swept and washed the floor. And when "Billie Jean" came on Ted said, "oh this music good." Michael Jackson. Yes, Ted, it's good. He's very talented. And the next thing Ted said was, "Michael Jackson black man, white afro." I hear ya.

Let Me Make This Perfectly Clear, Paul

I hate magic. I don't hate magicians, I just hate magic. And I don't think magicians are conceited as you falsly assert on your blog, I just think they have no friends. Magic is not magic, by the way. It's fake. It's people lying to you and trying to make you believe that something they just did is not possible. Well, guess what? It is possible. You know why? Because they just did it. So you can send as many people as you want to your magician friend's web site, but I'm not sold. Because I don't want what he's selling: lies. And besides, I know how all the tricks work. They involve "magic" decks of cards with 52 Aces of spades, and secret plastic thumb extensions, and creepy secret pockets in coat cuffs. You know how I know? because I spent two years of my life going to conventions and a "magician" worked at our booth. And he wasn't conceited. The end. Good night.

Dear Readers

I feel the obligation to entertain you on your Friday afternoon. Although I remember well, from my many years of living in the States, that the Friday after President's Day REALLY seems like a Thursday, due to the time warp that Abraham Lincoln 'enacted' when he died. (Note to my dad: No, I am not on drugs.) So nonetheless, I will offer you some entertainment on your Thursday afternoon.

Actually, not much to say. Paul, my flatmate, (not Paul who's not my flatmate who lives in Portland) has enacted a "No Dish Left Behind" policy in an attempt to curb the non-dishwashing antics of our Polish flatmate. Unfortunately, for Ted the "Pole" to understand and appreciate the hilarity, and punniness, of this new policy, we would have to teach him first about the "No Child Left Behind" .

Meanwhile, here's what that pesky Scott Peterson is up to.

Edinburgh Snowcam

This is what it looks like right now (!) in the city of Edinburgh. Pretty, huh? Tell me it's pretty.

Ask Eric About His Doll

Now that I've exposed Eric and his love for cabbage patch dolls, I should direct you to his site so you can meet the man for yourself. He's a funny one. My friend once asked him to describe his hometown in three words. Eric replied: "Very boring, ma'am." Very clever, Eric.

The Rosetta Stone of Blackmail

This photo of my friend Eric and his little brother with their cabbage patch dolls would be the ultimate blackmail photo, except I got the photo from him...

Mr. Bloggy, My Mentor

My old* boss Dwayne Melancon has a blog where he writes about mentoring, and priorities, and procrastinating, and other smart business stuff. (Dwayne's the one whose brow is featured in the top right.)

I worked for/with Dwayne at Tripwire Inc. in Portland in 2000. Let me tell you about Dwayne:
-he is from Louisiana, and he's allergic to shellfish (see the irony?????)
-he didn't get mad at me when I broke the Galileo Thermometer in his office
-he was a fair, smart, kind and funny boss
-he and his wife and three kids came to my family reunion in 2002 (to the auction)
-he didn't fire me when I opened an e-mail attachment that spread a virus to EVERYONE at Tripwire

So whatever you read on his site, you got the real scoop here.

*former, not elderly

Overhead in Edinburgh - 19 February 2004

Overhead while walking down Princes Street: "I always end up over-ambitiousizing," a super-humble confession by one over-ambitious gentleman to his duly impressed lady friend.

The New Job

Well the new job as a lecturer at Napier University (www.napier.ac.uk) is going 'grand', as the Irish would say. I'm teaching Publishing Management I and so far (in week 3) my students are delightful and good. They are, on the whole, very bright and interested. (Of course I have to say this because this information lives on the Internet and one of them might stumble upon it, when 'googling' my name.) So I feel this new connection to academia, as it were, has affected my ability to post silly and ridiculous and sometimes controversial things to my blog. So from now on I will be posting lecture notes.
Love,
The Teacher

Thank Goodness

Blogger has announced that they've updated the way the comments work, so you don't have to open a Blogger account to comment. So, comment away.

Update on My Niece's Vocabulary

My sister reports that Aila 'is still speaking Chinese, but now with a smattering of English words like "Bee," "No," "Hot," "Hat," "Apple," "Bird," "Ernie," (Sesame Street influence) "Shoe," "Back Pack," "Good Girl," and the inevitable "Mine!"'

A Royal Do

As you might have heard, Charles and Camilla are getting married on April 8. I, for one, am happy for them. I declined the invitation to be a bridesmaid. It's for the best, as the Queen was not particularly thrilled at the idea of having a Yank's mug on the commemorative mugs.

New Job

This Friday I start work at Napier University as a lecturer in Publishing Management. The students are second-year undergraduates. So I guess that means I have to start conducting myself like a teacher. When I was in sixth grade, I went to my friend Heidi's house, and she lived next door to Mrs. Biesendorfer, our teacher. And Mrs. Biesendorfer was wearing jeans! Teachers don't wear jeans.

Delayed Birth Announcement:

Maria Helena

born February 7, 1971

at Valley Presbyterian Hospital

to proud first-time parents

Peter and Irma Sandstrum

Happy 34th Birthday Maria!

Internationalityness

My sister, Maria, passes on the link below to words wonderful and foreign - to English speakers at least.

http://www.wordswithoutborders.org/article.php?lab=InOtherWords

Oh, and Happy Groundhog Day.

Polish-Style Potato Pancakes

Last night Ted made dinner. Platskis, I think. Potato pancakes they were. He called his wife to get the recipe: flour, eggs, onion, potatoes (grated), salt, pepper, fry in oil until yummy. (And until every dish in the house is coated in oil.) Mmmmmm.

Ted's English Skills

The Polish Flatmate, Ted, has mastered English. When you can make people laugh in a second language then you are fluent. And the other night, when we were playing cards and Paul was falling asleep, Ted said, "Paul is kaput." Now that's fluency.