Angry Letters from Paradise

I had such a weird childhood. Honestly, not only was my maternal family just bizarre, but everything we did in our house was not the norm in everyone else's house. For example: tea. In 60's America, adults drank coffee as their caffinated beverage of choice. At my house, we drank tea; black with or without sugar, and none of that pansy-ass milk or effete lemon crap, either. Even if the inside of your mouth felt like you'd been eating acorns, and your stomach was rolling like an epileptic whore...tough, you didn't ask for milk. I was drinking black tea from the time I can remember, honestly. It was perfectly ordinary for me to have a cup of tea with my morning cereal in first grade. No wonder I was so chatty, I was buzzed on English Breakfast! After I moved out of my maternal grandmother's house when I was sixteen, there was no more hot tea. My stepmother served Lipton instant tea, and it was served over ice. In summer, it was suntea.

Allow me to explain for those who are unfamiliar; Suntea is the product of cold water, tea bags and the heat of the sun. In Arizona, where I grew up, you can make a gallon of tea in less than an hour simply by filling a large glass jar with cold water, dropping in a half a dozen teabags more or less, capping the jar and setting it in a sunny spot. After it's brewed to a nice dark colour, you bring it inside, remove the bags, and let it cool before serving over ice. Once it's at room temperature, any leftover tea can be stored in the fridge for later.

I learned to drink coffee when I was in my early 20's. I was working as a cocktail waitress in a place that closed at 2am. I had a running bet with another waitress that whoever made the least in tips had to pay for breakfast. So after we'd closed up, we would drive to this restaurant on Central and Indian School, (I think) in Phoenix and have breakfast at about 3:30 am. It was there, with Marie, that I learned to like coffee. It was more like an after work relaxation than a morning pick-me-up, and in many ways I still like it best that way...at the end of the day rather than at the beginning. I think that I'll stop with the coffee at this point because, let's just say, I not only liked it, I became an afficianado, a snob, about it even, and I don't want to go there now, because believe it or not, today this blog is about tea.

I moved to New Zealand a bit over seven years ago. It was then that I discovered that my family wasn't quite as weird as I had imagined as a child. Oh don't get me wrong, they were crazy as shithouse rats, but the little stuff that no one else did like drinking tea... that was just British. Turns out, my Grandma wasn't bullshitting about being reared Irish in America. I find that many things that we did traditionally were British, like plum pudding at Xmas, and eating lamb at Easter. No one else I knew as a child ate lamb. No one else ate sauerkraut on New Year's Day, either, but I have no idea where that one came from. So where was I? Oh yeah, TEA...damnit.

Since moving to NZ, I drink tea every day. I'm a pussy now, and I have a bit of milk in mine. I don't have to have a sore tummy if I don't want to. I can afford a splash of milk. Here's the bit that as an American I used to laugh at, but as a Kiwi, I have come to understand: tea is a blessing, a gift from the gods. It calms you down and picks you up at the same time. No wonder the English solve every problem with a cup of tea. It's lovely and hot and it settles the nerves better than a cigarette. I drink it any time of day.

Right now, I have a new favourite: Celestial Seasonings' White Tea. It's just gorgeous! The scent is like hot cream soda, the flavour is similar, but with fruitier undertones. I don't add milk to this one. I'm having a cup of it now, as a matter of fact. It's my after work unwind thing. I was going to bitch about something or another when I got home from work today. Then, I made a cup of this glorious tea. The scent got in my nose and made me feel like I was having a treat, the flavour got in my mouth and it was gooood! Suddenly, I didn't feel so much like bitching. I felt like praising, not just this tea, but tea in general. So, thanks all you lovely Southeast Asian and Indian women, working your slender skilled fingers through the tea fields for my pleasure and pacification. Thanks for bringing me this cup, a simple thing done well. It doesn't get much better than that.

I kinda have three things that I wanted to talk about today. Two are really cool and/or important. The other is just something that I just realised today. So, because I don't want to diminish the importance of the two good bits, I'm going to sandwich them around the realisation and call it a blog sandwich.
Bit #1
A few days ago, the news in NZ was kinda sad. Robert, the elder brother of Norm Hewitt, former rugby player and winner of Dancing With the Stars, here in NZ, went missing after a dive. His diving partner was feeling ill, and went topside. Robert decided to go down by himself again, and that was the last they saw of him. He left behind a partner, and three children, the youngest being only six years old. I felt so sorry for the family.

Today the search team went out again to see if they could find his body, and they did...and he was still alive! After 76 hours alone at sea he was still alive; sunburnt and slightly delirious, since a bit of rainwater was all he'd had in that time, but alive! The joy of his family was so beautiful. I'd empathised with their pain, and now I wept with them for joy. What a heroic effort on Robert Hewitt's part, what strength of character and love he must possess to work so hard to live. How loved his partner must feel. Through all that pain it was love that got him through. Hate couldn't have done it. Fear wouldn't last that long. No, only love was strong enough to keep a man alive alone in the water for three days. Love, and Navy training.
http://www.nzherald.co.nz/section/story.cfm?c_id=1&ObjectID=10367503

Bit #2
My son came over today to borrow my washing machine, as usual. I was on the computer, as usual. He wanted something from me so he gave me this grin. I said, "Boy, don't try that look on me. I invented that look!"
He lowered his very stylish shades and raised an eyebrow at me, "But I perfected it, Mother."
It was then, looking at him that I realised, that my son was that really handsome, really cool guy that I always was attracted to back when I was his age. My son...is a stud. He's the hip bartender in the coolest bar in the coolest part of town. He dresses well, he styles his hair ffs! And he's funny enough that the guys all like him even while their girlfriends are drooling over him. So I'll tell you a secret. That cool, drop-dead gorgeous guy that you've been eyeing and wondering about? He's probably a pretty nice guy and not as intimidating as you'd expect. I know. I reared one of 'em. I only wish I'd known this when I was 20.

Bit #3
This is the best bit. Today, Australian Scientists (I know, it sounds like an oxymoron, but read on...they exist) announced that they've found a cure for Rheumatoid Arthritis! Fuck me ragged, is that some news or what? Not only does it stop the shit from advancing, it reverses the damage! This is like freaking miracle stuff and if I hadn't seen it on the news, I wouldn't believe it. Now, the halo around this is brilliant because it will also work with MS and Psoriasis! Like 2% of the population, I have psoriasis. It's a pain in the ass, especially since I'm kinda vain, and always had perfect skin until a few years ago. I recently discovered my own cure for it, but my cure won't help with psoriac arthritis and this Aussie medicine will. And get this...it works immediately. You can see the swelling go away. If this turns out to be like the water powered engine, or some other bullshit, I'm going to Australia, and pounding the living shit out of everyone who reported it. On the other hand, if it's real...it's awesome news for a lot of people!
ttp://news.ninemsn.com.au/article.aspx?id=85800

That's my sandwich. I hope you're sated.

Let's just start this entry off with a bit of honesty: I'm a vain bitch. It's not that I think I'm all that beautiful (my mother was the beauty), it's that I don't like looking any less than my best, in general. So, even though I work at a place where I could get away with wearing jeans to work every day, I go through the bother of wearing undies that match my outer garments in colour, and still wear skirts and high heels...you know, that girlie shit. I don't always wear makeup, but that's because I'm vain enough to think I look pretty good without it.

But here's where my vanity, interferes with my life in general; my eyes. I refuse to wear glasses. I've been blind as a freaking bat in my right eye since I was 10 years old. My father and grandparents gave up trying to make me wear my glasses after I "lost" three pairs in as many months. I tried contact lenses (after the soft ones came out) and they were okay, but expensive and occasionally, painful. So, because my left eye has always been the strong and perfect one, I let it do most of the work, and live my life without correction in the ocular arena. Yeah, I know, it's amusing...a half blind artist. Some would say it shows. They'd be assholes.

Four years ago, I looked into Laser surgery. Seems that I was a perfect candidate. However, the perfect candidate did not have the necessary $2000 for the surgery, so she had to postpone while she saved. Then I quit my job. Because of this recent contract (due to expire in 2 weeks), I've been able to get the cash. Of course, in the meantime, the price has jumped another $450, but I was prepared for that. I went in a week ago last Wednesday to be reassessed.

Nothing had changed in the last four years, so I had it done Wednesday. Now, they lied a bit. They said my eye would feel "gritty" after the operation, when the local wore off. What it actually felt like was someone pressing down on my eyeball with their thumb. Squirm as I might, I couldn't get away from that fucking thumb! I must admit to feeling sorry enough for myself that I cried. I blame a combination of discomfort...no, pain, aftershock and nervousness.

I have to sleep with this clear plastic shield over my eye for another night or two. I look like Nana of Borg. I may keep wearing it just for the scare appeal. My depth perception has increased like I wouldn't believe, and I can barely wait for tomorrow, when I begin a landscape where I can actually see the details!

"The federal government ... awarded a $385 million contract for the construction of "temporary detention facilities." These would be used, the story said, in the event of an "immigration emergency."

Jamie Zuieback, an official with U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE), explained such an emergency like this: "If, for example, there were some sort of upheaval in another country that would cause mass migration, that's the type of situation that the contract would address."http://www.presstelegram.com/search/ci_3470080

I wasn't aware that the Mexicans were all that unhappy. Certainly they don't intend to place Canadians in such facilities. I seriously doubt they plan to put migrants of any ilk in these. No, my friends, that sound you hear just beneath the sound of the cash register bell, that insistent beat, that's the sound of jackboots in the night, coming to take you away, temporarily, of course for your your own safety to a facility where you will be protected.

I'm sure that many Americans of Japanese extraction believed the same thing, until all their property was sold out from under them at pennies on the dollar.during WWII. I'm sure that there were even a few Jews in Poland who believed that they would be safer in the Ghettos. The fact that everyone in the facility will be of a similar political bent to yourself will probably escape your notice for the first few days, then the reality will set in, but it will be too late.

Hey Americans! There's no such thing as an "immigration emergency." Never has been, never will be. Kellogg, Brown and Root are building concentration camps. Wake up and smell the cement before you end up smelling gas.

People ask me, “Tarla, how can you be angry when you live in Paradise?” My answer, “The Bush Administration would make an angel angry, I am a mere mortal, so I'm furious.” For example: $400 BILLION for the War in Iraq.

Now, that is the annual budget for the Pentagon, but this $400 billion is actually a separate part of the Pentagon budget. The Congressional Budget Office has estimated that $320 billion has been spent on Iraq and Afghanistan since the attacks of Sept. 11, 2001, and Bush just asked for $70 billion more.

That's $70 billion dollars more to pursue a war against a country that wasn't a threat to the US, that was virtually hamstrung by sanctions, and which possessed none of the qualities or dangers used to justify its invasion. This invasion was done by what essentially looks like a big ole bully making a grab for a smaller kid's ice cream. And they beat the living shit out of that kid while doing so! Even the Bush Administration admits to 30,000 Iraqi deaths.

Stop and think about that for a minute. Seriously consider just how big a number that is. I lived in OKC when the bombing happened. We lost 168 souls. Now think about how many more 30,000 is. It's ten times the number killed in NYC, and the Iraqis had nothing to do with that shit. Now...that's the number they concede to. What's the real count? Too frightening to consider, particularly when you consider that these deaths are occurring in a place where the culture includes a strong streak of revenge.

Here's a better way to spend that $70 billion: http://www.truemajorityaction.org/oreos/

I've made my escape. Why should I care? Well, the US casts a rather large shadow, and I have to live the rest of my life with this accent. It's harder being an ex-pat when the country is run by venomous incompetents. It reflects badly on the rest of us. People are always asking me, “Why did the American people (re)elect him?” Then I have to go into a long explanation about how I'm not actually sure that the American people DID elect him, either time. As to answering why they continue to tolerate him, well, that one, I can't answer, and it's a big part of why I live here instead of there. For a nation that prides itself on being so brave and fearless and tough and all that shit, there aren't even enough people with the balls to get out in the streets and revolt. They just eat another bowl of I can't be bothered, and go to work, like good drugged clones. When I was a child, people used to wonder how the German people could allow the horrible things that Hitler did, why they didn't stand up and fight him. I watch America and say, “That's how.”

Well, it's Friday in here in the good part of the world. We have a long weekend here in Godzone, it's our national equivalent to a founders day, Waitangi Day. No one actually celebrates it. Most of us are just happy for the excuse for an extra day off work.

Speaking of work, I'd get angry about my job if it weren't so goddamned boring. It's hard to work up an anger when you work in a tomb. It's not actually a tomb, but it might as well be. I signed on for a six month contract working in documentation. Now, I can take anything, even water dripping on my head for six months, but this has been a real test of of my patience. I knew when I signed on that I was way overqualified for the job, but I assumed, that like every other job I've had in the past, that I'd be there a few months, and people would realise that I was capable of much more than entry level work. Honestly, I don't think I've ever been in a job for more than six months without being promoted.

This job started out with me being trained, if you will, for two days before the person I was supposed to replace for a month left for her holiday (Hi, D!). Here's how my boss trained me: He showed me a series of different computer programs that I was supposed to enter data in, then when I would bring him the stuff that I entered, he'd show me my mistakes, and then tell me something absolutely unintelligible about the error. Honestly, it took me the whole fucking month to figure out what the big picture was, so that by the time D returned, I had just gotten the idea of what I was doing. But then I was on to another person and her cast-off job.

And so on and so on. Every little task I do is actually someone else's crap job that they've passed on to me because the more interesting job isn't my responsibility. In fact, the only job in the whole department that I actually understand from beginning to end, the big picture, WHY I do what I do...is the one that wasn't originally part of this department; the sales entry role. In fact, I understand that one well enough that I wrote a little procedure for it. When I leave in a month, it will be the one clear piece of evidence that I existed in that place, and it will actually be useful, because it gives a big picture before getting to the specifics.

But back to the tomb...it's dead quiet in my office 90% of the time. People from other departments remark on it. I blame the oppressive quiet on the boss. I don't think I've ever worked with someone who evinces less personality. The guy is a blank, a Magritte painting. In a world of ones and zeros, he's a zero. In the last two weeks, the guy hasn't said more than two words a day to me, those being: "Good Morning" which he can't avoid since I'm the first person in to work each day.

For the three weeks that he was on holiday, the department was fun. I actually didn't mind the tedious work because we'd break it up with an occasional joke, or we'd listen to music while we worked. People from other departments just dropped in to say hi, and have a laugh. I think we got a reputation for being fun during the boss' hiatus. We still got all the work done, we just did it in a more convivial atmosphere. But now he's back and it's back to being dead quiet and slightly oppressive.

So, yesterday, I went to the personnel manager, and pointed out that my contract would be complete in a month, and asked if I was supposed to give them notice, or was it assumed that the contract date would be my last day. She said, "I think they want to keep you on." I said, "I wouldn't mind staying here, but not in that role. I'm just bored stupid." She said she understood and that she would speak to my boss' boss and that I should leave it with her. Today, she asked me if I'd be interested in another intro level role. I told her that I wasn't interested in working in that capacity. I said, "I'm actually accustomed to being responsible for other people." In other words: I'VE BEEN A MANAGER FOR THE LAST TWENTY YEARS, LADY, HOW LONG DO YOU THINK I CAN TAKE BEING A CLERK? Honest to fuck, you gotta wonder. So, there it sits. Unless they offer me something with a bit of responsibility, and a hefty chunk of change to go with it, I'm a free woman in four short weeks. I just hope I'm not mummified by then.

I read in the news the other day, that men don't find funny women attractive. What the fuck is up with that? Are their egos so fragile that they can't stand a little competition from the woman they sleep with? I mean, do they not find good singers attractive? Or do they shy away from good dancers? Telling a joke well, is a talent and a skill. The article suggested that women think funny men are attractive, but not the other way around. It said, that many women have been "laughed into bed", but no man ever was. I would beg to differ. Now, I'm sure it was the tits and ass that got their attention, but it was the sense of humor that let them know I had an IQ above that of your average doorhandle, and an intelligent man finds that attractive. So, I'm going to publically disagree with the results of the study cited in the article and suggest that in fact, it's only dumb guys who are threatened by a funny woman and don't find her dead sexy...that a smart man, knows that a funny woman,...with great tits will give him merry hell for many years if he's lucky, and if not, at least when he remembers her, he'll smile.