Heads and Tails

Thomas came into the living room the other day with a terrified expression on his face.

            "Mom," he said in a shaky voice. "I caught a lizard and its tail fell off."

            I wasn't too concerned until I looked up and realized the lizard and its tale were still in his hands. The bodiless tale wagged frantically in one hand and the lizard, its bottom bright red, finally squirmed loose and jumped onto the couch.

            "Thomas,” Mom said in a very disappointed voice. "Get it off the couch, it's still bleeding."

            The lizard dashed away, but its tale still remained in Thomas's hands and still wriggled frantically. Thomas looked on the verge of tears.

            My Dad and I couldn't stop ourselves from giggling, but Mom gave us that—you know—look. "It isn't funny," she said sternly. "Thomas, go put that in the trash and wash your hands."

            Mom wouldn't strike you as the "animal justice" type, but you'd be surprised. She has her moments, and out of everyone in our family she cares the most about animals. Thomas is—well—seven, so he couldn't be gentle to animals even if he wanted to be. I don't like animal cruelty but don't care enough to do anything about it, and frankly I don't think my Dad knows animals exist unless they're going to bite him (or his children). Mom's the only one who isn't too hot on going to bullfights and who won't own a dog because we don't have a yard.

            She hates animals, I'm not saying she doesn't. When we had cats Mom refused to hold them or let them touch her clothes; she even wanted to get rid of one at a certain point because she said our house stank (she has a very sensitive nose. She can tell if the house three lots away is freshly painted. She also says cat houses stink, although for the life of me I can't smell a thing.)

            Yet at night time when the mug-cat from next door comes over and terrorizes my precious kitten, she's the one who dashes outside, frightens it away and then lets the kitten sit on her lap for a while. She does it to calm down his nerves, and it's the only time she does it.

            I love my Mom. People say she's tough and strict, but I don't think so; she often ignores her natural inclination to show mercy and kindness, and I have never met a more longsuffering person.

            I hope eventually I'll inherit that trait.

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Communism and the USSR

I think some Americans are anti-socialists simply because they've been anti-USSR for so long. I'm serious. Europe doesn't have a problem with socialism because Russia never became their greatest enemy. For the last half-century USA and the USSR have been neck-to-neck as the rulers of the world, and we've heard so many insults about Communism it seems like the utmost evil. Who didn't grow up make-believing about Russian spies and "the communists are coming!"

            I'm not saying communism is right—far from it. I'm just wondering if our prejudice against socialism has little to do with the actual issue.

            And me? I really like Russians, personally. Can't wait till I can afford to visit their country.

And speaking of Communism I did some research on USSR injustices. We read A Day in the Life of Ivan Denisovich for school and we found out what Soviets did to citizens, but we really didn’t find out why. This is what I found:

-         - Baptists were put in the camps not because they were Baptists, but because they refused to register themselves. A registered citizen cannot share religious content with children under 18 and cannot proselytize, and the government also spies on them. Baptists tried to avoid these things and got put in the camps for 25 years because of it.

-          - If you were late for work three times, you were put in jail for three years.

-         -  If you stole food—any food, period, even potatoes left in the field during a famine, you got a nice fat 25 years. Try to feed your family on that.

-          - If you made a joke about an official, you could get 25 years in the gulag.

-         -  Relatives of people who were imprisoned often got imprisoned themselves. ‘The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree’ so they say.

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Awkward Moments in South Asia #7

Our friend was telling us about a conversation he had with a South Asian. The South Asian, in an innocent attempt to make friendly conversation, asked him how he was finding South Asia.
Our friend at this time was going through culture shock--meaning that everything stinks. Seriously. It's like depression and hate combined, and I'm sure it could kill if it lasted long enough. So our friend answered honestly, "Both this country and my home country are nice, but I wish this country was a little--well--cleaner."
The South Asian was slightly embarrassed, obviously, that our friend found his country unclean. They were eating at a restaurant at the time and the floor was covered with bones and napkins and the like; the South Asian quickly began to clean up the mess while he made excuses. "Yes, our country is dirty. These uneducated people don't know the importance of cleanliness. Look at this mess!"
He proceeded to put the trash he had picked up in a plastic bag, then throw the plastic bag out the window.

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The English

You ever wonder why we say "In Jesus' Name, Amen" to our own prayers? Amen means I agree, so--"Lord, help us this day. In Jesus' Name I agree." Of course you agree with yourself!

Or why is lisp spelled with an "s"? So that people with lisps can't pronounce their own speech impediment? "I have a lithp." I'm sure you do, deaire.

Or have you noticed how many of English names are terrible English words? Bob. Rob. Will. Chuck. Harry. Jimmy. Ginny. Tom (as in cat). Phil. Pete. Mary.

I wonder--this is purely speculation--but the term "For Pete's sake," does it come from the legend that Peter holds the gates of heavens--so "For Pete's sake" do the right thing? I don't know.

Does "please" as in "please let me in" come from please as in "please me" or pleas?

English is so odd.

Seven Pages Shy

There's this feeling that happens on three occasions.
The first is when you're at a restaurant and have just finished eating, when you discover you've left your wallet at home.
The second is when you're taking a test, remember having read about this question this morning, and still don't remember the answer.
And the third is when you are writing a paper and have written as much as you know about a subject as languidly as possible. It's still seven pages below the the required number of pages. Seven pages below!

This last situation is where I find myself now. I seriously have nothing else logical to add to the paper, and there are no extra arguments I can add either--believe me, I've looked. I've exhausted my arguments, and they're beginning to exhaust me.
I asked my teacher if the bibliography could count--well, there's no harm to try--but he said no, obviously. I've tried making it seem longer. I've added an unnecessary discussion of Edward De Vere and Christopher Marlowe. I've even decided to talk about his reputation of skipping taxes, which has got to be the most uninteresting argument I've ever heard. I may have to talk about it for another five pages. This paper's due on Wednesday. It should technically have been due last Friday, but my teacher thankfully gave me some grace (no, he's not completely heartless--though everybody feels heartless right now, even innocent little Dr. Seuss. Don't ask what Dr. Seuss has to do with this; I don't want to talk about it.)
I don't think I will ever forgive Shakespeare for this. Every time I read a Shakespeare play I'll say to myself, "Just because you can make Othello speak for two columns about nothing doesn't mean I have to praise you about it for 25 pages!"

Names, anybody?

Some words are so cool they should be names. I finished The Shadowers (Shadows and Champions' new name) and now am trying to brainstorm some names for my next book. Maybe 3,000 years from now, these amazing English words will be found in a baby book saying: "Origin: Old English" or something like that.

Zenith

Maroon

Chief

Twixt

Rhythm

Myth

Hickory

Duke

Nugget

Also, in my search for names, I found out the origin of the term "Mad as a Hatter." Hatters used to use mercury to make hats, and the fumes from the mercury gave them...well...mercury poisoning. Isaac Newton got into alchemy and, in his experiments, also gave himself mercury poisoning--they found traces of it in his hair. Mercury poisoning makes you a bit "mad", overly-shy and gives you a desire to be socially isolated.

April Fools

New month, new background! I know in America it's raining nowadays, and in England it's still threatening to snow--here all we have is wind and sand and Thomas is begging for the A.C. to start up.
"Dad," he said yesterday, "It's April now so we can have A.C. again, right?"
"Oh yeah, it is April, isn't it?" Dad replied. Three seconds later he screamed and started rolling on the floor. I thought he was trying to humor Thomas, but after about a minute he started to croak, "help."
"Are you kidding me?" I asked.
"No--the egg, it's swelling up my throat."
About seven years ago Mom was cutting up some potatoes and said to me, "if my throat starts swelling and I can't breath, you know how to call 911?" she has pretty severe allergies to pestacide, so it wasn't beyond possibility that Dad had a problem too.
I looked at the egg. Thomas had already eaten half of it--how could--"help!" Dad croaked.
"Where's the phone?" I demanded. No answer.
"Here, I'll get you a glass of water."
As I went to the kitchen and filled up a glass, I heard a cheerful "April Fools!" from the living room.
And I dumped the glass of water on him.