Yo Grim Reaper!

I am a person torn between two cultures. The Greeks do not have Halloween! And I'm pissed. Sure... they go and import St.Valentine's Day but do they bring Halloween? No! They have "Mardi Gras Carnivals" 40 days before Lent [Easter] where people wear costumes and do extra-silly things at parties but that just doesn't cut it for me.

Growing up in the States, I was not allowed to go trick-or-treating, so I've been deprived of my share of candy corn and M&M's and I have post-childhood nightmares of unattainable caramel apple-sticks and Snicker bars... SLAP - pull yourself together WOMAN!

Back on track: I miss Halloween. I miss the spooky, eerie ambience of that last day of October because Halloween has one great purpose of existence: To ridicule death!

Goofy ghosts, immortal vampires, silly after-life beings etc. Living and dead all party-mingling, apple-bobbing, trick-or-treating. As I grow older, I appreciate this aspect of Halloween even more. I'd like to be wearing my nutty witch's costume the day the Grim Reaper comes for me.

BOO! I may not scare him away, but I'll be holding my sides laughing while he drags me off...

P.S. Since it's Halloween:

I'm a Ravenclaw!

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Attention all non-Greeks: They're not waving!

Some days you just wanna tell off the world. How do you give' em the extended middle finger in Greek? Mooja.

What is a MOOJA?
The mooja [MOO-ja, the j as in jug] is the Greek middle-finger counterpart. It is an obscene gesture widely used in Greece.

How to use a MOOJA
The mooja is executed by showing the open palm (facing the victim's direction) and all five fingers extended. If you want to emphasize, use both palms and ALL ten fingers. The mooja can be accompanied by various Greek phrases/profanities, one of the milder ones being: "Hey, jerk!" The mooja is ironically referred to as the "open palm award".

History of the MOOJA
The mooja dates back to the Byzantine age. It was used as a punishment for misdemeanours. The judge would place his palm in ashes and smudge the wrongdoer's face (moo-joo-ro-ma = Greek verb for smudge), thus publicly ridiculing the offender. Some argue that the mooja dates even further back to Ancient Greece.

For my greek friends I give you the greek Wikipedia link & text for mooja (μούντζα, μούτζα)

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Bond. James Bond. (or the art of introducing yourself)

Why do some people underrate the art of introducing themselves properly?

[Background info]
Lady walked in my office few days ago. Has computer issues, comes to IT Dept. We've never been introduced in the office building, seen each other but I have no idea what department she's at.
[/info]

>>She walks in my office -with that weird squished up snob look- like someone is holding a piece of turd under her nose.
No smile, no stretching out the hand for a handshake.

>>She addresses me immediately with my given name.
No "Are YOU Athena?", No "hello", no "how do you do".

>>Starts to bitch about her "yahoo mail account not functioning", "I need a company email account",
No "my name is", No "I work at xyz department".

>>"Yadah, yadah, yadah", "I want my files private, how can I add a password on them" - and she STILL hasn't introduced herself - "when can you fix it and I need it NOW".

>>So far I'm enjoying this little show of ignorance and rudeness... and then she says the magical poo-poo phrase: "I know it can be done, because my friend so-and-so (from so-and-so department) said so".

I'll save you the gruesome details of how her face squished up EVEN more -like that turd was being crammed up her nose- when I asked: "Who ARE you lady?"
It got even better... but that's not the point.

The point is that this newly installed co-worker is trying to sell herself to the wrong people. Her arrogance will do her NO good among the other tribe members (especially witch doctor who controls the PC domain).

I have seen to her computer needs and solved her questions. However, I don't like her. She will always be branded as "turd lady" in my mind. First impressions last.

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Uh-oh... pantyhose season.

I like wearing skirts and Greece's weather helps to go without pantyhose from early-May to mid-October. After that, the suntan wears off, my legs look like chicken skin and I start to sneeze. Pantyhose season has officially commenced.

I'm not comfortable with pants (I have chubby thighs, OK - THERE I SAID IT!) so I cannot get away with knee-highs or simple socks worn with pants as most of my thin-thighed friends do (a plague upon their thigh master!).

My pantyhose woes begin right smack from the start: The pantyhose store. Once inside, I am facing rows and rows of endless varieties and scratching my head.

A salesgirl approaches eager to get rid of me cause I'm blocking some product. I want out too, so I state my mission clear and loud: "Need pantyhose, casual, no lace, no fancy stuff, nude or beige or whatever looks like I'm-not-wearing-pantyhose colour, low price, no stomach tuckings, butt shapers and I want it BIG!"

Salesgirl quickly nods in understanding, but I repeat myself slowly again in the hopes she doesn't sell me what SHE thinks I should be wearing, but what I need.

I buy. Take home. Put in hosiery drawer. (I may be thick-thighed, but I'm an organized thick-thigher, dammit!)

Usually I'm very good at being on time, however when it's pantyhose season my morning routine falls 10 minutes behind:

Scenario 1: The pantyhose stops a few inches before the goal line: my crotch, thus creating that weird crotch gap (Hey, if I was guy I'd be filling these babies in).

Scenario 2: The pantyhose feels like its suffocating so it goes for a run - maybe two. (My mind screams: "Please stop, stop somewhere high where I can block you with nail polish and no one will see you").

Scenario 3: Both of the above.

Consequently, I have to change pantyhose causing me to be late.

I ask the pantyhoser makers of the world: "Why are you so greedy? I KNOW you have found the formula for non-running, crotch-reaching pantyhose! How much money do want to make off of me? Take pity!" Alas, my cries go unheard and I still have 5 and 1/2 months until pantyhose season ends...

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Part II of "You any good with computers"?

I like computers and I was one of the few office employees who didn't feel intimidated by them. So, when the bosses asked me to switch position from typist to IT Dept (Information Technology, oh-la-la! sounds so fancy), I was truly excited that I'd get the opportunity to see what this brand, new "Internet" hype was all about (please remember: this narrative takes place back in 1997, when the Greek Internet was still teething).

Once inside the "computer room" (why is it that these rooms are usually the smallest, dingiest spaces in an office building?) I put my nose to the grindstone. I actually read the instruction manuals (which has probably scarred me for life, since I avoid them ever since). Kept notes. Printed anything associated with F1. Borrowed those ridiculously heavy reference books from Chris (my-PC-guru and co-administrator). Called him for help at all hours of the day. Attended any seminars the bosses would pay for, where I was the only or second female in the audience (attending webbing & networking seminars was like trespassing a Greek boys' club back then).

Well, a couple of burnt servers (and several years) later, I had transformed from mild-mannered power user to bitch geek.

I have been looked upon as a hi-tech goddess for solving stubborn-printer issues. I've been spat on behind my back for limiting mailbox storage. I have been hugged with jubilant relief after explaining the "AutoText" function in Microsoft Word. I have been hexed for circulating a brochure of why we should NOT waste work bandwidth by downloading porn. I have been shown appreciation for sharing time-saving keyboard shortcuts. I have been asked if I take my medication for shouting: "It's called M-O-U-S-E! And THIS is called a PRINTER! You've been using them for over 8 years! PLEEEEEEEASE stop referring to them as my thingamajigs!" Many an evening have I sat staring at blue screens, reinstalling operating systems on PCs "because they didn't realize that cute program would cause problems".

Do I like my job? Heck, yeah!
Sure, there are days that I'd like to press a big SHIFT+DELETE to stop the madness, but I have my share of easy laid-back work days. No software conflicts, no e-mail grunts, no slow internet connection whining. Those are good days. Those are the days you should approach me with your home-PC enquiries and come away with all your limbs intact.
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Part I of "You any good with computers"?

At work, the Bosses decided way back in early 1997 to get into (or is it on?) the Internet. Now, we do things real fancy-like over here in the southern tip of the Balkans. Some big university professor who knew his stuff about [thunderous voice on] "THE INTERNET" [/voice off] and a very efficient PC-guru were asked to "make it happen". They took that thar' bull by the horns and wrestled domain names, server, cables etc., which was no easy feat with the small budget they were given. After several months, we had ourselves a lil' ole network and a site/e-mail/domain server all rolled into one, jus' like pigs in blankets!

Mission accomplished. The hardware nice and shiny, the software running smoothly and these two professionals had to carry on with their careers but... there was no one to leave the instruction manual to! The bosses had neglected to find a network administrator who could be there any time the darn' RESET button needed, well, RESETTIN'.

The bosses looked upon the professor and the guru, "We can't afford to hire a professional, not after what all this sh*t has cost us! Who do you think we could use that's already on the payroll?" The PC masters stressed the advantages of hiring a pro but the bosses were shaking their heads furiously "No, Nein, Jamais!"
The bosses are WISE and decreed: If the victim can read english (please note: websites and software in GREEK were very rare back then) and knows his/her way 'round the keyboard, he/she will be dubbed "network administrator, website maker, 50-e-mail-accounts guardian".

I coulda-talka-goot-inglis and I-coulda-typpa-reeeelly-goot. Oh gosh darn, you guessed! I was on my way up in this dog-eat-dog world; I was the chosen one out of 30 employees! I was the only one who knew what a CD-ROM could do. (It's a coffee-mug holder, like duh!)
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Life is a game that seldom gives warning that the GAME OVER sign will light up

Many times I've heard the "Carpe Diem" motto. How can you utilize this in your hum-drum-work-home-and-then-you-die routine? What does "sieze the day", "let nothing go wasted", "live to the fullest" exactly m-e-a-n? I live a layperson's life. Married with two children. Bills. Payments. Dues. 9 to 5 Work. A little blue-collar entertainment: cinema, books, perhaps a theater or concert once in a while, sparingly dinner out. My greatest joy and aspiration is helping my girls become decent kids, to respect themselves and others, to love and laugh their way through life -no matter what comes-, to become strong, confident adults. I sometimes ponder about how I'm not living up to my fullest potential - whatever that may be - and I don't know how to pursue it. And then sh*t happens that makes you appreciate even the tiniest effort you make in this weird game called "living". And let's face it, this game seldom gives warning when the sign GAME OVER will light up.

My husband lost his best friend, Yiannis, this week in a freak accident. They were colleagues for 20 years and good friends since they met. Yiannis had always been an outdoorsy, active guy (mountain climbing, scuba-diving, gym workouts etc.). This physically active life-style was not one of the things they had in common with my husband. They were great conversationalists and confidants. Yiannis recently retired with a substantial pension. His only child had finished college and was settling into a good job. His wife and he separated after 20-some-odd years of marriage.

I had the impression that life was putting him through a "spring-cleaning" process. He had even said that "he felt he was finally living". We were happy that HE was happy. 52 years old and a brand new life was just starting for him... And then he went on one of his "routine" mountain-climbing excursions with friends. He fell 700 meters.

I can't believe that a man so alive and virile is gone. "Yiannis is no more...", mumbled my husband, upon being informed the outcome of the rescuers' search. The words although soft-spoken, fell hard as steel, as if a large, heavy gate had just been slammed shut in our faces.

Kalo taksidi, Yianni. Farewell friend.

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Toto, I don't think we're in Kansas anymore

These past few days my blogging experience (newly-found, mind you) has been on a roller-coaster ride. I clicked here and there and there and everywhere. I was out of control. My mouse was burning optical rubber! Soooooooooooooooooo many blogs! (How many people are out there anyway, huh?) My Firefox bookmarks are stuffed with "must-see, wanna-revisit" english & greek blogs. I can't begin to recount how many italian, french, german, chinese(?), other-latin-character writings I stumbled upon that I wasn't able to read!

I am in awe of the explosive magnitude of blogging. Here you have this magnificent variety of people's thoughts parading around on your screen and at the same time this frightening notion that you have entered Internet's twilight zone.

I was so overwhelmed, that second doubts about having my own blog began resurfacing, "Toto, I don't think we're in Kansas anymore".

Then I read How to blog by Tony Pierce essay. Very "just-do-it" mentality, which reasserted my initial excitement in blogs. While reading, I realized that I had broken rule number 5 (don't let friends, relatives, colleagues know about your blog). Ooops, too late! Well, this particular writer supports "let-it-all-hang-out" blogs, so I could see how you might upset your relatives when you start denouncing your gene pool.

Three mouse clicks away I ran across this article from which I quote: "The personal weblog is content-driven, not audience-driven; it's not about trying to write content that pleases a mass audience - it's about finding an audience that wants to read what you write."

I am still not sure why, but I feel so cathartic when posting and finding co-bloggers of the same subculture out there in cyberspace. Blogs are indeed much cheaper than therapists! And with that, my little "Whacha-wanna-blog-for" devil perched on my shoulder has vanished!

I'm off, off to see the wizard, the wonderful wizard of BLOG!
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Editing my favorites profile...

Since I started my lil' ole blog (btw thank you blogger.com), I have visited my "Edit Profile" a lot of times. What defines a person by their favorite music, their favorite books, the template layout and color they choose? Should I put this in? Should I leave that out? What will people think? Do I care? I like Foreigner, Journey, ELO, Mozart, Black Sabbath, Enya, Lynnyrd Skynnyrd, Harry Connick Jr, Joan Baez, Nightwish, Sonata Arctica, Blind Guardian, Air Supply, REM, Barbra Streisand, Queen, Genesis, Bob Dylan, Mikis Theodorakis, Phil Collins, Moody Blues, Keane,,, my CD collection goes on and on. I've read many, many books... How do you pinpoint some particular author down? Even books I haven't enjoyed have taught me something: What I don't like.

Artistic favorites are too abstract for me.

Ask me my favorite colour: BLUE (even green-blueish like this soothing template layout), ask me my favorite food (so far): Chocolate. I am absolutely sure about these things NOW. (When my cholestorol and blood sugar shoots up I'll probably be replying: tofu & carrots are my favorite foods).

We have a right to change our minds... "favorites" should vary in a person's life because they should be expanding their minds, tastebuds, hearing abilities, etc. "Favorites" are a long list of been-theres, done-thats. Moving on, finding out new things. But for the sake of keeping your profile short on your blog you have to narrow it down.

The one song that usually comes to mind - whether happy or sad: The Rose by Bette Midler (she's also one of my favorite actresses). Celine's voice and in particular, a song about her dying niece was an inspiration to me when there were serious family health problems. I grew up in love with Kansas & Eagles. These 2 groups defined my high-school status (and we all know how important that is). They are the 2 most "wanna-see-live-in-concert" bands. The Eagles flew apart, but I was lucky to see Kansas LIVE in Athens this summer (my teenage daughter accompanying me raised an unapproving eyebrow of my head-banging).

I've been around the Internet long enough to know that you can't trust what you read in peoples' profiles. The anonymity behind a screen gives you leeway to say just about any B.S. about yourself. I have never before endeavored in a "personal site" and I was pretty hesitant about placing "favorites" info out there for all the world to nit and pick at... but what can I do... My favorites are a small sneak preview of me. Ta-daaaa!

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