Intermediate Literacy

The ability to express oneself clearly and concisely, using the written medium, is not so much an ability as it is a skill. Because it is a skill it takes time and practice to acquire it, and that has rarely been as painfully clear to me as over the past few days.

I am on email and chat detail at work. That means people write in and ask questions and I write back and answer them. The emails are not so bad, but the chat can be physically painful, and not only because of the way I tend to hunch in my chair. Maybe it is because I have spent nearly ten years living online as much as I do off-line, maybe it is because I read a lot, or maybe it is because some of the people I talk to in the support chat really are illiterate idiots, but it is becoming more and more clear to me that though basic literacy may be widespread, the intermediate version isn't. I'm referring to the ability to communicate or describe clearly, using exact words and phrasing, a situation or the events that led up to it.

Another side of intermediate literacy is the ability to read between words, to understand the implied meaning of written language and not only what is actually there. The ability to understand that when the Technical Support agent in the chat asks “Did you receive an error message?”, they expect you to copy and paste that error message into the chat if your answer is yes. It is implied, and the ability to understand such implications is vital to clear communication in a medium where all you have to work with is the written word.

I admit that I may be spoiled. I spend a lot of my spare time in internet forums, chat rooms, and talking to friends on various messenger services, and after nearly ten years I have become very good at expressing myself in writing. I know the difference between calling someone a “nice” person and a “kind” person.

I know that I read more than average. I know that a lot of people that I communicate with online do the same, and I realize very well that the amount you read, and what you read, directly affects how you write, and now I have finally arrived at what I was pondering on the way home today.

Is there too little writing in our everyday life today? Everything is in pretty colors that are easy to distinguish, words are short and quick, and news as well as important political issues come in 5-second sound bytes. We're moving towards a society that has no room or use for long segments of written language, where novels sell better if they are easy to read and use short and simple words, and where soon only college textbooks use four-syllable words and demand that you think while you read them.

But we are also moving towards a society that exists at least partly online, in blogs, chat rooms, on IM clients and on message boards, and in those places, the written word is the only way of communicating. Can there be a balance between the real visual world, and the written online one? Will there be?

There should be. It seems to me, that with computers and network connections here to stay, the written way of communicating should be focussed on, emphasized and celebrated. After all, what else are we to each other than words, strung together to form sentences?

The Bane of the Black Swamp

The swamp has been defeated. The correct parts have been purchased and assembled and the sprinklers will work again. In all, it's been a busy weekend.

Cause of the Backyard Swamp

We seem to have a leaking sprinkler pipe. The main pipe, the one that is filled with water under high pressure whether the sprinklers are running or not. Next to it are two other pipes, and an electrical cable that probably should not be accidentally cut when one is up to one's elbows in muddy water that said cable is fully submerged in. You are looking at the result of nine hours of hard work, starting with determining where the leak was, how bad it is, and what exactly needs to be done to fix it. And that was after digging through quite a large amount of very heavy mud.

The '73 Belmont Stakes

I have always wanted to see this race, and I finally found it on YouTube. This is what is known as "a spanking".



And you thought Seabiscuit was impressive...

The Glory That Is Laziness

Among the most exhausting things I have done so far today was to blow my hair straight after I showered, and to search for, and find, my awesome fancy shoes. In addition to that, I have played video games, watched Highlander, and I have wasted countless hours aimlessly surfing the internet.

In addition to all the above, I also found the time to read The Book. It was better than I expected, and I am of course very proud that I was right about both Snape and Dumbledore. I always enjoy feeling smart.

Children, and things that prevent them

I am finally back home, after a trip that can only be described as hellish beyond words.

To begin with, the large amounts of stress created by the fact that my wallet was stolen from me day two of my honeymoon, made everything a little less bearable than it otherwise would have been. Obtaining the necessary paperwork for me to travel through Europe and back into the U.S. was difficult and stressful in and of itself, despite the great help and assistance that both Swedish and American embassy employees gave me. The lady working at the Swedish consulate in Malaga was likewise extremely helpful and friendly, and if not for her the paperwork hunt would have been a lot longer and far more painful than it ended up being.

The U.S. embassy in Stockholm was likewise very helpful, the passport control officer in Philadelphia was understanding and generous, and the long and short of it is that we ended up getting me home, on time, for a lot less money than we expected. Very nice. The actual travel was less so.

First of all, every single one of the five flights we had to take was delayed for some reason or other. The first one was late leaving because it had been late arriving. Thunderstorms had delayed its take-off, leading to the delay. The thunderstorm was still very much active as we were about to land, and by the way, flying over the Alps is unpleasant. There was so much turbulence the little trays with food was literally flying all over the place, passengers of all ages were either crying or throwing up or both, and overall, it was just nasty.

We were so late coming in to Frankfurt that the airline actually rescheduled us for an early morning flight the following day, since we were not going to make the connection we had scheduled. We landed, got off the plane, and went to the airline ticketing counter to get our new boarding passes and information about which hotel they were putting us in, only to be told that they were holding the flight for all passengers off the one that just landed, and we had to go to the gate immediately. We ran, we made it, we got to our destination about an hour past midnight.

Then, after around three hours of sleep we got up and ran to the passport authorities to obtain an Emergency Passport so I could travel home, checked in, had breakfast, boarded the plane, and were on our way.

You are now wondering what all this has to do with children. Don't worry, I am getting to that. Here it is: Parents all over the world, if your child is less than seven years old, you do not belong on commercial flights. I don't care how urgent it is, either resign yourself to not travel anywhere you cannot drive during those seven years, or invest in heavy tranquilizers. This goes double if your little miracle is two or younger.

To phrase it differently, what exactly where you thinking, taking your two-year-old on a trans-Atlantic flight? Don't you know that's at least eight hours in an airplane? Don't you know your little miracle gets tired, scared, bored and frustrated? Don't you realize that when that happens, he screams?

If the mother of the blond wailing siren on the 10:20 flight from Stockholm to Philadelphia on the 23rd of July reads this, the fact that your kid screamed for 6.5 of the eight hours should be a clue to you that you should never, ever take him on an airplane again. The fact that passengers around you were commenting, loudly, on how irritating your little horror was, and were joking openly about suffocating him with their pillows or throwing him out the emergency exit, should have made you realize that it was a mistake to encourage his squeals and screams by wiggling his toys for him and by chasing him up and down the aisle in a game of tag.

For the record and for those of my readers who know me well enough, I would like to point out that there were several other passengers saying these things as well. I was far from the only one.

I also doubt that I am the only one who would pay decidedly higher air fares, if the airline could guarantee me that they will bar children below seven from entering the plane unless said little monsters are heavily sedated the entire trip. Whichever airline thinks of this first is going to make a fortune, if they can just avoid being sued by offended parents who are incapable of realizing that that not everyone is as enamored by their little babies as they are, and who are stupid enough to think that their children are being discriminated against.

And here is the thing: It's not the babies. It's you. A two years old little boy does not understand enough, and is not matured enough, to deal with eight hours on an airplane in any other way than by crying until someone he trusts saves him from this horrible place. No matter how annoying he might be, he is ultimately not the one responsible for the aggravation and insomnia he causes the other passengers--his parents are. And those parents need to realize that they and their babies do not belong in an airplane that will not land for the next eight hours. Do not travel with little children. Other travelers will bless and thank you.

Unfortunately there was a child like that wailing little horror on four out of the five flights we took to get home. The fifth flight was the one with the unpleasant turbulence, and there is a huge problem when a flight that has flying trays and vomit is the best out of five. Because of the turbulence and screaming children we traveled for a total of 38 hours, and only managed to sleep for three of them. Taking a nap is impossible with a screaming toddler three rows behind you.

Fortunately, I will not have to go through that again for a very, very long time. I am looking forward to enjoying being home, and staying home. I have traveled before, many times, but never had such bad luck and unpleasant circumstances as this time.

One of the very few drawbacks of home was highlighted for me as I stopped in a grocery store on the way home from replacing my stolen drivers license... this state is prude to the point of stupidity. For a number of reasons, at least one of which should be obvious, condoms were on my shopping list. Apparently they are considered restricted merchandise, and because of that the store puts a little block on the steel bar they hang from, to prevent you from taking the box off it. On the little block it says to see a sales associate for help in purchasing the restricted product.

Now, I am a married woman, with the rings and paperwork to prove it, and I doubt that anyone who knows me would describe me as narrow-minded, shy, or easily embarrassed. However, I do have some standards, and if I wanted to announce to a random stranger that I plan to have lots of sex in the near future, I could simply walk up to him or her and say that.

Never the less, determined to play by the rules, and always happy to make someone else more uncomfortable with a situation than I am, I found the nearest sales associate, a young man who looked to be in his early twenties, and explained that I wanted to purchase condoms and that the sign on the shelf said to see a sales associate for assistance in getting a box.

The sales associate in question looked like he couldn't decide if he was embarrassed or amused, eventually settled for amused, and followed me back to the shelf and asked me which ones I wanted. I replied, "that one, the Magnum XL", and sniggered inwardly when he instantly stopped looking amused. Boys and their insecurities...

I wonder though... last time I looked, the large number of unwanted teenage pregnancies was actually a real problem in this state. Would it not be in the best interests of the entire community to make it just a little bit easier, and less embarrassing and difficult, to purchase a pack of condoms?

July 14th, 2007

I take you to be my husband,
to share with you sorrow and joy,
to be faithful to you,
until death parts us.

Taking off

I leave very soon, to go on a long trip. It is geographically long in that it goes across the Atlantic Ocean. It is a long trip in that I will be gone for nearly three weeks. I have no idea whether I will have internet access or not while I am gone, so there maybe no updates or posts at all here for the next three weeks. (As opposed to the four or five I could get done in that time if I had internet access.)

With any luck, I will have lots to talk about when I return.

...but everyone likes Hugh Laurie?

The honorary mention goes to Lev, who identified Hugh Laurie in an instant. Yes, the gifted actor playing the temperamental git is in fact none other than actor portraying House, M.D.

I told you he was talented, didn't I?

I hunt, therefor I am?

My cat hunted and killed yesterday. She killed a bird. It's the first she's ever killed that I know about, and she was very proud of it. She was so proud of it she brought it inside and showed it off.

There were small feathers spread on it here and there, and she didn't care... she was batting at the dead bird, nipping at it, and she looked (and probably felt) very ferocious. It was a matter of time before she turned that bird into a royal mess that would never wash out of the carpet.

Now, I understand that cats hunt on instinct. They just have to go after the small squeaking creatures, they can't stop themselves, and they don't understand why humans reward them when they hunt mice and get upset when they hunt birds, because they don't understand the difference.

However, I had no desire to have dead bird smeared into my carpet. I decided that since I was cooking at the time, and handling a dead bird is unsanitary, Froli would have the honor of removing the little feather ball. So I went and found him, told him about that cat and the dead bird, and after he had expressed proper admiration for the glorious cat's amazing hunting skills, he took the bird from her and disposed of it.

More than 24 hours later, I think she is finally starting to forgive him.

The stolen blog post

During the very last hour at work today, I had this great idea for a blog post. It would be work related venting, of course, based on some of the more inane things that customers say and do, and it was going to be sharp, sarcastic, and fueled by the fact that work has been increasingly frustrating and stressful lately. I was all over this idea, and I was even composing the post in my head as I drove home from work.

And then I came home, opened the front door and walked in, and something was smelling very nice... a little bit like sandal wood, and it probably came from the scented candle on the kitchen table. The table itself was the oak one that we were going to bring in from the garage together, tonight, along with the matching chairs. Yet here it is, chairs and all, with a scented candle and plates and glasses out and there is a pink envelope on there as well.

Pink is not exactly my color, but the words "for my girlfriend" were written on it, so I took it and opened it anyway. Inside was a card, also pink in various shades, with a lot of classic "empowering" statements on it: I am strong. I am full of potential. I am not perfect. I am loved. I am fascinating. I am flawed. I am open minded. I am gifted. I am woman.

Inside the card was written, in very familiar hand writing, and beyond all of that, you are my woman, and I love you very much.

I realized a little later that the other smell, that mingled very nicely with the sandal wood, was chicken, sizzling in butter and thyme. It was delicious, and the bottle of chianti that somehow became involved, only improved the evening even more.

I had this great idea for a blog post during my last hour at work today, but I can't for the life of me remember it now. And for some reason, I'm not the least bit stressed out anymore.

Look, I have a blog! I'd almost forgotten.

I told you I'll be losing interest in this new toy in a week or so.

Kidding aside, things have been busy lately. One has to prioritize and sometimes blogging needs to be put on the back burner, and attention, time, and energy must be spent on more important things. Scheduling a honeymoon, while planning a wedding, while applying for a Greencard renewal, while looking for a house to buy and move to, tends to keep a person busy and, no offense meant to my two faithful readers, seemed more important at the time, than my blog.

Two of the above have been taken care of, which hopefully will give me just a bit more time to get back on track with the blog.

I have discovered that Blogger does not work in Ubuntu (the Linux distribution that is installed on my laptop). This is a serious drawback, and I am currently looking for solutions to this problem. When I find one, hopefully soon, blogging will become a bit more regular and frequent again.

The simple things in life...

I went back to my favorite lunch place again today. I come in almost every day, at roughly the same time every day, and I always try to be nice and polite to the people who work there. Today they had a new girl there working the midday shift, and I realized how spoiled I've become.

Some of my coworkers tease me about the fact that I eat at the same place every single day, but I have a good reason for it. Apart from really liking the food they serve, I like the unspoken perks that come with being recognized and not despised by the ones serving the food.

This new girl didn't recognise me at all, so she put the standard amounts of vegetables on my sub, and I had to ask her for a cup for my drink.

It irritated me. What's the point of coming back every day if I don't get something extra for it?