Friday, March 06, 2009
Aged to perfection
Today I was walking through the airport.
Headphones on, listening to old episodes of Dragnet from the 1940’s.
Minding my own general business, when something strange occurred.
A man looked my way and gave me a smile. A kind of flirty smile.
It took me aback. This man was in his mid thirties/early forties. Way too old to be shooting me a smile.
I automatically thought, “Dude he’s like 1000 times my age!”
Then I realized something. He was not 1000 times my age. He was not twice my age.
He was relatively close to my age.
How did I get old? When did age appropriate men start to include those in their 30’s? What the hell!
Headphones on, listening to old episodes of Dragnet from the 1940’s.
Minding my own general business, when something strange occurred.
A man looked my way and gave me a smile. A kind of flirty smile.
It took me aback. This man was in his mid thirties/early forties. Way too old to be shooting me a smile.
I automatically thought, “Dude he’s like 1000 times my age!”
Then I realized something. He was not 1000 times my age. He was not twice my age.
He was relatively close to my age.
How did I get old? When did age appropriate men start to include those in their 30’s? What the hell!
A new one
Currently, I am on a plane heading back to the US of A. Soon I will touchdown on the tarmac of freedom.
The Airfield of English.
The landing strip of the slightly new and potentially exciting.
I am, believe it or not, moving back to the “real world.” (The “realness” of said world is still being debated.)
Like, right now.
In a matter of hours I will be landing in a world of wonky culture shock. There are things I am excited for. There are things I am dreading.
There are things that make me kind of queasy.
But here goes nothing.
A new chapter is starting. Hopefully this chapter will have a lot more pages than the last.
The Airfield of English.
The landing strip of the slightly new and potentially exciting.
I am, believe it or not, moving back to the “real world.” (The “realness” of said world is still being debated.)
Like, right now.
In a matter of hours I will be landing in a world of wonky culture shock. There are things I am excited for. There are things I am dreading.
There are things that make me kind of queasy.
But here goes nothing.
A new chapter is starting. Hopefully this chapter will have a lot more pages than the last.
Die Hard is right
Remember Die Hard 4? I could argue that it is one of the top 12 movies of all time. I think I would win that argument. (Partly because of my debate skills, mostly because the movie speaks for its wonderful self.)
Any who.
There is one thing that always bothers me about that movie is the language issue. The henchmen talk in some random guttural language, they never speak anything but their own tongue.
Their boss is an American who speaks in perfect English, he never speaks anything else.
When they talk to each other they each only speak their own languages and yet they completely understand the other.
Is there ever a situation were you would understand rapid-fire idioms in a foreign language and yet do not have the skills to answer. Why the hell would the writers do this?
It just doesn’t make sense.
Until, today. Well, technically, yesterday. But I am counting it as today.
A few of my South African friends were having a long conversation about Rugby. Two of them are fully fluent in Afrikaans; the third was raised around it, but had a family that tended toward English.
Half of the conversation was in Afrikaans and half in English. It was nutty.
Proving once again that Die Hard has a completely accurate and plausible plotline.
Any who.
There is one thing that always bothers me about that movie is the language issue. The henchmen talk in some random guttural language, they never speak anything but their own tongue.
Their boss is an American who speaks in perfect English, he never speaks anything else.
When they talk to each other they each only speak their own languages and yet they completely understand the other.
Is there ever a situation were you would understand rapid-fire idioms in a foreign language and yet do not have the skills to answer. Why the hell would the writers do this?
It just doesn’t make sense.
Until, today. Well, technically, yesterday. But I am counting it as today.
A few of my South African friends were having a long conversation about Rugby. Two of them are fully fluent in Afrikaans; the third was raised around it, but had a family that tended toward English.
Half of the conversation was in Afrikaans and half in English. It was nutty.
Proving once again that Die Hard has a completely accurate and plausible plotline.
manly men
There is one thing that I will desperately miss about Korea, about Asia really.
The man bag.
The murse.
The manly handbag.
Asian men carry handbags. Not the metro type messenger bags of the west but actual purses. Some are leather with fun flirty colors. Sometimes they are canvas with cartoon characters slashed across the sides.
I even saw a man with a vinyl bag with rhinestones and rainbows.
The strange part is, these men and manly types. They are just as likely to have a wallet, paperwork and a few tools in their purse, as they are to have chap stick, hairspray, and a fluffy bunny.
The man bag.
The murse.
The manly handbag.
Asian men carry handbags. Not the metro type messenger bags of the west but actual purses. Some are leather with fun flirty colors. Sometimes they are canvas with cartoon characters slashed across the sides.
I even saw a man with a vinyl bag with rhinestones and rainbows.
The strange part is, these men and manly types. They are just as likely to have a wallet, paperwork and a few tools in their purse, as they are to have chap stick, hairspray, and a fluffy bunny.
