This weekend E and I watched The Godfather. He had seen it before, but it was a first for me. I knew about the horse head in bed, the bouquet of fish, and the tollbooth scene. And everyone looked so young they didn't look like themselves (especially Keaton and Pacino). But that's not what really struck me about the movie.
What struck me about the movie was the culture and the family and the position of the family. Yes, I know, The Godfather movies have probably done more harm to the good name of Italians everywhere than anything else. It's propelled stereotypes and burned them into society's mind. Even if I have cousins with the dark hair and dark circles under their eyes and always wear dark suits. But even that isn't what I mean.
At one point I turned to E (I think during one of the wedding scenes) and said "do you ever feel like you are a bad Italian?" I know that my father's family used to be close. I know all my great aunts and uncles and all the cousins were always over everyone's house all the time. I know there was homemade pasta and other glorious food (along with the "what's wrong with you that you don't want a third helping, I made it just for you," thank you Aunt Jo). I know that Great-Grandmother Chiara used to put curses in Italian on people.
But that's not the family that I grew up with. I saw bits and pieces of it as a child. And I can see it in the photographs that my Nana has. But my brother and I never had birthday parties where it was just family invited (and that meant at least 30 people). The big dinner on Sunday was just the four of us. No one sang in Italian when I got married. I only know a few words of Italian, and I'm not even sure that it's really Italian and not just the warped pronouncation of my aging grandmother.
Part of it was that we moved away - to Colorado, to Newtown (oh so far away from Stamford - a whole 45 minutes!) Part of it was I think my mother was not comfortable with that side of the family. Part of it was that the speed of life changed. Everyone got so wound up in their lives that the only time we saw each other was at funerals.
There's no one alive now that remembers "the old country." Cousins are scattered all over the country. It makes me sad. There is a rich history there that I feel I have missed out on. I wish I knew Great Grandmother Chiara's curses. I wish I knew how to make Nana's "gravy" (aka, marinara sauce).
Living out in CA I'm separated from The Family. I think there is a distant cousin or two out here in the Bay area, but I've never met them. I know there's one in LA. When I go home to CT all my time is spent seeing my brother and mother. The 45-minutes to Stamford is too far. And that makes me sad. The work I've done on the family geneology is a way to try to grasp and hold on to it. But it's just fleeting moments, names on paper. The real, living people are lost to me. And I don't know how to get them back.
Not just because folks like the infamous Dooce just walked in the front door.
Or that my co-workers can have a heated debate on the value of the term "user experience" that continues both on email and in person.
Or that we are going to get to take not one, but two private tours of museums in Washington DC during our User Experience Week conference next month.
No, I'm stating that because despite all the cool things that happen in this office, there are days like today where I cannot find the focus or energy to do good work. Hell, forgot good, just ANY work. I have to remember that cool things do happen. And that I do do (heh, I just said dodo) good work.
I just moved upstairs, where it's a bit more quiet. And I'm less likely to be distracted by sneaking peeks at Ms. Armstrong (she's so CUTE in her short hair). And hopefully I can focus on getting something done.
I used to think my mother was crazy when she would close all the windows and curtains during a beautiful summer day. It really is amazing how as you get older, your parents get smarter.
This morning E and I closed up the entire house around 9 am. We shut every window. Closed every curtain. We hung towels over the windows in the dining room and bathroom. And you know what? It worked. At least during the morning hours. I did have to close the kitchen door most of the way because that room (which gets the eastern/morning sun) was much warmer than the front of the house. But with the fan blowing at the couch we were quite comfortable.
By the time mid-afternoon hit, it was a different story. The front of the house gets the western/afternoon sun. We opened up the back of the house, but it was still 85 in the living room. Again, certainly livable, but warm.
Once the sun set over the houses across the street we opened up all the windows. I wish the cats didn't want to go outside so much because I'd have the front door open right now if I could. We are getting a nice cross breeze now, and it is really rather pleasant.
Unless you go upstairs. It's currently 99 degrees upstairs. Now I understand why our landlady had her bedroom on the first floor. We slept in the guest room last night. I think we will again tonight.
I still count us lucky though. We are making it through this heat wave in pretty good shape, and without using any air conditioning. Which I feel pretty good about, especially after seeing An Inconvenient Truth yesterday. The weather is so fucked up - and it's only just beginning.
Is anyone else horrified / distressed / upset / shocked / outraged / I can't even find the words to descibe what I'm feeling at the way the world seems to be pulling itself apart?
Israel is bombing Lebanon.
Somali Islamists have called a jihad against Ethiopia.
Ethiopia has invated Somaila.
Fighting in Iraq and Afganistan continues.
This is not to mention the problems that are on-going in the DR Congo, Uganda, Sudan/Dafur, Tibet, and other parts of Asia, South America, Africa.
And this is just armed conflict. The amount of suffering is staggering when you add in homelessness, starvation, disease and general crime.
*sigh* It's too much. Just too, too much.
E and I traveled to CT this past week for a wedding and to see family and such. E had a good birthday; we spent the day with his mom in NYC. We went to the Botantical Gardens (got to play with my extension tubes for the camera - photos to follow), bought way too many knishes at Zabar's, had an awsome dinner and The History Boys was great. I'm really looking forward to see how they port it to the big screen this fall.
The wedding was lovely. It was so good to see M and meet S. And to see T after so many years. Photos of the wedding are also coming. I got the meet "the new family" which was fun. I scanned in lots of photos (yes, they too will be coming - me and Photoshop will be having some fun this week) and worked on the geneology for that side of the family.
Overall a great trip, even if we did have every day packed full. But the true "fun" of the trip didn't happen until we tried to go home.
We missed the flight anyway.
The agent in CT thought we'd have better luck getting home if we went to Chicago O'Hare, rather than Dallas. Okay. Sign us up. So at 10 AM eastern time we got on a plane to Chicago. This standby thing seems pretty easy. We're only 2.5 hours behind schedule.
When we got to Chicago the agent put us on standby for a flight to San Francisco, rather than San Jose. Our bags were happily on their way to San Jose, but that's okay. We live in SF and were happy to be heading closer to home. We still had delusions at this point of taking BART to Muni on the way home so we could complete the "Planes, Trains, and Automobiles" task.
We arrived in Chicago at 11ish Central time. We did not make it on the 12:44 PM flight. No worries, we (and a heck of a lot of other people) were rolled over to the standby list for the next flight at 2:45. Okay. Not to worry. We scouted out a four-plug power outlet in the boarding area for the 2:45 and prepared to settle in for the wait. Frozen yogurt was purchased (mmmmmm.... sprinkles).
Turns out the four-outlet power plug does not work. But two other outlets cut in the rug, and now in use by other people ,do work. Our laptops are nearly dead, so we debate purchasing a deck of cards. But it's not that long until the 2:45, so we decide to wait it out.
The 2:45 passes on us. It's full. There are so many people on standby for this flight that we don't see our names on the list at first. After mild panic we are assured that we are still on the standby list for the next flight. We call the main service line to see if it makes sense for us to go to San Jose instead. Or Monterrey. Or Sacromento. Hell, we'll even fly to LA and DRIVE home. The agent on the phone tells us that all flights to the west coast look full. We wander back to the K concourse and wait for the 4:55.
Diet be damned. French fries, a chicken burger and egg and cheese on a bagel are purchased. Mood is slightly improved with the intake of fud. A book of cross-word puzzles is also purchased. We still cannot find a working and available power outlet.
We are listed as 4 and 5 on the standby list. We cross our fingers, toes, legs, and arms that we will make the 4:55. We do not. With tears in our eyes we pack up our stuff and move to the H concourse to wait for the 7:00. It is noted that our luggage should now be happily waiting in San Jose. It is also noted that we could have just about flown to the west coast and back to Chicago in the amount of time we have been waiting.
The easy crossword is finished. As is the medium. We also attempt the Laddergram. Smurf-hickies and Gumby-hickies are given with the two pens we have. Luckily it is realized that a full-blown middle school pen fight is about to break out and "uncle" is called. Instead I go to look at the standby list.
We are not listed on the standby list. A small cosmic freakout commences.
I calmly talk with the gate agent. We were not rolled over to the standby list for the 7:00 from the 4:45. I tell the woman that we have been waiting in Chicago since 11 AM and would very much like to know if we have a snowball's chance in hell of getting on this plane. She says it doesn't look good, but will put us on the list anyway. I ask if we can be guarenteed a seat on a morning flight. She says that we'd have to use the red bat phone again and talk to the booking agent. And it would cost us $$ but she can't say how much. We are printed fresh standby cards for this flight.
We wait for the 7:00 to begin boarding. Somehow we have jumped to the 2nd and 3rd position. Fingers, toes, legs, eyes and arms are all crossed in hopes that we make it. Though we are preparing to leave the airport for a real meal and to crash with friends who live in Chicago.
The plane boards and a name is called to the counter. Then another name. Wait, that's OUR name! We made it on the plane! I about leap over the counter to hug and kiss the gate agent I am so happy. The plane is completely packed and we sit nowhere near each other, but we don't care. We are finally on our way home.
At 10:15 Pacific (that's 1:15 AM eastern!) we land at SFO. Our luggage is in San Jose. We don't care. E will retrieve it while at work in the morning. And fuck the Score, we catch a cab home.
At last, we are home. I don't know if this 8-hour adventure on standby counts for the "Please Standby for Love" task, but it has to count for something.
Thank the fucking lord, we finally watched Gandhi. I've only had it since JANUARY!
It was a very good movie. Ben Kingsley was so young! It did make me sad though - all that strife and suffering and is India and Pakistan and that whole part of the world any better off? There is still fighting. There is still mass poverty and starvation. *sigh*