Resolutions for 2006

Did you say Happy New Year? I thought it was FLA-BBY! So Flabby New Year is a no-no. That means that this year I should finally get back in shape. Maybe I'll start with [thunderous advertisement voice on] "The Abdominizer" [voice off] that my Mom bought for me (hint-hint). I admit there are dormant muscles in my body and I'm getting at an age where no blood vessels should be hibernating or putting up road blocks. Wake up guys! Getting up to smack the printer probably doesn't count as exercise, huh? (I should move that printer closer to me anyway and avoid the whole issue of getting up).

You said Happy New Year, right? Not CRA-BBY New Year? That means I should mellow out even more. Basically, I don't get upset over little things but I'm not quite there yet. I haven't reached my happy place, my Nirvana, my look-at-all-the-colours-in-the-rainbow state of mind.

Uh, oh.
If I don't want a flabby new year I'll have to go on a diet. Well, how the heck can I handle a chocolate-less life and NOT BE CRABBY? [Breathe in, breathe out. Wax on, wax off]. I can do this. I will try to stay sane and not give my kids any excuses to put me in a nursing home later on.

Here's to a BLA-BBY (blog-wise), non-flabby, non-crabby New Year!

I wish you all Health, Happiness & Creativity!

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Linking my way out of blogger's block

Some sites are too cute/weird/funny not to pass on to others...

File not found! Watch this page.
The revenge of the 404 error page...

Emilie's Don't Yawn Game
See how long you can keep your jaws glued together...

Online scratchpad
Group doodling...

Online human clock
And you thought your job was tough...

The Internet's first page and the Internet's last page, or the End of the Internet
Who said there is no order on the web?

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Huston, we are in Christmas orbit

Yesterday I had to run an errand in the heart of downtown commercial Athens (Mitropoleos, Ermou and surrounding little streets). And it was like stepping into a fully drawn holiday bathtub filled with Christmas bubble bath and Seasonal salts. My body and mind were completely immersed in the beautiful, tinselly street and shop window decorations.

If I wasn't feeling Christmasy then, I sure do now. It's hard to resist looking away from all those glowy, glittery displays. I found myself stroking fabrics and scarves, thinking "Hm, this would look good on so-and-so". I stopped to grin at toys and squeeze their "Press Here" buttons, producing funny "ho,ho,hos" and Greek version of jingle bells. My nostrils were lured into a candle shop (so I had to follow) where I sniffed my way through all the wonderful scents (bought a few chocolate-scented candles shaped as coffee mugs for gifts).

It was unfortunate for the shopkeepers that I didn't have a lot of money on me. On the contrary, my family budget sighed in relief exactly for the same reason. My hubbie/financial advisor would have been proud of my resistance to all this consumer seduction.

Uh, Huston, we are being drawn in by Christmas orbit's field energy, please advise.

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Aries vs. Athena

You know Aries, Greek mythological God of War.
Well, now meet Aries the Cat.

His owners are out of town and I have been asked to stop by for feedings and litter box duties.

I am not a cat person. Don't get me wrong I am all for ALL animals and their rights. I tilt my head and go "Awwwwwwwww" at the sight of kittens and puppies and other critters, great and small.

However, I consider myself more of a dog person. Dogs are easy-going and laid-back. Throw a stick; watch them run joyfully after it. Sniff, bark, wag.

Cats are a bit more high-maintenance and give you that piercing look that makes you uneasy. I have this notion that cats think with a haughty British accent: "Oh, that humans should determine our destinies and rule our world! Appalling! Degrading"!

Aries' domain is a huge plant-filled veranda. He's not a very he-man cat (aka neutering). His sexless days involve securing the territorial perimeter from any winged form, anything that scurries and anything that is just plain beneath his species. His other activities include food, litter-box visits and observing the neighbourhood's comings and goings.

We've gotten along well so far.
He meows with pleasurable expectation and stands attentively before the cat food cupboard.
Human subtitle: No, silly human, don't reach for the 'Fishes-of-the-sea-yuck' can, go for the other one, labelled 'Tuna Delight'. You have neutered my taste buds as well.

Rubs up against me and wraps his tail around my ankle.
Human subtitle: I will shed my fur on your clothes until you stroke me!

No one can resist a cutie like Aries and the stroking and petting commences.
Human subtitle: Ooooh, that's right Momma, a little lower, a little on the left. Show me the love!

As soon as he gets his fill of food, love and a clean kitty box, he raises his eyebrow and I think I can actually hear him say: "What? Still here? I won't need your services any longer today". I -gulp- feel like I'm being dismissed by Aries the Cat.

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Cow dung and belly dancing

Last night our DVD player coughed up a BLOCKED message on the LCD screen. Refused to budge open and release the disc that was being kept hostage. It kept flashing ERROR ERROR ERROR. If this thing had arms it would be flapping them around "Danger Will Robinson! Danger!"

All this -quite unsurprisingly- about 10 minutes before the movie ended. In our anguished attempt to find out WHO the murderer was, we took it upon ourselves to revive the dvd player back to play mode. (These exquisitely fine manoeuvres involved banging it on all sides, shouting at it and a whole lot of muttering under the breath).

Nope. It was dead. Time of decease: 10.50 p.m.

So, to ease our nerves and deal with our sudden loss we switched to TV mode.

Click.
Caught a glimpse of a 'Big Brother' show, where someone was yelling at someone else who was scratching his... ear.

Click.
A 'game show' that involved a cow and its dung on a large floor board with various names from the audience. Wherever the dung fell that person would win a car. I'm not absolutely sure about this last part, because just seeing cowdung on a Sunday night TV show cried "Look away! Your eyeballs will melt in your skull!" and I clicked the heck out of there.

Click.
An "investigative reporting" program. A disgusting array of hidden camera and taped phone conversation evidence. Used out of context with a panel of slimy public figures pointing fingers (so that no one points back at them). An overall sad mockery of TV court.

Click.
This time we landed ourselves something "normal": a full-length play-by-play show of Sunday's soccer games.
All of them.
All over the world.
All of the teams.
Sports fanatics we are not. Onward remote.

Click.
A group of various show-biz people & politicians seated around a huge round sofa. There are wine glasses and smoke rising from their cigarettes. Laughing. Incoherent conversation. Title of the show "The party of your life"... suddenly a guest breaks into a song (accompanied by the live band) and all the bimbo-guests start to belly dance.

Click.
"Cleopatra: The TV movie".
We finally found sanctuary with Timothy Dalton as Julius Caesar and Billy Zane as Marc Anthony.
Watched for about 20 minutes until we forgot our woes of the unsolved DVD murder mystery.

Click.
Switched it off.

Sunday night + Greek television programming = an overdose of trashy TV.

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Greek road rage

I can't understand it.

Greeks are a friendly, hospitable lot.

Why is it that you get one behind a steering wheel, they turn into Linda Blair from "The Exorcist"? They hiss at pedestrians, spit green slimy muck at other drivers, chant Beelzebubian at traffic lights?

Why do we refuse to acknowledge basic rules of safety and etiquette within the metal confines of our vehicles?

Why have we acquired a genetic "KILL-KILL-KILL-don't-scratch-the-paint-job" instinct?

Driver ON the road and ON his/her cell phone: "Wait a minute there's a moron in front of me doing the legal speed limit",
Hooooooooooooooooooonk!
"Move OOOOO-VER imbecile... My car can do 140 kmph and you're holding me back"!

Funny part is that 9 out 10 times you rendezvous with Speedy Gonzaleth at the next traffic light. They pretend not to see you because they did not voluntarily WANT to stop but were forced to because of the OTHER moron in front who was too chicken to ignore the red light!

"How did things get so ugly? In areas as congested as central Athens, keeping traffic moving often takes precedence over patrolling against those who violate the road rules. When law enforcement officials turn a blind eye to traffic infringements, drivers establish between themselves an unwritten code of acceptable behaviour. The net result often bears closer resemblance to the regulations at a demolition derby than anything you learned in drivers-ed.

Once ingrained, habits of non-compliance are difficult to break. As a trip down any of Greece’s main thoroughfares will prove, excessive speeding, tailgating, reckless passing, laying on the horn, flashing "brights", and offering up antagonistic hand gestures have become as commonplace as stopping at a red light. Combine aggressive driving with poor roads and high levels of congestion in both the cities and outlying areas and you get what Greece had until 2001, i.e. unprecedented and mounting trafficking fatality rates."

Source: http://www1.greece.gr/POLITICS/InternalAffairs/uturntosafety.stm

Note to self and all blog friends wishing to visit/already living in Greece: If you absolutely don't have to drive while in Athens, save yourself the aggravation and use the public transportation instead.

Oh, and if you think our driving is bad... you should check out our Greek parking!



Check out this short flash animation by cartoonist Bruno Bozzetto.

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Happy 17th Birthday Goth daughter!

Today is a special day here at Flubberwinkle-land. We are celebrating my first-born's 17th birthday. Yup, 17. A year after her sweet 16 and a year before the "official" 18.

Old Greek proverb says: "mother owl thinks her owlet is the most beautiful owlet in the forest" (I'm guessing all owlets are little ugly fuzzy-wuzzy critters). In layman's terms the above saying means: "every mother thinks her child is unique and gorgeous". And I'm no exception.

I love my daughter's singularity, her determination and her incredible sense of humor. She is tough, yet fragile. She is naive, yet smart-alecky enough to hold her own. She is daring, yet principled. She is trying to find her bearings in this world. She is trying to make her mark. She is a teen-ager on the threshold of young adulthood.

She makes me want to be a better person in this life. And no matter how many presents I give her I can never repay her for the joy and wisdom she has given me.

Happy Birthday Goth daughter!

P.S. 17 years ago today the auto-pilot ("just-Athena") was switched to manual controls labeled: "Hey-Mom!"
Oh, yeah, and lest I forget: 17 years ago I found out why they call them labor pains. (Ouch!)
These pics are dedicated to the eldest of my offspring (a.k.a. Wednesday Adams). (Gomez/Daddy says Hello).

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I don't feel Christmasy yet

Monday, December 5th, 7.56 a.m.

My daughters and I are crammed in the hallway putting on our shoes, insuring schoolbag contents and making last minute hair-checks in the mirror. We are on our way out for another routine week of school and work.

Then without warning my youngest daughter grins at me: "Mom it's December 5th. When are we going to decorate our Christmas tree"?

Oh no, someone has just hit the Christmas festivities panic button!

Now don't get me wrong. I like Christmas as much as anybody. Scratch that. I love Christmas! It's warm and cuddly and it makes you feel fuzzy all over (or is it the other way around?). However, it's December 5th and I don't feel Christmasy yet.

I heard George Michael's "Last Christmas" playing on the radio last night and I wondered "What? Already"? I don't appreciate the early Christmas window displays. Some merchants had a jump start as early as mid-November (Yikes!). The TV's flooded with Barbie & Action Man commercials. The games -or more fitly, the sales- are afoot.

I looked into my kid's innocent eyes and said "Well, one of these days". And the ageless parent-child back-and-forth began. "When?" "Soon." "When's soon?" "Soon is when I say so", etc.

Maybe I'm getting older and a dash more cynical, but my mind was in fast forward mode and I was visualizing the dreadful aftermath of Christmas. Packing up and storing for next year's celebration. Deja vu? Maybe. But, I don't feel Christmasy yet! (I stomp my foot, fold my arms across my chest and brood. Santa is probably jotting me down on his "naughty list"!)

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'Sixth Sense' only works at work

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