I was reflecting today on much I love bread.
I thought to myself: bread is the greatest thing since sliced bread.
A few days ago, my email was bouncing and there was nothing I could do but wait for the problem to fix itself. It made me feel so helpless and frustrated that I buried my head under a blanket and fell asleep. Although I woke up periodically, I slept for almost 24 hours straight until the email problem was fixed.
Upon reflection, it is probably the most I’ve slept since the last time my email was bouncing.
I have a very large mouth.
When I was in first grade, my parents received a call from my teacher. The problem was that birthday celebrations, I was stuffing entire cupcakes into my mouth rather then eating them in a series of smaller bites.
The teachers were not worried about me—I was well equipped for the task. The teachers were worried about the handful of children around me who had asphyxiated while attempting to emulate me.
I am allergic to blackberries pies. That’s pies, not pie.
I can eat blackberries just fine. Blackberry jams, cobblers, and pieces of pie, blackberry or otherwise leave me feeling fine.
As far as I can tell, It’s only when I eat the entire blackberry pie (and I’ve only made that mistake once) that I stop breathing and have to be hospitalized.
All my digital clocks and watches are set to 24 hour time. However, most of the people I interact with (Americans) are only fluent in the 12 hour dialect.
As a result, if someone asks me the time, I will look a clock at clock that says 15:30 and without thinking I say “three thirty.”
In Italy, people will say “fifteen thirty” and I just get confused. I do the translation naturally but it only works one way.
I’ve heard that in Seattle, the police can give you a ticket for not having a little garbage bag in your car. The goal is to cut down on littering and the reasoning is that without a receptacle, all your garbage will be going out the window.
The interior of of many of my friends’ cars is covered with garbage. I wonder if the police would overlook the missing bag in such cases.
I am starting to believe that Italians think that all Americans in Italy are alcoholics.
When an Italian friend orders wine or beer in a restaurant without specifying a size, they receive a reasonable portion. When I order, I always manage to end up with twice as much as I want.
I guess I have it coming; I don’t understand much of what the waiters are saying so I tend to just nod my head. Still, I find it hard to believe that anybody drinks a beer as large as the one I got today over their lunch break.
If my experience is representative, I understand why all Americans in Italy are alcoholics.
I love Debian as a GNU/Linux distribution, as a project, as a group of people, and as a social movement. That said, it should come as no surprise that I’ve installed Debian on 3 out of my 4 last girlfriends’ computers.
Many romantic relationships also end of rough terms so it should also be unsurprising that I’ve had rather nasty break-ups with 3 out of my 4 last girlfriends.
What worries me is that the two groups correspond perfectly.
Every time I travel in Europe I can help but notice that mannequin nipples are more common and more prominent than they are in the states—or at least the parts I shop in.
At the beginning of each trip overseas, they surprise me and even make me feel a little embarrassed.
Over time, I find that mannequin nipples enrich the window shopping experience.
I own 10-12 pairs of shoes but when I travel, I usually take only one. In a last minute decision, I always grab a pair that I rarely wear.
When I moved to Ethiopia for the better part of a year, I brought only a pair of Soaps (so called “freestyle walking” shoes): not a brilliant move as there are no handrails and about as many curbs.
When I went to India a couple years later, I inexplicably brought my Soaps again: this time complete with holes in the bottoms.
Now I’m in Italy with only a pair of $9, fake-leather, not very comfortable, shoes.
Next time I travel, I’m going to delegate the shoe-choosing decision to a trusted friend.
I’m a big seafood fan so I went into a restaurant and ordered a plate of mixed fried seafood. Several minutes later, the waitress laid a plate on the table that was more mixed than I had been expecting:
I’ve decided that a plate is not a good place to become acquainted with a new sea creature.
When describing a book or an author or a movie, people will often say, “it’s like x on acid.”
I was trying to describe my favorite contemporary author to a friend and I decided that acid was not enough. I like fiction on hard drugs.
Then I thought to myself, “why does nobody talk about fiction ‘on pot’?”
I think that fiction written on pot would either be:
I guess we are better without it.
I went to midnight mass on Christmas at San Pietro (St. Peters’ Cathedral) in Rome.
If had to choose two words to describe the experience, they would be “long” and “boring.” If I had to choose one word, I would choose “Latin” because I think it implies the other two.
That said, I had a really good time. I saw the pope and lots of cute girls. Some where nuns.