Hotel Rwanda

Last weekend hubby was home (which is a family rarity) and we thought it would be an opportune time to catch a good movie together.

Side note: Movies that premier in the US or UK usually arrive 2-9 months later in Greece, because of subtitling or other distribution issues. The exceptions are world-wide premieres, like "Lord of the Rings Trilogy" and "King-Kong". Thank you Peter Jackson, for not punishing us with the subtitle wait in LOTR and making us feel equally important as the rest of the audiences in the world. I didn't see King Kong, but I did see all 3 LOTRs at least 7 times each in the theatres. Call me kinky but I find Aragorn more appealing than big hairy Kong.

I scanned the show listings for two movies that recently arrived in Greece: Goodnight, and Good Luck or Walk the Line. Either they're not doing well in the Greek movie market, or for whatever other limited distribution reason, we couldn't find a show anywhere near us. The DVD rental shop was our next choice. We picked Hotel Rwanda and Millions (another couple of movies that were listed for only a brief period of time at the cinemas).

After viewing Hotel Rwanda and most of the accompanying Amnesty International material, we (daughters included) agreed that this movie was indeed well worth viewing and recommending. We whipped out the encyclopedias and atlases for further info on Rwanda's harrowing history and turned it into a night of political and social awareness. Although in no way can I claim our Saturday night movie was "entertaining", because of its intensity and truth, I found it encouraging that our daughters (17 and 12) watched attentively with us and found this story a moving eye-opener.

.

Continue

Athens in sepia

Every spring strong south winds carrying sand from the Sahara Desert cross the Mediterranean. This results in mud rains and sandstorms to parts of Greece nearer to the African continent (e.g. the isle of Crete). A heavy veil of "sand fog" covered Athens yesterday. It was like a sepia photo. Today things are starting to clear up. Pondering over sand from the Sahara on my balcony. Nature's way of reminding me how small this world is after all.

Continue

What does your mommy do, little girl?

Daughter#2 is in the sixth grade this school year. She'll soon be embarking on the junior high and just plain high school years. Her grade school journey included the universal basics: scars from nicks and scratches obtained at school recesses, memorizing parts for school plays and recitals, endless scrawled pages of Greek Alphas-Betas-Gammas, growing pains, and a lot of trivial stories that bring a smile on Mommy's face.

One of those stories goes way back in Daughter#2's second grade. The lesson was Social Studies, the chapter was "What our parents do for a living". The little chubby hands shot in the air: "My Mommy works for the Post Office and my Daddy is an electrician". "My parents have a bakery". "My Daddy doesn't work and Mommy cleans houses". "My Daddy is a doctor for teeth and Mommy has a store". You get the picture. Well, along comes my pride and joy's turn. Proudly she exclaims in a know-it-all tone, "My Daddy is a train engineer, THAT means he DRIVES the trains" -pause- "And my Mommy? er, um, oh yeah, she downloads the Internet, I think".

Her teacher met me outside when I went to pick up my offspring at school. She was doubling over with laughter. She explained her mirth and I in turn elaborated, "Well, poor kid's right. All she ever hears at family and friendly conversations are their requests for me to download stuff from the Internet." From that moment on, I was the official Internet Mommy. Anything the class needed googling and web researching was written down on a note and passed to me via Daughter#2 for me to carry out. Soon, however, I will be stripped of my official "Internet Mommy" title and my services rendered useless in junior high. The end of an era. *sigh*

By the way, I'm on page 13,976,444,202 of the Internet download. Almost done.

.

Continue

Grab your suntan lotion. We're off to the Bermuda Triangle!

Touché! I've been challenged to a Bermuda Triangle theory duel by my blog friend Ms Amber. I read hers and I have to confess, it makes a whole lot of sense!

I am -as I blog- setting fire to my printed hypothesis that the ocean's drain hole is situated in the Bermuda Triangle. The compact version (for my non-tech oriented readers) is that Mother Nature occassionally pulls the plug on her watery basin to get rid of excess water. Ah, yes. We all know that the excess water is caused by the greenhouse effect which in turn makes the icebergs melt and the fishies go wee-wee much more.

In other words, Earth (remember she's a gal) relieves the bloated feeling by pulling the drain stop. Unfortunately, anything flying over it or sailing on it is whirl pooled and sucked away like a plastic toy ducky.

Where does the water go, you ask? Sheesh. Give me a break. I'm not Pythia.

My theory pales before Ms Amber's. She's given it more thought than I, hangs out at the kiddie science museum and uses hi-tech mumbo jumbo (like dishes) to stump me. I bow in defeat and acknowledge the master. Besides, I wanna get invited to go on that cruise research boat and help out with the cabana boys deckhands!

Continue

Decoding Mona Lisa (again)

The computer breakdown results of Mona's facial gestures bear a great liking to assorted online blog personality tests.

Scientists and art experts, however, can stop racking their brains about her obscure grin. Flubberwinkle to the rescue. Here's my theory according to their estimates:

83 percent happy.
Because she was being immortalized on canvas. What chic chick of yore wouldn't be pleased to have her picture taken?

9 percent disgusted.
Because Leonardo was too old or too distracted with art to control his bodily gases.

6 percent fearful.
Because there was no open window to provide ventilation (see above combined with paint fumes).
Don't let the background fool you. Leo added the country scene later on because the portrait seemed bland.

and 2 percent angry.
Because her Renaissance arse ached from endless hours of sitting.

All done. Mystery solved. Do you want me to tackle the Bermuda Triangle now?

.

Continue

Food for thought and action

More ads of this makepovertyhistory.org campaign at Advertising/Design Goodness.

.

Continue

How spammers make big boys cry

[tap, tap on virtual shoulder]
Uh, 'xcuse me mr.spammers? You can stop mailing me "enlarge your penis" themed spams.
Because (a) according to this article, enlarging one's member isn't as promising as your messages attest.
And (b) I don't own one.

It seems that spam is responsible for planting the idea in several blokes' minds. They went ahead with the yanking and stretching process of their private parts. Turns out, however, that most of them are not satisfied with the results.

I'm not sure if I should find this disturbing. Spam, admittedly, is an utter annoyance, yet nevertheless a form of advertising. It's not suprising that out of the gazzilion spams that are sent forth into cyberspace, some cybersucker will be on the receiving end.

Let's just hope that the spam industry doesn't spread out into more malefic subjects like "how-2-make-uranium bombs-@-home". I'd hate reading about some poor chump losing his newly obtained "longer willy" because of unsuccessful home bomb testing.

.

Continue

Ricky kicked me twice! I think I'm in love.

I remember in elementary school it was customary that all the kids exchanged Valentine's cards with each other. It was a very kind-hearted gesture. All my classmates would receive one of those flimsy, short valentines with cute sayings and simultaneously I would receive one from every classmate. No envy, no playing favorites, no hard feelings amongst us short, happy people. If we "liked" someone more than others we'd hand him/her the largest or corniest card of the set. And if it was true love then we'd pinch, shove or zealously tag them at recess.

Some samples of corny Valentine's Day cards of yesteryear.

Those were the days when February 14th was an innocent card-signing, giggly day. Valentine's Day during puberty ushered in the first signs of cynicism. "Dude, this 'holiday' really sucks! It's like so superficial and pointless." This was one way of easing the pangs of my first social rejection; I hadn't been asked to the Sweethearts' Dance and even if I had, my Greek parents would have refused my participation in anything involving boys, girls, hearts and cupids. All the deep red and bright pink decorations in the gymnasium yelled "bordello" to them and no way would they send their nice Greek daughter to one of those.

The older I got, the more I was convinced that Valentine's Day was a florist's and candy shop owner's jackpot. Somehow I can't help but grin at the thought of kids and teenagers waiting for that kick in the shin from their special someone at recess or finding a rose stuck in their locker's vents. I smile in syrupy reminiscence and secretly hope hubbie will remember to buy me a single gardenia, my favorite flower, for this silly day... otherwise I'll pinch him really hard.

Continue

Psychic blog titles

On February 10th Steve (A Cambridge Kind Of Guy blog) wrote an amusing post titled "Duck & Cover" and today February 13th this weird bit of news emerges: Cheney shoots lawyer in hunt accident. Sort of made me wonder how psychic my blog friends are.


.

Continue

I didn't always have bad hair years

My longest running relationship with a hair salon was with "Akis' Coiffures". Akis was quite the magician with scissors. The salon was co-owned and run by Aries, who was Akis' life partner. Aries was the salon director; he would give the nod for the aluminum foil to come off itching heads, which customer was next in line for shampoo, which client deserved a scalp massage. Overall, these guys had a smooth running business. I loved going because of Akis' superb haircuts and Aries' exaggerated gay theatricality.

His overplayed staginess derived from the 60's Greek society which could finally offer women such extravagancies as frequent salon visits. However, Greek spouse regulations demanded that if their wives were to be "touched" by another man, that man better not mean "nasty business". Therefore most of the gay and even non-gay professionals had to exaggerate their roles as "innocent men" in order to keep the women clients and their husbands happy and "safe". Aries decided to bank on this role although it was the late 80's and Greek people's views were (thankfully) expanding.

He was very adorable. I would walk in the salon. He would put both hands on his waist; cluck his tongue and shake his head, "Tsk, tsk, tsk. Pleeeeeease tell me you don't go out in public with hair like that!" He would drape his hand on his chest and roll his eyes in dismay. "Oh, my, I'll have to beg Akis to work his magic on you!" He'd twist a lock of my hair between his fingers, "THIS, darling, is crying for a hair mask! I swear if it wasn't for me you'd all go bald!"

And the teasing would continue. I kept a straight face throughout our banter although he reminded me very much of Nathan Lane from "Birdcage".

On one of my appointments I sensed a tension in the air between A & A. Akis was cutting hair without engaging in his usual friendly conversations with the clients, whereas Aries was clamorously executing his duties. He was practically shouting at the poor salon assistants. When I asked how they were doing, Aries burst forth, almost throwing himself in my arms, "I told him we should franchise. And do you know what he told me? No, I ask you, do you? He said to mind my own business! This IS my business, Athena, YOU tell him. Knock some sense into him. The big-name competitors are opening branches across the street and he just WON'T listen?.."

Well, to make a long story short: They started to argue right there in front of the patronage and most of us took sides. Peace was restored between the couple. They never did branch out, but instead they hiked their prices to "compete" and lost a lot of clientele. Unfortunately, I was amongst those who couldn't afford the privilege of Akis and Aries. Besides, they had also implemented a store policy that hair cuts were escorted with a compulsory (aka pricey) hairstyling. They didn't want their competitors to see their customers walking out with wet, lifeless hair. Aside from the money issue, I have this quirk: I always shampoo and shower after a haircut because I feel itchy. Therefore my hairstyling would just wash down the drain as soon as I got home. They refused to NOT dry and style my hair. So I pouted. Aries pouted more. I got upset with them and cut them off. My hair misses them, not my wallet.

I searched and found cheaper hair services, but never the quality of Akis' haircuts. I've been away so long at various hairdressers that I feel extremely guilty to just stroll in and pick up our business relationship again. Akis might be glad or indifferent to my presence. Aries, however, will probably pull his darker shade "shampoo" stunt to get back at me; charge me for a soft hair dye and rid me of what he called "ungodly" white streaks from his sight! Revenge for Aries and a make-over for Athena all in one stroke.

.

Continue

Bad hair year(s)

I have tried to indulge my family in their desire to see my hair grow long. Many a time I have attempted to pull this off only to end up in a hairdresser's chair demanding: "Away with it". All those months of tedious hair growing and grooming wind up on the floor before you can pronounce Vidal Sasoon.

I like an ultra-short, manageable crown. I am useless with a brush and hair-dryer. I want hair that won't fly like Albert's and requires only a simple shampooing. (Not even conditioning). I can't hairstyle if my life depended on it. If aliens abducted me and told me that they'd release me only if I provide them with a nice hairdo, well you could kiss my earth-grown tooshie good bye. The Farah Fawcett feathery look in high school and my inability with the curling rod turned out to be trauma worthy of many hours of therapy.

I haven't cut my hair for almost 2 years. Thank the salon gods for inventing head bands. I use them to hold back my tresses so I don't resemble a sheep dog overdue for a dog-care appointment. I'm caught in a mane dilemma battling in my mind. And where do I go to clear out my mind? You got it. The Internet!

I'm nearing 40, should I cut it because my hair cuticles are getting thinner? (Alright already, I meant older!) On the other hand if I cut it, I won't be able to grow my hair on a whim, will I? Should I revert to my double-chinned version of Sheena Easton's 80s look because (a) I like it, (b) it is environmentally friendly (less water while shampooing means more conservation), (c) both of the above?

The bottom line is making my image bearable for people outside me (that sounds creepy). I will continue to sacrifice my hair length preferences for the time being. I want my family to be happy with my reflection. Besides, I just look at myself long enough to pop in my contact lenses and put on my head band. But, I absolutely draw the line on hair dyes! Quit telling me I'd make a cute red-head! I'm not blimey Irish you know!

.

Continue

Scientists Discover Dozens of New Species in "Lost World" of Western New Guinea

I was sure that Man had uncovered and collied every nook and cranny on this planet. Then I stumble on this press release and again I'm filled with awe and hope. Mother Earth never ceases to bewilder us despite the environmental onslaught.

.

Continue

Baffling START

Back when we were able to afford our first home computer in Flubberwinkle-land, my husband (who coincidentally is not computer oriented) asked if I would show him the ropes. We started with the basics on our Windows platform PC.
Power switch. Log on. Type name. Press enter. Get the feel of the mouse. Click on some icons. Close programs. Our first session was winding down.
Me: Now, go to "Start" to shut down the computer.
Spouse: Huh?
Me: Click on the "Start" button to stop it.
Spouse: I have to wha..? Go to START? [pause] To shut down?

He never asked for that second lesson.
.

Continue

Flying over Africa

Continue