Chookooloonks

Happy New Year!

...and if "Be More Generous" is on your resolution list...

...here's one way you can start:

Click here to find a list of organizations accepting donations to help the victims of the Asian earthquake and resulting tsunamis.

Resolutions

'Tis the season for New Year's Resolutions. I am horrible at them. Every year, I make New Year's Resolutions, and by February, I've given up on every last one of them. But this year, by God, will be different.

This year, I'm listing them here for the entire internet to see. I do this on the belief that I'll be shamed in achieving at least one of them. (This, of course, assumes that I have any shame at all.)

So without further ado, here are my New Year's Resolutions, 2005:

1. Lose 20 pounds (like I don't make this resolution every year).

2. Learn to play the steelpan my husband had made for me for my birthday this past year. And learn to play it well.

3. Introduce Alex to her Canadian, Trinidadian and English family members. On their home turfs.

4. Become more patient (I'm more likely to lose the 20 pounds, but still).

5. Be better about reading a bedtime story to Alex every night.

6. Learn to surf (Marcus is a surfer; however, I refuse to go into the Galveston waters. So I suppose this is going to have to take place when we're doing that introducing - Alex - to - her - Trinidadian - family - on - their - home - turf thing).

7. Go diving. We generally try to dive once a year, but this past year we didn't. We need to get back underwater again.

8. Be more generous.

I think that's enough. No need to overwhelm myself, don't you think?

Happy New Year, all. May all your New Year's Resolutions come true.

Like she didn't get enough for Christmas

This morning, while I was getting dressed in our bathroom, I left Alex on the floor of our bedroom, with the door open so I could see her.

She, apparently, couldn't see me, because I caught her rifling through my bag.

And lemme tell ya, she's cute and all, but she so needs to work on her Poker Face:

What Santa is This? and gratuitous pictures

While I'm not the most dogged of churchgoers, I must admit that Christmas Eve mass is one of my favourite traditions of Christmas. The air seems to quiver with the anticipation of Christmas, and because music is composed almost exclusively of Christmas carols, the congregation (usually at its largest) tends to sing with particular abandon, since everyone knows all the words. Besides, everyone's just nicer at Christmas.

So after a small open house hosted at our home on Christmas Eve, Marcus, Alex and I joined my parents and my sister and her family to my mother's church for worship. I was especially in the Christmas spirit, not just because of the vast quantities of rum punch I'd consumed, but because it snowed that day, and it never snows in Houston.

I should've taken it at as a sign.

We arrived at the church, which was so crowded we couldn't all sit together. No matter. As Alex, Marcus and I settled in, I noticed a full band, complete with guitars and bass, getting ready to start playing in one corner of the church. "Fabulous," I thought. "We're going to really get into the Christmas carolling."

No sooner than I thought this, the drum machine kicked in, and a man with THE WORST VOICE IN THE HISTORY OF CHURCH CHOIRS started "O Come, All Ye Faithful." He didn't so much sing the words, as yell them. It was excruciating. He was tone deaf and loud -- the worst combination. And it's not like he was necessarily soulful with it either -- if he was, I could've forgiven him. He was just really, really loud. I bowed my head in a fervent prayer that the carol would end. Quickly.

Things went rapidly downhill. The priest, an arrogant little man who clearly thought he was better than all of us because got to wear the cool robes, decided to use the Socratic method of sermoning:

"God is good ... what? Hello? Am I the only one in here?"

The congregation, to my growing horror, murmured, embarrassed, "All the time..."

"I can't HEAR you," the priest said, scowling. "God is GOOOOD????"

"ALL THE TIME!" the congregation yelled.

"Good!" he cried. "And all the TIIIME???"

"GOD IS GOOD!" came the yell.

Marcus and I glanced at each other in disbelief. As I looked over at my sister, I watched her mouth to her husband:

"Beuller? Beuller?"

I almost wet myself. Thank God we didn't sit next to each other. We surely would have been smote (smited?).

As the mass drew mercifully to a close, we were in for a particular treat. Four sweet kids walked up to the front of the church to do a skit, ostensibly to remind us that Christmas wasn't all about expensive presents and gifts, but about the birth of Christ. As they reached the moral of the story, two other children, dressed as the Virgin Mary and, I suppose, Joseph, walked up to join them.

While music played (recorded, this time, thank heavens), Joseph held up a plastic doll (which I assume was a reasonable representation of the Baby Jesus), and showed the doll to the congregation. He carefully laid the plastic Messiah down, and he and Mary knelt beside it, looking adoringly at the polyurethane Lord, as it lay in a makeshift manger.

Then, what to my wondering eyes would appear, but a full-blown, full-grown Santa Claus making his way up the aisle, both hands held in prayer. He knelt before the manger, bowed reverently, and then walked back down the aisle, again with his hands piously folded in front of him.

HUH?

Okay, I realise it's been a few years since I've been to catechism school, but refresh my memory: exactly when did Santa make his way to Bethlehem to pay homage to Christ? I remember something about wise men, three Kings of Orient, a host of angels and maybe even a shepherd or two, but SANTA?

I'm just glad Alex is too young to have followed along. I'm not sure how I would've explained that one.

___________________________

So about that rum punch-laden open house: Marcus and I decided to have a couple of good friends over on Christmas Eve, to celebrate Christmas Trini-style. I made rum punch (of course), and some Trini food, and we played parang -- traditional Trinidadian Christmas music, which has its roots in Spanish carols.

Alex, in particular, loved the music. Here she is dancing, with a little help from me:

And while I don't have pictures of Alex opening presents on Christmas Day (although we do have video), here she and her father are, after all the chaos:

Here's hoping you all had a wonderful holiday.

Merry Christmas, and God bless us all, everyone

(Warning: The following contains Alex Overload. If you're truly sick of all the pictures of Alex I post on this site, I strongly recommend you skip this posting, and wait for the next -- no hard feelings, and Merry Christmas. I'm not so sure I would stick around for pictures of someone else's kid in the volume which is to follow, mydamnself. You have been warned.)

This year, for the grandparents, I put together a video of the last 5 months of Alex's life, with a Christmas theme. If you're in nauseatingly over-the-top Christmas spirit, like video-montages that are all-Alex, all the time, and are therefore so inclined, I include it here for your viewing pleasure. This Quicktime video is brought to you by my Nikon D100 camera, my iMovie software, and Madonna (allow a minute or so to download, longer if you have a slower connection).

Download santa_baby.mov

And if you're not so much in the Christmas spirit, but still like video montages that are all-Alex, all the time, and are therefore so inclined (and/or you're new to this blog and want to catch up on Alex's first 5 months), I include the following video I'd made earlier in the year, and never posted (much to my father's dismay). This Quicktime video is brought to you by my Nikon D100 camera, my iMovie software, and Smashmouth (same download instructions).

Download alexis_rhys.mov

And finally, if you'd rather just look at pictures of the past year at your own pace, feel free to click on the "Best of 2004" link to the right.

But most importantly:

Merry Christmas, everyone, from our home to yours.

Feels Like Home

Over the past month or so Alex has really discovered music. If anything slightly harmonic hits the airwaves, Alex immediately looks up at one of us, smiles, and starts swaying back and forth. If she's standing (with some support), she starts to stomp her feet. If she's lying down, she kicks her legs and waves her arms.

As far as preferences, she seems to like classical quite a bit. This morning we were rocking out to Gwen Stefani's new album, but I think I was actually prancing around with more abandon than she was. But her favourite?

The blues, man, the blues.

Recently, I purchased Norah Jones' "Feels Like Home." Tonight, I put it on, and Alex almost swooned. The following pictures are snaps of her enjoying the music.

And it definitely feels like home.

Back from New York

I do not know dat

So last night I met a friend of mine, Jan, and her brand new fiancé, Rajan, for dinner. I hadn't seen Jan in years, so it was really great to catch up. We met at this fantastic restaurant, MoBay, in Harlem. We laughed, we talked about wedding planning, we talked about honeymoons, we talked about writing, we talked about Marcus and Alex -- it was great. And after the bill was paid, we grabbed our coats and walked outside.

"Will I be able to get a cab here?" I asked.

"Oh, sure!" Jan responded. "A livery cab."

Okay, colour me ignorant, but I'd never heard of a "livery" cab in my life. But as one pulled up, and the driver looked over his shoulder at me, I quickly discovered that "livery" apparently means "axe murderer."

I looked back at Jan.

"Well, see ya!" she yelled cheerily. "Don't forget the wedding's in September!" And she and Rajan walked off into the night.

Gulp.

So I get into the cab, and as he started driving off, Ted Bundy says in his thick accent: "Wheh ah you go-wing?"

"Uh...the Hilton Towers."

He looked at me questioningly.

"Umm..it's, uh ...on...the Avenue of the Americas."

Crickets chirped.

I tried again. "The ... uh ...Avenue of the Americas?" I repeated, now not so sure.

"I do not know dat."

Well, seeing as this was only my third time to New York City, we were about to be in a right pickle.

"It's...um...OH! It's right near Radio City Music Hall!" I yelled, triumphantly.

He kept driving. He said nothing. Then:

"I do not know dat."

Okay, for those of you who are unfamiliar with New York, this is like a cabbie in Paris not knowing the Eiffel Tower. A cabbie in Rome not knowing the Coliseum. A cabbie in Cairo not knowing the Nile. A cabbie in Athens not knowing...

... you get my point.

And keep in mind, we're still driving down the road. I'm starting to wonder if I can use my tube of lipstick as a weapon.

"WAIT!" he shouted, making me jump. "I will use de radio. Some won will help."

He grabs the radio. "Hello, hello. Any won knows de..." he looked at me.

"Radio...City...Music...Hall."

"Yes, yes. De Radio Sittee Music Hahl."

The guy on the other end of the radio squawked back: "Uh, YEAH! Radio City Music Hall? That's on 6th between 50th and 51st!"

"Sixt? Between fifftee-et and fifftee fust?"

"Yeah, that's it!"

"Tankyoo."

He drove a bit further. Then:

"I do not know dat." And he was still driving.

Finally, he pulled over. "I ahm sarry. I am noo in dis cahntry. I do not know dat. I ahm sarry." And dude kicked my happy ass out of the livery cab and drove off.

So now, I'm in the middle of Harlem, I have no clue where I am, and no clue how to get to where I'm going.

After 30 minutes, I finally found myself back in front of MoBay. When I walked in, the hostess looked at me like I was crazy. "Is everything okay?"

She helped me call another livery cab, and thank goodness, it was this axe murderer's night off for chopping fares up into tiny pieces. I made it back to the hotel intact. But it's the reason I'm here in the hotel room tonight, drinking wine and typing this post. I was thinking about going to look for a good sushi restaurant, but that fact is that when it comes to negotiating this city by myself...

...I do not know dat.

Musings from 50,000 Feet

(Author's note:  The following post was written on a bit of scrap paper while on Continental Airlines Flight 432 from Houston to New York City.  It is therefore entirely likely that any portion of it which seems incoherent could be due to the pilot failing to pressurize the cabin properly, coupled with the copious amounts of wine they served me in first class.  I was upgraded because of frequent flyer miles today, and DO YOU KNOW HOW MUCH FREE ALCOHOL THEY GIVE AWAY IN FIRST CLASS?? 

I'm just sayin'.)

In 2001, my company transferred me from Houston to London, to be the Attorney Responsible for The Business in Europe, Africa, the Middle East and Russia -- not exactly the smallest area of the world.   As a result, from January 2001 to June 2002, I literally lived in planes, taxis, trains and hotels.  You'd think that travelling all over the world  -- particularly on the company dime -- would be exciting and glamorous, but the truth is, it's mind-numbingly exhausting.  It got so ridiculous at one point, I remember waking up in the middle of the night, blinking and confused, trying to figure out what country I was in, and in which hotel bed I was currently sleeping -- as it turned out, I was lying in my own bed in my London flat.  Besides, I often didn't even get to really see the city I was visiting, because I was so busy at work.  For this reason, to say that I was relieved when after 18 months, the company promoted me to a position requiring no travel, is the Understatement of the Century.

It is amazing, when I think about it, how much my life has changed  in three years.  Today is the first solo business flight I've taken in over a year.  It feels oddly unsettling in some ways (I'm no longer Globe-Trotting Single Girl), but oddly satisfying as well (Thank God I'm no longer Globe-Trotting Single Girl).  That said, my travels have taught me a lot, and in a fit of flight-induced philanthropy, allow me, as my public service announcement today, to present to you The Best of The World According to Me:

1.  Best Taxis -- London, England.  One of my favourite things about London is the London Black Cab.  Seriously, where else in the world does it take two years to become a cabbie, because you're required to memorize every street in the city?  And that's not even the best part -- the cabs are CLEAN, CLEAN, CLEAN.  I defy you to find a better cab system in the world.

2.  The Best Barbeque Outside of Texas -- Cairo, Egypt. I know, I know -- it doesn't make sense.  But it's so true. 

Back in 2000, I was a quasi-vegetarian.  I say "quasi," because I ate seafood, and I hate it when people who don't eat meat but eat seafood call themselves "vegetarians," when, last I checked, seafood doesn't photosynthesize.  Anyway, back in 2000 I hadn't eaten meat in about 10 years, when I went to visit our Cairo office.  The office was so excited that "Someone from Corporate" was coming to visit them, they went all out:

"Karen, in honour of your visit, we're having a traditional Egyptian barbeque brought in!"

"Oh, uh ... wow!  Thanks!  It's barbequed ... shrimp, I expect?"

"No!! CHICKEN!"

I gulped.  I really didn't feel like eating dead animal flesh, but I decided that I had to eat some of it to be polite.  I just hoped I didn't get ill.

Well, by the time I was finished with lunch, I had barbeque sauce all over my arms, my chin, my hair...it was that good.  And this was the lunch where I Officially Fell Off the Wagon.  I proceeded to eat my way through Cairo, and haven't stopped eating dead animal flesh since.

3.  The Best Duty-Free Shopping -- The International Airport in Hong Kong, China.  This airport's duty free is FABULOUS, including Armani, Gucci, MAC cosmetics, Versace -- I actually felt sorry for people who weren't taking international flights, because they couldn't partake in the shopping.   There's a reason God hasn't sent me back to Hong Kong.  He's trying to protect me from financial ruin.

4.  The Best Place to Be During September 11th -- Dubai, United Arab Emirates.  Yes, it's true -- I was in the Middle East, sitting in my hotel room in Emirates Towers Hotel, watching CNN in horror on September 11th.  I remember my first thought was "Oh my God, are we at war?"  My second thought was, "Dear Lord, if George Bush reacts by putting his hand on The Button, I have got to get out of here, because God knows WHAT that man will unleash."

So the next morning, I got on the first flight to London.  And it was amazing -- everyone who saw my American passport -- and I mean everyone -- voiced their concern.  Men were effusive with their condolences.  Women smiled empathetically from behind their abayas and shaylas.  The outpouring of warmth was overwhelming.  I still find myself tearing up just thinking about it. 

5.  The Best Place to Watch Your Driver Reach Out of His Window and Smack the Crap out of the Driver of a Nearby Taxi With A Horsewhip -- Lagos, Nigeria.  Man, don't even ask.  Please note, however, Lagos also wins the Best Open Air Market, and the Most Generous People. 

Just don't piss off my company's driver.  Seriously.  It's a big horsewhip.