To All Turkey Trotters Today

I saw a man wearing a beret

I saw a man wearing a beret Monday evening in my neighborhood. I'm not sure if he was doing this for solidarity with France or because he was a hipster.

Grandma on my Mom's boyfriends

I called home tonight. My mom told me "whenever I tried to tell my mother about the guys I was dating, she always seemed so bored. Like, 'yeah, uh-huh, all right...let me know if there's a wedding or anything planned, but otherwise, I don't really care...'".

Oh my god you did not!!

I turned thirteen on Friday the 13th

I turned thirteen on Friday the 13th. This was also the name of the first Facebook group I joined.  I felt privileged to be part of such a select group (second only to those born on February 29th); membership was literally written in the stars.

Anyone born on November 13, 2002 is also turning thirteen on this Friday the 13th. Using a list of Friday the 13th occurrences, I subtracted thirteen years from each occurrence date to generate a list of birthdays for people who also turned thirteen on Friday the 13th:

Birthday of People who turned Thirteen on Friday the 13th

• November 13, 2002
• March 13, 2002
• February 13, 2002
• June 13, 2001
• December 13, 2000
• September 13, 2000
• July 13, 1999
• April 13, 1999
• January 13, 1999
• May 13, 1998
• August 13, 1997
• November 13, 1996
• February 13, 1996
• June 13, 1995
• July 13, 1994
• April 13, 1994
• October 13, 1993
• January 13, 1993
• May 13, 1992
• March 13, 1992
• August 13, 1991
• February 13, 1991
• June 13, 1990
• December 13, 1989
• September 13, 1989
• July 13, 1988
• April 13, 1988
• October 13, 1987
• August 13, 1986
• November 13, 1985
• March 13, 1985
• February 13, 1985
• June 13, 1984
• December 13, 1983
• September 13, 1983
• October 13, 1982
• January 13, 1982
• May 13, 1981

Of course that's me at the end.  I turned thirteen on Friday, May 13th, 1994. My golden birthday. I do not recall anything particularly unlucky befalling me. I'm sure, like all my birthdays, I ate crab meat stuffed shrimp and Carvel ice Cream Cake. Owing to this alone, it was a good day.

As Seen in the Checkout Line: Guys made easy

Via Cosmopolitan

The Day After Veteran's

Veteran's Day was yesterday. Having has to work on it the last four years, it's not a day I much noticed or observed. However, this year it left a bad taste in my mouth. I was soured by all the conspicuous patriotism; this isn't necessarily bad per se but Facebook was full of Oscar-speech-worthy fawning. Cynically I noticed the posters were typically the people generally most concerned with image-building (in all aspects of their lives, Veteran's Day and beyond). The objective seemed to be to demonstrated for the public record that they are someone who cares about soldiers' sacrifices, recognize "we're only the land of the free because of the brave", and by this insert themselves into the larger story occurring that they'd otherwise be involved with. I feel the insincere praise cheapens the day and is worse than saying nothing.

Such postings are  now commonplace on these holidays. However, this year I also noticed several veterans (and here I am referring to several people specifically in my age-group, and only in my age group) who took the opportunity to point out that they veterans, either in words or photos. This is a little bit like throwing a birthday party for yourself, no? Like, "Hey, reminder! Don't forget to congratulate me, too, people...".  I found it a bit off-putting.

If I came downstairs on Veteran's Day morning to my father saying "ahem..." and looking at me expectantly, it would be no less surprising if he were riding around on a rainbow-farting unicorn while doing it. Throughout my extended family, military service was never a big deal. It was certainly nothing to boast about (with recognition that they'd take almost anyone that signed up). I wondered if that was a certain jadedness by people who experienced military life beyond propaganda, if it was also because they served during an era less pro-military (Vietnam), or, in particular, during  a time when a much larger percentage of Americans were serving than at present (Vietnam, World War II) and so it was not seen as something unique or extraordinary.

Today I learned: all numbers after twelve, just "many"

Today I learned while listening to From Our Own Correspondent that in the Greenlandic language named numbers only go up to twelve; after that, it's just "many".

And now I know.

Every Woman's Told Me...

What I've heard from every woman in my life ever is that:

1. To have more confidence (starting with my mom)
2. I'm making her fat (starting with my mom)

Tango: Brighton Beach

 

Tango: Brighton Beach, via the "News in the 1910s" album of the The Library of Congress Flickr. Cropped & edited w/PicMonkey.

The Handsomest German of Them All

War is so cruel. So much waste. Shot down by Snoopy over the fields of Morlancourt.

Snoopy then killed him again in death when they depicted him as below. So cruel. So much waste.

The End of War

This morning I listened to the Radiolab episode New Normal? on the to work. The opening segment featured John Horgan asking people on the streets in Hoboken whether "humans [will] ever stop fighting wars?"

My initial thought was "yes". Major war has already ceased. The powers haven't fought among themselves in 70 years. This new normal is due to advancements in weapons' power and economic well-being. There's a lot more to lose, and it's much easier to lose it.

However, "conflict" never ended and never would - it's innate human nature. Instead, conflict is diverted through other channels: pummeling non-state combatants with rusting rifles from billion-dollar bombers or, without firing a short, using economic and diplomatic leverage to achieve aims.

How individual humans' develop vis-à-vis conflict came to mind as analogous parallel to the progress of civilization and decline of intra-state wars. Whereas adolescent boys charge each other needing very little provocation, fists are never thrown in adulthood - perhaps because the penalties are stiffer and we risk homes, families, and stable jobs. I'm doubtful the competitive drive that causes schoolyard brawls really lessens. Instead, direct conflict is replaced by passive-aggression, subtle put-downs, personal sabotage, and ego-gratifying bullying down the hierarchy.

Trypophobia: I has it. I has it bad.

Trypophobia: The irrational fear of holes, pods, circles, or cracks, especially those found in nature.

Yesterday a Dangerous Minds posting gave a name to a pain I've long known I've had: trypophonia. Many years ago, I saw photos with a lotus pod photoshopped on to skin, a hoax claim that it was some sort of tropical disease. I haven't been able to un-see that since. After viewing the Dangerous Minds article and learning this is an actual thing - and looking a little bit too much - my blood pressure still hasn't come down from last night. Steady at hypertension, stage two.

No photos today: you're welcome. Happy Halloween!

A Parade of Indigenuous Beauty

The first ever Indigenous Games is taking place in Palmas, Brazil through November 1st. Last Saturday a Parade of Indigenous Beauty took place, captured by Eraldo Peres (AP) in the photos below. I love the variety of costumes and facial features - participants ranged from Brazil to as far away as Russia and New Zealand.

Organizer Tainara da Silva (also of the Terena people) remarked: "Before, the elders didn't want to show their womenfolk in public...But that's changing. They now see that this is a way of valorizing our culture and traditions."

A Wet Walk In...

Today the remnants of Hurricane Patricia blew out to sea and the strongest storm every recorded damped just the soles of my socks while a car passing splashed a puddle and sprinkled my khakis on the walk into work this morning...

via English Russia

Snow Days Then and Now...

"Working" at home today sheltered from Winter Storm Juno; work gave us laptops and as long as there's internet we're expected to work.  So, snow days don't have quite the same luster they once did.  Now our only hope for a day off is to lose electricity.  I have good book and there's plenty light out, but with a freezer full of ice cream (which is always), the accompanying anxiety that it's slowly melting is torture too much.

We knew the office would be closed by 10am yesterday.  Twenty years ago I'd wake up early to turn on 1350am for WNLK to fire up the "Storm Center" (I always imagined a guy huddled in a bunker under 12 ft. of snow broadcasting to a wrecked civilization when I heard that description, but that was overactive preteen imagination).  Very often we'd hear "Westport, closed...Wilton, closed...Norwalk public and parochial, one hour delay!"  It was enough to make a 13 year-old cry.

But, we knew to stick around because what was a delay sometimes later became a closing.  When then happened, I'd go back to sleep, or go make hot chocolate.  The days would be snowball fights with the kids on the street or sledding at Naramake/Nathan Hale.  Often snow turned to rain later on in the day, and our socks, mittens, and hats would be soaked, our skin rubbed raw red.

Today I'm bone-dry in an overheated city apartment, just feeling a little too safe.  I wonder where kids would go that had snow days today?  Mine would be stuck in a cramped 1br.  There isn't any sledding around here.  Saddly, not back home either - the middle school athletic fields seem to be in the middle of an expansion, and so the city's best hill might not be there anymore.

My most memorial snowday was senior year in high school; we all thought "Oh thank God, no school, no wrestling practice"....then phone rings, coach says "be at the school at 9:30" .  So while the rest of the town was enjoying hot cocoa and sledding, I was running in the C-house hallway.  Was that even legal?  I was cutting weight and probably needed the workout, but I was all the more grumpy.

The last time I almost got in a fight was when Washington was hit by a blizzard in early 2003.  The city was shut down, including most of the college's cafeterias.  None of us had food in our dorms, so roves of students were roaming the snowy streets like zombies.  I got a call from my former roommate that Panda Cafe was open, and when we got there the line was out the door.  Everyone was a little on edge and I was starving.  A couple tried to cut us, asking if they were next "AFTER US" I glared at them.  Later a guy tried to take our order when it came out, saying he was in front of us so it had to be his (I knew he was behind us).  I literally almost choked-him out, but instead told him/the restaurant worker to check the order number, and was vindicated.  Becca told me she heard him complaining to his friends about "some a-hole up there".  I didn't care, I just wanted my Chinese...