“Was That Funny?”
When my son was little, he went through a time when he would make up jokes and tell us, and watch our reaction and ask “was that funny?” He wanted desperately to catch on to humor, but humor is a whole new way of thinking, and he was only four or five years old.
We started with riddles, I think, jokes in which words had more than one meaning, and then we moved on to knock knock jokes. But when he first started making jokes, he started with pure nonsense.
Around eight, we introduced him to Shel Silverstein, a brilliant poet, who writes books for kids that are also a joy for adults.
(photo courtesy of Amazon.com.)
Where The Sidewalk Ends
Light in the Attic
Falling Up
We all loved Shel Silverstein. Our son would read the poems aloud to us as we zipped around the back streets of Europe. We never got tired of him. His poems are funny to both children and adults “One Sister for Sale” “The King Who Loved Peanut Butter” . . . and sometimes poignant, or even sad.
Slowly, slowly, our son built up a huge repetoire of humor. Today, he is one of the funniest men I know, albeit most of his wit is very dry, and sometimes . . . I don’t always get it.
And that doesn’t begin to tackle the problem of “what is funny” crossing national and cultural boundaries! I think you have really arrived in a language when you can tell a joke in another language, and the native speakers find it funny.
Stephen King and Hearts in Atlantis
You can be talking with serious people and watch their eyes change when they find you read Stephen King. I refuse to back down. Yep, I read Stephen King. I think he is a brilliant author, some books better than others, but when I am reading, sometimes I can feel my blood move faster through my veins as I wait for a life-threatening situation to resolve itself.
I can trust Stephen King. He taps into who we really are. I can also trust that most of the good guys will still be standing at the end, and most of the bad guys will meet a truly horrible and well-deserved death. I can trust that when bad things happen to good people, other good people will gather round, band together and the gestalt of all that willingness to help one another will prevail against the darkness.
The scariest book I ever read by Stephen King didn’t have any monsters, per se. It didn’t have the Walking Man, or any Wolves of Calla or any great evil, other than the evil that lurks in the human heart. The scariest book I have ever read by Stephen King was Hearts in Atlantis.
Hearts in Atlantis wasn’t even a novel, it was several shorter stories combined in one book. But the title story, Hearts in Atlantis, was about addiction. Not just any old addiction, either, but an addiction I had experienced.
It was my sophomore year in university. I had sailed through the trauma of freshman year with grace, great grades, I felt very confident. That summer, back home, I had taken bridge lessons, and holy smokes – I loved the game. It all made sense to me, and I loved figuring the probabilities and the possibilities, who had what card, how I could finesse that card, how I could WIN. I loved winning.
During the summer after my freshman year, I played a lot of bridge. So it was no wonder, when I got back to school, that I discovered a whole world of bridge players. Early in the morning, before my first class, I would head for the student union and pick up a coffee – and often a game.
The problem was, if I had a particularly good hand, the little devil on my shoulder would whisper “if you skip your class, you can win this hand!” and the bigger problem was – I would listen. I could afford to skip a class here and there, I did the homework. But through the year, I spent more and more time playing bridge and less and less time in the library. At the end of my sophomore year, my grade point average had fallen one full point.
That got my attention. I really wanted academic success. I spent my junior and senior years desperately working to get my grade point average back up to an acceptable level. Once the GPA falls, however, it only inches back up incrementally. It took almost straight A’s to undo the damage I had done to myself the year of bridge playing.
After graduation, I fell back into bridge playing on the duplicate level. But after a while, I noticed that while I travelled from place to place, it was the same smoke-filled room in every new city where we ended up, surrounded by a vampire-like culture that slept a lot of the day and only came alive at night. I also noticed that most of the conversations were about “the one that got away” – how such and such a hand might have been played best. Yawn. Yawn. Yawn. So one day, I just walked away, and never looked back.
Like all addictions, from time to time I hear bridge calling. From time to time I will enter a friendly game – party bridge, but it is no longer irresistable, no longer so seductive, so attractive. Thank God. Reading Stephen King brings back the terror of addiction.
Missing Letters
I am having so much fun. I have a house guest, an old friend, and we are goofing off all over town, having a great time.
She needed to write an e-mail to her husband, though, as as she sat down to write on my computer, she said “Intlxpatr, half the letters are worn off your keyboard! How do you know what to type?”
She is right. I have worn off some significant letters on my keyboard. I send an e-mail or two, and blog now and then ( 😛 ) so I am missing the w, e, i, o, a, s, d, f, g, k, l, c, v, b, n, m. Most of the time I am OK, as I am word processing, and can type really fast without looking, and I can edit before I publish. But when giving passwords, it is a bummer not being sure what I am putting in, and maybe 30% of the time, I get it wrong the first time.
I am using an Apple iBook about three years old. Naturally, there is a part of me that thinks I should buy a new computer (!) but the truth is, I don’t need a new computer, this one does all the things I need to do. It sure would be nice to get some keys that I could see, though. Is that possible here in Kuwait, to get new white letters for my white iBook?
Backing Against Hacking
This morning, a wonderfully quiet Friday morning in Kuwait*, I spent my time backing up all the entries in this blog. A fellow blogger, Fonzy went online to find his entire blog blank. Some mean-spirited hacker had gone in and wiped it out. Maybe those incapable of creating, destroy. I can’t imagine the nastiness it takes to wreck and destroy, to harm the innocent. I don’t want to try to wrap my mind around it, but I will take the warning.
Fortunately for the Fonz, he had back-up. Unfortunately for me, in spite of all my good intentions, I haven’t backed up in a long time. Months. So this morning I thanked God nothing had happened to my blog, and I backed it up.
It turned out to be kind of fun. I’d already forgotten some of the things I blogged about. Life moves on, and at such a rapid pace! And whew, now I am finished, at least for the time being. Thanks Fonz, for the reminder to back yourself up.
*For my non-Kuwait/non Middle Eastern readers, Friday morning is like Sunday morning in the western world. Relatively quiet, most people sleeping, not a lot of cars on the road – a day of rest.
Valentine
Talking with a friend the other day, about being married a long time, we were both stunned into momentary silence by the realization that we had lived with our husbands longer than we had lived with our birth families.
We think of all the forces that created who we are as children, but we forget the years of tumbling around in a marriage that helps to wear off all the sharp edges and smooth the jagged surfaces.
It’s not the boxes of candy or the roses, not even the romantic dinners (no! I am not cancelling!) It’s everything . . . the financial struggles, raising children, building a family life, taking care of aging relations, and, God willing, grandchildren . . . good times and bad times. In the long run, it’s all good.
Adventure Man, Happy Valentine’s Day. Through thick and thin, big guy.
Kuwait Road Hazards
Leaving a meeting today, I needed to run an errand. Within one half hour the following had happend:
1. I almost crashed my car. Three lanes of traffic going one way and I see a huge pothole up ahead in my lane. Bus over to the right with a little red car behind him. Van with two delivery people considerably behind on left – Check rearview mirror, plenty of room on the left, signal my intentions, begin to move left and the little red car behind the bus to the right swerves WAAAYYYY left – almost into me, while the car behind on my left SPEEDS UP! Between swerving quickly to avoid the little red car and then again to avoid the one that had speeded up, I was lucky to maintain control.
Comment: Potholes are dangerous. And what is it with these little drivers who would speed up to get IN your way, rather than maintaining their speed?? It was grotesque!
2. Minutes later I am passed by a very “cool” biker, he has a helmet, but his helmet is buckled on the back of the bike, and his vulnerable little head is bent cooly over the handlebars. Aha! Red light ahead, I will catch up with him and suggest the helmet goes on the head. But no, Mr. Cool goes right through the red lights! (This was a light where the red light was functional; he just felt it didn’t apply to him.)
3. What is the problem with the traffic light fund in Kuwait? Several times recently, we have seen lights where the red light is no longer functioning, only the green light is either on, or nothing is on, so if you know the lights, you know to watch for the green light and stop if it is not green. But what if you are in a strange part of town and don’t know the lights? It is easy to go through a “red” light that no longer shows red.
It isn’t that hard! This is a rich country! Someone is in charge, aren’t they? Isn’t anyone accountable for something so important as maintenance of traffic lights? Don’t the traffic police report lights that are non-functional? These non-functioning traffic lights are invitations to fatal accidents.
Mangaf Mansion
Every time I see this house, I grin. I love it that someone has the money and the imagination to build exactly the house he wanted, and that he did it knowing he would probably get criticism. He built it anyway. Good on him.
Japanese Breakfast
This is for my husband. I know he reads my blog now and then, and I wonder how long it will be before he sees this?
The other night, we were out for our favorite “fast” food, which is Japanese food. Not just sushi, we love miso soup. When I am sick, miso soup makes my throat feel better. I feel like I am eating good health, with all those little tofu squares and that seaweed, I feel like the miso soup will make me better. I also love salmon teriyaki, and chawan moushi, and a variety of lesser known Japanese foods.
And my husband said “isn’t miso soup what Japanese people have for breakfast?” and I didn’t know. He though miso soup and rice, so today I looked it up on Google, “Japanese breakfast”, and here is what I found:
Japanese breakfast consists of steamed rice, miso (soy bean paste) soup, and side dishes. Common side dishes are grilled fish, rolled omelet, pickles, dried seaweed, natto, salad, and more. Actually, you can make any dishes to go with rice and miso soup in Japanese breakfast. As you see in the photo, it’s an etiquette to place a bowl of rice on your left and to place a bowl of miso soup on your right side at the table.
It was on Japanese Breakfast About.com, along with ads for Japanese condoms (they are different from others?), a sushi making robot, a Samurai hotel and recipes for steamed rice, miso soup, natto (fermented soy beans), Nori (dried seaweed), Tamagoyaki (rolled omelet), grilled fish and pickles.
It seems to me that Japanese food is going through an internationalization process – sushi used to be all about rice and fish, and main dishes were simple, often stir fried, but all in all, very healthy. Now, I am seeing sushis with fried stuff in them, mayonnaise (?????), and we were offered a green tea ice-cream for dessert . . . that just doesn’t strike me as Japanese. Is it?
But this is for my husband – in case you really read all the way down – YOU WERE RIGHT. (I am obligated by family law to say that.)
In the Headlights: Added to the Blogroll
I don’t remember how I came across this blog, at some time in December, but I remember laughing my head off. After two months, I find that she still delights me every time I visit. Today at In the Headlights (a reference to a common English phrase “deer in the headlights” meaning that wild-eyed-I -don’t-know-what-to-do-next-so-I’ll-just-stand-here-frozen look) Riannan shares an e-mail from a friend with curmudgeonly rules for 2007, and earlier on the page, shares a site where you can have mittens, etc. knit out of your pet’s lost hair! Dying laughing.
(And no, she is not a relative of mine. I don’t know her! I just like her blog!)
This woman comes across some of the most amazing things. She, like me, is all over the map – salsa dancing, books, great recipes (the latest was Oven Baked Sesame Scallops, oh yum!), stories about friends, some of the funniest signs I have ever seen, and screwball ideas. She can give your day a lift.
What Happens Next?
I love reading the paper in a foreign country. It often reveals a different way of thinking. Often I am mystified; there is a context in which the article is written that you may “get” while I do not. As I read the Kuwait Times there are many times I wonder “what happens next?” Rarely do we get any follow up, rarely do we know the ultimate outcome of these incidents. These are all from today’s paper(24 Jan 2007):
1. The ‘Other’ Woman
A woman after suspecting her husband of infidelity, decided to keep tabs on him, and followed him to a spring camp in the Jdailiyat area and was shocked when she found her fears had turned into reality when she caught him red-handed in the arms of the ‘other’ woman. The wife immediately summoned police who rushed to the camp and also found out that he was under the influence of alcohol. In a fit of rage, he also smashed the police car’s windowpane to smithereens. He was referred to the relevant authorities.
My comment/questions: Infidelity is a painfully personal kind of behavior. Why would the police be called? Would you call the police if you want to salvage a relationship, or bury it? Does involving the police help in a divorce settlement? Will the husband normally be shamed and repentant, or angry and defiant? Are there processes to help a husband and wife save their marriage? And what happens to the other woman? Does it depend on who she is and what her nationality is? And wouldn’t a wife be afraid to confront her husband in that situation, would she be placing herself in physical danger?
2. Daughter Reveals Affair
A 47-year old Kuwaiti woman lodged a complaint with Mubarak Al Kabeer police that another Kuwaiti who works for the National Guard had several sexual intercourses with her 16 year old daughter in her own room, whenever she went out on errands. She said that her daughter confessed to her and revealed her affair our of her fear that she might be pregnant after which her lover might dump her. The man is being summoned for further interrogation.
My comment/questions: Why does it matter how old the woman is making the complaint? Why is that on the public record? If the girl is pregnant, what happens next? Can she raise her child as a single mother here in Kuwait? Is there a possibility that the girl will marry her National Guard lover? If not, what are her chances for marriage? Can she continue school if she is pregnant?
3. Mother Accused of Kidnapping
A 60 year old Arab lodged a complaint with Jabriya police that his 55 year old Iraqi divorcee had kidnapped their two sons. He produced a court order that authorized him custody of the boys and that their divorced mother showed up in his absence, along with her older sons from an earlier marriage and took the boys away. The father filed a kidnap case against his ex-wife althought Kuwaiti family laws do not under any circumstance permit accusing a mother of kidnapping her own children, even if the father had the legal custody rights.
My comment/questions: Why list the ages of the complaintant and his wife, but not the ages of the boys? How can the father file a case, if Kuwaiti law specifically states a mother cannot kidnap her own children? Do the boys have any choice of which parent they would want to live with? If the wife is 55, isn’t it likely that the youngest “boy” is around 15? (I would think it’s pretty hard to kidnap teenage boys.) Do parents often have heated contests over their children in Kuwait? Does shared custody work here?
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