The Little Bathroom Attendant of The Killing Fields
“Hello,” her little voice said in clear English, making me jump, pinning me with her big chocolate eyes. Having just come from The Killing Tree—the tree in The Killing Fields of Cheung Eck outside Phnom Pehn, Cambodia, against which the murderous Khymer Rouge had pounded children’s heads, then thrown their beaten bodies into mass graves, as their often-wrongly-accused mother’s were dragged away to their own execution—the sight of a live, gorgeous child was a startling.
“Would you like some paper?” she asked, poised to tear from the roll of pink toilet paper in her hand.
“Sure,” I smiled, having regained my composure. Nodding, she rose, carefully stepped barefoot over a partially-assembled, multi-colored plastic game on the tile floor at her feet, and handed me a small, neat, pink bundle.
Only when I took it with a “Thank you very much” did it occur to me to wonder why no adults were around....
STAY TUNED FOR THE REST!
Monday, January 31, 2011
Wednesday, May 12, 2010
Wednesday, February 10, 2010
Extreme Sledding, Central Park
"We should get style points for that," cried Tim, as our sled spun a 360, and we watched the man we had nearly run over gracefully leap over our heads.
Naturally, Raphael had caught the whole thing on his Flip. Tim and I high-fived, grabbed the red toboggan and started climbing Plymouth Hill for another go.
Mary Elizabeth had started it all, with a message on Facebook: "New York Winter Society Goes Sledding, 5:30PM, Plymouth Hill, Central Park". That sounds like fun, I thought. I'll go, I'll still make my 8PM plans, and have dinner with Ben!
I arrived at the appointed place, a few moments tardy. Ben was stuck at work, one of few doors, besides retail stores and some restaurants, I felt, open in Manhattan. For public schools even, Mayor Bloomberg had declared an official Snow Day. But, my new Goretex pants seemed to be doing the trick so far; so, I was glad that EMS had been open! Not recognizing anyone, I decided to give an abandoned trash bag a go as a sled. I caution you to avoid protruding roots. Otherwise, good, cheap fun!
As I ascended the hill for the third time, I spotted Raphael. Over 6 feet tall with a white ski jacket, red goggles and a head lamp, he was hard to miss! Mary Elizabeth, on the other hand, was so buried under her ski mask, only when she spoke did I finally know she was there! And, she had a head lamp, too! And, then Tim showed up, a sight in an orange camouflage suit, with glowing devil horns perched upon his head. At least they wouldn't get lost in the crowd! With this crew, arrived four toboggans, two flat sleds and one Flip. I chose the bigger, red one, requested a co-pilot (Tim accepted) and, there is no better way to put this, then, "Let the Woo-Hoo begin"!
After our little stunt with the man and the 360 Degree spin, all felt empowered. First, there was the Double Stack, which was two bodies, face down, over "The Bump," i.e. the snow-covered tree root at the top of the hill's slickest chute. Second, there was the Triple Stack. One man face down, two ladies on top of him. Anyone else feel like we're at IHOP?
Third, someone discovered the skip jump a previous sledder had made. I'm not sure if Natalie or Brian went first. But, by the time Tim flew over, and Lenin and I wanted a turn, Natalie was offering us angling advice worthy of any pool shark!
Finally, there was Nine Stack, in two configurations. One was The Human Jenga, the other, a three man, six woman pyramid.
Our first three runs sent giggling bodies flying every which way, less than halfway down the hill. By the second three, we made it to the first tree before the whole stack unraveled. By the last few runs, shouts of "Grab shoulders!" "Hold my hand!" "Watch the man!" got us nearly to the bottom in one piece. Ben made it at the tail end of this. He got in three strong runs and even won a race!
Curiously no one complained of cold, even in their fingers. It was only rumbling stomachs that tore us from our little mountain!
Naturally, Raphael had caught the whole thing on his Flip. Tim and I high-fived, grabbed the red toboggan and started climbing Plymouth Hill for another go.
Mary Elizabeth had started it all, with a message on Facebook: "New York Winter Society Goes Sledding, 5:30PM, Plymouth Hill, Central Park". That sounds like fun, I thought. I'll go, I'll still make my 8PM plans, and have dinner with Ben!
I arrived at the appointed place, a few moments tardy. Ben was stuck at work, one of few doors, besides retail stores and some restaurants, I felt, open in Manhattan. For public schools even, Mayor Bloomberg had declared an official Snow Day. But, my new Goretex pants seemed to be doing the trick so far; so, I was glad that EMS had been open! Not recognizing anyone, I decided to give an abandoned trash bag a go as a sled. I caution you to avoid protruding roots. Otherwise, good, cheap fun!
As I ascended the hill for the third time, I spotted Raphael. Over 6 feet tall with a white ski jacket, red goggles and a head lamp, he was hard to miss! Mary Elizabeth, on the other hand, was so buried under her ski mask, only when she spoke did I finally know she was there! And, she had a head lamp, too! And, then Tim showed up, a sight in an orange camouflage suit, with glowing devil horns perched upon his head. At least they wouldn't get lost in the crowd! With this crew, arrived four toboggans, two flat sleds and one Flip. I chose the bigger, red one, requested a co-pilot (Tim accepted) and, there is no better way to put this, then, "Let the Woo-Hoo begin"!
After our little stunt with the man and the 360 Degree spin, all felt empowered. First, there was the Double Stack, which was two bodies, face down, over "The Bump," i.e. the snow-covered tree root at the top of the hill's slickest chute. Second, there was the Triple Stack. One man face down, two ladies on top of him. Anyone else feel like we're at IHOP?
Third, someone discovered the skip jump a previous sledder had made. I'm not sure if Natalie or Brian went first. But, by the time Tim flew over, and Lenin and I wanted a turn, Natalie was offering us angling advice worthy of any pool shark!
Finally, there was Nine Stack, in two configurations. One was The Human Jenga, the other, a three man, six woman pyramid.
Our first three runs sent giggling bodies flying every which way, less than halfway down the hill. By the second three, we made it to the first tree before the whole stack unraveled. By the last few runs, shouts of "Grab shoulders!" "Hold my hand!" "Watch the man!" got us nearly to the bottom in one piece. Ben made it at the tail end of this. He got in three strong runs and even won a race!
Curiously no one complained of cold, even in their fingers. It was only rumbling stomachs that tore us from our little mountain!
Thursday, January 14, 2010
What's Your Weekend Worth?
This evening, I was planning to try to lighten everyone's mood, in light of the recent Haitian tragedy, with a whole posting about Donald E. Goerke, Creator of Spaghettio's, who died today at 83. Guaranteed, every single one of my college classmates was raised on this tomato-meatball stew. I know it was a quick fix lunch in our home, and my mother cooked! My final point was going to be for my little sister, and every hangover that she's ever had. She's completely in mourning.
Instead, I go with a challenge.
My challenge is this: all of the money that you would normally spend during the weekend, try not to spend it. For example, Ben and I will go to brunch at least once of the weekend days, to the total of at least $37 with tip. And, the weekend is the ideal time to catch a movie. That's $24 for two. Now, I am not saying hermit! No! But, eat at home, explore what's free in the city (or wherever it is you call home), volunteer, talk with friend face-to-face (this is free!!!).
Then, whatever money you save, give to the Haitian Relief Effort.
Yele Haiti
This organization, founded by Wyclef Jean, creates projects to improve the quality of education, health, environment and community development in Haiti. To donate to to its Haiti relief efforts, go to yele.org or text YELE to 501501 to donate $5.
This is the one that I've heard most recommended by legitimate sources.
Game On.
Instead, I go with a challenge.
My challenge is this: all of the money that you would normally spend during the weekend, try not to spend it. For example, Ben and I will go to brunch at least once of the weekend days, to the total of at least $37 with tip. And, the weekend is the ideal time to catch a movie. That's $24 for two. Now, I am not saying hermit! No! But, eat at home, explore what's free in the city (or wherever it is you call home), volunteer, talk with friend face-to-face (this is free!!!).
Then, whatever money you save, give to the Haitian Relief Effort.
Yele Haiti
This organization, founded by Wyclef Jean, creates projects to improve the quality of education, health, environment and community development in Haiti. To donate to to its Haiti relief efforts, go to yele.org or text YELE to 501501 to donate $5.
This is the one that I've heard most recommended by legitimate sources.
Game On.
Thursday, January 7, 2010
The Controversy Caused By Four-Legs and Two-Feet High in New York City!
There are three types of dog people in New York City. There are Dog Owners. There are Dog Lovers who haven't become owners due to time, financial, and/or housing restrictions. And, finally, there are Dog Haters.
I begin with the final group. The Dog Haters of New York City can, primarily, be identified by "The Transformation". One moment, they are just other figures sharing your sidewalk, moving briskly between appointments in their day. Yet, one glance at you and your companion, and they seem to be tripping across non-existent hot coals! This is accompanied by a look of disdain, which says, "Dogs? You dare corrupt by pristine concrete with the paws of that filthy beast?" This expression appears, be the pup Bernese or Peakenese, teeth-bearer or teddy bear, on the end of a leash or in your purse. To the Dog Haters, neither size nor snuggle matter. Your companion is simply a yapping and crapping machine and he or she is to be despised.
Next, we move on to the group to which I pay my membership dues: Dog Lovers who haven't become Dog Owners due to time, financial, and/or housing restrictions. Before you say, "Well, I don't have enough time either, but, I have a dog!" I reply, "'Time' in the sense of owning a dog in New York City warrants its own, special definition."
And it is: one's ability to construct a schedule conducive to 6AM risings, and in the case of certain breeds, ball throwing sessions, managing to be at your desk on time, dashing home in the less than an hour most NYC Employees are allotted for lunch, and passing on staying late to complete a project or participate in X after work activity (and there really is something to do in this City every night of the week, the gym aside, if you just seek it out) to tend to your pup's natural needs. Add to this, the countless New Yorkers whose days don't begin until noon, and you begin to understand how finding rhythm can be problematic.
But, again, I know, some of you will continue to insist that it can be done. To this, I now reply, "I guarantee that you are lucky enough to have or pay for one of the following: patient and working from home or nearby roommate or partner, childcare giver/dog walker or occasional Doggy Daycare, or Gentle Octopi." I was the first during my second year in the city; I got calls at least twice a week from my roommate. I am now that pup's official aunt! The second and third are among the Puppy Financial Restrictions. And the third definitely requires a definition!
The Gentle Octopi of New York City are its dog walkers. Characteristics of these caring souls include durable outerwear (particularly colorful Peruvian hats and made-to-be-trampled-on-and-easily-cleaned walking shoes), a beaming smile, and a minimum of six additional appendages, in a rainbow of canvas and those little clips that create that tinkle telling of a pup's approach. Naturally, the Gentle Octopi must be respectfully compensated for their time and dedication. After all, aren't they caring for your best friend, or in some cases, your 'child'? Sentiments expressed to me include, "my husband wants another child; I told him we can get a dog" or "we discussed adopting or getting a dog, and decided a dog better suited our lifestyle."
Finally, there is the housing issue. Contrary to "Sex and the City," and 75% of apartments portrayed in New York City set films, not all New York 20 and 30-somethings can afford copious one-bedrooms in Soho with walk-in closets! 6-Floor Walk-Ups, Shoebox Studios or Three-Way Splits in "Chelsea" or Brooklyn, some a half hour ride from one's job in Midtown Manhattan and you can forget any semblance of a backyard, are most of our initial realities! Into none of these situations do I consider it fair to bring in a dog! And, in many cases where you happen to have enough space, you are met with a big X next to "Pet Friendly" on your lease!
The final group, the Dog Owners, are the simplest to explain. This is a rare breed of human being who, in my opinion, really has it all: the time, the partner or money, and a happy and large enough home to welcome their beautiful bundle of choice. Members of this group are also fully aware of all of the issues faced by Group #2. In most cases, they have probably been members. Thus, to the thrill of Group #2's members, if you ask nicely and offer a big smile, the Dog Owners will happily allow you to stop them on the sidewalk and give their treasure a scruff.
I begin with the final group. The Dog Haters of New York City can, primarily, be identified by "The Transformation". One moment, they are just other figures sharing your sidewalk, moving briskly between appointments in their day. Yet, one glance at you and your companion, and they seem to be tripping across non-existent hot coals! This is accompanied by a look of disdain, which says, "Dogs? You dare corrupt by pristine concrete with the paws of that filthy beast?" This expression appears, be the pup Bernese or Peakenese, teeth-bearer or teddy bear, on the end of a leash or in your purse. To the Dog Haters, neither size nor snuggle matter. Your companion is simply a yapping and crapping machine and he or she is to be despised.
Next, we move on to the group to which I pay my membership dues: Dog Lovers who haven't become Dog Owners due to time, financial, and/or housing restrictions. Before you say, "Well, I don't have enough time either, but, I have a dog!" I reply, "'Time' in the sense of owning a dog in New York City warrants its own, special definition."
And it is: one's ability to construct a schedule conducive to 6AM risings, and in the case of certain breeds, ball throwing sessions, managing to be at your desk on time, dashing home in the less than an hour most NYC Employees are allotted for lunch, and passing on staying late to complete a project or participate in X after work activity (and there really is something to do in this City every night of the week, the gym aside, if you just seek it out) to tend to your pup's natural needs. Add to this, the countless New Yorkers whose days don't begin until noon, and you begin to understand how finding rhythm can be problematic.
But, again, I know, some of you will continue to insist that it can be done. To this, I now reply, "I guarantee that you are lucky enough to have or pay for one of the following: patient and working from home or nearby roommate or partner, childcare giver/dog walker or occasional Doggy Daycare, or Gentle Octopi." I was the first during my second year in the city; I got calls at least twice a week from my roommate. I am now that pup's official aunt! The second and third are among the Puppy Financial Restrictions. And the third definitely requires a definition!
The Gentle Octopi of New York City are its dog walkers. Characteristics of these caring souls include durable outerwear (particularly colorful Peruvian hats and made-to-be-trampled-on-and-easily-cleaned walking shoes), a beaming smile, and a minimum of six additional appendages, in a rainbow of canvas and those little clips that create that tinkle telling of a pup's approach. Naturally, the Gentle Octopi must be respectfully compensated for their time and dedication. After all, aren't they caring for your best friend, or in some cases, your 'child'? Sentiments expressed to me include, "my husband wants another child; I told him we can get a dog" or "we discussed adopting or getting a dog, and decided a dog better suited our lifestyle."
Finally, there is the housing issue. Contrary to "Sex and the City," and 75% of apartments portrayed in New York City set films, not all New York 20 and 30-somethings can afford copious one-bedrooms in Soho with walk-in closets! 6-Floor Walk-Ups, Shoebox Studios or Three-Way Splits in "Chelsea" or Brooklyn, some a half hour ride from one's job in Midtown Manhattan and you can forget any semblance of a backyard, are most of our initial realities! Into none of these situations do I consider it fair to bring in a dog! And, in many cases where you happen to have enough space, you are met with a big X next to "Pet Friendly" on your lease!
The final group, the Dog Owners, are the simplest to explain. This is a rare breed of human being who, in my opinion, really has it all: the time, the partner or money, and a happy and large enough home to welcome their beautiful bundle of choice. Members of this group are also fully aware of all of the issues faced by Group #2. In most cases, they have probably been members. Thus, to the thrill of Group #2's members, if you ask nicely and offer a big smile, the Dog Owners will happily allow you to stop them on the sidewalk and give their treasure a scruff.
Wednesday, January 6, 2010
Speaking "Le Poisson"
If a leading expert in the field says "fishes" not "fish", does that mean that I can too? More importantly, is citing this expert, and the speech that she gave at The Museum of National History, enough evidence for a teacher or professor not to mark one wrong?
Good sleeping!
Good sleeping!
Tuesday, January 5, 2010
Can a Map Really Make You Ill???
It's 11:56PM, and I am getting sick. Yes, that's physically. A souvenir from France, er, Ben, er, Ben's exhaustion in France.
But, the ill feelings I really want to discuss are my mental ones. My distraught feelings, specifically. Actually, I guess I am 2x physically, 1x mentally, ill. Because, the feeling of unease generated by my mental stress is causing symptoms similar to nausea deep within my stomach. I am not well.
Why? Because I just began my favorite annual read, The Best American Travel Writing! To begin this highly-respected compilation of the 20 plus most well-written, ingenious and timely American travel writing articles, a chosen guest editor offers his or her perspective on the current need for travel writing... and, thus, why he or she selected the articles he or she did. In 2009, this is British travel writer Simon Winchester, and he, he is the source of my mental ill. For on page xxi, he writes: "We all know the statistics-73% of American children can't find France on a map,...".
My fingers are trembling too much to complete that sentence for you, or offer you the most disturbing fact of all: Geography is no longer a class at UN International School. And, I wasn't kidding when I said that I was physically sick. And, I have a really early morning.
For all of these reasons, I can only propose that you pick up the book for yourselves. That's The Best American Travel Writing 2009. And, when you do, I ask you to consider the following questions. Are they right? Do we even need to teach Geography? I mean, according to someone I mentioned my concerns to, why would U.S. citizens need to know of other nations, when we have everything we need for basic survival right within our own borders? Why do we need it? Is it even important that your child can shout, "I know where that is!" and point at a map, when great-grandmother says, "We are Irish"? If it is important, who's to blame for this course's absence? And, should we play the blame game in this situation?
With my head spinning with the French cold remedy, Fervex (French cold, French medicine...wait, I take it for U.S. bred colds too!), I bid you all, good contemplating, wherever on the world map you are! Wait, you know, correct?
But, the ill feelings I really want to discuss are my mental ones. My distraught feelings, specifically. Actually, I guess I am 2x physically, 1x mentally, ill. Because, the feeling of unease generated by my mental stress is causing symptoms similar to nausea deep within my stomach. I am not well.
Why? Because I just began my favorite annual read, The Best American Travel Writing! To begin this highly-respected compilation of the 20 plus most well-written, ingenious and timely American travel writing articles, a chosen guest editor offers his or her perspective on the current need for travel writing... and, thus, why he or she selected the articles he or she did. In 2009, this is British travel writer Simon Winchester, and he, he is the source of my mental ill. For on page xxi, he writes: "We all know the statistics-73% of American children can't find France on a map,...".
My fingers are trembling too much to complete that sentence for you, or offer you the most disturbing fact of all: Geography is no longer a class at UN International School. And, I wasn't kidding when I said that I was physically sick. And, I have a really early morning.
For all of these reasons, I can only propose that you pick up the book for yourselves. That's The Best American Travel Writing 2009. And, when you do, I ask you to consider the following questions. Are they right? Do we even need to teach Geography? I mean, according to someone I mentioned my concerns to, why would U.S. citizens need to know of other nations, when we have everything we need for basic survival right within our own borders? Why do we need it? Is it even important that your child can shout, "I know where that is!" and point at a map, when great-grandmother says, "We are Irish"? If it is important, who's to blame for this course's absence? And, should we play the blame game in this situation?
With my head spinning with the French cold remedy, Fervex (French cold, French medicine...wait, I take it for U.S. bred colds too!), I bid you all, good contemplating, wherever on the world map you are! Wait, you know, correct?
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