booze in a bag

i drink wine from a box-- on a semi-regular basis. which means i have officially become my parents- in their thirties, not sixties, that would involve duty-free sized bottles of gin. things have changed- a little- since then. the empties my then, six year old brother, and i were given to use as booze cruise floaties in the novotel pool used to be all silvery and space suit looking, now you just get a giant sandwich bag with a spout- the box to bottle equivalent of a cork versus screw top. fortunately my parents were able to redeem their lower end table wine loving selves once we moved from the u.a.e. to 'dry' saudi arabia.

there is a perception that the middle east is one giant sand pit where people live in tents and children go to their biology and history lessons via camel. the truth is, central AC is far more common there than in england, and you can buy grape juice, pre-pressed, in bottles; cases of them.



our villa even had a "wine room", which is different to a cellar, and family trips to the supermarket revolved around the usual cornflakes/milk/eggs/12 pack of loo roll on the shopping list, but also chucking a 500 gram bag of sugar and box of yeast into the trolley. perhaps it was naive of our parents to assume that cashiers thought all the expats were making loaves of grape bread?

in lieu of the impending holiday debauchery, i am reminded that it is ultimately tradition, imprinted from childhood, that creates a sense of home and associated behavioural patterns.



like restlessness and drinking.

helpless lady driver seeks competent chauffeur for winter commute

i would rather pay $90 for a colonic irrigation that cleanses my rectum with tabasco sauce, than to go out and drive in the snow again.

already traumatized from subjecting the dog to her: "she needs to have all vaccinations updated before we will board her while you do your abandoning and bugger off to the other side of the planet for a couple of weeks", the journey back from the animal hospital did little to ameliorate my heightened state of anxiety; i lost traction; just outside the car park; halfway back up the hill. i incorrectly assumed that i would be impervious to mother nature as i had chosen to take the "winter friendly" VW, as opposed to my own "purchased in southern california" automobile- which lacks the relevant vehicular features appropriate for frozen tundra. ironically, as i am less familiar with this car, i was unable to locate the rear wiper, temperature control, or even passenger air blower button. however, both mine and the dog's bums were nice and toasty despite our lack of visibility or forward mobility.

unlike previous experience in sandy terrain, we were not sinking and stuck; gravitational movement was very much evident in a downhill direction. to distract myself from the imminent probability of damsel tears, i panic dialed a friend in; "somewhere-it-snows-a-lot-michigan", to be coached through my distress and shock that this all wheel weather beast was giving a sub par performance (other cars were pulling around me).

"did you press the AWD button?"

"button?" [like knight rider? what if i press the wrong button and reilly is launched into the cold, white abyss?].

"it's no different than starting to ride your mountain bike up the middle of a hill". [you mean, aside from the deductible on my car insurance tripling after i skid off into a ditch or a volvo station wagon?].

fortunately a pick up truck with one of those ginormous shovel thingies attached to the front bumper (and red cape hanging off the back) stopped and offered assistance.

"i'm using first gear"..."just moved here"..."all wheel drive"............................
..."i grew up in saudi arabia".

"luke" commandeered the wheel and wanted to know which button would stop the arctic wind blasting through the vent [did he not see the blonde hair when he pulled over?]. mute, i shook it at him again; saudi arabia explained my inability to operate in snow, hair pigment (and plummy accent) should be sufficient enough reason for anything else he might need to know. he turned us around and plotted a flatter, non-GPS calculated course, back to my destination. unfortunately this wasn't an "A to B, stop signs not included" route (i haven't got to the chapter on 'how to brake in snow' yet). fortunately this car has a little graphic of a skid marks that illuminates (no shit), to let me know when i am, in fact, preparing to become more mechanically intimate with the school bus in front. might i suggest an "oh shit" light for the '09 model?

thankfully, motorist, dog, and vehicle made it back to the driveway physically unscathed.

(not after being overtaken by a freshly permed grandma, manning a subaru).

fake fir, flaccid flesh, and alligator eviction

florida; where old ladies impersonate beefy jerky dessicating on the beach, and their more senior sugar daddies, display an unwavering loyalty for olympic swimwear and penny loafers.



...and "boot camp" is for BMW SUV driving housewives and their munchkins to squat laps around the marina in babyjogger convoy, before replenishing depleted energy reserves with an acai-collagen infused smoothie.



where fake festive firs, ring around the 'all natural palm tree' rosey...



and the "alley" is now visibly native to a commuting retail outlet pilgrim genus, who sleep soundly in their 'super 8' habitats, knowing that they paid less for a year's supply of jarred candles, than it cost to put low grade petrol in their dodge caravans.

semantics

october in new england; where there are still leaves on the trees (albeit a lovely shade of traffic cone), flip flops on my feet, and no snow on the ground. however, the remedial class on "winter" has already begun, for she who grew up in the land of "sand and camels". in addition to winter tyres, chains on tyres, and all wheel (or rear wheel?) drive (why don't you just suck it up and get a subaru like everyone else), residents of the northeast supplement their ice scrapers and shovels with snow blowers. this makes sense to me, an industrial sized leaf blower (i visualize princess vespa's hairdryer from 'spaceballs'), to melt ice and blow snow from your windscreen- genius!

apparently not.

[with much undisguised mirth]: "no, no, no. 'snow blower', like 'lawn mower', you push it".

i anticipate further ridicule when it is time to explore the profound and esoteric domain of thermal underwear.

kentucky: where the grass is blue, the necks are red, and colonel sanders isn't as popular as ronald mcdonald

10 years ago when i announced that i was going to graduate school in kentucky, i was met with the: "i just smelled boiled eggs dipped in cat litter and deep fried in garlic" face. i personally, can imagine far worse places to pack your 'two suitcases at 40kg' luggage allowance, to begin accruing tuition debt at exorbitant international student rates. while kabul and east st. louis no doubt offer a competitive package for inexpensive accomodation and an affordable cost of living, the 'getting shot at/stepping on a landmine while nipping out to the supermarket to buy a (competitively priced) carton of milk, holds about as much allure as trying on lance armstrong's bike shorts after he finished the final stage of the '05 tour de france. but then it's a bit odd what some people come to identify as "home" for themselves (zip codes with an emphasis on genocide rather than generic front lawns, or trailer parks in the midwest where the retail demand for miller light is only surpassed by the high consumer interest in sudafed), no more than speculating why a chihuahua is now an acceptable definition of "dog", or that dressing in voluminous floral trousers, showcasing every colour in the crayon box is o.k., especially when co-ordinated to match the "dog".

in the last decade, i've only seen a handful of KFC's (and certainly never from the interior), have not become destitute as a result of buying a horse, gambling on multiples of them, or just trying to purchase a regular admission ticket to the derby. my taste buds have proven impervious to the local zealour for graeter's ice-cream, or an even more inexplicable and ungodly adoration for ramsi's (a long standing "ethnic" restaurant), earning it's "genre" as mediterannean, because it serves overpriced, flavoured hummus. find me an arab who eats fire roasted garbanzo dip, and i will try to find an israeli that munches on sun dried cinnamon raisin bagels with blueberry brown sugar cream cheese. for me, "the big lebowski" was mostly experienced during REM sleep, so an entire weekend festival devoted to it, is about as appealing as a BLT is to a hasidic rabbi. i have seen muhammad ali twice, never eaten a white castle hamburger, and cannot stomach the american version of "biscuits", "gravy" or anything else that represents the "country cooking served in platters upon 20 foot long picnic tables covered in checkered cloths" food group. i do enjoy looking for rednecks, just not in a 'steve irwin to snapping crocodile' proximity. there are also many things that are not typically associated with kentucky that i have experienced, and would never have had the opportunity to do so, had i not chosen the road south of the mason dixon. now when i tell people that i am moving to maine. i get the familiar "face", followed by "wow, you know, it's really cold up there in the winter".

"no shit?!!"

obviously, living in the bluegrass state the last few years, i have been completely cut off from any news and weather that didn't involve histrionics over 'o-zone levels' and panic over the possibility of an inch of snow accumulation. however, there are just as many rednecks in the northeast as there are in the south, and quite frankly the northerner's tendency to punctuate the "ar" sound at the end of certain words (making them sound like they just got stabbed in the chest), grates on my ears more than a twangy drawl operating slower than jessica simpson's limbic system.

i aint from around here

it is indeed the season for all kinds of taseteless and tacky tat to be displayed both indoors and all over front lawns in suburban usa-ville. driving around some neighborhoods (not mine) it is hard not to notice the plethora of molded plastic and inflatable festive illuminati adorning front porches, driveways and picket fences. where jesus/mary/joseph/wise men/shepherds/rudolph/xmas choir are accompanied by a large collection of snoopy's wearing santa hats. i thought it a little strange and random to showcase a comic strip character from several decades ago. why not garfield, kermit the frog, papa smurf, or fred flintstone? cue: "american pop culture enlightenment 101b, ed. 2." i was answered in 3 words; "charlie brown's christmas".

my learning curve comprises of a double helix.