I've been looking around for things to reassure myself that Christmas in Vienna is not going to be as sad as I'm afraid it might be. The latest of these is the fact that stores and supermarkets have (so far) not given themselves over to playing the same annoying Christmas songs over and over from the beginning of November. Instead, they've stuck to the usual bizarre array of old-to-newish, mostly American tunes that I haven't heard in ages. Today's installment was "Bad, Bad Leroy Brown", which was then - not unpleasantly, I might add - stuck in my head all day.
Reassuring thing #2 is that there is a guy right outside my residence selling teeny tiny Christmas trees, one of which I will soon purchase and install in my room, undoubtedly in slightly crooked fashion. Then I can decorate it cheap-student style, with popcorn strings and construction paper chains! Amanda, if you're reading this, we're going to make popcorn strings and construction paper chains while you're here. I'm afraid you have very little choice in the matter.
Monday, December 8, 2008
Wednesday, December 3, 2008
Would you mind if I told you how they do it in Austria?
Alternate title: Reading facebook message boards can be hazardous to your health
Who knows how Canada's constitution works? It's not always me, but I can assure you that it is definitely not 95% of the pissy 18-year-olds who've chosen to share their indignance with the world via the message board of "I'm against the Liberal coup d'état".
Firstly...ok. I know that anyone who's reading my blog already gets this, but OH GOD STOP CALLING IT A "COUP". This is a coup. This is a coup. This is a coup, too. What is happening in Canada is a peaceful, legal, perfectly constitutional response to a Cabinet that has lost the confidence of the House. Furthermore, it's already happened in Canada, both officially and unofficially. Everybody take a breath.
While you're breathing, try to think for a moment about your response to the term "coalition government". I saw an awful lot of "look at Italy and Israel!!!! Coalitions are doomed to failure!!!!!1!!" And I suppose you have a point, Mr. "Jack Layton is a Communist" of St. Albert Catholic High School, especially when you consider how much more Canada has in common with Israel than with Sweden, Ireland, Germany, or any other of the numerous stable, peaceful democracies listed here. I hear Switzerland is a real hell-hole these days - good thing those train tickets to Zurich are refundable.
I'm going to talk about Austria for a minute, since its the only country that I've had the good fortune to live in under a coalition government, not to mention during an election of same. I'll be the first to admit that Austrian politics fall on the "kind of messed" side of the (democratic) political spectrum. Full disclosure: in the past two months, the following things have happened.
I don't mean to paint Austria as an idyllic, post-partisan dreamworld - it's not, and there are issues. The point is that there has come to Europe a sense that government consists of everyone who has been elected to it. That perhaps MPs should think of governing before they think of securing their legacies. That perhaps agendas should be discussed and revised, rather than imposed. That perhaps everyone in Canada should relax and think about things before screaming about socialists, separatists, and not-a-leaders (oh my!).
And while I'm thinking about it, someone should tell Stephen Harper that, while I'm holding in my Nelson laugh in the spirit of cooperation, a bully is not the same thing as a leader. Leaders talk to people, leaders inspire, leaders take counsel, and above all, leaders get shit done. Something about living in glass PM residences and not throwing parliamentary maces...? Man, I can't wait to see what happens.
Oh yeah, and Austria also has proportional representation. Just in case you were wondering.
Who knows how Canada's constitution works? It's not always me, but I can assure you that it is definitely not 95% of the pissy 18-year-olds who've chosen to share their indignance with the world via the message board of "I'm against the Liberal coup d'état".
Firstly...ok. I know that anyone who's reading my blog already gets this, but OH GOD STOP CALLING IT A "COUP". This is a coup. This is a coup. This is a coup, too. What is happening in Canada is a peaceful, legal, perfectly constitutional response to a Cabinet that has lost the confidence of the House. Furthermore, it's already happened in Canada, both officially and unofficially. Everybody take a breath.
While you're breathing, try to think for a moment about your response to the term "coalition government". I saw an awful lot of "look at Italy and Israel!!!! Coalitions are doomed to failure!!!!!1!!" And I suppose you have a point, Mr. "Jack Layton is a Communist" of St. Albert Catholic High School, especially when you consider how much more Canada has in common with Israel than with Sweden, Ireland, Germany, or any other of the numerous stable, peaceful democracies listed here. I hear Switzerland is a real hell-hole these days - good thing those train tickets to Zurich are refundable.
I'm going to talk about Austria for a minute, since its the only country that I've had the good fortune to live in under a coalition government, not to mention during an election of same. I'll be the first to admit that Austrian politics fall on the "kind of messed" side of the (democratic) political spectrum. Full disclosure: in the past two months, the following things have happened.
- An election occurred, after the previous coalition government split following disagreement over Austria's level of involvement in and committment to the EU
- 16-to-18-year-olds, voting in their first election in Austrian history, overwhelmingly tilted to the far-right, leading to a minority parliament with representation from the center-left (29%), center-right (26%), far right (18%), batshit-crazy right (11%), and green (10%) parties
- Immediately following the elections, two of the major parties (center-right and green) changed leaders, seemingly overnight
- The overly-tanned and immensely-popular-in-certain-circles leader of the batshit-crazies died in a car accident, leaving his 28-year-old protegé/best friend/rumoured lover to take the helm
- After considerable soul-searching, the leader of the center-right party rejects appeals from the far right to form government, and instead reaches out to the leader of the center-left
- They take their sweet-ass time coming to a consensus on policy and cabinet positions, leaving plenty of time for the newly-minted Saviour of the Batshit-Crazies to resign his party's house leadership, take a week to think about it, and then quit politics altogether to make a movie about his deceased mentor/maybe-boyfriend and weep publicly
- The leader of the center-right gets cold feet, and publicly submits "10 Important Questions" to his would-be coalition partner. He NEEDS ANSWERS! One of the questions may have been, "do you like me or like like me?"
- The center-left guy answers the questions the next day in a national newspaper, and the government is formed in the next week. The leader of the center-left (Werner Faymann) is the new Chancellor, Joseph Proll (center-right kingmaker) is Vice-Chancellor, and Cabinet positions were split evenly between the parties.
I don't mean to paint Austria as an idyllic, post-partisan dreamworld - it's not, and there are issues. The point is that there has come to Europe a sense that government consists of everyone who has been elected to it. That perhaps MPs should think of governing before they think of securing their legacies. That perhaps agendas should be discussed and revised, rather than imposed. That perhaps everyone in Canada should relax and think about things before screaming about socialists, separatists, and not-a-leaders (oh my!).
And while I'm thinking about it, someone should tell Stephen Harper that, while I'm holding in my Nelson laugh in the spirit of cooperation, a bully is not the same thing as a leader. Leaders talk to people, leaders inspire, leaders take counsel, and above all, leaders get shit done. Something about living in glass PM residences and not throwing parliamentary maces...? Man, I can't wait to see what happens.
Oh yeah, and Austria also has proportional representation. Just in case you were wondering.
Saturday, November 29, 2008
Keep on fighting those stereotypes
From Roy MacGregor's article "The Audacity of Obama", published in the Globe and Mail:
No wonder, then, that Peter Newman once suggested that "The quintessential Canadian hero may have been Mackenzie King, who ruled this country longer than any other man, enjoyed the sex life of a gnat, never took a political chance and was so fastidious that, on a 1949 visit to his good friend John D. Rockefeller, he brought along six spare shoelaces."
No wonder, then, that Peter Newman once suggested that "The quintessential Canadian hero may have been Mackenzie King, who ruled this country longer than any other man, enjoyed the sex life of a gnat, never took a political chance and was so fastidious that, on a 1949 visit to his good friend John D. Rockefeller, he brought along six spare shoelaces."
Jezt kann ich ein bisschen Deutsch sprechen
I've been trying to learn German. I think I can now amend this to "I've been learning some German", because yesterday at work I understood fully 90% of a politely heated conversation about booking holiday vacation time via the company intranet ("No! If you don't come in on the BLUE days, it's an automatic vacation - otherwise the time is just subtracted from your total." "I think you are wrong." "You are the one who is wrong."...etc. Blows were narrowly avoided.)
The month of intensive language courses I took - four days a weeks, three hours a day, after work - was exhausting but undoubtedly useful. That was in September, and since then the world around me has been slowly turning into something I understand again. I've gone from doing mental happy dances at any intelligible overheard conversation (my first triumph: "Maximillian! How many times do I have to tell you?") to being annoyed when I can't understand. I still sound like an idiot three-year-old when I try to speak in German myself, but with more courses coming up in January, I hope to soon progress to the level of a five-year-old who's a just a little slow.
A fun upside of trying to learn German at work is the hilarious Austrian idioms, slang, and bizarre contractions my colleagues use. Of late, my favourite is the Upper Austrian phrase, "Auf, und der Kuh nach!" You say it when you want someone to get up and leave with you, and Juergen translated it as "Get up and follow the cow", but I prefer the word-for-word translation of "Up, and after the cow!". It calls to mind frantic Austrian farmers charging pell-mell through hilly pastures, shouting at neighbouring farmers to help them or, God forbid, there'll be no cheeses this Christmas!
I've also had my first sweet taste of being able to talk right in front of someone who has no clue what you're saying. This is snobby and mean, and I haven't done it very much at all, but one of my friends here is a fellow Canadian intern who's dating a Turkish-Austrian girl, and it is endlessly entertaining to discuss Turkish football with his girlfriend while he thinks we're talking about him.
Lastly and most obviously, there are some things that just sound hilarious in German. Of course, it's full of crazy-ass compound nouns. Why call it a fridge when you can call it a "cold cupboard"? Doesn't a shootout make more sense as an "eleven meter kicking"? One of the undisputed kings of these is the Donaudampfshiffahrtsgesellschaftskapitaenskajuetenschluesseloch, or the keyhole of the door to the cabin of the captain of a steamship company operating on the Danube. I'm still trying to find a way to work it into a sentence. A shorter but no more practical example is the sign displayed in the window of a nearby supermarket, proclaiming "Monday is Banana Day!". It would be funny anyway, but the fact that "Bananentag" is one word makes it gold.
In conclusion, languages are fun, and German is extra fun because you can essentially invent words whenever you want. Eat your heart out, Shakespeare.
The month of intensive language courses I took - four days a weeks, three hours a day, after work - was exhausting but undoubtedly useful. That was in September, and since then the world around me has been slowly turning into something I understand again. I've gone from doing mental happy dances at any intelligible overheard conversation (my first triumph: "Maximillian! How many times do I have to tell you?") to being annoyed when I can't understand. I still sound like an idiot three-year-old when I try to speak in German myself, but with more courses coming up in January, I hope to soon progress to the level of a five-year-old who's a just a little slow.
A fun upside of trying to learn German at work is the hilarious Austrian idioms, slang, and bizarre contractions my colleagues use. Of late, my favourite is the Upper Austrian phrase, "Auf, und der Kuh nach!" You say it when you want someone to get up and leave with you, and Juergen translated it as "Get up and follow the cow", but I prefer the word-for-word translation of "Up, and after the cow!". It calls to mind frantic Austrian farmers charging pell-mell through hilly pastures, shouting at neighbouring farmers to help them or, God forbid, there'll be no cheeses this Christmas!
I've also had my first sweet taste of being able to talk right in front of someone who has no clue what you're saying. This is snobby and mean, and I haven't done it very much at all, but one of my friends here is a fellow Canadian intern who's dating a Turkish-Austrian girl, and it is endlessly entertaining to discuss Turkish football with his girlfriend while he thinks we're talking about him.
Lastly and most obviously, there are some things that just sound hilarious in German. Of course, it's full of crazy-ass compound nouns. Why call it a fridge when you can call it a "cold cupboard"? Doesn't a shootout make more sense as an "eleven meter kicking"? One of the undisputed kings of these is the Donaudampfshiffahrtsgesellschaftskapitaenskajuetenschluesseloch, or the keyhole of the door to the cabin of the captain of a steamship company operating on the Danube. I'm still trying to find a way to work it into a sentence. A shorter but no more practical example is the sign displayed in the window of a nearby supermarket, proclaiming "Monday is Banana Day!". It would be funny anyway, but the fact that "Bananentag" is one word makes it gold.
In conclusion, languages are fun, and German is extra fun because you can essentially invent words whenever you want. Eat your heart out, Shakespeare.
Monday, November 24, 2008
Two things that only two select groups of people will appreciate
I met an Austrian guy the other night who not only lived in Victoria long enough to do a Master's thesis at UVic, but also visited Toronto long enough to meet with a...mutual acquaintance at U of T.
For the Victorians - he lived in Cook St. Village! And when I was describing the location of my parents' house to him, he said, "oh, Craigflower! Like the bus route?"
For the Engscis - we had the following conversation about his day at U of T:
Austrian guy: I was only there for an afternoon, but I'd previously arranged to meet with a professor there who's a bit of a bigshot in my field
Kari: Oh? What do you study?
Austrian guy: Computer Science. The professor seemed really smart, and he sounded excited to meet me in his emails, but when I got there it seemed that he'd completely forgotten about me and scheduled something else instead. It was interesting to meet him though. He's really young for a prof - I think he was 28 or so when I was there.
Kari: Any chance his name was Parham Aarabi?
Austrian guy: ...yeah. I thought you said you studied Aerospace?
Kari: Um, I did, but during the Foundation Years...I mean, I was in this program called...yeah, it's kind of complicated.
Austrian guy: Ok. Say, that guy's a little arrogant, isn't he?
Kari: Just a bit. Did he tell you about how he's building the car from Knight Rider?
For the Victorians - he lived in Cook St. Village! And when I was describing the location of my parents' house to him, he said, "oh, Craigflower! Like the bus route?"
For the Engscis - we had the following conversation about his day at U of T:
Austrian guy: I was only there for an afternoon, but I'd previously arranged to meet with a professor there who's a bit of a bigshot in my field
Kari: Oh? What do you study?
Austrian guy: Computer Science. The professor seemed really smart, and he sounded excited to meet me in his emails, but when I got there it seemed that he'd completely forgotten about me and scheduled something else instead. It was interesting to meet him though. He's really young for a prof - I think he was 28 or so when I was there.
Kari: Any chance his name was Parham Aarabi?
Austrian guy: ...yeah. I thought you said you studied Aerospace?
Kari: Um, I did, but during the Foundation Years...I mean, I was in this program called...yeah, it's kind of complicated.
Austrian guy: Ok. Say, that guy's a little arrogant, isn't he?
Kari: Just a bit. Did he tell you about how he's building the car from Knight Rider?
Tuesday, November 4, 2008
Four years ago
Four years ago, I was sitting on Deniz's bed in UC, burning myself on overheated transistors, writing a design proposal that was neither realistic nor accurate, and cursing as we watched a sea of red expand across the continental United States on CNN.com.
Tonight, it is 4:13am, and I have just returned home from a bar where a hundred ecstatic, travelling Democrats remain, drinking cider and wine spritzers because the beer has run out, and cheering on their guy with voices that are already hoarse.
CNN.com currently projects 207 electoral votes for Obama, not including California, Washington, Oregon, Hawaii, or Florida. There is a strong Democratic Senate majority. Elizabeth Dole lost. I am going to bed. 2008 wins.
Tonight, it is 4:13am, and I have just returned home from a bar where a hundred ecstatic, travelling Democrats remain, drinking cider and wine spritzers because the beer has run out, and cheering on their guy with voices that are already hoarse.
CNN.com currently projects 207 electoral votes for Obama, not including California, Washington, Oregon, Hawaii, or Florida. There is a strong Democratic Senate majority. Elizabeth Dole lost. I am going to bed. 2008 wins.
Monday, November 3, 2008
Sometimes I love my job
For the purposes of your own amusement, consider that my cube-mate Bob speaks with a Cockney brogue, and that all the other lines were delivered in a mix of German and German-accented English.
FACC, Wednesday, 3:30pm
Marian, a lead design engineer prone to wearing colourful t-shirts that are just slightly too tight, stands near the window with a pair of binoculars. All others are seated at their desks.
Marian: Hey, I think that's my girlfriend out there...
Andreas: On the runway?
Marian: Yeah, I think...yes, it's definitely her.
Andreas: Where? Loading that plane over there?
All rise and commence peering out the window
Marian: At first I wasn't sure, but it's definitely her. She works for Lufthansa. Raises binoculars again.
Bob: (quietly) Funny, I didn't see anyone with a white cane.
Kari: snickers
Andreas, Marian, all Austrians within earshot: What?
Kari: (realizing no one else understood the joke) guffaws
Bob: Oh...because a blind person would carry a white cane, and I figured she'd have to be blind to...nevermind.
Andreas: (catching on) Ha! She cannot see! Commences hilariously inappropriate imitation of a (seemingly hunchbacked) blind person walking with a cane
Marian: (looking indignant) Of course she can see. She's a flight attendant.
All but Marian: raucous laughter
20 minutes later...
Ernst, Lead Stress Engineer (and my boss), approaches
Ernst: Bob, what was going on before? I heard you all laughing.
Bob: Oh, nothing really. Marian saw his girlfriend working out on the runway.
Ernst: ...Marian's girlfriend is a dental hygenist.
Kari, Bob: raucous laughter
Ernst: What?
FACC, Wednesday, 3:30pm
Marian, a lead design engineer prone to wearing colourful t-shirts that are just slightly too tight, stands near the window with a pair of binoculars. All others are seated at their desks.
Marian: Hey, I think that's my girlfriend out there...
Andreas: On the runway?
Marian: Yeah, I think...yes, it's definitely her.
Andreas: Where? Loading that plane over there?
All rise and commence peering out the window
Marian: At first I wasn't sure, but it's definitely her. She works for Lufthansa. Raises binoculars again.
Bob: (quietly) Funny, I didn't see anyone with a white cane.
Kari: snickers
Andreas, Marian, all Austrians within earshot: What?
Kari: (realizing no one else understood the joke) guffaws
Bob: Oh...because a blind person would carry a white cane, and I figured she'd have to be blind to...nevermind.
Andreas: (catching on) Ha! She cannot see! Commences hilariously inappropriate imitation of a (seemingly hunchbacked) blind person walking with a cane
Marian: (looking indignant) Of course she can see. She's a flight attendant.
All but Marian: raucous laughter
20 minutes later...
Ernst, Lead Stress Engineer (and my boss), approaches
Ernst: Bob, what was going on before? I heard you all laughing.
Bob: Oh, nothing really. Marian saw his girlfriend working out on the runway.
Ernst: ...Marian's girlfriend is a dental hygenist.
Kari, Bob: raucous laughter
Ernst: What?
Tuesday, October 21, 2008
I can't believe I spent a whole train ride thinking about this
Parallels between the current U.S. Presidential campaign and the latter seasons of The West Wing. West Wing spoilers follow, but since the only people who watched the (increasingly crappy) last two seasons were myself and diehard Sorkin fanboys looking for cannon fodder, you're probably safe.
Primaries
Fiction: Republican contest wrapped up by Super Tuesday. Democrats deadlocked through to the convention, where a heart-tugging speech and plenty of backroom wheeling and dealing results in a candidate no one expected.
Fact: Republican contest wrapped up by Super Tuesday. Democrats...well...you were there.
Candidates
Fiction: Republicans field a respectable, no-nonsense "maverick" Senator with decades of experience who is in favour of abortion rights and doesn't attend church. He is played by Alan Alda. Democrats nominate a relatively inexperienced Congressman, the first Latino Presidential candidate from a major party.
Fact: Democrats - the same, only black and a Senator. Republicans - the same, but sadly five years removed from the things he actually believes. Saddest of all, Alan Alda is seemingly uninvolved.
Running Mates
Fiction: Democrats pick an ornery but beloved party veteran to counteract perceived inexperience at the top of the ticket. Republicans pick a young, attractive, frightening social conservative to counteract perceived common sense at the top of the ticket (aka "pander to the base").
Fact: Democrats, ditto. Republicans...actually, the truth is more far-fetched. The less I talk about her, the better for everyone.
Debates
Fiction: A much-touted debate sparks public interest, but is actually incredibly dull to watch.
Fact: Wake me up when they stop talking about that Joe guy.
TSN Turning Point
Fiction: A near-disaster at a nuclear plant in the Republican candidate's home state turns the tide of a nail-bitingly close race.
Fact: An actual disaster in the finances of the world causes America to come to its senses.
Predictions
Based solely on extrapolation from the eerily prescient (and Emmy-winning!) television series, the following things will definitely happen*.
Primaries
Fiction: Republican contest wrapped up by Super Tuesday. Democrats deadlocked through to the convention, where a heart-tugging speech and plenty of backroom wheeling and dealing results in a candidate no one expected.
Fact: Republican contest wrapped up by Super Tuesday. Democrats...well...you were there.
Candidates
Fiction: Republicans field a respectable, no-nonsense "maverick" Senator with decades of experience who is in favour of abortion rights and doesn't attend church. He is played by Alan Alda. Democrats nominate a relatively inexperienced Congressman, the first Latino Presidential candidate from a major party.
Fact: Democrats - the same, only black and a Senator. Republicans - the same, but sadly five years removed from the things he actually believes. Saddest of all, Alan Alda is seemingly uninvolved.
Running Mates
Fiction: Democrats pick an ornery but beloved party veteran to counteract perceived inexperience at the top of the ticket. Republicans pick a young, attractive, frightening social conservative to counteract perceived common sense at the top of the ticket (aka "pander to the base").
Fact: Democrats, ditto. Republicans...actually, the truth is more far-fetched. The less I talk about her, the better for everyone.
Debates
Fiction: A much-touted debate sparks public interest, but is actually incredibly dull to watch.
Fact: Wake me up when they stop talking about that Joe guy.
TSN Turning Point
Fiction: A near-disaster at a nuclear plant in the Republican candidate's home state turns the tide of a nail-bitingly close race.
Fact: An actual disaster in the finances of the world causes America to come to its senses.
Predictions
Based solely on extrapolation from the eerily prescient (and Emmy-winning!) television series, the following things will definitely happen*.
- At some point during the campaign, Obama and Bush will eat ice cream straight from the bucket in the White House kitchen at midnight, and discuss their ideological differences with eloquence and civility. This has probably already happened.
- Obama's campaign manager and the campaign manager's former assistant/current campaign aide will finally give in to years of sexual tension on the eve of the election, givng rise to plenty of awkward election day hijinks and a bevy of Moments You've Been Waiting For.
- Joe Biden will die of a heart attack several hours before the polls close, and everyone will be very sad.
- A virual tie in the electoral college will bring it all down to the good people of Nevada. After Obama wins, he will appoint a bitter but still reasonable McCain as his new Secretary of State.
- Allison Janney will show up and do something awesome.
Monday, August 11, 2008
"It's being-first-woman-President good."
Be it resolved that I have failed at all blog-related aspects of my life. I've reached the point where there is so much to talk about that I don't have time to begin, and so I will talk about other, less interesting things instead.
I've spent the last 5 weekends travelling throughout Austria and to several other countries with a motely crew of scientists and engineers - mostly European, mostly dudes. I'm having a blast, but occasionally (perhaps every three weeks or so), one tires of fart jokes, drinking games, and "you really play soccer? Like, on a team?"
Maybe that's why I found this so funny, though I'm pretty sure I still would have laughed if I'd watched it from Girl Guide camp. See also: the same comedian's take on Botox, wedding shows, and making dinner.
Ah, intelligent, non-whinging, feminist humour, how I love thee. And now, back to my regular schedule of beer bongs and doing your mom.
I've spent the last 5 weekends travelling throughout Austria and to several other countries with a motely crew of scientists and engineers - mostly European, mostly dudes. I'm having a blast, but occasionally (perhaps every three weeks or so), one tires of fart jokes, drinking games, and "you really play soccer? Like, on a team?"
Maybe that's why I found this so funny, though I'm pretty sure I still would have laughed if I'd watched it from Girl Guide camp. See also: the same comedian's take on Botox, wedding shows, and making dinner.
Ah, intelligent, non-whinging, feminist humour, how I love thee. And now, back to my regular schedule of beer bongs and doing your mom.
Wednesday, July 30, 2008
Three cheers for public broadcasting
I was wearing my CBC shirt on the way home from work today, when an ex-Montrealer and retired VP of Kraft approached me and struck up a conversation. Turns out he's been living in Vienna for 11 years. I never thought I'd discuss the Hockey Night in Canada theme song on my way between the Wien Mitte CAT platform and the U4 underground line, but there you go. CBC merch: more subtle than maple leaves, more late-July-appropriate than a red and white toque.
In other news, I am still alive and still in Vienna. My phone works, my visa has been approved, I have a PIN from the bank, my finger is still broken, and I survived a weekend of Gaelic football and drinking with the Irish (lessons learned: "savage craic" is a good thing; drinking Guinness and then failing to sleep before playing three games of football is not).
Hopefully I will add some substantive information before a hiking trip this weekend, but if not, I hope you're all enjoying the sunshine.
Thursday, July 17, 2008
"I can't watch any more of these German sitcoms."
An MS Paint production, in 4 parts.
Act I - Temptation
Act II - Fun while it lasted
Act III - Pigheadedness
Later:
Act IV - Comeuppance
Act I - Temptation
Act II - Fun while it lasted
Act III - Pigheadedness
Later:
Act IV - Comeuppance
Tuesday, July 8, 2008
Austria gets knocked down, but it gets up again and makes you sign a form
Trial the first: Be in Austria Legally
- IAESTE member gives me the address of the building where, he assures me, I can apply for my visa
- I show up at said building to find it locked. After several minutes of dictionary-flipping, I confirm that the sign on the door states that the office has moved across town.
- I show up at the new building, to find that the office closes at 12pm. It was then 12:20.
- I return to the new building the next morning, promptly at 8:00.
- After sitting in a dank waiting room for an hour and a half, my name is called to a room, the number of which I am not fast enough to translate from the loudspeaker. I am yelled at by an Austrian lady in the incorrect room, who eventually points me down the hall.
- After several minutes of sighing and paper shuffling, the even grumpier lady in the correct room speaks only enough English to grunt, "YOU ARE WRONG!", and point to an address written on a scrap of paper. She hands me my forms, and I leave.
- I consult with a different IAESTE member, since the one who originally gave me the (outdated and incorrect, anyway) address has since moved to Germany.
- After two or three days, I am informed that I should go to the address that Angry Grunting Lady wrote down.
- I arrive at this third location to find it friendly, well-lit, and staffed by smiling people who will condescend to answer my halting Engleutsch phrases politely.
- I have submitted my visa application!
- BUT
- I also must go to "register with the police".
- "Well, not quite the police...like the city police...they must know where you live."
- After speaking with some of the other interns, we discover that IAESTE has given us the wrong location again. Fortunately, native Austrians and long-term exchange students on our floor point us in the right direction.
- The next day, I am registered. Surely my status is unimpeachable now. But how will I be paid, unless I...
- IAESTE member assures me that bank accounts are easy to obtain, and that he will fill out the paperwork for me
- Oh, but I have to bring a photocopy of my passport
- It's easy - we can do it at the IAESTE office. Drop by anytime!
- I drop by. The door is locked.
- I email the same person, telling him that I don't have a phone yet, and asking when someone will be in the office.
- "Oh, just come anytime. If the door is locked, call me."
- Several days later, I manage to arrive while someone is there. Photocopying ensues! I sign things! Everything is great!
- Two days later: "Your account is ready. You just need to go to the bank and sign the form. Be there at 12:00 tomorrow (Monday)."
- "Um, can I go in the morning? I have to work, and it takes about 40 minutes to get there from downtown."
- "I think that should be fine. Oh, and I guess I should tell you where the bank is?"
- I arrive at the specified address, not knowing the name of the bank, and find three banks side-by-side, all in the same buiding with the same address.
- "Guten Morgen! Ich bin Trainee mit IAESTE. Ich heisse Kari Zacharias..." [please be it, please be it, please be it]
- YES!
- 5 forms and 8 signatures later (not even joking), I have a bank account. But no bank card!
- "We will mail it to you. Then you come back to the bank to get your PIN."
- That is silly, but I don't care, because I have leapt over the two major hurdles, forded the two biggest streams. I have conquered Austria! I could kick Napoleon's ass right now. Surely now it will be simple to...
- NO.
- I borrowed a phone from IAESTE somewhere in the middle of all the showing up at the office as much as possible. However, it needs a SIM card.
- Incidentally, cell phones are called "handys" here, which means that there is at least one phone store called "Handyland". I did not visit that one.
- At a store with a less creepy name, the nice man informs me that my phone is locked. I will need to get that dealt with - just not at this store.
- IAESTE advises me to find a small phone store. "They'll do it for 5 Euros."
- All the small phone stores are closed ALL THE TIME. Also, I work all day long.
- I am prevented for a week from finding a store during the hour or so window that exists between my arriving home from work and everything closing.
- Today: I found one! It is open!
- My phone apparently was jostled on in my bag, and now needs to be charged before unlocking.
- No matter! I got home early today - the store is open for at least another hour and a half.
- I return, half an hour before closing time, with a 3/4 charged phone.
- "Oh, I meant that you should leave it here and I can do it tomorrow. I don't have time tonight."
- "I'm sorry, I can't make it tomorrow. Do you know anywhere else near here I might be able to go?"
- "No."
- ANGRY CANADIAN TURNS IMPOLITE - MURDEROUS RAMPAGE ENSUES! NO MOBILE PHONE DEALER IS SAFE!
Sunday, July 6, 2008
A word about work, and then a tangent
I'm working with an Austrian company called FACC, which used to stand for Fischer Advanced Composite Components and now stands for [something with an F] Advanced Composite Components, since the founding family was bought out a few months ago. They've got a couple of contracts on the go right now at the Vienna office, including the design of flap track fairings for the A380 as well as something else for Airbus, but the main focus is on the translating sleeve for the thrust reverser of the B787. This is the group I'm working with. In brief, I'm doing FEM modeling and stress analysis on various parts of the sleeve (mostly composites), using a software package called Patran/Nastran. Any Aeros reading this can probably stop here, but for the benefit of everyone else, a rudimentary breakdown follows.
The thrust reverser is part of the engine nacelle, shown below (nacelle in red, thrust reverser in
green). When the airplane is taking off or cruising, thrust needs to be generated 'backwards', in order to propel the plane forwards (physics!); however, upon landing, it's useful to generate thrust in the opposite direction, to slow the plane down. To do this, the thrust reverser separates slightly from the rest of the nacelle, and uses the resulting gap to push air up and towards the front of the plane. The translating sleeve consists of the outer shell of the thrust reverser, an inner "acoustic skin", which is specially treated to reduce noise, and a series of small blocker doors.
Boeing subcontracted the design and construction of the nacelles to Goodrich, which in turn subcontracted the translating sleeves to FACC. Most of the design and analysis is happening out of the Vienna office, and all of the production is in Ried, a smaller city in Austria between Salzburg and Linz. The frantic rescheduling and inevitable delays common to all large aerospace projects eventually resulted in Goodrich sending a small team of Americans to Vienna to "supervise" the design process. This has resulted in some mostly good-natured tension.
So, what do I actually do? I spent most of my first week playing around with the software and trying to convince my supervisors that I really was going to be useful, despite my lack of practial experience with modeling (if you thought explaining EngSci to people was fun without a language barrier...). On Thursday and Friday, though, I managed to do some actual, if extremely simple, work, creating a mesh for the blocker door hinges and running a normal mode analysis.
The work is certainly more interesting than anything I did at Honeywell, and has the added bonus of being based on things that I actually learned at school. Also, I have a nice desk rather than a cramped, shared, overheated conference room, and the office is on the top floor of a gorgeous glass building, directly overlooking the main runway of the Vienna airport.
My direct supervisor, the composites lead for the stress analysis group, is named Ernst. His direct supervisor, the lead of the entire stress analysis group, is also named Ernst. I believe there is at least one other guy named Ernst, whom I haven't met.
There are around 45 people in the Vienna office and, aside from the receptionist, Sandra, I'm the only woman. Fortunately there are three women's washrooms, so I've figured we can each take one and use the third to store our hair products. I'm also the youngest and the only Canadian (though there are several Americans and Brits) so it's fair to say I stick out a bit. This is neither unexpected nor totally disheartening, but it can be a little strange.
The Vienna office employs people from a variety of different countries, including Austria, Germany, Spain, England, Switzerland, France, the U.S., and now Canada. Vienna's diversity in general is a far cry from Toronto's or Vancouver's, but I continue to be astounded by the sheer number of countries represented by my fellow IAESTE trainees. Yesterday, at dinner during the IAESTE Vienna Weekend, I shared a dinner table with people from Austria, Ireland, Norway, England, Australia, Jordan, and Israel.
In addition to those countries, between IAESTE and the hostel where I'm staying, I've met people from Pakistan, Lebanon, Northern Ireland, Mexico, Portugal, Tunisia, Hong Kong, Hungary, India, Egypt, Turkey, Slovenia, the Czech Republic, Russia, Palestine, Italy, France, Lithuania, and Wisconsin. I also met two 0T8 + PEY mechanical engineers from U of T, who remain the only Canadians I've seen. Finally, the prize for the coolest background thus far goes to my new friend Olga, who was born in Jordan to a Russian mother with family from Moldova and a Jordanian father who works in Greece. She speaks English, Arabic, Russian, Greek, French, some Italian and a little Moldovan. Needless to say, I feel like a moron most of the time. I'm grateful at least that I can entertain people with "Canada is kind of wacky" stories ("you call them loonies?").
Speaking of which, I will leave you with a Foreign Currency Fun Fact as a parting note - I recently found out that in Israel, a two-shekel coin is called a 'shnekel', since shnek is similar to the Hebew word for two. Puns and money FTW!
The thrust reverser is part of the engine nacelle, shown below (nacelle in red, thrust reverser in
green). When the airplane is taking off or cruising, thrust needs to be generated 'backwards', in order to propel the plane forwards (physics!); however, upon landing, it's useful to generate thrust in the opposite direction, to slow the plane down. To do this, the thrust reverser separates slightly from the rest of the nacelle, and uses the resulting gap to push air up and towards the front of the plane. The translating sleeve consists of the outer shell of the thrust reverser, an inner "acoustic skin", which is specially treated to reduce noise, and a series of small blocker doors. Boeing subcontracted the design and construction of the nacelles to Goodrich, which in turn subcontracted the translating sleeves to FACC. Most of the design and analysis is happening out of the Vienna office, and all of the production is in Ried, a smaller city in Austria between Salzburg and Linz. The frantic rescheduling and inevitable delays common to all large aerospace projects eventually resulted in Goodrich sending a small team of Americans to Vienna to "supervise" the design process. This has resulted in some mostly good-natured tension.
So, what do I actually do? I spent most of my first week playing around with the software and trying to convince my supervisors that I really was going to be useful, despite my lack of practial experience with modeling (if you thought explaining EngSci to people was fun without a language barrier...). On Thursday and Friday, though, I managed to do some actual, if extremely simple, work, creating a mesh for the blocker door hinges and running a normal mode analysis.
The work is certainly more interesting than anything I did at Honeywell, and has the added bonus of being based on things that I actually learned at school. Also, I have a nice desk rather than a cramped, shared, overheated conference room, and the office is on the top floor of a gorgeous glass building, directly overlooking the main runway of the Vienna airport.
My direct supervisor, the composites lead for the stress analysis group, is named Ernst. His direct supervisor, the lead of the entire stress analysis group, is also named Ernst. I believe there is at least one other guy named Ernst, whom I haven't met.
There are around 45 people in the Vienna office and, aside from the receptionist, Sandra, I'm the only woman. Fortunately there are three women's washrooms, so I've figured we can each take one and use the third to store our hair products. I'm also the youngest and the only Canadian (though there are several Americans and Brits) so it's fair to say I stick out a bit. This is neither unexpected nor totally disheartening, but it can be a little strange.
The Vienna office employs people from a variety of different countries, including Austria, Germany, Spain, England, Switzerland, France, the U.S., and now Canada. Vienna's diversity in general is a far cry from Toronto's or Vancouver's, but I continue to be astounded by the sheer number of countries represented by my fellow IAESTE trainees. Yesterday, at dinner during the IAESTE Vienna Weekend, I shared a dinner table with people from Austria, Ireland, Norway, England, Australia, Jordan, and Israel.
In addition to those countries, between IAESTE and the hostel where I'm staying, I've met people from Pakistan, Lebanon, Northern Ireland, Mexico, Portugal, Tunisia, Hong Kong, Hungary, India, Egypt, Turkey, Slovenia, the Czech Republic, Russia, Palestine, Italy, France, Lithuania, and Wisconsin. I also met two 0T8 + PEY mechanical engineers from U of T, who remain the only Canadians I've seen. Finally, the prize for the coolest background thus far goes to my new friend Olga, who was born in Jordan to a Russian mother with family from Moldova and a Jordanian father who works in Greece. She speaks English, Arabic, Russian, Greek, French, some Italian and a little Moldovan. Needless to say, I feel like a moron most of the time. I'm grateful at least that I can entertain people with "Canada is kind of wacky" stories ("you call them loonies?").
Speaking of which, I will leave you with a Foreign Currency Fun Fact as a parting note - I recently found out that in Israel, a two-shekel coin is called a 'shnekel', since shnek is similar to the Hebew word for two. Puns and money FTW!
Tuesday, July 1, 2008
With no further ado
For my first three days in Vienna, nothing was very palpable. I went down to the Fan Zone on Friday to find it quiet and mostly empty, populated by some over-eager Aussies playing soccer on a small rectangle of netted-in turf, and a tired DJ playing 90's music for people who were neither listening nor interested. Evaldas showed up on Saturday, to stay with the same IAESTE board member I was lodging with, and we walked through the Inner Stadt a bit, managing inadvertently to skirt the crowded areas.Then: Sunday. Walking through the centre of town, we were immediately overcome by the stench of beer, sweat, and untapped adrenaline (not unlike an engineering party, in that respect). Packs of Germans and Spaniards roamed the streets, drinking, yelling, singing, and breaking into spontaneous soccer matches outside the 14th century cathedral in the middle of Vienna. Tickets were eagerly flogged for hundreds of Euro, while hopeful and underprepared fans roamed the streets with cardboard signs, searching for something cheaper.
Evaldas left, mid-afternoon, for his job in St. Polten, and I made plans with some other trainees to meet up later and brave the Fan Zone at night. However, when 'later' arrived, our intended meeting-place was hopelessly overcome with revellers, and my ongoing cell phone-less existence (unintended now, mind you) meant that I would be alone for the rest of the evening.
Only slightly daunted, I continued around a corner, following the crush of people into the fenced and gated Fan Zone. Keep in mind, when looking at the above pictures, that this was maybe 1/8 of the available area, and that the first two photos were taken about an hour before the game actually started. I sandwiched myself between a group of Germans and a group of Spaniards, strategically placing myself in front of the Germans (who were tall), and behind the Spanish (who were short, and looked like they had the potential to get handsy). Truth be told, most of the Spain fans there were actually Austrian, and were acting the way most Canadians do when the U.S. is playing someone who actually has a chance to beat them, at a sport Canada sucks at. However, the ones near me were speaking Spanish and singing football songs, so I'm satisfied that they were legit.
The crowd noise built to a dull roar as the players' names were announced - bye the bye, hearing a thousand Germans yelling "SCHWEINSTEIGER!" and singing "Lu Lu Lu - LUCAS PODOLSKI!" in drunken unison was one of the highlights of my trip so far - and never really subsided. Both teams had their chances in the first half, though Spain probably had the better of the play, and Casillas was good when he had to be (particularly on Germany's corners). The crowd positively exploded after Spain's goal, and after Spain really came alive in the second half, everyone in the predominantly Austrian crowd was singing "Eviva Espana".
The final whistle was a stranger-hugging, grown-men-crying experience the like of which I have never witnessed. After being whisked off my feet by Spanish fans, high-fiving elated Austrian ladies, and jumping up and down for a solid minute, I realized that a) I had been standing all afternoon, b) I hadn't really eaten anything since breakfast, and c) I really didn't want to end up like the guy who was carried past me on a stretcher in the 88th minute, so I high-tailed it out of the fan zone to the nearest seat, on the steps on the Hofburg Theatre.
Seeing me sitting alone, willing my head to stop spinning, an Austrian fan wearing only red and yellow underwear came over to me.
"You are supporting Germany?", he asked (in German).
"Nein," I responded, "just resting".
"Oh," he said, "super!". He danced away.
Awake and blogging
Phew. Now that I've moved into Albert Schweitzer Haus, I should have consistent internet access. This is good, because I have a lot of catching up to do, with subjects ranging from the hellish (Austrian visa applications and IAESTE incompetance) to the satisfactory (my new residence) to the pretty sweet (my job) to the OMG MY HEAD EXPLODED (the Euro final). It will be best to devote one entry to each of these, I think, so I'll do as much as I can tonight, and in the meantime we'll all have to hope that nothing interesting happens to me for a couple of days.
Firstly, some observations about Austria, and Vienna in particular:
- contrary to what I read before arriving, people do jaywalk here; it's just that they do it with extreme hesitation, bordering on furtiveness. On my first day in Vienna, I witnessed a woman look both ways about four times, then dart into the middle of the road with her groceries, eyes half shut and fearing death all the way across a totally abandoned one way street. Young people, albeit, are a little more courageous than this lady, who was at least 65. I no longer fear arrest, and I've learned to deal with the funny looks.
- speaking of traffic...can you tell what this sign means?
You probably can, but if not, consider that 'ein' means 'one', and 'autobahn' means 'highway', and the sign is patterned very closely after its North American counterpart. If you guessed that it means 'one way', you're not only correct, but you've managed to outdo the combined brainpower of I and Edalvas, my new Lithuanian mechanical engineering buddy (he of the borrowed laptop), since we could not figure this out over the course of an entire afternoon. Europe is making me dumb.
- fortunately, the traffic here isn't that important for me, because the public transportation system is amazing. There are five subway lines, curiously labelled U1-U6, with no U5 - I don't know why this is, yet - as well as multitudinous bus and tram lines and two separate, transfer-free trains to and from the airport. Every stop - subways, buses, you name it - has brightly lit signs announcing when the next ride is coming, and I've so far never known them to be incorrect. My hostel is closest to the U2 line (Achtung, baby!), which doesn't connect directly to the airport train I take to work, yet I can still do the 25km airport train, two subway connections, and short walk in about half an hour.
Firstly, some observations about Austria, and Vienna in particular:
- contrary to what I read before arriving, people do jaywalk here; it's just that they do it with extreme hesitation, bordering on furtiveness. On my first day in Vienna, I witnessed a woman look both ways about four times, then dart into the middle of the road with her groceries, eyes half shut and fearing death all the way across a totally abandoned one way street. Young people, albeit, are a little more courageous than this lady, who was at least 65. I no longer fear arrest, and I've learned to deal with the funny looks.
- speaking of traffic...can you tell what this sign means?
You probably can, but if not, consider that 'ein' means 'one', and 'autobahn' means 'highway', and the sign is patterned very closely after its North American counterpart. If you guessed that it means 'one way', you're not only correct, but you've managed to outdo the combined brainpower of I and Edalvas, my new Lithuanian mechanical engineering buddy (he of the borrowed laptop), since we could not figure this out over the course of an entire afternoon. Europe is making me dumb.- fortunately, the traffic here isn't that important for me, because the public transportation system is amazing. There are five subway lines, curiously labelled U1-U6, with no U5 - I don't know why this is, yet - as well as multitudinous bus and tram lines and two separate, transfer-free trains to and from the airport. Every stop - subways, buses, you name it - has brightly lit signs announcing when the next ride is coming, and I've so far never known them to be incorrect. My hostel is closest to the U2 line (Achtung, baby!), which doesn't connect directly to the airport train I take to work, yet I can still do the 25km airport train, two subway connections, and short walk in about half an hour.
Saturday, June 28, 2008
Saturday, June 28th, 12:42 pm, Vienna
FIRST LEDERHOSEN SIGHTING!
Worn seemingly unironically by a man strolling Krugerstrasse with his wife/girlfriend/lederhosen groupie on his arm. Why any sane person would choose to wear thick leather pants in summertime without being paid to do so is quite beyond me; nonetheless, I'm grateful to you, mystery lederhosen man, and sad only that I didn't have time to take a picture.
Worn seemingly unironically by a man strolling Krugerstrasse with his wife/girlfriend/lederhosen groupie on his arm. Why any sane person would choose to wear thick leather pants in summertime without being paid to do so is quite beyond me; nonetheless, I'm grateful to you, mystery lederhosen man, and sad only that I didn't have time to take a picture.
Still alive
First of all, I've now learned to always, always check the weight limit for luggage when flying somewhere - I'd assumed that my enormous suitcase would be overweight, but I had not accounted for the possibility that it might be so heavy that Air Canada/Lufthansa would refuse to carry it at all. Fortunately, through some frenzied redistribution, a $75 fee, and the disposal of my shampoo and conditioner bottles, I was able to transport both bags to Vienna, albeit with a carry-on backpack stuffed to bursting with all manner of heavy things (my shoulders almost died in the passport control line).
Anyway, once I left Pearson, my trip was uneventful. I took the fabulously quick but very expensive 'CAT' (City Airport Train) into downtown Vienna, where I met Daniel, my host for the first four days, at the train station. I slept for most of Thursday afternoon, before heading out with Daniel to watch the Russia-Spain semifinal at a nearby pub, with the rest of IAESTE Vienna. Unfortunately, Daniel's exam on Friday prevented him from staying past initial introductions, and I ended up sitting silently in the corner for most of the night while everyone around me spoke German. After the game, I struggled to find my way home from the metro through a severe thunderstorm, wearing an embarrassingly large borrowed raincoat (Daniel is tall, but he would have to gain about 100 lbs for the thing to actually fit him). My night vision, sketchy at best, was further obscured by the raindrops on my glasses, and my tiny, ineffectual map was barely useful even when I could find a light by which to read it. Eventually, after taking half an hour on what is no more than a 10 minute walk by daylight and cursing everything that is Austrian under my breath, I arrived at the apartment to find that I could not open the door, and so was forced to awaken Daniel before collapsing, soaking wet, onto my pillow, feeling more homesick and alone than I ever have before, and wondering what on earth I'd gotten myself into.
Fortunately, for my sanity and for all of you who, I'm sure, would prefer not to read about the long, dark nights of my soul for the next few months, yesterday was a vast improvement. I walked around Vienna all day, which is beautiful, though Hofburg and most of the more famous buildings are covered in Euro 2008 propoganda (they're all in the "Fan Zone", where I will hopefully head tomorrow evening for the final).
Later, I met up with some of the other IAESTE trainees for a soccer game. Oh dear. Let me tell you - playing soccer for two hours with a dozen twentysomething European guys in sweltering heat is not a way to build confidence in your footballing skills. They were very nice (and let the record show that I totally dominated the only American dude there), but I haven't played with anyone so out of my league since the Instructors vs. Campers game at soccer camp when I was 11. One of the Austrians on my team took to yelling, "Super!" at me every time I managed not to fall on my face after touching the ball. I sort of see where he was going with it, and I appreciate that he was trying to be nice, but really, dude, after a certain point you're just embarrassing both of us. All things considered though, I had a fantastic time and I'm totally going back next week.
I'll be moving into my new place (apartment? dorm? room? I'm not sure what to call it yet) on Monday, and hopefully internet access won't be too difficult to obtain there. In the meantime, I've got to get this laptop back to the Lithuanian exchange student I borrowed it from, so I'm promising more (including, hopefully, pictures) in a few days.
Anyway, once I left Pearson, my trip was uneventful. I took the fabulously quick but very expensive 'CAT' (City Airport Train) into downtown Vienna, where I met Daniel, my host for the first four days, at the train station. I slept for most of Thursday afternoon, before heading out with Daniel to watch the Russia-Spain semifinal at a nearby pub, with the rest of IAESTE Vienna. Unfortunately, Daniel's exam on Friday prevented him from staying past initial introductions, and I ended up sitting silently in the corner for most of the night while everyone around me spoke German. After the game, I struggled to find my way home from the metro through a severe thunderstorm, wearing an embarrassingly large borrowed raincoat (Daniel is tall, but he would have to gain about 100 lbs for the thing to actually fit him). My night vision, sketchy at best, was further obscured by the raindrops on my glasses, and my tiny, ineffectual map was barely useful even when I could find a light by which to read it. Eventually, after taking half an hour on what is no more than a 10 minute walk by daylight and cursing everything that is Austrian under my breath, I arrived at the apartment to find that I could not open the door, and so was forced to awaken Daniel before collapsing, soaking wet, onto my pillow, feeling more homesick and alone than I ever have before, and wondering what on earth I'd gotten myself into.
Fortunately, for my sanity and for all of you who, I'm sure, would prefer not to read about the long, dark nights of my soul for the next few months, yesterday was a vast improvement. I walked around Vienna all day, which is beautiful, though Hofburg and most of the more famous buildings are covered in Euro 2008 propoganda (they're all in the "Fan Zone", where I will hopefully head tomorrow evening for the final).
Later, I met up with some of the other IAESTE trainees for a soccer game. Oh dear. Let me tell you - playing soccer for two hours with a dozen twentysomething European guys in sweltering heat is not a way to build confidence in your footballing skills. They were very nice (and let the record show that I totally dominated the only American dude there), but I haven't played with anyone so out of my league since the Instructors vs. Campers game at soccer camp when I was 11. One of the Austrians on my team took to yelling, "Super!" at me every time I managed not to fall on my face after touching the ball. I sort of see where he was going with it, and I appreciate that he was trying to be nice, but really, dude, after a certain point you're just embarrassing both of us. All things considered though, I had a fantastic time and I'm totally going back next week.
I'll be moving into my new place (apartment? dorm? room? I'm not sure what to call it yet) on Monday, and hopefully internet access won't be too difficult to obtain there. In the meantime, I've got to get this laptop back to the Lithuanian exchange student I borrowed it from, so I'm promising more (including, hopefully, pictures) in a few days.
Monday, June 23, 2008
Getting my Carmen Sandiego on (an explanation)
Okay, so. I'm back in Toronto for two more days, after which time I will set off to Austria to live the exciting life of an intercontinental aerospace engineer. For those of you who weren't aware, what follows is a brief summary of my May and June. For those of you whom I've lived with, traveled with, or forced to listen to endless series of plans and recaps, consider it a pleasant, none too taxing, pictoral recap. Or don't read it at all and go check out this guy, who has actually traveled the world and has stolen no major historical monuments (that I'm aware of).
School ended as April did - messily and not as soon as I'd hoped (also, at the same time). Shortly afterward, I headed to Quebec, to meet my sister. The city looked like this:
Cannons and history abounded, and I practiced my abysmally rusty French with my sister, who looked like this:
From there, it was on directly to Nova Scotia, by way of train, bus and automobile. After road encounters with Senior Teenyboppers, Angry Frenchmen, Annoying Schoolchildren, an Acadian Lothario/Wannabe, and the Friendliest Haligonian Ever, I discovered that Antigonish county looks like this:
while Halifax looks like this:
and this:
Back to Toronto, then, for about a week, during which I caught and recovered from a cold, received final confirmation of my job in Austria (way to be on the ball, IAESTE!), moved out of my house, and packed for Cuba, which looked like this:
this:
this:
and, most importantly, like this:
Then back to Toronto for graduation:
and, the next day, back to Victoria, which looks much the same as it always does, only with more condos.
This summer, hands down, wins: most kilometres traveled, most dolphins swum with, most rum punch drunk, most lobster eaten, most non-school related sleep lost, most diplomas earned, most German learned, and is in serious contention for most good times. More from Vienna, if and when I arrive. I promise I'll actually write something next time.
School ended as April did - messily and not as soon as I'd hoped (also, at the same time). Shortly afterward, I headed to Quebec, to meet my sister. The city looked like this:
Cannons and history abounded, and I practiced my abysmally rusty French with my sister, who looked like this:
From there, it was on directly to Nova Scotia, by way of train, bus and automobile. After road encounters with Senior Teenyboppers, Angry Frenchmen, Annoying Schoolchildren, an Acadian Lothario/Wannabe, and the Friendliest Haligonian Ever, I discovered that Antigonish county looks like this:
while Halifax looks like this:
and this:
Back to Toronto, then, for about a week, during which I caught and recovered from a cold, received final confirmation of my job in Austria (way to be on the ball, IAESTE!), moved out of my house, and packed for Cuba, which looked like this:
this:
this:
and, most importantly, like this:
Then back to Toronto for graduation:
and, the next day, back to Victoria, which looks much the same as it always does, only with more condos.This summer, hands down, wins: most kilometres traveled, most dolphins swum with, most rum punch drunk, most lobster eaten, most non-school related sleep lost, most diplomas earned, most German learned, and is in serious contention for most good times. More from Vienna, if and when I arrive. I promise I'll actually write something next time.
Tuesday, June 3, 2008
Still hooked
It is with a heavy heart that I (belatedly) report that Steve Novick, candidate for the U.S. Senate in Oregon, has narrowly lost the Democratic primary there. Novick first came to my attention a month or so ago, and only because Wonkette mentioned him in a post. The only reason they mentioned him at all, I think, was the same reason the story caught my interest - dude is 4'9'' and has a hook for a hand.
Seriously. He's like a pint-sized, New Jersey-born, Oregonian pirate.
Then I found out that he also has a firm grasp of the issues, a decade-long board membership on the Oregon Environmental Council, a degree from Harvard Law which he earned after dropping out of junior high to start college at 14, and easily the best political commercial I've ever seen.
It would be hard not to love this guy even if he was a moron (he opened a beer with his hook), but instead he's erudite, self-deprecating, and funny. In other words, I have a big old crush on a tiny, hobbit-like politico, and I'm sad he won't get a chance to run in the general.
But I haven't given up hope entirely. Leaders of failed senate campaigns from Oregon get nominated for Vice-President all the time, right? Obama/Novick '08!
Seriously. He's like a pint-sized, New Jersey-born, Oregonian pirate.
Then I found out that he also has a firm grasp of the issues, a decade-long board membership on the Oregon Environmental Council, a degree from Harvard Law which he earned after dropping out of junior high to start college at 14, and easily the best political commercial I've ever seen.
It would be hard not to love this guy even if he was a moron (he opened a beer with his hook), but instead he's erudite, self-deprecating, and funny. In other words, I have a big old crush on a tiny, hobbit-like politico, and I'm sad he won't get a chance to run in the general.
But I haven't given up hope entirely. Leaders of failed senate campaigns from Oregon get nominated for Vice-President all the time, right? Obama/Novick '08!
Maybe if they were in Sanskrit...
On the bus, somewhere between New Glasgow and Antigonish:
Acadian Kid: Hey man, you want a newspaper?
Bored Twentysomething: Sure, what have you got?
AK: Man, I've got the Chronicle and the Metro.
BT: Thanks.
Several minutes pass
BT: Hey, you want this back?
AK: No, man, I'm too busy reading letters from girls.
BT: quizzical look
AK: You know how to get girls, man?
BT: uh...no.
AK: You write them notes. Chicks love notes. Can't get enough of them.
BT: Huh.
AK: You know what else girls love? You know the other way to get chicks?
BT: ...no?
AK: Baby pictures, man. Show 'em baby pictures.
BT: Do you just carry them around with you, then?
AK: If I'm going away for a while. Like, I was just away for 5 months, so I brought a stack of baby pictures with me.
BT: (stifling laughter) So, did they work?
AK: Man, are you kidding? Look at all these notes I got!
Acadian Kid: Hey man, you want a newspaper?
Bored Twentysomething: Sure, what have you got?
AK: Man, I've got the Chronicle and the Metro.
BT: Thanks.
Several minutes pass
BT: Hey, you want this back?
AK: No, man, I'm too busy reading letters from girls.
BT: quizzical look
AK: You know how to get girls, man?
BT: uh...no.
AK: You write them notes. Chicks love notes. Can't get enough of them.
BT: Huh.
AK: You know what else girls love? You know the other way to get chicks?
BT: ...no?
AK: Baby pictures, man. Show 'em baby pictures.
BT: Do you just carry them around with you, then?
AK: If I'm going away for a while. Like, I was just away for 5 months, so I brought a stack of baby pictures with me.
BT: (stifling laughter) So, did they work?
AK: Man, are you kidding? Look at all these notes I got!
Monday, April 21, 2008
A manifesto I can get behind
I spent about half an hour this morning (right before I set off to study for tomorrow's Aeroelasticity exam) perusing video of old Heritage Minutes. Their awesomeness is well and deservedly known, but I thank/blame this gut-bustingly hilarious lady for reintroducing me to them.
Anyway, the amusing (and educational!) Minute on Nellie McClung includes, in the mini-bio below the video clip, a frighteningly apt description of the kind of person I one day hope to become:
"I believe you forgot to mention my razor-sharp wit. Now excuse me while I single-handedly bring about women's suffrage in Canada. Suck it, Rodmond Roblin!"
Sweet. Also, Rodmond is a fantastic name.
Anyway, the amusing (and educational!) Minute on Nellie McClung includes, in the mini-bio below the video clip, a frighteningly apt description of the kind of person I one day hope to become:
McClung calmed these fears with reasonable discussion, personal charm, irrepressible humour, and her fanciful hats."Ms. McClung, you are an irresistable combination of reason and charm! How is it that someone so steady-minded could have such exquisite taste in haberdashery?"
"I believe you forgot to mention my razor-sharp wit. Now excuse me while I single-handedly bring about women's suffrage in Canada. Suck it, Rodmond Roblin!"
Sweet. Also, Rodmond is a fantastic name.
Saturday, April 12, 2008
What kind of day has it been?
7:15am, Thursday April 10th: Awaken, after roughly three hours of sleep, to the dulcet tones of the CBC radio newswoman and a persistent, gnawing fear.
8:20am: Arrive at Downsview station to await my ride to UTIAS.
8:31-8:45am: Exchange awkward glances with fellow commuters. Attempt to communicate that my ride is late, and that I am annoyed but cool about the whole situation despite the fact that I have Important Things to do. This is not easily communicated via glances. Most likely they find me strange and fidgety.
8:55am: Arrive at UTIAS. Notice that the paint job on our plane has faded and peeled overnight, and christen the aircraft, appropriately, "Ugly Duckling". Add team logo decals which unexpectedly clash with the paint.
9:45am: Crisis! We have purchased the wrong kind of mixer for our control surfaces, and aileron control is backwards/weird.
9:47am: Crisis resolved! We borrow a new mixer from the TA and attach it semi-precariously with velcro and tape.
10:30am: Moment of truth. After watching other planes crash into power lines, break apart in mid air, and fail to get off the ground, my knees are shaking a bit as we walk our spotty, cracked, beleaguered flying wing across the field.
10:32am: She flies! There is profound relief and much high-fiving. More rejoicing follows as Ugly Duckling manages a couple of dramatic loops and a perfect landing. My pants are covered with burrs as we run through a field to recover the plane. Pictures are taken. "Now she's a swan" jokes are made with abandon. If they made sports movies about design projects, this is how they would end.
12:10pm: Lunch. Hobnobbing. Small talk with professors. As the adrenaline fades and I realize I still have the better part of a thesis to write, I begin to ponder how soon I can politely leave the institute.
12:20pm: Pretty soon.
4:30pm: After the trip home and a nap, the fear is back. It's switched from gnawing to whacking my head with a mallet. Short debate with myself on whether it is more like a Mallet of Failure or a Mallet of Broken Dreams. Resolved when I declare myself to be a moron.
7:30pm: Kim and I pause for Indian food. Actually, Kim pauses. I just eat Indian food, having nothing to pause from, as I have accomplished nothing since returning from UTIAS.
8:30pm: Get down to business for serious. Mallet of Motivation is in the house!
9:30pm: This is totally doable! What is so bad about theses anyway?
9:45pm: Ah. That.
10:30pm: And that.
11:00pm: Everyone is online. Everyone is slightly loopy. Expletive-laced discussions are conducted and relayed between various members of our class. The transitions between optimistic cheerleader and despondent, mopey loser are swift and frightening.
12:00am, Friday, April 11th: Decide that orbital dynamics are stupid. Wonder when I stopped wanting to be a paleontologist. Realize that I've given myself exactly 12 more hours in which to get this thing finished, printed, and bound.
12:47am: Decide that orbital dynamics are a vital and valuable field of study, and that I am stupid. The paleontologists wouldn't have had me anyway. I am scum!
2:00am: Resort to cheering myself up by watching a baby panda sneezing. I collapse into the kind of giggle fit that can only happen at 2am.
3:17am: Roommates (also awake, also writing) pass like zombie ships in the night. We are mostly too tired to do more than nod knowingly and exchange "I feel your pain" facial expressions.
4:00am: Decide I don't have time for our previously agreed-upon 4am brownie break. Shamelessly guilt Kim into making brownies for me.
4:33am: Mmmm, brownies. But what is that other smell?
4:36am: Realize uneaten dinner is still on the counter. The house has become a time-bending, channa masala-scented twilight zone. Before I know it, I am struck by the annoying cousin of 2am giggle fits: 4am existentialism. Why am I doing this? What do these graphs really mean, like, really? If Matlab had a face, what would it look like?
5:04am: The following conversation occurs:
Pete: WOOOOOOOOOO!
Kari: I hate you.
Pete: It's bound and everything!
Kari: Did I mention how much I hate you?
5:58am: Sweet Jesus, the sun is coming up.
7:00am: Decide to allow myself 3 more hours of working time.
7:30am: Decide that there is no earthly force that could compel me to work on this for 2.5 more hours.
9:13am: I have done enough. My conclusion is terrible, my results are wonky, and typos (probably) abound. All the same, I am off to Kinko's.
10:09am: I hand in two severely flawed, beautiful, plastic-bound pieces of my soul, and walk home through a torrential hailstorm. The iPod shuffle function declares "Little Red Corvette" to be my victory chorus.
8:20am: Arrive at Downsview station to await my ride to UTIAS.
8:31-8:45am: Exchange awkward glances with fellow commuters. Attempt to communicate that my ride is late, and that I am annoyed but cool about the whole situation despite the fact that I have Important Things to do. This is not easily communicated via glances. Most likely they find me strange and fidgety.
8:55am: Arrive at UTIAS. Notice that the paint job on our plane has faded and peeled overnight, and christen the aircraft, appropriately, "Ugly Duckling". Add team logo decals which unexpectedly clash with the paint.
9:45am: Crisis! We have purchased the wrong kind of mixer for our control surfaces, and aileron control is backwards/weird.
9:47am: Crisis resolved! We borrow a new mixer from the TA and attach it semi-precariously with velcro and tape.
10:30am: Moment of truth. After watching other planes crash into power lines, break apart in mid air, and fail to get off the ground, my knees are shaking a bit as we walk our spotty, cracked, beleaguered flying wing across the field.
10:32am: She flies! There is profound relief and much high-fiving. More rejoicing follows as Ugly Duckling manages a couple of dramatic loops and a perfect landing. My pants are covered with burrs as we run through a field to recover the plane. Pictures are taken. "Now she's a swan" jokes are made with abandon. If they made sports movies about design projects, this is how they would end.
12:10pm: Lunch. Hobnobbing. Small talk with professors. As the adrenaline fades and I realize I still have the better part of a thesis to write, I begin to ponder how soon I can politely leave the institute.
12:20pm: Pretty soon.
4:30pm: After the trip home and a nap, the fear is back. It's switched from gnawing to whacking my head with a mallet. Short debate with myself on whether it is more like a Mallet of Failure or a Mallet of Broken Dreams. Resolved when I declare myself to be a moron.
7:30pm: Kim and I pause for Indian food. Actually, Kim pauses. I just eat Indian food, having nothing to pause from, as I have accomplished nothing since returning from UTIAS.
8:30pm: Get down to business for serious. Mallet of Motivation is in the house!
9:30pm: This is totally doable! What is so bad about theses anyway?
9:45pm: Ah. That.
10:30pm: And that.
11:00pm: Everyone is online. Everyone is slightly loopy. Expletive-laced discussions are conducted and relayed between various members of our class. The transitions between optimistic cheerleader and despondent, mopey loser are swift and frightening.
12:00am, Friday, April 11th: Decide that orbital dynamics are stupid. Wonder when I stopped wanting to be a paleontologist. Realize that I've given myself exactly 12 more hours in which to get this thing finished, printed, and bound.
12:47am: Decide that orbital dynamics are a vital and valuable field of study, and that I am stupid. The paleontologists wouldn't have had me anyway. I am scum!
2:00am: Resort to cheering myself up by watching a baby panda sneezing. I collapse into the kind of giggle fit that can only happen at 2am.
3:17am: Roommates (also awake, also writing) pass like zombie ships in the night. We are mostly too tired to do more than nod knowingly and exchange "I feel your pain" facial expressions.
4:00am: Decide I don't have time for our previously agreed-upon 4am brownie break. Shamelessly guilt Kim into making brownies for me.
4:33am: Mmmm, brownies. But what is that other smell?
4:36am: Realize uneaten dinner is still on the counter. The house has become a time-bending, channa masala-scented twilight zone. Before I know it, I am struck by the annoying cousin of 2am giggle fits: 4am existentialism. Why am I doing this? What do these graphs really mean, like, really? If Matlab had a face, what would it look like?
5:04am: The following conversation occurs:
Pete: WOOOOOOOOOO!
Kari: I hate you.
Pete: It's bound and everything!
Kari: Did I mention how much I hate you?
5:58am: Sweet Jesus, the sun is coming up.
7:00am: Decide to allow myself 3 more hours of working time.
7:30am: Decide that there is no earthly force that could compel me to work on this for 2.5 more hours.
9:13am: I have done enough. My conclusion is terrible, my results are wonky, and typos (probably) abound. All the same, I am off to Kinko's.
10:09am: I hand in two severely flawed, beautiful, plastic-bound pieces of my soul, and walk home through a torrential hailstorm. The iPod shuffle function declares "Little Red Corvette" to be my victory chorus.
Tuesday, March 18, 2008
Ranty Ranty Blog Blog
I confess that when I created this thing in February, I intended it to be little more than a place to post pictures, updates, and the occasional hilarious anecdote from my forthcoming adventures in Vienna. Having little hilarity to offer from my current stressed-out, snowed-in, generally uneventful life in Toronto, I've not added anything of substance until now.
Two days ago, I read this. Go ahead and take a look. It's a quick read, though the mind-bogglingly poor taste and considerable liberties taken with the truth may be a little rough to get through.
I'm late to the party on this one, having been pre-empted by hundreds of angry bloggers and a large portion of the readership of the Washington Post. Nevertheless, I wanted to vent my frustration and righteous anger somewhere, and we were fresh out of soapboxes. Enter: the internet.
Full disclosure: I have been known to watch and enjoy "Grey's Anatomy" from time to time, and I have read "Eat, Pray, Love", though I wouldn't do it again. You see, it was given to me by my mother, who is among other things an Ivy League graduate in economics, an advocate of midwifery, a crossword puzzle expert, a soccer player, and a voracious reader of awful romance novels. She was also the sole breadwinner in my family for many years, whilst my father stayed home with me and my younger sister. Lest you think my dad is a sissy, you should know that he has, at various times, worked as an electrician, counseled at-risk youth, constructed numerous elements of our house proficiently and completely, and completed a solo circumnavigation of Vancouver Island by kayak. He could also totally beat up your dad.
Traditional gender roles were never reinforced in my house, indeed, they were largely ignored. Perhaps that has something to do with my utter loathing for the content and tone of Ms. Allen's article, though I'd prefer to think that's due to common sense. Then again, I'm not sure if I can lay claim to any such sensibility, having been labelled by Ms. Allen as "stupid", "hysterical", "superficial", and, my favourite, "permanently occluded by random emotions". (Such big words! Her husband must have helped her with those.)
Women are dumb, she maintains, before quickly amending that to "we women". She herself is unable to "add 2 and 2", and remains in a Bradshaw-esque state of ignorance regarding the size of her shoe collection (at least 4 pairs then?). Women - sorry, "we women" - faint at Obama rallies while our sisters sabotage Hillary's campaign. We're so busy watching Oprah, reading softcore porn and watching attractive TV doctors grope each other (surely no man has ever partaken of such filth!) that our spatial awareness, logical abilities, and driving skills lag behind those of our male counterparts. Yes, she concedes, men do stupid things too. Why, her own husband sometimes eats over the sink when she's not there to stop him!
I remember a boy in my 10th grade science class who hooked up 12 batteries in series with a wire at each end, then completed the circuit with his tongue. Polish farmer Krystof Azninski decapitated himself with a frozen turnip in an effort to prove his manliness. Some men routinely paint themselves bright colours and attend football games, shirtless, in subzero weather. But surely none of these things are as "embarrassing" as listening to Celine Dion. Or maybe they were put up to it by women. Or something. What should I know?
Unless maybe I'm an "outlier". One of those "female fighter pilots, architects, tax accountants, chemical engineers, Supreme Court justices and brain surgeons" who flies in the face of convention. Firstly, I'll bet that any engineer or engineering student smirks a little at that quote, since it's relatively common knowledge that the number of female chemical engineering graduates now equals or outnumbers the number of males in the same field. She could have picked a different engineering discipline, to be sure, one that attracts fewer women. Consider, though, that the Dean of the faculty of Applied Science at UofT is a woman, just as the past two presidents of the undergraduate Engineering Society have been.
As for Supreme Court justices and brain surgeons, these are hardly common professions among men. Lacking current statistics, I am aware that the number of female MDs has increased rapidly over the past decades, and would be surprised to hear that the number of female surgeons has not. Supreme Court justices are political appointees, which makes them difficult to include this discussion; however, the current bench features justices appointed as far back as 1975, and 2/9 justices confirmed since 1981 have been women.
There are five other women in my fourth-year aerospace engineering class of roughly 30. None of us are militantly feminist, nor particularly masculine. None of us are Hildegard of Bingen, Marie Curie, or Elizabeth I. None of us, so far as I know, have encountered particular difficulty in the field on account of our ovaries. Ms. Allen, I am not a genius, a trailblazer, an outlier, or a stereotype. I am a woman who enjoys math and literature, science fiction and romance, playing sports and baking pies.
50 years ago, few women were freelance writers, and fewer were engineering students. Significant gains have been and will continue to be made. Ms. Allen, it is not biology or misogyny that is holding young women back now - it is people like you and the ridiculous, misinformed, distorted, and most certainly not fact-checked pap that you spew. By all means, stay home to nurture and decorate if it makes you happy, but do not tell women - we women - that we are not capable of doing anything else.
Two days ago, I read this. Go ahead and take a look. It's a quick read, though the mind-bogglingly poor taste and considerable liberties taken with the truth may be a little rough to get through.
I'm late to the party on this one, having been pre-empted by hundreds of angry bloggers and a large portion of the readership of the Washington Post. Nevertheless, I wanted to vent my frustration and righteous anger somewhere, and we were fresh out of soapboxes. Enter: the internet.
Full disclosure: I have been known to watch and enjoy "Grey's Anatomy" from time to time, and I have read "Eat, Pray, Love", though I wouldn't do it again. You see, it was given to me by my mother, who is among other things an Ivy League graduate in economics, an advocate of midwifery, a crossword puzzle expert, a soccer player, and a voracious reader of awful romance novels. She was also the sole breadwinner in my family for many years, whilst my father stayed home with me and my younger sister. Lest you think my dad is a sissy, you should know that he has, at various times, worked as an electrician, counseled at-risk youth, constructed numerous elements of our house proficiently and completely, and completed a solo circumnavigation of Vancouver Island by kayak. He could also totally beat up your dad.
Traditional gender roles were never reinforced in my house, indeed, they were largely ignored. Perhaps that has something to do with my utter loathing for the content and tone of Ms. Allen's article, though I'd prefer to think that's due to common sense. Then again, I'm not sure if I can lay claim to any such sensibility, having been labelled by Ms. Allen as "stupid", "hysterical", "superficial", and, my favourite, "permanently occluded by random emotions". (Such big words! Her husband must have helped her with those.)
Women are dumb, she maintains, before quickly amending that to "we women". She herself is unable to "add 2 and 2", and remains in a Bradshaw-esque state of ignorance regarding the size of her shoe collection (at least 4 pairs then?). Women - sorry, "we women" - faint at Obama rallies while our sisters sabotage Hillary's campaign. We're so busy watching Oprah, reading softcore porn and watching attractive TV doctors grope each other (surely no man has ever partaken of such filth!) that our spatial awareness, logical abilities, and driving skills lag behind those of our male counterparts. Yes, she concedes, men do stupid things too. Why, her own husband sometimes eats over the sink when she's not there to stop him!
I remember a boy in my 10th grade science class who hooked up 12 batteries in series with a wire at each end, then completed the circuit with his tongue. Polish farmer Krystof Azninski decapitated himself with a frozen turnip in an effort to prove his manliness. Some men routinely paint themselves bright colours and attend football games, shirtless, in subzero weather. But surely none of these things are as "embarrassing" as listening to Celine Dion. Or maybe they were put up to it by women. Or something. What should I know?
Unless maybe I'm an "outlier". One of those "female fighter pilots, architects, tax accountants, chemical engineers, Supreme Court justices and brain surgeons" who flies in the face of convention. Firstly, I'll bet that any engineer or engineering student smirks a little at that quote, since it's relatively common knowledge that the number of female chemical engineering graduates now equals or outnumbers the number of males in the same field. She could have picked a different engineering discipline, to be sure, one that attracts fewer women. Consider, though, that the Dean of the faculty of Applied Science at UofT is a woman, just as the past two presidents of the undergraduate Engineering Society have been.
As for Supreme Court justices and brain surgeons, these are hardly common professions among men. Lacking current statistics, I am aware that the number of female MDs has increased rapidly over the past decades, and would be surprised to hear that the number of female surgeons has not. Supreme Court justices are political appointees, which makes them difficult to include this discussion; however, the current bench features justices appointed as far back as 1975, and 2/9 justices confirmed since 1981 have been women.
There are five other women in my fourth-year aerospace engineering class of roughly 30. None of us are militantly feminist, nor particularly masculine. None of us are Hildegard of Bingen, Marie Curie, or Elizabeth I. None of us, so far as I know, have encountered particular difficulty in the field on account of our ovaries. Ms. Allen, I am not a genius, a trailblazer, an outlier, or a stereotype. I am a woman who enjoys math and literature, science fiction and romance, playing sports and baking pies.
50 years ago, few women were freelance writers, and fewer were engineering students. Significant gains have been and will continue to be made. Ms. Allen, it is not biology or misogyny that is holding young women back now - it is people like you and the ridiculous, misinformed, distorted, and most certainly not fact-checked pap that you spew. By all means, stay home to nurture and decorate if it makes you happy, but do not tell women - we women - that we are not capable of doing anything else.
Friday, February 15, 2008
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