Ybor City

The Sunday after the ACC Championship game, we checked out of our Extended Stay Hotel room around 9 a.m. and made our way to Ybor City, a historic district with Cuban flair near downtown Tampa.


Though the streets were quiet, and many shops and restaurants were closed, we stumbled upon Sula's Deli, an inviting little coffee and sandwich shop on Ybor's main drag where patrons can enjoy hot coffee and a variety of Cuban sandwiches relatively early on a Sunday morning.

After a very filling breakfast (brunch?) of sandwiches and coffee (their "small" coffee is 16 oz. and the large is a whopping 32 oz.!), we strolled along the quiet main street. The neighborhood is characterized by charming, old brick storefronts containing mostly Cuban cigar lounges (still closed when we were there - around 10 a.m. Sunday morning), beach-themed bars, "British" pubs, and nightclubs (a few of the bars were just opening as we walked by; the clubs had probably closed just a few hours ago).


The Columbia Restaurant building featured beautiful tile-work and Spanish-style architecture:


It is a bit difficult to see in the photo below, but the only patron of SunTrust this morning was a chicken who, alarmed at our approach, scurried into the nearby bushes.

ACC Championship Game: Tampa, Florida

We set out Saturday morning for Tampa, Florida, where Georgia Tech would be playing Clemson for the ACC Championship game. My newfound state of football fandom was at its peak this weekend, and it was accompanied by that peculiar mental state wherein a fan will view a 7- to 8-hour drive as a perfectly reasonable distance to travel to see one's beloved sports team (or band - we did the same thing when we found out The Killers were playing in Ljubljana, Slovenia, while we were living in Germany).

Before the game began, I realized my apathy towards all things football-related had given way to a growing dislike of the fans of the opposing team. This, I feel, was not entirely without cause. As we made our way through the masses of orange and purple (there was a distinctly stronger Clemson presence, it seemed, in the crowds and the tailgaters surrounding the stadium), we were often confronted by groups of men in orange sweatshirts making a concerted effort not to move out of the way as we tried to pass them on the side walk. On more than one occasion, we had to endure their rather obnoxious country music blaring out of some loudspeakers next to their tailgate parties. Furthermore, when we discovered that the pre-game live entertainment was James Otto, ACC's spokes-singer (see the truly awful ACC-sponsored video below), we couldn't help but notice that the majority of people actually crowding around the stage and acting like they were enjoying the thoroughly mediocre performance were Clemson fans.



Meanwhile, those of us from the ATL were standing around wishing we were listening to Young Jeezy perform one of the team's signature songs for this season, "Put On":

Sure, the majority of Georgia Tech fans are either middle-aged and WASP-ish or college-aged and geeky, but there is a certain level of bad-assness about hailing from Atlanta that removes the need for excessive attempts at "presence" or intimidation. That's just not how we roll.

So at some point in the game - I am not exactly sure when - I just knew in my heart that Georgia Tech was going to win. There was something about that outcome that seemed like it was in line with the proper Order of Things.

And we did. And all was well with the world.

The Fine Line Between Comedy and Tragedy

Though not an avid reader of modern fiction, I am well aware of the types of books usually esteemed worthy of attention by those involved in the more cerebral publications such as The Atlantic, The New Yorker, and salon.com. Based on numerous reviews I have read in these publications, it appears that what makes a novel worth reading these days is how well it represents the inner despair of mundane, modern existence. For instance, the titles of two of the selections in The Atlantic's very short list of the "Books of the Year: 2009" speak for themselves: It's Beginning to Hurt by James Lasdun and Too Much Happiness by Alice Munro. Here is the brief synopsis of Lasdun's novel provided in the Atlantic article:

"This collection of short stories illuminates the everyday agonies of the mind, its anxieties, obsessions, doubts, and yearnings" (Benjamin Schwarz, The Atlantic, Dec. 2009).

And, according to an earlier review in the same publication of Munro's novel, what makes Munro's work worthy of esteem is that she is a "genius" at "evoking lives rich with secret horrors" (from the Nov. 2009 "Cover to Cover").

Sounds pretty depressing, doesn't it?

About a week ago, however, I stumbled upon this segment of Kevin James' stand up routine on Comedy Central and I couldn't help but notice that situations which would be considered sources of anxiety and "secret horrors" to the modern novelist were, to the comedian, sources of utter hilarity:




My conclusion is thus: The modern novelist and the comedian are both interested in the same depressing, mundane minutiae of daily existence. The only difference is that the novelist has no sense of humor.

Musings on Football

The masses converge at Bobby Dodd Stadium, Atlanta, GA.

Organized sports have never occupied a place of importance in my life. As a shy, nearsighted, and overweight child, I quickly developed a disliking for any activity involving exertion, coordination, and competition. My inability to perform athletically left me uninterested in watching other people perform feats of physical prowess, so I never learned the rules to anything - baseball, basketball, football - and any enjoyment I did glean from the observance thereof relied mostly on the festive atmosphere of sitting in a particular stadium and eating the related foods (Dodger dogs, peanuts in a shell, frozen lemonade, etc.).

Fast forward about 20 years and I find myself married to a very devoted college football fan. Due to favorable geographic and financial circumstances, we decided to purchase season tickets for the beloved team (Georgia Tech). I decided it was high time to learn the rules of the game (and also, those tickets weren't cheap, so I was determined to get as much out of the investment as possible). I purchased two books: Football for Dummies and the appealingly-titled Get Your Own Damn Beer, I'm Watching the Game!: A Woman's Guide to Loving Pro Football.

Five months later, the football season over, and the ACC Championship game next weekend (yes - we bought tickets!), I must admit that my appreciation for the sport has grown considerably. I still ask embarrassing questions at each game ("I know I have asked this before, but what, exactly, is a sack?" or "Why did they only get six points if they scored a touchdown?" (yes, I am an idiot)), but I am getting there. Who would have thought that football was really a more violent version of chess, where instead of little wooden figures, the coaches use big burly men to carry out their strategy against one another, and instead of a chess board, the action occurs on a gigantic field? While I admire the ability of players, coaches, and ardent sports fans to understand the seemingly obscene amount of intricacies to the game, I must confess I do still feel a twinge of moral indignation whenever I hear people comment, re-hash, and discuss the stuff that happened in one game for minutes to hours afterwards. As someone who grades college papers, I have read papers written by high school coaches, as well as former athletes, and I can't help but wish a bit more of the paper-writers' time was spent reading and, er, learning how to spell. But I leave off griping here, as this is a sore spot that is best not indulged at the moment.

When it comes down to it, college football games are thrilling; the athleticism truly impressive, and the fact that it is all being orchestrated by a particular coach is fascinating. It is fun to have a team to root for. From whence cometh this inherent desire for strife, for competition, and, in some fans' cases, for picking fights? One theory I have is that organized sports (college football in particular, and college football in the South, especially) fills the void left by the end of family feuds. If we can no longer challenge someone to a duel, the next best thing, I assume, is to trash talk the fans and players of the opposing team.

Go Jackets!

Wash With Like Colors

Just sorting the laundry today:

Whites, colors, Vizsla???

I guess I'll need to set that last cycle to "delicate."

Dusty Mirrors

Just wanted to share some thoughts from ol' Clive Staples that I read last night:

"When it comes to knowing God, the initiative lies on His side. If He does not show Himself, nothing you can do will enable you to find Him. And, in fact, He shows much more of Himself to some people than to others - not because He has favorites, but because it is impossible for Him to show Himself to a man whose whole mind and character are in the wrong condition. Just as sunlight, though it has no favorites, cannot be reflected in a dusty mirror as clearly as in a clean one . . . " (C.S. Lewis, Mere Christianity).


Interesting. If you are someone who believes in God but can't seem to "see" or "know" Him, I guess the question is, do you really want to? If so, are you willing to put in the necessary elbow grease to clean off all that "dust"?

Down By the River

Since I don't have any children, I will have to bombard you with photos of my dog doing cute things by the Chattahoochee River:


I have to keep him on a leash, but it's pretty long. He mainly just likes to splash around in the shallow areas.


I love fall weather in Georgia - three straight days of bright blue skies and air so clear and crisp that it makes you feel invigorated after being outside for only a minute or two.

Vlad investigates what we Georgia residents have been wondering for some time: what, exactly, is behind all that kudzu?

Alas - the prey is totally out of reach.

Probably worse than texting, but ...

I just had to get a photo of this bumper sticker I saw while driving to the riverwalk.

So true. So very, very true.

Let's Try This Again ...

Army life is disruptive. I noticed that my last blog entry was written almost four months ago. You would think that all the packing, travelling, and drama inherent in relocating to a new continent would motivate me to blog more freqently rather than less. However, my personality is such that the more "settled" I feel, the more I am able to accomplish. If there are boxes of stuff yet to be unpacked nearby, they will distract me. If said stuff is unpacked but strewn about in a disorderly manner, it will distract me. I often find myself standing in the middle of a room, gazing at one spot, organizing it in my mind.

Oh how I envy those fortunate souls who happily surround themselves with disorderly piles of papers and makeshift tables, who are content simply to put things somewhere with complete disregard for symmetry, or space, or color scheme. If I could just not care so much about orderliness, I might actually get some sort of writing career off the ground.

But thanks to the Army, we'll be moving again in about 6 months (to where, we still do not know yet).

So, this blog post marks the beginning of my attempt to become a writer (seriously!) despite the fact that there are three giant boxes leering at me from the corner of the dining room, with piles of Army gear, leftover Halloween candy, and half-empty Kleenex boxes sitting defiantly on top of them.

The Devil Made Them Do It: The Legend of Lubeck's Rathauskeller

In the courtyard of the Marienkirche in Lubeck, Germany, there is a bronze statue of a little devil sitting on a large boulder. The legend behind the statue and the boulder is that when the church was being built, the devil originally helped the construction workers because he thought they were building an inn (at the time, essentially a bar and a den of iniquity). However, when he found out they were building a church, he threw a particularly devilish hissy-fit and tried to destroy the walls. The builders managed to placate him by agreeing to build a drinking hall across the street - and it remains there to this day in the form of the Rathauskeller (actually, a rather nice restaurant).

Web-Surfing Gems

You know the drill - you are bored, and reading articles online, and one click leads to another, and to another, until you end up at a website that features a Spider-Man action figure commenting on the names of every crayon color from the Crayola crayon box. Well, here is the latest roundup of interesting websites I have stumbled upon in similar fashion:

Cynical-C Blog, which features the funniest one-star Amazon reviews of classic movies, music, and literature. I particularly like one reviewer's critique of Monty Python and the Holy Grail, in which he contrasts it with his favorite movie, Spaceballs (a film which, in his opinion, "knows where to draw the line" when it comes to humor), and claims he would probably kill himself if forced to watch the Monty Python flick again.

the dullest blog in the world is a hilarious testament to the ridiculousness of blogging about the minutiae of one's daily existence.

Chick Flicks in 140 Characters or Less. Surprisingly accurate. For example: "How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days: Boy plays trick on girl. Girl plays trick on boy. Girl loses boy, gets boy back. Girl and boy make 'Fool's Gold.' We all die a little inside."

That's all for now. I will be back to grading papers next week and won't have as much time to devote to online meandering. Stumbled upon any other interesting sites lately? Feel free to share.

And Now For Something Completely Different ...

I hate to admit it, but my Great Western Literary Experiment has come to a standstill. I got as far as reading the beginning of the Oresteia, and after weeks of making little to no progress on the book, I began to reevaluate my literary goals. I realized I lacked the discipline and ability to concentrate needed to proceed with this endeavor; therefore, I put ancient writings aside in favor of the kind of literature I love and never tire of - 20th-Century Southern writers such as Flannery O'Connor, Walker Percy, and William Faulkner.

That's not to say I didn't learn a great deal from my evenings spent with the ancients, Homer in particular. Who would have thought that Western Literature as we know it began with an action movie? I am referring to The Iliad - jam-packed full of gory battle scenes and rippling heroes who, in true action-movie fashion, never seem to get hurt while scores of extras bite the dust all around them, The Iliad demonstrates that people have always enjoyed this form of entertainment (even in epic-poem format). At what point, then, did the stuff of action movies become divorced from what we consider "literature" or "art?" I find it fascinating that in the ancient world, the battlefield and the poet are intimately entwined.

Maybe I'll pick up where I left off at some point. For now, I need simply to get back into the habit of reading, and I am turning to the familiar voices of the American South for some much-needed motivation.

Oh, How I Miss TV Commercials

One of the "perks" of being stationed at a military establishment overseas is the availability of U.S. television programming via AFN, which stands for "Armed Forces Network." The network provides a reasonable variety of current American programming, albeit with perhaps a tad too many crime dramas and a selection of movies that, as one of my friends put it, might have been found in the $5 DVD bin at Wal-Mart.

While I greatly appreciate the efforts of AFN to provide us with this excuse to retain our American couch-potato habits while living in a foreign country, I absolutely despise what AFN has chosen to do during the brief intervals where TV commercials would normally appear. I understand that our use of said programming is contingent upon AFN not airing advertisements; however, I maintain that there are scores of better ways to fill dead space than with, well, what follows. Judge for yourself - I present a sampling of the torture I am subjected to on a daily basis (more can be found by searching for "AFN commercials" on YouTube):

Vlad the Vizsla Goes to Weltenburg

Went to Weltenburg yesterday, which is the site of the oldest still-operating brewery in the world. The monastery is located on a bend in the Danube, and the surrounding nature parks afforded Vlad ample opportunity for reckless romping.

We rode this tiny ferry across the Danube:

From the opposite side we enjoyed incredible views of the monastery:

We also enjoyed, of course, plenty of romping through the woods.

Musings: March 27, 2009

One thing that puzzles me to no end is how anybody can tolerate living in a place where winter lasts from November to April, and where one must endure frequent peltings by tiny frozen pellets falling from the sky, even when it is sunny and partly-cloudy. As I was driving through a heavy, late-March snowfall the other day, I began to ponder, for my own amusement, what I would do if I were faced with the prospect of weather like this every day for the rest of my life, with no hope of seeing blue skies or feeling the sun's warmth ever again. It no longer struck me as odd that places like Tacoma, Washington experience some of the highest suicide rates in the U.S.; over an extended period of time, this cold, wet, inhospitable, biting weather acts upon one's psyche in the same manner as an illness that never clears up: one feels hopeless, weary, oppressed, and downright grouchy. Or, at least I do. Apparently, there are scores of people who don't mind it, or most of central Europe wouldn't be populated. But, anyway, back to my make-believe scenario. No matter how deeply I fell into despair, I would be far too chicken (not to mention morally opposed) to commit suicide. Instead, I am fairly certain that I would go insane. After my drive in the rain/snow/darkness, I spent the evening in typical borderline crazy fashion: I hurled insults at the T.V. when I found out the evening's programming had been changed and I almost wrote a furious email to the people responsible for said programming. Fortunately, I am not a full-blown crazy, so the little voice advising me not to make an ass of myself was still very much intact and I refrained from sending the email. However, I did spend a greater portion of the evening sobbing in bed, bemoaning my fate, and longing for winter to end.

The next morning, my senses restored and intact, I opened the Bible to Psalm 69 and read this:

"Save me, O God!
For the waters have come up to my neck.
I sink in deep mire,
Where there is no standing;
I have come into deep waters,
Where the floods overflow me.
I am weary with my crying;
My throat is dry;
My eyes fail while I wait for my God." (New King James version)

I cannot tell you how many times something like this happens, where I just happen upon a passage from the Bible that relates, with an almost uncanny likeness, to my situation. The secret to maintaining my sanity seemed to jump out at me in those opening lines of the Psalm: why not pray about my situation? Why not turn my grumblings into prayer? I had to agree that praying would be a much more beneficial means of dealing with my unpleasant emotional state than plotting revenge upon television station employees.

So I'm giving it a try. And I must confess, I find myself much calmer and resilient-feeling when I pray on a regular basis. I recommend it to anyone else who might be feeling a bit on the crazy side lately.

Crumbs on the Mousepad

I never thought working from home would turn me into such a slob. In fact, I thought the opposite would be true - I imagined my stay-at-home position would afford me ample opportunities to take vacuuming and laundry breaks, and that I would be sitting at my computer in a pristine and tranquil environment filled with scented candles, my dog lounging lazily by my side. Not so. Instead, I find myself at the computer from sun-up to sun-down, wearing the same assortment of workout attire and pajamas each day, grabbing food from the kitchen and eating it at the computer when I am hungry, pausing only to transfer the pile of dirty dishes that has accumulated next to my computer to the pile of dirty dishes strewn both in and around the kitchen sink.

That's right - the work-from-home lifestyle is slovenly and unglamorous. In an effort to avoid letting myself go completely, when I do take breaks my number one priority is to exercise. I have recently begun running again, since I've stopped having migraines and stopped having the even more alarming chest pains which accompanied the migraine medication I was taking. I also attend spinning classes at the local gym, which provide a nice intense-cardio alternative when the weather is too icky (as it often is) for any outdoor romping. But the type of exercise I most frequently and consistently engage in is dog-walking. In many ways, this is not by choice. I own a Vizsla, which is considered a "high energy" breed of dog; I like to think of him more as a furry, four-legged ADHD child with no access to ritalin. Try grading a paper with a 50 lb. beast dropping toys at your feet, writhing around against your legs, trying to climb into your lap, and staring at you intensely with a look that says "throw me the ball, throw me the ball, THROW ME THE BALL!!!" So we walk. And we play catch. And after sufficient exercise he goes back to sleep and I can resume my post at the computer.

Sometimes when I am grading papers I try to imagine which American Idol judge my feedback style most resembles. When a student submits a paper that is barely legible but displays earnest effort, I feel like Paula, coming up with the most vague sorts of praises in order to say at least one positive thing: "The great thing is, you know who you are." Sometimes a student shows considerable improvement from his or her previous writing attempts, and I feel like Randy Jackson: "Dude, check it out. So listen, I wasn't crazy about your last performance, but you know what? That was smokin' hot, baby. Dooooogggg!!!" Other times, I feel overly-technical, like Kara: "There were a few subject-verb agreement problems in the first portion, and your topic sentences could use some revising. You were really on-point in the second portion, though. Good job." And then, some students do everything so perfectly that their lack of need for criticism renders me speechless, like Simon when he looks at someone with that disdainful expression, shrugs, and says, "There's really nothing to say, is there? It was absolutely brilliant."

Which reminds me, I need to try to get my work done so I can spend two hours watching American Idol tonight.

More Fleet Foxes - Videos

Just some more things that I enjoy.

Paris Blog, Part 2

As I was saying . . .

I figured I should finish writing about Paris, seeing as how it has been almost a month since my trip.

If you only have Saturday and Sunday to see Paris, see all the churches on Saturday, that way you avoid being one of those annoying tourists milling about in the rear of the church during services.

Start with Notre Dame,

then, take a short walk to Sainte Chappelle (warning: you must pay admission to get in and go through a security checkpoint. Do yourself a favor and leave your pocket knives at home),

and gawk at the magificent stained-glass windows.

After you are done with Sainte Chappelle, stroll along the Seine, stopping to observe the heads carved on the bridge at Pont Neuf.

Eat lunch. We ate at a fabulous little doner kebab restaurant near the Samaritaine department store. Doner restaurants are some of your better, cheaper food options in Paris. For those who are unfamiliar with this type of establishment, doner is a Turkish specialty, similar to the Greek gyro.

After lunch, hop on the nearest Metro to Montmartre, where you will find Sacre Coeur.

Unfortunately, photographs are not allowed inside this church. If you want, you can lounge in the sun on the hillside in front of Sacre Coeur.

Spend the rest of the day at your leisure. Stop and have some cafe au lait at a famous cafe, such as Les Deux Magots. Try to imagine what it must have been like to sit there writing and philosophizing (if you can ignore the loud traffic and street music, that is).


Buy some unusual books at Shakespeare and Company.

I found this gem, entitled An Irish Beast Book: A Natural History of Ireland's Furred Wildlife by James Fairley:

Once you have had your fill wandering the streets and taking it all in, find a place to have dinner. We found a great restaurant near the St. Michel monument, but, alas, forgot to write down its name. They serve nightly menus where you can choose from a list of entrees and desserts. The food was absolutely incredible. I now know what people mean when they speak about French cuisine with such rhapsody. We ate there for dinner two nights in a row and were not disappointed.


Before you call it a night, stop in a cafe for a beverage. We visited Le Bal Bullier, which was across the street from a cafe Hemingway used to frequent. Everyone at the Hemingway place wore jackets and ties, and there was valet parking. We decided it was a bit too fancy for our taste (and attire). Le Bal Bullier, however, was practically empty and had nice glass windows all around.

Stay tuned for Part 3, where I discuss what we learned while spending 6 1/2 hours in the Louvre.

Watching The Godfather at 6 a.m.

I feel for those of you who suffer from insomnia. As of late, I have had trouble sleeping, for some inexplicable reason. Well, scratch that - part of the reason is that I drink espresso late in the day, against my better judgment. But last night it happened again, and there was no espresso, nor any other caffeinated beverage involved this time. Jerome K. Jerome describes the torment of insomnia rather well when he says,

"How long the dawn seems coming when we cannot sleep! Oh! Those hideous nights when we toss and turn in fever and pain, when we lie, like living men among the dead, staring out into the dark hours that drift so slowly between us and the light." (from The Idle Thoughts of an Idle Fellow)

So, at about 6 a.m. Sunday morning, unable to bear it any longer, I got up, got dressed, and turned to the usual means of refuge for the insomniac, the TV. My husband, fully refreshed from a good night's sleep (a fact about which I was insanely jealous), got up as well and decided to join me in my early morning TV watching.

"What do you want to do?" he asked.

"I don't know," I replied, irritably. "Do you by any chance want to watch The Godfather?"

"Sure."

And that is how we ended up watching The Godfather (Part II) at 6 a.m. on a Sunday morning.

Fabulous movie. You should see it, if you haven't already.

My First Week of Grading Papers Online

...and I'm beat.


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