My mom has a friend that compulsively buys really (REALLY) expensive things for herself but then will give them away because she ends up not liking the thing or not really needing it. And I am not talking about like a $200 necklace; I am talking like $30,000 price tag and then just gives it to someone because she's all, "Eh! I don't need this. You can have it."
"She is crazy," I told my mom.
"I know," she said. "All my friends are crazy. I'm the only...," then she trailed off.
"The only what?"
"Well, the only normal one among them, I guess," she replied.
Oh, lord! May I never be in a room with all of them at the same time. I know now, though, with sanity, it's all relative.
Wednesday, October 22, 2008
Monday, October 20, 2008
an additional measure of home protection
We had a barbeque with a bunch of friends and even though it's Fall and getting cool, it was nice to be outside and not be attacked by throngs of mosquitoes. There were a handful at the most and they were not vicious. The sliding screen doors to our 'yard' (it's more like a glorified patio because of the size but in feeling it's a yard) are made to be easy to slide open and closed. From the inside of the house, that is. There are no such handles or impressions in the frame to help you get a grip when you are outside. It was frustrating when you are trying to go in and out bringing food, drink, adjusting music and doing other hostly activities. When I aired my grief to my mom, but she corrected me in her "glass-is-half-full" manner touched by a little y-logic.
"Erg! Why don't these screens have an easy way to open them from the outside!" I grumbled.
"It's a good thing," she said.
"How's that?" I asked.
"Well, it makes it harder for robbers," she replied.
I feel safer. Imagine how many countless thefts those screen doors protected us from. It was lucky that the robbers who attempted to break in here were not hardened criminals, but milk toasts who give up at the slightest hindrance. I think one of them didn't even make it to the screen door; they went home when they stubbed their toe on the parapet.
"Erg! Why don't these screens have an easy way to open them from the outside!" I grumbled.
"It's a good thing," she said.
"How's that?" I asked.
"Well, it makes it harder for robbers," she replied.
I feel safer. Imagine how many countless thefts those screen doors protected us from. It was lucky that the robbers who attempted to break in here were not hardened criminals, but milk toasts who give up at the slightest hindrance. I think one of them didn't even make it to the screen door; they went home when they stubbed their toe on the parapet.
Saturday, October 18, 2008
Living in a vacuum
Today is Jun chan's birthday so my mom made osekihan which is an extra sticky pink rice and azuki bean dish. She was tasting the finished product and had this to say:
You know, this dish calls for 10% beans to rice used, and every time it seems like such a small amount, I always add a little extra. But then, when it's finished, I guess there are a lot of beans and it probably would have been fine with that small amount.
So I suggested putting a note on her recipe to remind her next time that she should only use the 10% even if it seems too small. Here is what she said to that:
Oh, I remember every time. But it still seems small and so I still add more beans.
In incredulous tones I can't help but voice my disbelief: So you're saying that you know from previous experience that if you add more beans that it will be too many, but you do it anyway.
Her answer was, resoundingly: Yes.
It occurs to me that she is living in a logic vacuum. As in a real vacuum, it makes sense that a feather and a bowling ball will fall at the same rate of 9.81 meters per second. It also makes sense that what looks like too few beans will one day actually be too few beans.
You know, this dish calls for 10% beans to rice used, and every time it seems like such a small amount, I always add a little extra. But then, when it's finished, I guess there are a lot of beans and it probably would have been fine with that small amount.
So I suggested putting a note on her recipe to remind her next time that she should only use the 10% even if it seems too small. Here is what she said to that:
Oh, I remember every time. But it still seems small and so I still add more beans.
In incredulous tones I can't help but voice my disbelief: So you're saying that you know from previous experience that if you add more beans that it will be too many, but you do it anyway.
Her answer was, resoundingly: Yes.
It occurs to me that she is living in a logic vacuum. As in a real vacuum, it makes sense that a feather and a bowling ball will fall at the same rate of 9.81 meters per second. It also makes sense that what looks like too few beans will one day actually be too few beans.
Tuesday, October 7, 2008
We are not translators, not by a long shot!
I have found myself in a position where I am having to attempt to translate some of the photo captions from my picasa site. It is inordinately difficult. My mom and I struggled through a few, agreeing and disagreeing on the Japanese or the English or both. Talk about vexation! We were not even speaking a language by the time we took a break. These words actually passed my mom's lips: "Like I’m always looking for a new word kind of way." Wha? Meaning is completely up for grabs. I'm sure that's not English either, but I'm beyond caring right now.
We arrived at the photo of the girl with her cell phone down the back of her pants. The caption, "From this girl, I learned the best place to store your cell phone is your butt-crack," seemed straight forward enough, so I was typing the Japanese as my mom quickly and easily dictated her translation because she, too, thought it should be a breeze. Oh, how wrong we were.
Here is her Japanese translation retranslated back into English:
"From this girl, I learned the best place to store your cell phone is your butt-hole."
I almost laughed out my lung.
We arrived at the photo of the girl with her cell phone down the back of her pants. The caption, "From this girl, I learned the best place to store your cell phone is your butt-crack," seemed straight forward enough, so I was typing the Japanese as my mom quickly and easily dictated her translation because she, too, thought it should be a breeze. Oh, how wrong we were.Here is her Japanese translation retranslated back into English:
"From this girl, I learned the best place to store your cell phone is your butt-hole."
I almost laughed out my lung.
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