tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35804001070205920722024-03-22T05:02:26.727+01:00The Flying Pork KnucklePeculiar accounts of a travel writer. C. Noah PelletierC. Noah Pelletierhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14007077233622728069noreply@blogger.comBlogger79125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3580400107020592072.post-893424124656804742012-03-04T20:36:00.019+01:002012-03-04T20:44:40.223+01:00We have moved - you will be redirected automatically to our new site!<head><meta content='4;url=http://www.flyingknuckle.com/' http-equiv='refresh'/> <br />
</head> <br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Courier; font-size: 13px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">The Flying Pork Knuckle has moved to a new and improved site! </span>You will be automatically redirected to the new address. If that does not occur, visit <a href="http://yournewblog.com/'"><span style="color: #0225a3; letter-spacing: 0px; text-decoration: underline;">http://www.flyingknuckle.com/</span></a> and update your bookmarks. </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Courier; font-size: 13px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;">Thanks for following and feed your head,</span></span><br />
<div style="font: 13.0px Courier; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font: 13.0px Courier; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;">Noah</span></div><div><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><br />
</span></div>C. Noah Pelletierhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14007077233622728069noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3580400107020592072.post-59018607013328458462012-01-09T14:40:00.003+01:002012-01-23T22:31:01.340+01:00Advertising and Services: The Pork Knuckle Suits Up<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7yTrtpn0hayz7yHbKm5GGTXHND678XjrEkwS_he0gb-tLvwkXmWqcMIA67UNY-DBox29SoZL2DAgOnvko667fhtfTc9rFVPRDTutiaSfmhfVLVa3IIhTYy9S9XP7aU3OeN6_BCUIVMK9i/s1600/pork+knuckle.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="197" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7yTrtpn0hayz7yHbKm5GGTXHND678XjrEkwS_he0gb-tLvwkXmWqcMIA67UNY-DBox29SoZL2DAgOnvko667fhtfTc9rFVPRDTutiaSfmhfVLVa3IIhTYy9S9XP7aU3OeN6_BCUIVMK9i/s200/pork+knuckle.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;"></div><div style="text-align: left;"></div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;">In 2009 I started The Flying Pork Knuckle to share some of the strange and quirky things I've experienced while living abroad. Most of these stories were written under duress or threat of punishment. My lovely wife has high expectations for me -- as she should. Since moving abroad in 2008, we've been to over 2o countries throughout Europe and Asia. Entertaining, witty and consistently sensible, here's what readers are saying about Noah Pelletier's writing: </span></div><br />
<div style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: left;"></div><div style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: justify;"><i>"Brilliant choreography, yanked my head around and around...I was heart-sick and furious."</i> -- Mary Sojourner, NPR commentator and author<i><br />
</i></div><div style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: justify;"><i> </i><i>"I was keeping track of my favorite lines ... but somewhere around the wet market I said f*** it, they're all good. Great stuff." -- </i>Hal Amen, Editor, Matador Network </div><div style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: justify;"><i>"This piece hits so hard -- and without any suggestion of a heavy hand. Awesome!" -- </i>Jason, reader</div><div style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: justify;"><b>A Word on Style</b></div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: justify;"></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">My writing style appeals to The Independent Traveler, someone searching for the ‘unique’ or ‘transformative’ experience. As a person who derives his online sense of identity through travel, I prefer "contemporary vagabond," a term like-minded travelers will identify with. A variety within, rather than outside, mass tourism, the contemporary vagabond is an informed consumer who appreciates transparency, both in what they read and advertising. In a world where 'reality' is prized yet hardly ever experienced, my readers have 'been there, done that' and, as a result, have a fine-tuned bullshit detector. </div><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt;"><b style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">The FPK Difference</b> </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><br />
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">What separates The Flying Pork Knuckle from other blogs is that it goes beyond travel itineraries and photos, striving to capture the essence of something – the back alley graffiti, a struggling street artist, the local’s pub – one stumbles across during the journey. Rather than including photos of people and places, I’ve created illustrations to further communicate (exaggerate) my connection to the places I've been. </span></div><div style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: justify;"><i><br />
</i></div><div style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><b>Advertise With Us</b></span></div><ul style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><li><span style="font-size: 12pt;">For an exciting list of options and ad prices click <a href="http://imgur.com/cWEbF" target="_blank">here</a> </span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: 12pt;">I am a regular <a href="http://matadornetwork.com/community/noahpelletier/articles/" target="_blank">contributor</a> to Matador Network, the world's largest independent travel community, and my stories are often discussed by readers. </span> </li>
</ul><div style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: left;"><i><br />
</i></div><div style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: left;"><i><br />
</i></div>C. Noah Pelletierhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14007077233622728069noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3580400107020592072.post-56512009598674018562011-11-28T15:10:00.005+01:002011-11-28T15:53:53.385+01:00Rules or Some SuchEvery place has its rules, whether you’re in America or elsewhere. Break the rules, and the penalties can vary. Fines. Judgmental stares from others. Maybe you don't even know you are living by a set of rules. “I live by my own rules,” you say. Wrong. You are a textbook nonconformist. Take a hike. <br />
<br />
An Example: <br />
I’m from The Crystal Coast, North Carolina, and we like our barbeque. It's got to be made with spicy vinegar. That's the rule. But see what happens when you go to South Carolina and try the barbecue. They like it with mustard. Maybe you don’t like it. Heaven forbid--maybe you do. What next? The rule says you move the family to South Carolina. Change your facebook status to “Barbecue Treason.” So long. Enjoy the fireworks. Don’t forget to send your mother a birthday card. <br />
<br />
As you may know I am Caucasian. On time I asked an African-American woman how she was doing and she says “I’m blessed.” I made the mistake of interpreting this as a competition, and proceeded to seethe in anger."I'm blessed <i>too, </i>damnit!" Her answer had a strange affect on me. I'd never heard it before. Maybe this particular woman grew up saying this her whole life.Imagine that.<br />
My new rule is to think twice before jumping into a blind rage. Now I'm blessed, too. <br />
<br />
<ul><li>I live in Dusseldorf. I play by German rules, without full knowledge of societal rules. But I'm learning. Here are some mental notes:</li>
</ul>When you go out to eat with a German, they tend to keep both hands above the table. Keep one hand below the table, and they will be suspicious as to what you are doing with that hand.<br />
<br />
Don’t look around like a stargazer when you’re walking down the sidewalk. People have made a point of knocking me with their shoulder, as if to say “stay focused, pinhead. The answers are not in the stone garlands and naked nymphs peering down at you from the buildings.” <br />
<br />
If you’re an old man, wear brown shoes and walk with your hands behind your back. If you’re an old lady, buy a dog that looks like you, then dye your hair to match. <br />
<ul><li>I used to live in China. I don’t know if I lived by their rules or not. As a white man, people stared at me. Basically my very existence was a spectacle. That's an exaggeration. Here is another.</li>
</ul><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmISUpYGavKaENQVxn8N8ICnJFj9A7LhXVymkL6Z9BZ_KYymBUpomO4dko5MQtaxUIVmSYz1j7WW7IX9KSnKtF_co8Vt1IjMZ4n7p96NOqYit4wAtDcH_aKbx5Mnf0F42LwYuP9rocBH2Z/s1600/china+sign.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="432" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmISUpYGavKaENQVxn8N8ICnJFj9A7LhXVymkL6Z9BZ_KYymBUpomO4dko5MQtaxUIVmSYz1j7WW7IX9KSnKtF_co8Vt1IjMZ4n7p96NOqYit4wAtDcH_aKbx5Mnf0F42LwYuP9rocBH2Z/s640/china+sign.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />
Don't set the place on fire. Don't urinate on it to put it out. Fine. But who visited this scenic spot that made the sign necessary? Never mind. I know these people. Maybe this list started with 3, and gradually grew to 7. The problem, I believe, is that these restrictions are too specific. <br />
<br />
I'm going to put a sign on my bathroom door. These rules have not been violated. They are purely for my entertainment. Here's what it will say: <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgGUc1OXYFyGvFDrPtk1cg8O2KajxpZH4EUI52P_MV-83KS46YPFH1yPicv2LafWQSR0HKFYtLd0g2MebG9NBPZYPFPPsl9Rnx3U_2af8HoSsdAQGV0Zq5Nexqiu-ig0qWeVwiDt-GwVu6/s1600/sign.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="270" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgGUc1OXYFyGvFDrPtk1cg8O2KajxpZH4EUI52P_MV-83KS46YPFH1yPicv2LafWQSR0HKFYtLd0g2MebG9NBPZYPFPPsl9Rnx3U_2af8HoSsdAQGV0Zq5Nexqiu-ig0qWeVwiDt-GwVu6/s400/sign.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br />
Three seems to be enough, although I could narrow this down to one:<br />
<br />
<b>Be respectful to the surroundings and try real hard to keep your pants on in public. </b>C. Noah Pelletierhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14007077233622728069noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3580400107020592072.post-7296941170813515872011-10-05T10:15:00.002+02:002011-10-05T10:29:42.007+02:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">If you've ever wondered...</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">"how does a journalist remain fair and balanced?"</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">...then my new story in <span style="color: cyan;">Matador Network</span> is probably <b>too hip for you.</b></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">read it here: </span><a href="http://matadornetwork.com/notebook/notes-on-trying-to-be-famous/">Notes on Trying to be Famous</a></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"> "</span>I’d dream of performing to sold-out crowds. Because I was what music moguls called a “specialty singer,” my plan was to start small, singing backup for artists like Björk or Meredith Monk until being discovered.<span style="font-size: large;">"</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></div>C. Noah Pelletierhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14007077233622728069noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3580400107020592072.post-76876240597153684422011-09-08T15:12:00.002+02:002011-09-08T15:17:13.756+02:00Duck Hunting in America<span style="font-size: large;">If</span> you haven't read it already, hurry over to <span style="font-size: large;">Matador <span style="color: orange;">Sports</span></span> and check out my latest story <span style="font-size: x-large;"> </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><a href="http://www.blogger.com/post-edit.g?blogID=3580400107020592072&postID=7687624059715368442&from=pencil">How to Shoot a Duck </a>: </span>...F<span style="font-size: small;">inding the</span> </span>juxtaposition between shotguns, camouflage, Larry the Cable Guy, and history....<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">"</span>I didn’t notice the <span style="font-size: large;">kick</span> of the gun so much as the water <span style="font-size: large;">rise up</span> around him. When it settled, the <span style="font-size: large;">duck</span> was half submerged, <span style="font-size: large;">floating</span> like a ruined toupee.<span style="font-size: large;">" </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"> <span style="font-size: small;">Thank you for reading, and big ups to David Miller for another fantastic layout...</span></span>C. Noah Pelletierhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14007077233622728069noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3580400107020592072.post-61156619451908659672011-08-29T16:35:00.000+02:002011-08-29T16:35:30.756+02:00NEW!! Published in Matador Network <span style="font-size: large;">This is my new story published in <span style="color: blue;">Matador Nights</span>. </span><br />
<br />
You can read it right here <a href="http://matadornetwork.com/nights/how-to-feed-your-lover-in-spain/#comments">How to Feed Your Lover in Spain</a><br />
<br />
Big ups to David Miller for another great editing job, and thank you, dear reader, for the great comments.<br />
<br />
<br />
C. Noah Pelletierhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14007077233622728069noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3580400107020592072.post-9798125423753996412011-08-24T13:42:00.003+02:002011-08-24T13:47:18.500+02:00Notes From My Travel Diary: Going ToplessOn a summer afternoon in Düsseldorf, I went to the park and sat beside a willow tree with a steak sandwich and bottle of beer. An emerald lawn, a crushed brick walkway, hedges like walls -- no ultimate Frisbee tournaments happening here. After finishing my sandwich, I wanted to get some sun but was concerned about taking my shirt off. If there’s one thing I’ve learned after two years, it’s that Germans take their park-going very seriously.<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7V6aKbXliF8ax7kkrHIxAz9835SrAZJK_qxRt58gZ_rPz3opHhR8uq4F_L6owA_cTXDfJsuwFn-GnsxmeHLQZ10yQeovkLEUEPWN7zOX-WG5MnnyQzcKXDDN5vQhwirN7ewQnDDzsK-rC/s1600/ultimate+frisbee.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="174" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7V6aKbXliF8ax7kkrHIxAz9835SrAZJK_qxRt58gZ_rPz3opHhR8uq4F_L6owA_cTXDfJsuwFn-GnsxmeHLQZ10yQeovkLEUEPWN7zOX-WG5MnnyQzcKXDDN5vQhwirN7ewQnDDzsK-rC/s320/ultimate+frisbee.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
There were an awful lot of stuffy pant / jacket combos and stern expressions. I could understand it if we were in a cemetery or locked in a conference room together, but this was a park. Who were these people? One woman was wearing black polyester pants and a quilted Chinese jacket. It looked like the sort of outfit Lady Mao might have worn while she typed up “The Little Red Book.” Which was worse -- enduring the critical stares from (mostly senior) passers-by or the shame of living with a farmer’s tan? <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjk24PbJ0peEv18AoKa6Onac4mYj_QPLiY265WetX_-pi0eWX5ImmZ73T2j7M-CfnRv9f0FYmDW7bgbolcNISOHpqiM4a8iIVXjNXakJWvJdm8iwCTrLmqYpl6cKaDnyRqb4oYINpw2PbLV/s1600/fat+man.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="348" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjk24PbJ0peEv18AoKa6Onac4mYj_QPLiY265WetX_-pi0eWX5ImmZ73T2j7M-CfnRv9f0FYmDW7bgbolcNISOHpqiM4a8iIVXjNXakJWvJdm8iwCTrLmqYpl6cKaDnyRqb4oYINpw2PbLV/s640/fat+man.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />
<br />
Fortunately the man sitting on a bench by the fountain made this decision easier. He was tanning, shirtless, but his belly spilled over his shorts in a way that made him look both naked and pregnant. A kinky tableau. As with most unfair comparisons, he made me feel better, not just about taking off my shirt, but basically about my existence. The sun felt good, and after taking off my shirt I decided to hike up my pants legs to my knees. But why stop there? <i>Rest the beer bottle on your stomach, </i>I thought. <i>It’ll feel good. </i><br />
<br />
And it did. Throw in a kitty pool, and you’d have a scene straight out the trailer park.<br />
<br />
** C. Noah Pelletierhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14007077233622728069noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3580400107020592072.post-81767460482832240962011-07-07T05:21:00.003+02:002011-07-07T05:45:42.294+02:00Notes From My Travel Diary: Kebab Allah<strong>Suzhou, China</strong>: Every Friday I’d pay the equivalent of thirty cents and ride the bus to Shi Quan Jie. This was a street in the old district, where the walls where whitewashed, and the roofs had sweeping slopes, upturned eaves, and ceramic tiles. Few of the buildings reached over three stories high. Large birch trees lined the two lane road, flanked on either side by bubble tea stands, black market DVD shops, and boutiques showcasing China’s puzzling take on high fashion. <br />
<br />
<br />
On my way to find a wok, I stopped at a Chinese Muslim restaurant where everyone, including the child waiters, wore tight knitted caps. The menu was in Chinese, with English translations beneath it. <br />
<br />
Some dishes sounded peaceful: “The hashed meat meditates.” <br />
Some sounded dangerous: “The palace explodes the diced chicken rice.” <br />
And others were downright spooky: “Digs up the beef red.” <br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCZsbh_0kxaNJfRLUVTbISPIRxf22rq-KlwND0HQ64CC_cojIJAsvWL00i6df3ptAU4aI4-koQjaPeKjRGcEuFfWvyESS-Yw6C0timgV8V8tFFxVBRY0G76ITUOFV1YWuFMc52e16r51OW/s1600/rice.bmp" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="395" m$="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCZsbh_0kxaNJfRLUVTbISPIRxf22rq-KlwND0HQ64CC_cojIJAsvWL00i6df3ptAU4aI4-koQjaPeKjRGcEuFfWvyESS-Yw6C0timgV8V8tFFxVBRY0G76ITUOFV1YWuFMc52e16r51OW/s400/rice.bmp" width="400" /></a></div><br />
<br />
The sun was shining. I walked to the take-out shack attached to the restaurant. The griller was just standing around with a blue filter cigarette in his lips when I arrived. I told him how many curried lamb kebabs I wanted in Mandarin. “Sanga.” I then held up three fingers. <br />
<br />
<br />
He screwed up his face at me. Then he held up his hand, outstretched his fingers and said “Wooga.” Five. <br />
<br />
Was this his way of telling me that I was too skinny? Perhaps, but something told me this offer was non-negotiable. I waited for my five kebabs at an outside table. The legs might have been rat-gnawed. It stood on an open area of hardened clay between the sidewalk and a canal. <br />
<br />
<br />
For the first two minutes, the kebab griller tapped the skewered sticks of meat above the coals. Then he stepped away from the embers to catcall a girl clicking down the sidewalk in high heels. It wasn’t subtle, whatever he said, but she turned up her nose and kept walking. Real cool. He leered at her and then turned to me, thumbing in her direction as if to say <em>Women, go figure</em>. <br />
<br />
<br />
The griller brought over my kebabs and a flatbread in a plastic sleeve that read “crusty pancake.” He went back to the grill station, picked up an old copper kettle and came back to sit across from me. I’d watched his assistant – the boy baking crusty pancakes – use that same kettle to brew a cup of tea just moments earlier. Steam was still rising from the spout. <br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbHEQxsbrDtxh36AoexjUnB22mRTrws2v1oZtj2Y-bilL9_1WReMB-68GVr1NSYP1MIt965c_C1SbxPwUPbbZiWpmn98ekzvlscu0IdVvR2x4D8tXaSlnDdkna2IVzXx0aMDNzJ1nKo6XY/s1600/chinese.bmp" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="395" m$="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbHEQxsbrDtxh36AoexjUnB22mRTrws2v1oZtj2Y-bilL9_1WReMB-68GVr1NSYP1MIt965c_C1SbxPwUPbbZiWpmn98ekzvlscu0IdVvR2x4D8tXaSlnDdkna2IVzXx0aMDNzJ1nKo6XY/s400/chinese.bmp" width="400" /></a></div><br />
I tore off a piece of crusty pancake, and when I looked up, the griller was sucking on the spout. He was really gulping it down, and, just when I thought steam might billow out his ears, he set down the kettle and belched. <br />
<br />
After lunch, I pulled out my notebook to make a few notes, referring to him not as “the kebab griller” but as “Kebab Allah.” <br />
<br />
<br />
<em>Kebab Allah burned his sleeve on a coal. </em><br />
<em><br />
</em><br />
<em>Kebab Allah threatened his assistant with a bamboo skewer again. </em><br />
<em><br />
</em><br />
I’m not saying the man walked on water; however, in its own special way, watching him work did have a purifying effect on me. And he made a pretty mean kebab.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbZK01Ft1FQ7cAsBLW0cgxqlOsvNh_Dtvrcahe2GmoSpYPo73L4XU1LW-CEp7PNN5Zg7FTt__4tH-_F1Ib5f3ZPl6d9KO3PGegRVNsL3TFwMeII1ol8NBkWQ7NicEMQoC_nDiAplZte_5X/s1600/kettle+2.bmp" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="181" m$="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbZK01Ft1FQ7cAsBLW0cgxqlOsvNh_Dtvrcahe2GmoSpYPo73L4XU1LW-CEp7PNN5Zg7FTt__4tH-_F1Ib5f3ZPl6d9KO3PGegRVNsL3TFwMeII1ol8NBkWQ7NicEMQoC_nDiAplZte_5X/s200/kettle+2.bmp" width="200" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>C. Noah Pelletierhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14007077233622728069noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3580400107020592072.post-30238887818662252252011-05-26T14:29:00.003+02:002011-05-26T15:38:44.048+02:00How I Came Up With My Blog Title<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; punctuation-wrap: simple; text-autospace: none;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQROwG5iTwDK3-ufczTcCMAbyvy_1GV8B5qZWM1ocdB34hCcdwDW1xY7JapcT_CRxlqFtgMntRgBckcKJLwAf92p8opCtBihOxs8eI0s08p-FXCH4oE8nveY0eM2JKA6eCmJA1mq3crZAp/s1600/schweinehaxe.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="430" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQROwG5iTwDK3-ufczTcCMAbyvy_1GV8B5qZWM1ocdB34hCcdwDW1xY7JapcT_CRxlqFtgMntRgBckcKJLwAf92p8opCtBihOxs8eI0s08p-FXCH4oE8nveY0eM2JKA6eCmJA1mq3crZAp/s640/schweinehaxe.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />
It wasn’t something we’d planned on, but after two years in China, my wife and I picked up and moved to Düsseldorf, Germany. It wasn’t the last place we thought we’d end up: Neither of us had ever heard of it. We arrived in Germany two months before our shipment. A microwave cooked our pizzas. Suitcases doubled as tables. At night we’d lie on the floor of our empty apartment, staring at the ceiling and wondering if the Universe had sent us here for a reason. Things could have been worse, but still, I was hoping for some sort of explanation. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; punctuation-wrap: simple; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;">A few months after settling in, Takayo and I attended a dinner party thrown by one of her colleagues. I sat across the table from Hans, a tightly-wound life coach from Berlin. He had arrived late, dressed from head to toe in Eddie Bauer, with a pair of Ray Bands dangling from his neck by a rubber tube. His gray moustache screamed 60, but he checked his phone with the enthusiasm of a teenage girl. We talked between incoming texts.<br />
<br />
"Zo," he said, "do you have a favorite German dish?" </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; punctuation-wrap: simple; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;"><br />
I told him “schweinshaxe,” or pork knuckle, cooked till crispy on a wall of fire. He seemed impressed, so I told him about Dan’s Old Farmhouse, a German restaurant in China, adorned with wagon wheels and thick-ankled waitresses. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; punctuation-wrap: simple; text-autospace: none;"><br />
“It got out of control,” I continued. “Everything was ‘pork knuckle' this and ‘pork knuckle' that. I saw pork knuckles in my <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">dreams.</i>”</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; punctuation-wrap: simple; text-autospace: none;"><br />
He found this amusing. “You see what happened, don’t you? It was NLP: Neuro-Linguistic Programming. You thought about the pork knuckle again and again until—well, here you are.”<br />
<br />
Hans sat back in his chair, seeming very pleased with his elucidation. I liked how simple he made it sound, but as it stood, this whole “flying pork knuckle” theory was a bit airy-fairy. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; punctuation-wrap: simple; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;">“So,” I said, “are you telling me that <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">pork knuckles </i>caused the school to lay off my wife so we could end up in Germany?” </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; punctuation-wrap: simple; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;">“You would be surprised at what powers the mind is capable of.”</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; punctuation-wrap: simple; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;"><br />
There was a watercolor hanging on the wall above Hans, a splashy bouquet of flowers bursting from a melted vase. As he spoke, I pictured it falling down and smashing over his head. The sound of breaking glass fills the room, and everyone looks over and sees Hans’ head bursting through the frame like a daffodil. Again and again I imagined this until—of course nothing happened. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; punctuation-wrap: simple; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;"><br />
“I ate a Hawaiian pizza last Christmas,” I said. “Now, where’s my trip to Honolulu?”<br />
He had to laugh like hell at that, but the conversation was shot. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; punctuation-wrap: simple; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;"><br />
Usually, I make a point of giving people the benefit of the doubt. Ask the right questions, and folks will generally surprise you. Hans, however, struck me as the type who read medical journals, then, whenever someone sneezed, mindlessly named off some corresponding disease. You might think <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">now here’s a guy that loves to hear the sound of his own voice. </i>And he might be. The problem is—in the back of your mind—you know there’s a slim chance that he might be right.<br />
And, oh, did I hate him for that.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; punctuation-wrap: simple; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;"><br />
So, what if I was wrong? Perhaps what we think about most does help guide, in unforeseeable ways, our direction in life. We internalize food. But does it also internalize us?<br />
At the time, my wife and I weren't ready to leave China. There was, we felt, still more to accomplish. The pork knuckle, however, had other ideas.<br />
Anyway, life is good. But still, I wonder what would have happened if we'd obsessed over an Ethiopian or Siberian restaurant. I’m sure they’re nice-enough places, but let’s be honest: things could have turned a lot out worse. </div>C. Noah Pelletierhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14007077233622728069noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3580400107020592072.post-42975167231590590882011-04-16T00:06:00.000+02:002011-04-16T00:06:56.341+02:00Bedtime for Democracy<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <o:OfficeDocumentSettings> <o:AllowPNG/> </o:OfficeDocumentSettings> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:WordDocument> <w:View>Normal</w:View> <w:Zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:TrackMoves/> <w:TrackFormatting/> <w:PunctuationKerning/> <w:ValidateAgainstSchemas/> <w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:IgnoreMixedContent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:DoNotPromoteQF/> <w:LidThemeOther>EN-US</w:LidThemeOther> <w:LidThemeAsian>X-NONE</w:LidThemeAsian> <w:LidThemeComplexScript>X-NONE</w:LidThemeComplexScript> <w:Compatibility> <w:BreakWrappedTables/> <w:SnapToGridInCell/> <w:WrapTextWithPunct/> <w:UseAsianBreakRules/> <w:DontGrowAutofit/> <w:SplitPgBreakAndParaMark/> <w:EnableOpenTypeKerning/> <w:DontFlipMirrorIndents/> <w:OverrideTableStyleHps/> </w:Compatibility> <m:mathPr> <m:mathFont m:val="Cambria Math"/> <m:brkBin m:val="before"/> <m:brkBinSub m:val="--"/> <m:smallFrac m:val="off"/> <m:dispDef/> <m:lMargin m:val="0"/> <m:rMargin m:val="0"/> <m:defJc m:val="centerGroup"/> <m:wrapIndent m:val="1440"/> <m:intLim m:val="subSup"/> <m:naryLim m:val="undOvr"/> </m:mathPr></w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:LatentStyles DefLockedState="false" DefUnhideWhenUsed="true"
DefSemiHidden="true" DefQFormat="false" DefPriority="99"
LatentStyleCount="267"> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="0" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" QFormat="true" Name="Normal"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="9" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" QFormat="true" Name="heading 1"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="9" QFormat="true" Name="heading 2"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="9" QFormat="true" Name="heading 3"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="9" QFormat="true" Name="heading 4"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="9" QFormat="true" Name="heading 5"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="9" QFormat="true" Name="heading 6"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="9" QFormat="true" Name="heading 7"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="9" QFormat="true" Name="heading 8"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="9" QFormat="true" Name="heading 9"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" Name="toc 1"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" Name="toc 2"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" Name="toc 3"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" Name="toc 4"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" Name="toc 5"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" Name="toc 6"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" Name="toc 7"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" Name="toc 8"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" Name="toc 9"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="35" QFormat="true" Name="caption"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="10" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" QFormat="true" Name="Title"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="1" Name="Default Paragraph Font"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="11" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" QFormat="true" Name="Subtitle"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="22" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" QFormat="true" Name="Strong"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="20" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" QFormat="true" Name="Emphasis"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="59" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Table Grid"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Placeholder Text"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="1" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" QFormat="true" Name="No Spacing"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light Shading"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light List"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light Grid"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Shading 1"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Shading 2"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium List 1"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium List 2"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 1"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 2"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 3"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Dark List"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful Shading"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful List"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful Grid"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light Shading Accent 1"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light List Accent 1"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light Grid Accent 1"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 1"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 1"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium List 1 Accent 1"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Revision"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="34" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" QFormat="true" Name="List Paragraph"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="29" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" QFormat="true" Name="Quote"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="30" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" QFormat="true" Name="Intense Quote"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium List 2 Accent 1"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 1"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 1"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 1"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Dark List Accent 1"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful Shading Accent 1"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful List Accent 1"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful Grid Accent 1"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light Shading Accent 2"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light List Accent 2"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light Grid Accent 2"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 2"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 2"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium List 1 Accent 2"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium List 2 Accent 2"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 2"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 2"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 2"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Dark List Accent 2"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful Shading Accent 2"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful List Accent 2"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful Grid Accent 2"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light Shading Accent 3"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light List Accent 3"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light Grid Accent 3"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 3"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 3"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium List 1 Accent 3"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium List 2 Accent 3"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 3"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 3"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 3"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Dark List Accent 3"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful Shading Accent 3"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful List Accent 3"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful Grid Accent 3"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light Shading Accent 4"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light List Accent 4"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light Grid Accent 4"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 4"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 4"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium List 1 Accent 4"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium List 2 Accent 4"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 4"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 4"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 4"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Dark List Accent 4"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful Shading Accent 4"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful List Accent 4"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful Grid Accent 4"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light Shading Accent 5"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light List Accent 5"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light Grid Accent 5"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 5"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 5"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium List 1 Accent 5"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium List 2 Accent 5"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 5"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 5"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 5"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Dark List Accent 5"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful Shading Accent 5"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful List Accent 5"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful Grid Accent 5"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light Shading Accent 6"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light List Accent 6"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light Grid Accent 6"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 6"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 6"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium List 1 Accent 6"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium List 2 Accent 6"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 6"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 6"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 6"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Dark List Accent 6"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful Shading Accent 6"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful List Accent 6"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful Grid Accent 6"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="19" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" QFormat="true" Name="Subtle Emphasis"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="21" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" QFormat="true" Name="Intense Emphasis"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="31" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" QFormat="true" Name="Subtle Reference"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="32" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" QFormat="true" Name="Intense Reference"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="33" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" QFormat="true" Name="Book Title"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="37" Name="Bibliography"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" QFormat="true" Name="TOC Heading"/> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 10]> <style>
/* Style Definitions */
table.MsoNormalTable
{mso-style-name:"Table Normal";
mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0;
mso-tstyle-colband-size:0;
mso-style-noshow:yes;
mso-style-priority:99;
mso-style-parent:"";
mso-padding-alt:0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt;
mso-para-margin:0in;
mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt;
mso-pagination:widow-orphan;
font-size:10.0pt;
font-family:"Times New Roman","serif";}
</style> <![endif]--> <br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">So Sarah Palin, the President of the United States, which was subject to repossession by China, enacted the “Word Tax” to keep the White House from going into foreclosure. Citizens living inside all city limits were taxed for both spoken and written word. This was tracked by a “Freedom Chip” which was implanted in the back of the neck. The procedure was mandatory and often performed at veterinary clinics. Only politicians and pornographers could afford to be treated by human doctors. Folks didn’t appreciate being treated like animals, but under the “New Patriot Act,” complaining was deemed a commodity, and thus taxable. Someone suffering a broken arm or stroke had to wait while, say, a guinea pig had a marble surgically removed from its anus. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">The only folks that survived in the real world were the Field Dwellers. A Field Dweller was someone who lived in the country. Everyone was required to receive a Freedom Chip, but it wasn’t directly enforced. Those without Freedom Chips were considered “Persons with Non-Competencies.” The tax man could shut off your phone, internet, lights, whatever, but they didn’t come looking for you. Like most people, they were scared of the real world. Aside from bullying folks on social media, digital bank accounts or email, they were as harmless as housecats. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">Technology helped us think beyond our brains, but the information slowly dried up. “Selectively cleansed,” claimed the government, but that didn’t keep folks from depending on it. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">My days, I decided, were numbered. After receiving the letter from Brigadoon Animal Hospital informing me of my Freedom Chip appointment, I left town. After packing a suitcase, I drove South using back-country roads and spent the night in my car. The next morning, I remembered something from my childhood: a trailer colony in the middle of a dirt farm. Growing up, our family used to pass it when we took the short cut to Raleigh. I’d look out the window of our Chevy Blazer, surrounded by soy bean and cotton fields, before coming to the cross roads. For someone who grew up on the beach, out there seemed like the most remote place in the world. The stop sign was peppered with bullets. My dad didn’t even brake—he just raised his arms and yelled “rolling stop” as we blew right through it. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">There were, I remember, four to six trailers at this intersection. They encircled a large, steel-beam radio tower that you could see for miles. Aside from the laundry drying outside, the trailers looked abandoned. I wondered why anyone would live there, and so close to a radio tower. It had been an obsession growing up, these freakish people committing horrible atrocities inside. But why that? Why not thoughts of more? More money; a bigger promotion? I thought of that as I drove toward the tower. The tenacious strive toward success. It was always just out of reach. I killed the engine before the stop sign. The fields were barren now, and stretched into the distance in each direction. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">I was in insurance when the government began scaling back the economy. A few folks saw it coming. Our company sold all the ergonomically designed chairs and installed coin operated locks on the bathroom stalls. They traded my BMW company car for a Chinese sedan. They did, however, let me keep my company girlfriend, who was specifically designed to “enhance” my lifestyle: She was prone to debt, prescription drug-induced crying jags, and had breasts engineered to near perfection. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">Thus did consumerism and procreation go hand in hand. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">Field dwellers didn’t have breast implants or bald pubic regions. These things had nothing to do with survival. Daily life revolved around the radio tower, or rather, what the tower provided. Grandma had an aluminum hip that intercepted phone calls late at night. Like I said, politicians and pornographers could afford to speak in whole sentences, and did so in great detail about anything they pleased. Overhearing an educated conversation like that would have cost five thousand dollars. That’s how much it cost to ‘unlock’ this particular radio channel. Even the rich weren’t granted total privacy. When the signal wasn’t great, we’d stick our ear directly against Grandma’s hip. This minimized the "tinny" sound so we could hear more clearly. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">A low, steady hum was always present around the tower. The trailers would sometimes vibrate, but it didn’t vibrate people so much as it permeated them. We all sat in plastic lawn chairs in the back yard. Every meal was barbequed on an open pit, and little Joey would run barefoot from one trailer to the next. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">“Momma says ‘the hummin’ is God talking to Himself while he’s doing his work.”</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">“Great Joey,” I’d say. “Now run over and fetch me a jar of moonshine.” </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">It was still strange to me, hearing folks talk about God. Aside from OMG, which was changed from Oh My God to Oh My Gosh, talking about God beyond the context of Freedom was forbidden and taxable. The pornographers discussed ways to implement God into film plots, but this was done subtly, usually by symbolism, since no one understood big words anymore. For most folks, acronyms were cheaper and conveyed most thoughts. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">“God microwaves our home with his love and hummin’ powers.” </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">“Did your momma tell you that, Joey?” </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;"></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">When asked a question, Joey would sometimes gaze up to the red blinking light. I had no idea he was looking up there for guidance. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;"></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">“I think about hummin’ and how come other places don’t hum.”</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">“How do you know other places don’t hum?” I said. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">“Well…look at you. I beg your pardon, but you’re dumber than a stump.” </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">It was true. Aside from my 30 years of life experience, I was no smarter than this child. At ten years old, he rebuilt the carburetor in my Chinese sedan. He could kill, pluck and gut a chicken in 4 minutes flat. He even knew how to brew moonshine using an old copper milk can. He’d mix in the corn and water and whatever else, pausing every so often to gaze up at the tower.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">** </div>C. Noah Pelletierhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14007077233622728069noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3580400107020592072.post-18754028603791688282011-04-06T15:34:00.002+02:002011-04-06T15:39:31.128+02:00Two if by Sea<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">It was a late, sunny morning in October, and I was heading back into <i><span style="font-style: normal;">Düsseldorf</span></i> from a doctor visit. On the train home, while making a list of chores, I missed my stop and ended up at the <i>altstadt</i>, the old quarter, where I found myself in a kiosk buying two large bottles of beer. Funny how that happens. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">I wandered for a bit and wound up at this inlet canal about 100 yards from the Rhine. There were oversized stairs for sitting and watching folks pass by the boardwalk. The water wasn’t much to look at: Dark green with floating trash. Perhaps as a distraction, the city marooned an old ship right out in the middle. With bulging sides and a tall, wooden mast, it didn’t float so much as it slowly disintegrated. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">Despite the nice weather, there weren’t a lot of folks out. There was a guy sitting 30 feet away from me, wearing a black jacket and sunglasses, the big kind that wrap around your eyes like a windshield. To passersby, we were just two Germans. “Slackers,” they might have whispered, “Couldn’t even wait till noon to crack a beer.” Of course, I never had that sort of problem when I lived in China. During my two years there, I didn’t need a tattoo across my forehead saying “Outsider.” What for?</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">Germany was different, though. I had the same pea coat and pale complexion as everyone else. “You blend in,” my wife said. And folks naturally thought I was German. That is, until I opened my mouth. How frustrating it must be to speak to someone, to reach out to a stranger, only to have them reply with “Uh…was?” The German word for <i>what</i> is our word for <i>was</i>, so basically I was asking them to repeat themselves, only louder. To save my hearing, my next bright idea was to inform people mid-sentence. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">“—Let me stop you right there,” I’d say. I honestly thought they’d thank me with the breath they saved. Of course they usually just said “sorry” and walked away.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">Two men appeared from behind the ship, navigating the harbor in a tiny row boat. They were wearing orange suits with electric blue strips along the shoulder. The rower sat in back as another man crouched at the bow, scouring the water with a ten-foot net. Their vessel meandered along, scooping up bottles and potato chip bags as they went, leaving a small wake in their trail. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4xENLsoWAncGA27tPn4itLtxQOUCtYL9znKNm6H0lKgPa3WXFWLhGgA_tgKBEgfCM2GKMdJMhCbAE5VnpMYnvrWSqOqpYJT-j9HECdEA7j77c40bWfYL40tRuIArHSo-hpOgV6ZxYFoB1/s1600/boat+men.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="268" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4xENLsoWAncGA27tPn4itLtxQOUCtYL9znKNm6H0lKgPa3WXFWLhGgA_tgKBEgfCM2GKMdJMhCbAE5VnpMYnvrWSqOqpYJT-j9HECdEA7j77c40bWfYL40tRuIArHSo-hpOgV6ZxYFoB1/s400/boat+men.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">Like many city workers, these men were large; not fat exactly, but big boned. I suppose a lifetime of beer and bratwurst lunches will do that, but, like the great manatee, there was a grace to their glide -- something almost…romantic. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">I wanted to ask them if they signed up for this duty, or if the job was assigned on a rotating basis. Did they get to choose partners, and if so, how do they determine who rows and who scoops? Basically, what I wanted to know was: How do people wind up doing what they’re doing? </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">At the time these questions seemed relevant, but it was only because I couldn’t actually ask them. Even if I had spoken German, I probably would have talked myself out of it. <i>Oh, don’t bother them.</i> It’s basic psychology: We want what we can’t have. For most people, sunning by the water with a beer isn’t a bad way to spend a weekday. And, oh, I am one of those people. I was lucky to be out there; however, I’d be lying if I said that, in the back of my mind, there wasn’t a small part of me that wanted to trade in my beer for a pair of oars. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div>C. Noah Pelletierhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14007077233622728069noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3580400107020592072.post-32671083528183199582011-03-28T14:24:00.003+02:002011-05-31T08:44:55.788+02:00Party of One... Booze frenzy at the homestead<div class="MsoNormal">Cape Carteret, NC</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">When I was thirteen, after much convincing, my parents left me home alone one Friday night. They and my sister went to Jacksonville to go thrift store shopping. After that, they’d get pizza at Tony’s and walk around the mall. I knew that’s what they’d do because that’s what we always did on Friday night. But now that I was a teenager, I had other plans: I would listen to 96.3, the Hot FM, and call a girl in Newport that I had a crush on. Also, I would make my first cocktail. </div><div class="MsoNormal"> </div><div class="MsoNormal"> As soon as they pulled out of the driveway, I used a chair to reach the bottles in the cupboard: Goldschlager, Two Fingers tequila, Gordon’s gin, Myer’s rum (dark) and a bottle of something called port. I poured a shot of each into a clear plastic cup decorated with pink fish. The drink seemed kind of weak, so I topped it off with the port. That’s when it turned black. The gold flakes from the Goldschlager suggested wealth and sophistication, but overall, the drink came up a tad short: It looked like something that seeped out of a landfill. It was, I imagined, how the breath of a sleeping bum might smell. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCH11NWGVe702EcRK46pJlk6vFwOCcxCIjSdOs30M7dYb6IEFmQZjuWhLrpP_e-_RHwwJwOSO9TeXi23654ltBmHDA7Eh48KFwY6rlmPwq-1KytNMvzGDcFEcfSD8sYR757XETx4HyiQq3/s1600/sleeping.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="428" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCH11NWGVe702EcRK46pJlk6vFwOCcxCIjSdOs30M7dYb6IEFmQZjuWhLrpP_e-_RHwwJwOSO9TeXi23654ltBmHDA7Eh48KFwY6rlmPwq-1KytNMvzGDcFEcfSD8sYR757XETx4HyiQq3/s640/sleeping.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">But I’d gone too far to turn back.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">I decided to step out onto the back steps. The sun was setting through the pine trees, and the bricks were warm under my feet. I pinched my nose, held my breath and began chugging. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">I got one gulp down, then two…that’s when gag reflexes refilled my cup. Now the mixture was both black and bubbly. Getting it down became more of an exercise in determination rather than pleasure. <i>I…will…drink this</i>. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">On the second try it stayed down, but my mouth was watering pretty bad. Had I burped now, it would have been all over. I went inside to search for a stick of Big Red, refill the liquor bottles with water and put them back in the cabinet. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">Upstairs, I turned on the radio and lied against my pillow, watching the walls spin in a good way. Salt-n-Pepa’s “Shoop” came on, and then something else. I went downstairs and looked at topless women in my dad’s <i>Easyriders </i>magazine. Next I microwaved a Stouffer’s lasagna and fed our German shepherd, Zan. As the TV dinner cooled, I took the .22 rifle from the closet and shot it into the air in the front yard like Yosemite Sam. This scared Zan, so I took my lasagna from the microwave and ate it on the floor beside her. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-bq5WVEgoZlkrTsCFXhshCmq3iDEO_IVdNF3BR1k7T7W4jBaYPHQNXQhOm1p9XeHc6zzG4zp0h4911oByQwKlXxQ0RtRoFUyXLGieYhTxY33XBH1ndGVmcERDYHtSPXeVqJSZbXsLCvZE/s1600/laid+back.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="215" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-bq5WVEgoZlkrTsCFXhshCmq3iDEO_IVdNF3BR1k7T7W4jBaYPHQNXQhOm1p9XeHc6zzG4zp0h4911oByQwKlXxQ0RtRoFUyXLGieYhTxY33XBH1ndGVmcERDYHtSPXeVqJSZbXsLCvZE/s320/laid+back.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBdNRniK4X1KeJTwDMaTo-ZXDLLmOQ-2wraZh582L5KxjhKLXtYzmyLT8I0jDs4oBo_c5wIgCqa8NoaroDNSmMo4EH4ODOpEh2lxPcmly6ASFvZpj693gNHe52U0acK_-7YEBdwqmCy8GD/s1600/laid+back+2.bmp" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="215" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBdNRniK4X1KeJTwDMaTo-ZXDLLmOQ-2wraZh582L5KxjhKLXtYzmyLT8I0jDs4oBo_c5wIgCqa8NoaroDNSmMo4EH4ODOpEh2lxPcmly6ASFvZpj693gNHe52U0acK_-7YEBdwqmCy8GD/s320/laid+back+2.bmp" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEju3EnBBPuaUg2Bc0QoZfINmh-fabpkOwsAKW_H54vw39Nc_wBs0mAq9Fse7K2TxcYzjqP_-Tr_2FDzBHBCMAVf4RW-O2W4Fd4-5ilScI6Uc14KtwhNm00zp-7Sm0ezKVUsQA5CqKYC8l-3/s1600/laid+back+3.bmp" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="215" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEju3EnBBPuaUg2Bc0QoZfINmh-fabpkOwsAKW_H54vw39Nc_wBs0mAq9Fse7K2TxcYzjqP_-Tr_2FDzBHBCMAVf4RW-O2W4Fd4-5ilScI6Uc14KtwhNm00zp-7Sm0ezKVUsQA5CqKYC8l-3/s320/laid+back+3.bmp" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">I’d once heard that if you’re pulled over by the police while drinking, you should keep your answers short so they don’t smell your breath. “Yep,” for instance, would be ideal. That was the mindset I employed when my family returned from Jacksonville. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">"Did you have a good time?" </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">"Yep."</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">"Did you feed the dog?" </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">"Yep." </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">"Did anyone call for us?" </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">"Nope." </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">Someone had called, but of course that answer would have required an incriminating response. More gum was chewed and breath was held during hugs. I don’t recall what I said before slinking back to my room; however, during the course of my furious one-man party, I never did call Andrea, the girl I had a crush on. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZKlb8_Ib6o-lOvv0oipi0NDkKeQ1dEEP9DWNDkpSd9lgg6_YIjfkfbrtOip2XPdqs3RnFYjAn6O-PmDXYROtUwxVJn9p3qbol6IgaZXUy9w-TpHweq0gtgXGfqscCUTUqzcChufFghh19/s1600/radio.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="268" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZKlb8_Ib6o-lOvv0oipi0NDkKeQ1dEEP9DWNDkpSd9lgg6_YIjfkfbrtOip2XPdqs3RnFYjAn6O-PmDXYROtUwxVJn9p3qbol6IgaZXUy9w-TpHweq0gtgXGfqscCUTUqzcChufFghh19/s400/radio.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><br />
</div>C. Noah Pelletierhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14007077233622728069noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3580400107020592072.post-33652911700132875282011-03-13T11:46:00.001+01:002011-03-13T11:48:32.092+01:00Carnival Beerdrinking in GermanyMy latest published story, Carnival Beerdrinking in Germany, at Matador Network is now online...<br />
<br />
<br />
Click<span style="font-size: large;"> <a href="http://matadornetwork.com/notebook/notes-from-road/nonlinear-narrative-carnival-beerdrinking-in-germany/">here</a> </span>to read it.<br />
<br />
The events in the story happened last year, but I wrote it this year while celebrating Carnival at home here in Dusseldorf. Immersing myself in the festivities rubbed off on the story in a good way. The story is broken up into scenes, which is, after all, how we remember particular events. <br />
<br />
The story itself was written under duress, finished at 4am on the eve of leaving for Paris, after having gone out drinking for Carnival. To be honest, I'm sort of amazed this thing took off at all, and yet, somehow it did. Big ups to David Miller for doing another great editing job. Enjoy!<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQznRMBzTBGXim75FXQ7mFZihpV_TQrODBw-BGUndjVL-cXyXZM8JCvwCzAHQDUV7Qk3kUwSZrwz2ICFjkKTtD_Au6mETFjGGw24sYT7lwMz8TTtwnZn51lRF6vlnXHrwSwjbXKSlA-lux/s1600/horn.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="267" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQznRMBzTBGXim75FXQ7mFZihpV_TQrODBw-BGUndjVL-cXyXZM8JCvwCzAHQDUV7Qk3kUwSZrwz2ICFjkKTtD_Au6mETFjGGw24sYT7lwMz8TTtwnZn51lRF6vlnXHrwSwjbXKSlA-lux/s400/horn.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>C. Noah Pelletierhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14007077233622728069noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3580400107020592072.post-49086285479097609412011-03-07T04:01:00.000+01:002011-03-07T04:01:34.466+01:00Notes From My Travel Diary: Emerald Isle, NC<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <o:OfficeDocumentSettings> <o:AllowPNG/> </o:OfficeDocumentSettings> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:WordDocument> <w:View>Normal</w:View> <w:Zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:TrackMoves/> <w:TrackFormatting/> <w:PunctuationKerning/> <w:ValidateAgainstSchemas/> <w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:IgnoreMixedContent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:DoNotPromoteQF/> <w:LidThemeOther>EN-US</w:LidThemeOther> <w:LidThemeAsian>X-NONE</w:LidThemeAsian> <w:LidThemeComplexScript>X-NONE</w:LidThemeComplexScript> <w:Compatibility> <w:BreakWrappedTables/> <w:SnapToGridInCell/> <w:WrapTextWithPunct/> <w:UseAsianBreakRules/> <w:DontGrowAutofit/> <w:SplitPgBreakAndParaMark/> <w:EnableOpenTypeKerning/> <w:DontFlipMirrorIndents/> <w:OverrideTableStyleHps/> </w:Compatibility> <m:mathPr> <m:mathFont m:val="Cambria Math"/> <m:brkBin m:val="before"/> <m:brkBinSub m:val="--"/> <m:smallFrac m:val="off"/> <m:dispDef/> <m:lMargin m:val="0"/> <m:rMargin m:val="0"/> <m:defJc m:val="centerGroup"/> <m:wrapIndent m:val="1440"/> <m:intLim m:val="subSup"/> <m:naryLim m:val="undOvr"/> </m:mathPr></w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:LatentStyles DefLockedState="false" DefUnhideWhenUsed="true"
DefSemiHidden="true" DefQFormat="false" DefPriority="99"
LatentStyleCount="267"> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="0" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" QFormat="true" Name="Normal"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="9" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" QFormat="true" Name="heading 1"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="9" QFormat="true" Name="heading 2"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="9" QFormat="true" Name="heading 3"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="9" QFormat="true" Name="heading 4"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="9" QFormat="true" Name="heading 5"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="9" QFormat="true" Name="heading 6"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="9" QFormat="true" Name="heading 7"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="9" QFormat="true" Name="heading 8"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="9" QFormat="true" Name="heading 9"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" Name="toc 1"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" Name="toc 2"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" Name="toc 3"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" Name="toc 4"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" Name="toc 5"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" Name="toc 6"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" Name="toc 7"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" Name="toc 8"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" Name="toc 9"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="35" QFormat="true" Name="caption"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="10" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" QFormat="true" Name="Title"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="1" Name="Default Paragraph Font"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="11" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" QFormat="true" Name="Subtitle"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="22" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" QFormat="true" Name="Strong"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="20" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" QFormat="true" Name="Emphasis"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="59" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Table Grid"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Placeholder Text"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="1" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" QFormat="true" Name="No Spacing"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light Shading"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light List"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light Grid"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Shading 1"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Shading 2"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium List 1"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium List 2"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 1"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 2"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 3"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Dark List"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful Shading"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful List"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful Grid"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light Shading Accent 1"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light List Accent 1"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light Grid Accent 1"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 1"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 1"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium List 1 Accent 1"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Revision"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="34" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" QFormat="true" Name="List Paragraph"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="29" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" QFormat="true" Name="Quote"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="30" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" QFormat="true" Name="Intense Quote"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium List 2 Accent 1"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 1"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 1"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 1"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Dark List Accent 1"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful Shading Accent 1"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful List Accent 1"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful Grid Accent 1"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light Shading Accent 2"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light List Accent 2"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light Grid Accent 2"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 2"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 2"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium List 1 Accent 2"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium List 2 Accent 2"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 2"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 2"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 2"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Dark List Accent 2"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful Shading Accent 2"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful List Accent 2"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful Grid Accent 2"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light Shading Accent 3"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light List Accent 3"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light Grid Accent 3"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 3"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 3"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium List 1 Accent 3"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium List 2 Accent 3"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 3"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 3"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 3"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Dark List Accent 3"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful Shading Accent 3"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful List Accent 3"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful Grid Accent 3"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light Shading Accent 4"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light List Accent 4"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light Grid Accent 4"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 4"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 4"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium List 1 Accent 4"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium List 2 Accent 4"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 4"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 4"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 4"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Dark List Accent 4"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful Shading Accent 4"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful List Accent 4"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful Grid Accent 4"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light Shading Accent 5"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light List Accent 5"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light Grid Accent 5"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 5"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 5"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium List 1 Accent 5"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium List 2 Accent 5"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 5"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 5"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 5"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Dark List Accent 5"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful Shading Accent 5"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful List Accent 5"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful Grid Accent 5"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light Shading Accent 6"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light List Accent 6"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light Grid Accent 6"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 6"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 6"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium List 1 Accent 6"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium List 2 Accent 6"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 6"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 6"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 6"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Dark List Accent 6"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful Shading Accent 6"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful List Accent 6"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful Grid Accent 6"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="19" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" QFormat="true" Name="Subtle Emphasis"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="21" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" QFormat="true" Name="Intense Emphasis"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="31" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" QFormat="true" Name="Subtle Reference"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="32" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" QFormat="true" Name="Intense Reference"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="33" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" QFormat="true" Name="Book Title"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="37" Name="Bibliography"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" QFormat="true" Name="TOC Heading"/> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 10]> <style>
/* Style Definitions */
table.MsoNormalTable
{mso-style-name:"Table Normal";
mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0;
mso-tstyle-colband-size:0;
mso-style-noshow:yes;
mso-style-priority:99;
mso-style-parent:"";
mso-padding-alt:0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt;
mso-para-margin:0in;
mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt;
mso-pagination:widow-orphan;
font-size:10.0pt;
font-family:"Times New Roman","serif";}
</style> <![endif]--> <br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span>I grew up in this little beach town. When you think of North Carolina, most people don’t think about islands, but that that’s where we lived -- Emerald Isle, North Carolina. Tourist flocked there every summer. The locals were mostly fishermen or cashiers or waitresses at all-you-can-eat buffets. But my father was a potter. He didn’t leave the trailer most days. He didn’t have to. The UPS man dropped off boxes of clay. My dad threw this clay in the work studio. Of course he didn’t really <i>throw </i>the clay, but that’s how he said he made the cups and bowls. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span>There was two sheds in the yard. One for tools, the other for the kiln. The kiln looked like a brick igloo with afterburners. They <i>fired </i>the clay so folks at craft shows could buy it. Dad kept throwing pottery until it filled the studio. A big show made the house go <i>buzzz</i>. You know the feeling you get the closer to Christmas? Anyway, he’d pace around before a firing, filling the kiln with all the uncooked pottery. One time the kiln blew up, but it didn’t really blow up like you think. The pottery just looked retarded. Mom talked about the poorhouse. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span>The kiln rumbled low and steady in the night. Outside, the shed is a big jack-o-lantern, glowing tangerine between the planks. Inside, my father was a maestro, tuning pyrotechnic gauges, stoking the dials of that thousand-degree symphony. His face look orange like an Oompa Loompa, except he got a moustache that curls up. My dad is five foot nine, weighs a hundred and forty pounds. But his tan Woolrich vest makes him look heavier. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span>One time a police come by, asked if dad was hiding a side entrance to Hell in there. Our across-the-street neighbors, a family of fat morticians, never batted an eyelash, but a mainlander renting a trailer up the road expressed his concerns. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span><span> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span><span> </span>“That thing runs on <i>gas</i>? If that thing explodes…” the man trailed off, his eyes fixed toward the kiln.<span> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span><span> </span>“Well,” said my dad. “It hasn’t happened yet.” </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span><span> </span>“The whole goddamn neighborhood would BLOW!”<span> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span><span> </span>“<i>Blow</i>?” my dad echoed, as if that was the last thing a gas-fueled contraption would do. “That’s not gonna<i> </i>happen.”<span> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span>The man didn‘t argue. The struggle in his face said it all:<span> </span></span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: center;"><span>Gas oven + Hippie Potter = Boom.<span> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span>The man reminded me of a house cat. Maybe he paced all night, downing wine coolers with a shaky hand, peering through the blinds every five minutes to the glowing shack that, given half a chance, would level the entire neighborhood. Inland folks had apocalyptic scenarios: Shark attacks, hurricanes, exploding kilns. I could jump off the roof with an umbrella, or lean too far back in my chair if I wanted to. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span>Dad said “just don’t do it at your grandmother’s.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span>* </span></div>C. Noah Pelletierhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14007077233622728069noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3580400107020592072.post-83960895074800365112011-02-16T10:57:00.001+01:002011-02-16T13:14:01.737+01:00The Great China Hell-Freeze<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">We lost reception at noon. Our pirate satellite was hooked up to the neighbor’s, our landlord, a stringy, ratfaced man with a bad stomach. Perhaps he was a drunk. Those violent, gurgling echoes from the toilet penetrated our walls each morning. The TV was out, but, fortunately for us, so was the landlord. Aside from my wife and me, nearly everyone in our building was traveling home for Chinese New Year.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhT4u-yDjll8DljAQ9y8u3_0Q9NmQxOIfP4rYHYZp89loCupAX20PV0ehY0Y_34hQk-IfLL9M37XfAybxivgUOyKAKZgyjZxSCZRwtmgR0IKP1_Pt5fPLGXDkvw3ROo8O_3mi8J2A22sMhB/s1600/snow+spray.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="430" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhT4u-yDjll8DljAQ9y8u3_0Q9NmQxOIfP4rYHYZp89loCupAX20PV0ehY0Y_34hQk-IfLL9M37XfAybxivgUOyKAKZgyjZxSCZRwtmgR0IKP1_Pt5fPLGXDkvw3ROo8O_3mi8J2A22sMhB/s640/snow+spray.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">The storm became serious. Peasant workers throughout Suzhou (having never seen snow before) set down their brooms and hosed the roads off with warm water. Predictably, their efforts resulted in the largest patch of black ice motorists ever encountered. Across China, thousands were stranded in train stations and airports. A rice barge navigating the Yangtze reportedly sunk after hitting an iceberg. It was a tragedy, but the details, like most second-hand information in China, were open to interpretation. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">I hit the store before they closed, gathering the makings of a Survival Kit. The essentials: A bottle of Malibu, a bottle of Bacardi, and orange juice to ward off scurvy… also a case of Tsing Tao beer, Kahlua, and two fingers of powdered milk for bone health. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">In what seemed like a good idea at the time—what seemed like a terrible idea in hindsight—my wife’s employers insisted on carrying out the New Year’s feast. We were bused outside Suzhou with scores of other foreigners to a plush, remote compound surrounded by whitened mud bogs. The staff offered us a steady supply of booze and food, in that order. In the Great Room, the evening air was filled with pidgin English speeches from The Board, slender girls swaying the centuries-old dance of Rainbow Skirts, and waiters trying to make sense of our mangled Mandarin requests. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5wTVf1CE-FZfz_opYvH8yYju7c9Xn7_hKkzKvsEYbzTR5ietkBDOOl8ji21gbcbEG_yTsTNefQ9TTdwXH_j3l0XDsytrZ1X3VhGUrujacOgLlf-DgeBlzmE9fYCjwMTPeq8pq0LZqV0zp/s1600/fat+toast.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="430" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5wTVf1CE-FZfz_opYvH8yYju7c9Xn7_hKkzKvsEYbzTR5ietkBDOOl8ji21gbcbEG_yTsTNefQ9TTdwXH_j3l0XDsytrZ1X3VhGUrujacOgLlf-DgeBlzmE9fYCjwMTPeq8pq0LZqV0zp/s640/fat+toast.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">There were drawings. I won a slow cooker. By the end of the night, the snow was falling harder than before. Or was it? Perhaps I hadn’t even won the slow cooker. For all I knew, I’d removed it from the kitchen. The only certainty, which was evident to everyone onboard, was the busses scattered along the road like tombstones. One bus had its ass in the ditch, the front tires clinging to the road like a beast pulling itself out a pit. Others had dug great moats while power-sliding into the bogs. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">Our driver could have taken this as a warning, but that isn’t the Chinese way. I don’t claim to be an expert, but, from what I observed, in China it’s considered a weakness to adjust one’s driving to weather and road conditions. So instead of slowing down, our driver sped up, weaving between those frozen monuments with a disregard for safety that dazzled everyone onboard. It was fantastic.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">To many this may sound reckless, but it’s important to understand that in China, this all-or-nothing mentality is engrained on every social level. Holding back is not in the playbook, so to speak. One <i>commits</i> to a particular character, and tries to steal the show for that brief moment when the spotlight is upon them. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlFLBMroMe1xCoXkP_NExa-96iIzEadD4LMgUMYZ5nvk1Z02Ai9f5VMZpOTjWsrxrVqmkQD9ORNRTYKdS3tfZV7P-xlqz0AOarRHqP9puq9RSgAwxoYSwzUUqVS4ZGJWd-rEWrsYQqqROE/s1600/snow+buses.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="430" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlFLBMroMe1xCoXkP_NExa-96iIzEadD4LMgUMYZ5nvk1Z02Ai9f5VMZpOTjWsrxrVqmkQD9ORNRTYKdS3tfZV7P-xlqz0AOarRHqP9puq9RSgAwxoYSwzUUqVS4ZGJWd-rEWrsYQqqROE/s640/snow+buses.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><br />
</div>C. Noah Pelletierhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14007077233622728069noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3580400107020592072.post-82151965441149012452011-02-04T20:28:00.001+01:002011-02-04T20:32:57.394+01:00This Is What I Do When You Post Pictures of Your Baby<div class="MsoNormal">The weather here in Germany can be lousy. Thankfully, I have facebook, which allows me to keep in touch with friends back home. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">A lot of folks are having babies now it seems. Some use photos of their baby as a profile picture. Which is fine, I suppose, but yesterday I caught myself doing something while looking at a baby’s picture. Perhaps everyone does this, but I always count the baby’s fingers and toes. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"> 1, 2, 3, 4, 5. </div><div class="MsoNormal"> 1, 2, 3, 4, 5. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I’m not saying I <i>want</i> your baby to have a hand or foot with six digits... But if it’s going to happen anyway, I don’t want to miss it. </div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipPAeXTWkfrWajT21s8gtWEb-OzIK-98udxFMntBUrS2Ek2q2GzzrOP6GG0tKMGzezvFkbjVs16sYGYM2oZnzuIPNOKK5PSXVY48djVzbpZBSCWiSqTtBV9NdfDvx23RM2y0NDhnuiT_ch/s1600/baby.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="430" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipPAeXTWkfrWajT21s8gtWEb-OzIK-98udxFMntBUrS2Ek2q2GzzrOP6GG0tKMGzezvFkbjVs16sYGYM2oZnzuIPNOKK5PSXVY48djVzbpZBSCWiSqTtBV9NdfDvx23RM2y0NDhnuiT_ch/s640/baby.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>C. Noah Pelletierhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14007077233622728069noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3580400107020592072.post-71636251011100307002011-01-27T13:58:00.003+01:002011-01-27T14:20:51.775+01:00You Getting a Hair Cut<div class="MsoNormal"><i><span class="fnt0"> </span><i>Düsseldorf, Germany</i></i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><i> </i> </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span class="fnt0"> What color is it going to be this time? Orange? Red again, or perhaps green?</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9-pH33GvMpl0tOtwbByZS96umtHOOWaC6dcqdT13w6WfzTAozz8l62qzBldPau5RYxs3xeDdP14bi8db-D1CpkK54A3Vtm_6IG0-O6meaTXFKI6dxseuGV7-4fgv2Q6Gui6DsQ_0eQViG/s1600/colors.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="215" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9-pH33GvMpl0tOtwbByZS96umtHOOWaC6dcqdT13w6WfzTAozz8l62qzBldPau5RYxs3xeDdP14bi8db-D1CpkK54A3Vtm_6IG0-O6meaTXFKI6dxseuGV7-4fgv2Q6Gui6DsQ_0eQViG/s320/colors.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span class="fnt0"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span class="fnt0"> No.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span class="fnt0">You walk into the UniSex hair salon and see purple-haired Kevin sitting on the bench smoking a cigarette. You walk inside, and the glass door slams against the saloon-style ash bin propping it open. Ignore it. The door doesn’t belong to you anyway. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span class="fnt0">Kevin’s purple hair is standing straight up, and you can’t look at it without thinking of a troll doll. He says “Hallo,” and you say the same thing, staring too long at his plastic, spray-tanned face. Don’t worry. Anyone that has Sponge Bob Square Pants tattooed on his forearm is used to it. Thank God for people like this. You check out his left arm and see all three Power Puff Girls surrounded by stars. The details are dazzling.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiumUUtmj7b9dMRHeKbdZuRA4sPpKlFllIz1OXdNjvpulVZ8iMxKvwn_tDL3oLo_Lj7MSW37Qo3v3ntUBkgt6ZTfyeKPSE5fF6DkuaBVGJjvPDB-uQ_jdVz6h4nSysCxB6PtH_ee7QhpidX/s1600/hair+boy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="428" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiumUUtmj7b9dMRHeKbdZuRA4sPpKlFllIz1OXdNjvpulVZ8iMxKvwn_tDL3oLo_Lj7MSW37Qo3v3ntUBkgt6ZTfyeKPSE5fF6DkuaBVGJjvPDB-uQ_jdVz6h4nSysCxB6PtH_ee7QhpidX/s640/hair+boy.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span class="fnt0">He stubs out his cigarette and says “please sit anywhere.” It’s 10AM and every seat is open. The salon is 10 feet across and goes back like a bowling alley. Techno music is blaring, and there are wall-mounted flat screens between each chair. You sit down in the back, close to the hair washing station.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span class="fnt0">Kevin comes over and asks “Would you like a drink? Coffee?” </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span class="fnt0">His English is terrible. Your German is worse. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span class="fnt0">“Nein, danke,” you say. “Wasser, bitte.” </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span class="fnt0">Kevin calls out to the blonde with the fat ass. She stashes the broom and walks behind a curtain. There is an awkward silence. Kevin urges you over to one of the flat screens. He shows you pictures of men’s heads and says “What you like?” Except for the Turkish heads, the faces all look like you and Kevin: Skinny white boys. There’s a head that looks like it hasn’t been cut. The caption says ‘Surfer.’ You point to it, even though you don’t like to surf. Forget it. The blonde’s back with your water. You look her in the eyes and say “danke.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span class="fnt0">Kevin wears plastic gloves that crinkle as he washes your hair. You didn’t shower before leaving the house today. Never mind. You’re going to shower when you get home anyway. Occupy yourself by looking at Kevin’s facial piercings. The ring on his lip seems like it would be annoying. Again, you’re grateful that not everyone is as boring as you.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLQKTS1-WOnAMz1Gd2ellQUxx-4wZHWtGJywwr0Gp7e1mueyRGIuZrl-xNndcn_F-X6cPp4rtRZ7hkdAzsfiCOnAgXANsZYWsimWP8e2XYtAo51A0AP6T5QzBWoldqCV2HMBom4mqQnY3q/s1600/tv+casualty.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="430" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLQKTS1-WOnAMz1Gd2ellQUxx-4wZHWtGJywwr0Gp7e1mueyRGIuZrl-xNndcn_F-X6cPp4rtRZ7hkdAzsfiCOnAgXANsZYWsimWP8e2XYtAo51A0AP6T5QzBWoldqCV2HMBom4mqQnY3q/s640/tv+casualty.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">You sit there facing the mirror. Fangs of moisture drip onto the nylon cape. Kevin slips into his rhinestone-studded holster. It is packed with razors, shears, combs, and scissors. He seems taller, moves faster. Kevin removes the scissors and spins them around his index finger like a gunslinger. You feel your body tensing up beneath the cape. Relax. You look over to a flat screen. A corpse is getting her hair cut before a live audience. The assistants had already pulled some paper mache guts from her belly. After each snip, the mad scientist pulls the scissors back and twirls them like a gunslinger. The crowd is going wild.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">You look to Kevin's hand. He holsters the scissors, pulls out a straight razor. Your head leans as he pulls your bangs forward. His other hand is spinning the razor blade like a sideways helicopter. Bits of your bangs fall on your lap. Take a chance. You open your eyes just a crack, enough to see the letters tattooed across the back of each finger...</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1dkeVzAb_2GfnsOrNJU4PoRQsJSCEms-1gZI8cfgtsA_wcOQHFhSvLoV2xAF3eYL6Xmdla6Ff0n8RcgzTXFhxcysQat_teFoLtj8A55cAURWEeNILuCuZimbDWoYvySKT9sfsUPr9rOpq/s1600/love+fist.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="268" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1dkeVzAb_2GfnsOrNJU4PoRQsJSCEms-1gZI8cfgtsA_wcOQHFhSvLoV2xAF3eYL6Xmdla6Ff0n8RcgzTXFhxcysQat_teFoLtj8A55cAURWEeNILuCuZimbDWoYvySKT9sfsUPr9rOpq/s400/love+fist.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div>C. Noah Pelletierhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14007077233622728069noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3580400107020592072.post-48261806899081245682011-01-19T17:51:00.002+01:002011-01-19T18:05:37.664+01:00Ice Cream Boy<div class="MsoNormal">Istanbul, Turkey<br />
<br />
The boy was standing under an awning just off the sidewalk, which sloped uphill toward the Blue Mosque. Short, and looking neither old nor young, the boy was holding an aluminum utensil that looked like a crowbar. Although it was December, the weather was sunny and mild and Takayo and I had talked about getting some ice cream earlier. As we approached the boy, he immediately began stirring one of the three holes in the big, metal box. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">"Where you from?" he said. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Since arriving in Istanbul three days earlier, I’d been asked that question at least 50 times. It was mostly slick-haired vendors waiting outside rug shops or restaurants. As a conversation starter, it has a singular knack for stating the obvious. <i>Yes, we may be strangers on the street. But before I try to separate you from your money, let’s discuss race, shall we.</i> </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">“I’m from the States," I said. “Do you have chocolate?” </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">“You from England?"</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">"No,” I said, “the States. Chocolate?” </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">“Australia?”</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I’m pretty sure I would have kept walking if he hadn’t looked so peculiar. I mean, nobody has ever stopped me in the street in, say, Frankfurt because they were dying to know where I was from. Then again, so long as I don’t open my mouth, I’m pasty enough to pass as German. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">“No,” I said. “Not Australia.” I should have just lied and said yes, but instead, I uttered the one word I was trying to avoid: “America." </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhii_M_lQDOGL9cxRcZSPihgChZNv8HTmWGXBrwaSl8tD2PUFoIhxtkwmFZ7uGmK_hfp7xz27fKqQMA3CQoiQcQus7fp3Jcm0pfH14-jsbCcr7T96qKkKEiDLozqKlNrjcMw-Mv1g6XgYjt/s1600/icecream+boy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="352" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhii_M_lQDOGL9cxRcZSPihgChZNv8HTmWGXBrwaSl8tD2PUFoIhxtkwmFZ7uGmK_hfp7xz27fKqQMA3CQoiQcQus7fp3Jcm0pfH14-jsbCcr7T96qKkKEiDLozqKlNrjcMw-Mv1g6XgYjt/s640/icecream+boy.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I don’t remember when it started, probably after moving to Suzhou, China, but if a salesperson asks where I’m from I’ll say “the States” instead of “America.” It’s not that I’m ashamed to be an American – far from it. I prefer saying America, but the fact is I’m tired of getting stuck with the America price. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">In Istanbul, much like China, unless there’s a barcode, price is negotiable. A pair of underwear might cost as much as a tee shirt. And, depending on the mood of the shop keep, a tee shirt might cost the equivalent of a week’s worth of groceries. I don’t know why, but saying “the States” is anticlimactic. It just doesn’t have the same ring to it as “America.” Coincidently, it’s the same sound a cash register makes. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">The boy’s eyes lit up as soon as I said it. "Ohhh,” he said. “Ameeeerica.”</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">“That’s right,” I said.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">“Obaaamaaa." </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Because there’s no single person to blame, I blame television. After all, TV shows are dubbed into every language. It seems silly to think that all Americans live like they do in sitcoms, but, when we hold up the mirror, is it much different than the belief that all Asians know karate? I’ve seen street fights that would have made Bruce Lee turn in his grave, but I haven’t stepped foot on American soil since Obama’s been president. Nothing against him or his politics; it’s more a matter of logistics. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"> “Yes,” I said to the ice cream boy. “Obama.”</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">“Obaaaamaaaa,” he repeated, reverently. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">“Yes, Obama. Now make me a Chocolate cone.”</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">He used the crowbar and began dipping the ice cream onto the cones. He handed Takayo hers first, and then held out mine. When I reached for it, as a joke he pretended to drop it. The boy had a singular talent for making me feel uncomfortable. I stared at his hand. He had dirt under his fingernails. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZ1ey_4FUgKQm8COSz8QoM0xlExs0uMETI7z5gztgvFSFvdKU5pCzVU6Gls1djN_mUbFNkdCdpoNAZZs4fcTPqTxdRDJYDT1hKJ0AxD65zmKv0AQ0_N-K_0qLXjEvb3wZeKWkQ-YJLUcs5/s1600/ice+cream+cone.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="430" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZ1ey_4FUgKQm8COSz8QoM0xlExs0uMETI7z5gztgvFSFvdKU5pCzVU6Gls1djN_mUbFNkdCdpoNAZZs4fcTPqTxdRDJYDT1hKJ0AxD65zmKv0AQ0_N-K_0qLXjEvb3wZeKWkQ-YJLUcs5/s640/ice+cream+cone.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">Next, he stuck the ice cream in my face like a microphone and said “here, taste it.” Perhaps this was some kind of ancient Turkish custom. <i>Here, my brother. Let us lick each other’s ice cream.</i> </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"></div><div class="MsoNormal">In spite of tradition, I took my cone and paid him the equivalent of seven dollars. As we walked away, above the sound of passing cars and his crowbar clanging inside of the ice chest, I heard the boy softly chanting "Obama...Obama…Obama."<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">** </div></div>C. Noah Pelletierhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14007077233622728069noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3580400107020592072.post-48413789306501340692010-12-21T22:48:00.000+01:002010-12-21T22:48:53.575+01:00They Came from the North Pole<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <o:OfficeDocumentSettings> <o:AllowPNG/> </o:OfficeDocumentSettings> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:WordDocument> <w:View>Normal</w:View> <w:Zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:TrackMoves/> <w:TrackFormatting/> <w:PunctuationKerning/> <w:ValidateAgainstSchemas/> <w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:IgnoreMixedContent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:DoNotPromoteQF/> <w:LidThemeOther>EN-US</w:LidThemeOther> <w:LidThemeAsian>X-NONE</w:LidThemeAsian> <w:LidThemeComplexScript>X-NONE</w:LidThemeComplexScript> <w:Compatibility> <w:BreakWrappedTables/> <w:SnapToGridInCell/> <w:WrapTextWithPunct/> <w:UseAsianBreakRules/> <w:DontGrowAutofit/> <w:SplitPgBreakAndParaMark/> <w:EnableOpenTypeKerning/> <w:DontFlipMirrorIndents/> <w:OverrideTableStyleHps/> </w:Compatibility> <m:mathPr> <m:mathFont m:val="Cambria Math"/> <m:brkBin m:val="before"/> <m:brkBinSub m:val="--"/> <m:smallFrac m:val="off"/> <m:dispDef/> <m:lMargin m:val="0"/> <m:rMargin m:val="0"/> <m:defJc m:val="centerGroup"/> <m:wrapIndent m:val="1440"/> <m:intLim m:val="subSup"/> <m:naryLim m:val="undOvr"/> </m:mathPr></w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:LatentStyles DefLockedState="false" DefUnhideWhenUsed="true"
DefSemiHidden="true" DefQFormat="false" DefPriority="99"
LatentStyleCount="267"> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="0" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" QFormat="true" Name="Normal"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="9" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" QFormat="true" Name="heading 1"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="9" QFormat="true" Name="heading 2"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="9" QFormat="true" Name="heading 3"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="9" QFormat="true" Name="heading 4"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="9" QFormat="true" Name="heading 5"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="9" QFormat="true" Name="heading 6"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="9" QFormat="true" Name="heading 7"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="9" QFormat="true" Name="heading 8"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="9" QFormat="true" Name="heading 9"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" Name="toc 1"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" Name="toc 2"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" Name="toc 3"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" Name="toc 4"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" Name="toc 5"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" Name="toc 6"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" Name="toc 7"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" Name="toc 8"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" Name="toc 9"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="35" QFormat="true" Name="caption"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="10" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" QFormat="true" Name="Title"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="1" Name="Default Paragraph Font"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="11" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" QFormat="true" Name="Subtitle"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="22" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" QFormat="true" Name="Strong"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="20" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" QFormat="true" Name="Emphasis"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="59" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Table Grid"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Placeholder Text"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="1" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" QFormat="true" Name="No Spacing"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light Shading"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light List"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light Grid"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Shading 1"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Shading 2"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium List 1"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium List 2"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 1"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 2"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 3"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Dark List"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful Shading"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful List"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful Grid"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light Shading Accent 1"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light List Accent 1"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light Grid Accent 1"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 1"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 1"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium List 1 Accent 1"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Revision"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="34" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" QFormat="true" Name="List Paragraph"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="29" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" QFormat="true" Name="Quote"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="30" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" QFormat="true" Name="Intense Quote"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium List 2 Accent 1"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 1"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 1"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 1"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Dark List Accent 1"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful Shading Accent 1"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful List Accent 1"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful Grid Accent 1"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light Shading Accent 2"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light List Accent 2"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light Grid Accent 2"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 2"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 2"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium List 1 Accent 2"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium List 2 Accent 2"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 2"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 2"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 2"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Dark List Accent 2"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful Shading Accent 2"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful List Accent 2"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful Grid Accent 2"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light Shading Accent 3"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light List Accent 3"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light Grid Accent 3"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 3"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 3"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium List 1 Accent 3"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium List 2 Accent 3"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 3"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 3"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 3"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Dark List Accent 3"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful Shading Accent 3"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful List Accent 3"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful Grid Accent 3"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light Shading Accent 4"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light List Accent 4"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light Grid Accent 4"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 4"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 4"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium List 1 Accent 4"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium List 2 Accent 4"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 4"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 4"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 4"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Dark List Accent 4"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful Shading Accent 4"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful List Accent 4"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful Grid Accent 4"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light Shading Accent 5"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light List Accent 5"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light Grid Accent 5"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 5"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 5"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium List 1 Accent 5"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium List 2 Accent 5"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 5"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 5"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 5"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Dark List Accent 5"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful Shading Accent 5"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful List Accent 5"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful Grid Accent 5"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light Shading Accent 6"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light List Accent 6"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light Grid Accent 6"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 6"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 6"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium List 1 Accent 6"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium List 2 Accent 6"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 6"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 6"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 6"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Dark List Accent 6"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful Shading Accent 6"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful List Accent 6"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful Grid Accent 6"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="19" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" QFormat="true" Name="Subtle Emphasis"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="21" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" QFormat="true" Name="Intense Emphasis"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="31" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" QFormat="true" Name="Subtle Reference"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="32" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" QFormat="true" Name="Intense Reference"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="33" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" QFormat="true" Name="Book Title"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="37" Name="Bibliography"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" QFormat="true" Name="TOC Heading"/> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 10]> <style>
/* Style Definitions */
table.MsoNormalTable
{mso-style-name:"Table Normal";
mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0;
mso-tstyle-colband-size:0;
mso-style-noshow:yes;
mso-style-priority:99;
mso-style-parent:"";
mso-padding-alt:0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt;
mso-para-margin:0in;
mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt;
mso-pagination:widow-orphan;
font-size:10.0pt;
font-family:"Times New Roman","serif";}
</style> <![endif]--> <br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">There were no chestnuts roasting on an open fire, or quivering bowls of figgy pudding in our home.<span> </span>We simply took the food-based Christmas carols at their word.<span> </span>Instead, each season my mother would prepare what she called “Cajun Christmas.”<span> </span>Ham hocks were lowered into giant pots of collards, Dixie beers were chilled, and shrimp heads were pinched off into vats of boiling gumbo.<span> </span>The downside to living in what was essentially Paul Prudhomme’s kitchen was that I had to lie whenever someone asked “Did you eat enough turkey?” <span> </span>Rather than trying to explain Cajun Christmas in the checkout line at Kmart, I made up tryptophan antidotes. <span> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">“Oh, sure,” I’d say.<span> </span>“We all woke up with mashed potatoes in our hair.”</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNPkV6BytWMkorEy5ItKVzfYCIvtTbLlEmvptLCHReiSe25uUTn3FbcSOZyp5PSyNZ8cQsC1-fNIvIB4wN3GS2iZdBI9olzF2zYC5dCKDaR700aS_fiQyYdi3pOl03a-7dZNt9YsSTpZiQ/s1600/turkey+dinner.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="352" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNPkV6BytWMkorEy5ItKVzfYCIvtTbLlEmvptLCHReiSe25uUTn3FbcSOZyp5PSyNZ8cQsC1-fNIvIB4wN3GS2iZdBI9olzF2zYC5dCKDaR700aS_fiQyYdi3pOl03a-7dZNt9YsSTpZiQ/s640/turkey+dinner.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span>High school provided me with another unique holiday tradition.<span> </span>I knew a girl named Nicole.<span> </span>Both friendly and attractive, she stirred the sort of thoughts that earned me a lifetime membership on the naughty list.<span> </span>No matter how cold it was, each year she’d come to school dressed in this Mrs. Clause getup – or was it Mrs. Clause’s naughty niece?<span> </span>It might have just been the sleeve off a regular-sized Santa suit.<span> </span>Anyway, she completed the outfit with an elf hat and a pair of white patent leather high-heeled boots.<span> </span>In the school yearbook, she was voted most likely to be shown a mistletoe belt buckle.<span> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span><span> </span>I was walking behind Nicole one day when she was wearing the outfit.<span> </span>The hallway was packed, and two girls walking next to me were talking about the Nicole.<span> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span>“Where does she think we are a strip club,” said the one in flannel.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span>The other girl said “Looks like Santa’s Little Slut left the North Pole.” <span> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span>Considering where we were, I thought the comment was well aimed.<span> </span>However, the girl that said it didn’t have a whole lot of room to talk.<span> </span>She was wearing black lipstick, and had a large permanent marker X drawn on her forehead.<span> </span>Flannel girl was laughing now, but Doom Girl’s face was scrunched up as if Rudolph took a shit in her cornflakes.<span> </span>It’s funny the things our brain chooses to remember.<span> </span>I haven’t seen Nicole since high school, and I can no longer quote Shakespeare, but for whatever reason, that girl’s comment has stuck with me ever since.<span> </span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5ffxy5GIlD-wlN2sfD1M0QhUpI3XWGyPnhalSGzkHK236ENI6ku_d8aKQcOytL3xEzA1zRBF4hVRdkU0hfrX_EGUk9CmLZkkkp8Vcjkj1A0CvQKr65wfNCZ-42pNFV0Oim7ubBnakC1EU/s1600/Candy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="352" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5ffxy5GIlD-wlN2sfD1M0QhUpI3XWGyPnhalSGzkHK236ENI6ku_d8aKQcOytL3xEzA1zRBF4hVRdkU0hfrX_EGUk9CmLZkkkp8Vcjkj1A0CvQKr65wfNCZ-42pNFV0Oim7ubBnakC1EU/s640/Candy.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span> Last year was my first Christmas overseas.<span> </span>In a spirit similar to Cajun Christmas, my wife and I celebrated Tropical Christmas in Ko Samui, an island in the Gulf of Thailand.<span> </span>A political protest had shut down Bangkok’s airport the week before, causing many tourists to cancel their plans.<span> </span>Locals tried to make Westerners feel at home by decking the bars with red and green tinsel, fake trees, and cardboard Santa faces.<span> </span>While walking to the beach one morning, we stopped to watch a hotel employee risk his life by climbing a full-grown palm tree to string some colored lights.<span> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span><span> </span>I woke up early Christmas morning and placed our presents under the tree, a short, potted palm on the communal patio.<span> </span>A Thai maid stared at the presents as she passed by, and it made me wonder if folks wrapped presents here.<span> </span>When Takayo woke up, we got dressed – bathing suits and flip-flops – and opened our presents under the tree.<span> </span>Hers was a cashmere sweater.<span> </span>Mine was a wool shirt. <span> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span><span> </span>“This is like a bad joke,” said Takayo.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span><span> </span>“That Santa has some sense of humor,” I said.<span> </span>Both presents were from my mother.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaduX1fbXl7VE6lv5qvRWk0OinGnE4hvP1DOkDL7T907cs6fr3TfPXnixNt3FRQoMLkYQwoP-10qwApn_Wgc_fHu_E6uLOBPin8NEprK8Y72od2fMmaoKeG1NB324xYEQmu7bOXpYkV8XI/s1600/presents.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="352" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaduX1fbXl7VE6lv5qvRWk0OinGnE4hvP1DOkDL7T907cs6fr3TfPXnixNt3FRQoMLkYQwoP-10qwApn_Wgc_fHu_E6uLOBPin8NEprK8Y72od2fMmaoKeG1NB324xYEQmu7bOXpYkV8XI/s640/presents.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span><span> </span>At a suckling pig restaurant in Lamai Beach, our Christmas dinner came out clenching an apple between its jaws.<span> </span>We walked to an Aussie bar after dinner and took a table overlooking a side street.<span> </span>The pink neon signs down there read Huggies, Boom Boom, Backdoor something-or-other…<span> </span>Half of that sign was missing.<span> </span>There was a lot of scooter and foot traffic.<span> </span>Three Thai women stood outside Huggies.<span> </span>They watched the passing traffic, and occasionally cat called “Hello!” or “Yoo-hoo!”<span> </span>The women all had black hair to their waists, and wore tight red dresses, red high heels and red elf hats with a furry white ball on the end.<span> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span>A silver fox with a little round belly pulled his scooter over.<span> </span>A working elf walked over to him, whispered something into his ear, and then jumped on back.<span> </span>Her hair waved goodbye as they drove out of sight.<span> </span>Another elf came out from the bar to replace her.<span> </span>This one was dressed all in satin from her breasts to her thighs.<span> </span>Because she was so tall, I pegged her for a ladyboy.<span> </span>I had to laugh like hell when the next silver fox pulled up.<span> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span>“It’s like a feeding frenzy out there,” said Takayo.<span> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span>I was taking a sip of beer at the time, so I couldn’t answer.<span> </span>But what could I have told her?<span> </span>That I was flooded with Yule-time memories?<span> </span>That it actually felt like Christmas for the first time since we’d arrived?<span> </span>Rather than trying to explain some distant teenage infatuation, I leaned toward her and said the first thing that came to mind.<span> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span>“Looks like Santa’s Little Sluts have left the North Pole.”<span> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div>C. Noah Pelletierhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14007077233622728069noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3580400107020592072.post-46807311207046040302010-12-08T13:41:00.008+01:002010-12-09T23:20:44.059+01:00Making LogosMy sister lives in Cairo, Egypt. I spoke to her on the phone recently. She said, amongst other things, that when books and movies are imported into Egypt, someone edits out the pigs. The government actually pays someone to do this. She is a teacher, so they may be especially thorough with nursery rhymes and children's stories. <br />
<br />
What does this mean? <br />
<br />
<i>Old MacDonald had a farm e i, e i, ooo<br />
and on that farm he had a --- e i, e i, ooo<br />
with a --- --- here and a --- --- there, <br />
here a --- there a --- everywhere a --- ---</i><br />
<br />
In movies such as <i>Charlotte's Web</i> and <i>Babe</i>, she said, the entire movie plays out with the pig pixelated or blurred out. Now, I don't know about you, but it seems like a talking pink blob would somehow be more obscene. <br />
<br />
I must admit, my first instinct was "If they blur out the pig, isn't that like saying Allah made a mistake?" I don't necessarily believe that's true, though. People make mistakes all the time. You can add that to my growing collection of Famous Last Words. <br />
<br />
My sister went on to tell me they cut out kissing scenes between non-married couples in movies too. <br />
<br />
"You think <i>Babe</i> was bad? I tried to watch <i>Love Actually</i> -- didn't understand anything." <br />
<br />
Sure, it might disturb the plot a little, but in this respect I understand where they're coming from.<br />
<br />
For more Unnecessary Censorship:<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.break.com/index/unnecessary-censorship-sesame-street-edition.html">Unnecessary Censorship Sesame Street Edition</a><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg19TWxWv-RwP4cyuKeQyroPYGTXGcUGIfTTqZXrtp-bGsAlfZW5KyhyphenhyphenilNlJ42ayDdy3fCSgLgTHu0sbydShDido1wkkauU5Jblh6VEizuZh8helglfO7lof7FNsUOtEVapfaMIEHLggtC/s1600/pork+knuckle.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="352" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg19TWxWv-RwP4cyuKeQyroPYGTXGcUGIfTTqZXrtp-bGsAlfZW5KyhyphenhyphenilNlJ42ayDdy3fCSgLgTHu0sbydShDido1wkkauU5Jblh6VEizuZh8helglfO7lof7FNsUOtEVapfaMIEHLggtC/s640/pork+knuckle.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>C. Noah Pelletierhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14007077233622728069noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3580400107020592072.post-11043013325612831762010-12-02T17:38:00.009+01:002011-01-28T08:17:23.243+01:00Glen the Butcher<div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 10pt;">When I was twenty, I made a terrible mistake and wound up working as a butcher’s assistant in Marlton, New Jersey. It was my firt time abover the Mason-Dixon Line. My friend Fran arranged something with the manager. I'd get paid under the table. The manager introduced me to Glen the Butcher. From the moment he opened his mouth, I already knew I hated him.</span><br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJiFMMo-BZ4C2EChk6Z7nML9y-ZbsGF6Nc_bZaYormjXrPMh2s0foQpKwxZlM86wLTAWduO9PU_TVZWR-K6RpQFVy5tThE_tfOgF3VxtVxXS1pSWyOnBVx2jjSTRbya1AKTqb7mhJ1yfiR/s1600/butcher1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="232" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJiFMMo-BZ4C2EChk6Z7nML9y-ZbsGF6Nc_bZaYormjXrPMh2s0foQpKwxZlM86wLTAWduO9PU_TVZWR-K6RpQFVy5tThE_tfOgF3VxtVxXS1pSWyOnBVx2jjSTRbya1AKTqb7mhJ1yfiR/s400/butcher1.jpg" width="400" /></a></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"> “So, what ’cha know ‘a, Noah?” </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 10pt;">Glen the Butcher laughed. He was squat and round like a deer tick. The manager and I nodded like <i>oh yea, that’s the stuff</i>. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 10pt;">Glen the Butcher kept on. Glen the Butcher wheezed. Glen the Butcher hacked. Squishy coughs. He doubled over now, gave it all he got. He had purple veins on his head. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 10pt;">The coughing fit ended as quickly as it begun. He stood up with a lit cigarette dancing below his mustache. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;">“Come on then.” Glen the Butcher was on the move. A seductive finger of smoke lingered, pointing that ‘a way. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"> I met him at the swinging door. The walls around us were plywood, had a row of heavy white aprons with orange-pink stains hanging. “Now, all joking’s aside,” he said in a thick Jersey accent, “you never worked in a meat shop before, right?” I said I hadn’t. He stepped closer, still smoking. “Let me tell you’s something. People’s get fingers cut off ‘n hands chewed the fuck up in tha meat grinder all the time. All kinds of stupid shit happens ‘n here.” </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 10pt;">I bowed my head, considering what kind stupid shit would happen to me. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"> “That said,” he continued. “I don’t want’s no silly shit going on like those fuckhead friends a’ yours over in tha deli.” I nodded, but he wasn’t quit finished. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;">“Now, I don’t know’s why they keep giving me people that don’t know nothing, but that’s what they do. So, from now on, your name isn’t No-ah. I’m gonna call you No-Nothin because that’s exactly what you know until I <i>tell </i>you what to know. You don’t <i>do</i> nothin. You don‘t <i>know </i>nothin -- Until I tells you. Got that?” </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 10pt;">With this sparkling introduction out of the way, I slipped into one of the stiff cotton jackets. A blue insignia on the left breast read: </span><span style="font-family: "Segoe Script","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt;">Frank</span><span style="font-size: 10pt;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"> The meat room air was cool, left a metallic taste in the back of my throat. Glen the Butcher showed me the meat grinder and meat locker. The meat locker was almost empty. Meat hooks hung from chains. They looked like Spanish question marks; sounded like wind chimes. I imagined Glen hanging from one, his legs kicking like a swimming pig. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"> For my first task, I stood at the business end of a bone saw catching meat in a plastic tub. The job was menial, and required complete attention. I kept my meat coat clean. Glen worked quickly, and to my surprise, quietly. But then someone rang the assistance bell. It drowned out the blood-splattered radio in the corner. It wasn’t so much a ring as a grinding clatter. The meat room became a Pavlovian experiment. </span><br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLBczRDggSBiGKYOt33gNpkaMw9Rz5uiTRVF1BWraNjbg1aYoKbUr5N2Z0Z77zD_xjR2GkBGULeFHdcQH27f0FWM0jqi1wn1zC5c7CMLemlmtxQuA56Wdf4WtRditYex1QdOT4_p9Y4ZAd/s1600/please+ring1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="176" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLBczRDggSBiGKYOt33gNpkaMw9Rz5uiTRVF1BWraNjbg1aYoKbUr5N2Z0Z77zD_xjR2GkBGULeFHdcQH27f0FWM0jqi1wn1zC5c7CMLemlmtxQuA56Wdf4WtRditYex1QdOT4_p9Y4ZAd/s320/please+ring1.jpg" width="320" /></a></div></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;">The bell did not make Glen the Butcher salivate, however. It made him curse, curse, curse. He stabbed his carving knife into the chopping block. He turned to the window overlooking the grocery store. An attractive housewife had rung. Glen stormed over in these black rubber boots and dropkicked the door. </span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0.5in;"><br />
</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0.5in;"><i><span style="font-size: 10pt;">“Today, a Marlton butcher was arrested after bludgeoned a woman to death with a T-bone steak. Details at eleven.”</span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;">That’s what I thought I would hear. But stepping onto the sales floor transformed Glen the Butcher. He greeted the woman, listened and reciprocated. He even engaged in light banter. He brought a twin-pack of steaks back into the meat room. The smile quickly melted. He was seething again, mumbling. Bits of his psychotic rant tangled with the music on the radio:</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;">“Gold bricking…”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><i><span style="font-size: 10pt;"> DON’T STOP</span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><i><span style="font-size: 10pt;">“</span></i><span style="font-size: 10pt;">…maggot princess…”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><i><span style="font-size: 10pt;"> BELEIVING</span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><i><span style="font-size: 10pt;">“</span></i><span style="font-size: 10pt;">…spoiled little bitch”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><i><span style="font-size: 10pt;"> HOLD ON TO THAT FEELING</span></i><span style="font-size: 10pt;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 10pt;">Glen the Butcher packaged two individual steaks, and brought them to the swinging door. Glen the Charmer walked onto the sales floor, placed a single steak in the woman‘s cart, and waved good-by. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;">After Glen the Butcher’s bi-polar escapade, I slipped on a kidney and dropped a tray of ground beef. I was scooping it into the pan when Glen the Butcher caught me. I thought he would unload a case of knives, but he just told me to run it back through the grinder. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 10pt;">I spent New Year’s Eve morning labeling 50 pounds of steak. But I entered the wrong code into the labeling machine. Top round sirloin was ringing in the New Year. It cost as much as pig rectum. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 10pt;">That afternoon, the real butcher’s assistant -- the person whom I’d replaced -- showed up. He was Glen the Butcher’s son. He hadn’t come to work in four days. He looked like hell.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;">Glen the Butcher looked at him as if he’d just pushed the bell. “Where ’da hell have you been?” </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;">“I had some things to take care of,” said Butcher Jr. in a backwoods Jersey accent. “Who the hell is he?” </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><i><span style="font-size: 10pt;">I’m the guy they pay under the table to pick up your slack.</span></i><span style="font-size: 10pt;"> Surly Glen the Butcher would stick up for me. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"> “Who, this guy? He’s nobody. And neither is you. Now re-price this meat.” </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"> Although Glen the Butcher had placed me in the same category as his drug addict son, I decided nobody was a step up from No-Nothin. I slacked off a bit after Butcher Jr. showed up. By the end of my shift, Frank’s meat coat was still spotless. However, before I left, in what felt like a gruesome rite of passage, Glen smeared his bloodied hand across my chest. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;">“There ‘ya go. Get some blood on ya. Now you’s a real butcher!” </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;">I walked into the deli to see Fran, trying to pretend like I wasn’t swathed with blood. He couldn’t stop laughing. The straight-laced woman waiting for cold cuts looked apprehensive. Maybe she’d never seen a real butcher before. </span><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgs_8hjfoYQQEC15Kgqmznh2ezmdQ7OE_ms-p_hjaRI_Rp0KXXPZOUQmQsrKJFCeOBsCuZQe9oQNzotZ5VeelEFT9VnImtOSMzA-sG_mfrNag6r47IhAPThxWMSsELlELsZMxjhlvwX7PUa/s1600/hand1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="220" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgs_8hjfoYQQEC15Kgqmznh2ezmdQ7OE_ms-p_hjaRI_Rp0KXXPZOUQmQsrKJFCeOBsCuZQe9oQNzotZ5VeelEFT9VnImtOSMzA-sG_mfrNag6r47IhAPThxWMSsELlELsZMxjhlvwX7PUa/s400/hand1.jpg" width="400" /></a></div></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div>C. Noah Pelletierhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14007077233622728069noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3580400107020592072.post-45928353209618409082010-11-25T23:53:00.000+01:002010-11-25T23:53:56.297+01:00Notes on Going to See Mao ZedongIf you haven't checked out my latest story on Matador Network, <i>Notes on Going to See Mao Zedong, </i>you can read it <a href="http://matadornetwork.com/notebook/notes-from-road/notes-on-going-to-see-mao-zedongs-body/">HERE.</a> <br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><i><span style="color: #444444;">"With a half-mile of folks standing side to side and butt to loin, a woman in a plaid shirtdress filed me back with her cane. It seemed unintentional, and at the time I thought nothing of it. But the folks behind us smelled blood in the water."</span></i></span><br />
<br />
<br />
Big ups to the sultan of stoke, <a href="http://www.miller-david.com/">David Miller</a>, for his fine editing work. <br />
<br />
NoahC. Noah Pelletierhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14007077233622728069noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3580400107020592072.post-47726270161772009862010-11-24T11:15:00.008+01:002010-11-25T10:32:41.322+01:00A Preview from: My Moving Diary<div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">2 January, 2008. Raleigh, NC: “I don’t think you can fly into China on a one-way ticket,” the woman at the Delta check-in counter says. Her vest has these sad plastic wings pinned on. </div><div class="MsoNormal"> “Are you saying that I can’t get into the country, or that I need to buy a return ticket?” </div><div class="MsoNormal"> She thinks for a second. “I don’t know,” she says. “How long do you plan on staying in China?”<br />
<br />
I'm actually moving to China, but two different people told me not to say that. This is what I say instead:</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><br />
“I’m just going to roam around the country for a while.” </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">“Um, OK, you can figure this out when you get to JFK. Have a good flight.” </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">JFK Airport: I check into Air China, get my boarding pass, and keep my mouth shut. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3UdC9ard4P8A2qQRa4Ko51TORQK4bowRUoDG9yqClOEHz0PpUs243DRUZbG1xjdwxYLZFQpFA9MGIi8TmjOAg_A800_d95wKneMNqdPGH7m5qYH8LrnS3vvJfq8qB_DFbl_5IslG0TD_r/s1600/airplane.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="371" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3UdC9ard4P8A2qQRa4Ko51TORQK4bowRUoDG9yqClOEHz0PpUs243DRUZbG1xjdwxYLZFQpFA9MGIi8TmjOAg_A800_d95wKneMNqdPGH7m5qYH8LrnS3vvJfq8qB_DFbl_5IslG0TD_r/s640/airplane.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Air China: I’m the only White person boarding the plane. Oops – there’s one more. The plane is a double-decker. I’m downstairs. Everyone around me is speaking Mandarin or shouting Mandarin. I have a window seat. I sit down and watch people in the aisle shove each other from behind. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">There's an impulsive air onboard. As we taxi down the runway, a man stands up to rummage through the overhead compartment. The stewardess storms over and berates him. I mean she lets him have it. She points to his seat, and yells at him like a dog. The man looks away like a dog, too. </div><div class="MsoNormal"> “No! Bad!” I imagine her saying. “You know what you’ve done. Now sit!” </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I half expect her to bust out a choke collar.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">The man behind me has his knees in the seat, talking to the man behind him. They’re using ‘outside voices,’ even though they’re close enough to play patty cake. The captain comes over the speakers and speaks Chinese. I look out the window to make sure we’re still in America. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I eat a Xanax. We are prepared for takeoff. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Somewhere over the Arctic Circle: I wake up feeling naked. The overhead lights are off. My wedding ring is gone. I use my iPod as a light and search the floor. A knot tightens in the pit of my stomach. <br />
<br />
I search my immediate area before hitting the flight attendant <span style="font-size: 10pt;">CALL</span> button. I still have a pretty good buzz on; otherwise, I don’t know if I would have done that.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">The girl comes over. “I lost my wedding ring,” I say. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">She shakes her head. She doesn’t speak English. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">At this point, I don’t know why this surprises me. I point to my finger, tapping the spot where my ring used to be. No luck. I point to the ring of the man beside me. He’s asleep. Everyone’s asleep. She’s trying real hard to understand what I’m saying. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">In a last ditch effort, I point to my ring finger again and say “Poof!” </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><i>Poof</i> is a magical word to this flight attendant. It gives her clarity. And not only that, it gives her the power to disturb sleeping passengers without remorse. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">The woman in the aisle seat gets it first. The flight attendant prods her on the shoulder. She comes to with a jolt. I’m standing. The flight attendant’s standing. We’re both looking at her. Before she can figure out what’s happening, the flight attendant launches an interrogation on missing jewelry. The woman looks around like a chameleon, muttering the Chinese equivalent of “No, no, no.” </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">I feel awkward about unleashing this flight attendant, but it’s out of my hands. <br />
<br />
She’s jostling the passengers in the row behind me now. Their reading lights are turned on for them. Their faces recoil. They’re ordered to search the floor. The man in the window seat is still asleep. When he comes to, he is very confused. The passengers beside him have their heads between their knees. This, coincidentally, looks like the crash landing position. The man looks to the flight attendant, but she offers no relief. She is using her outside voice in a dark plane somewhere over the Arctic Circle. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">By this point I am freaking out. <i>What will I do</i>, I think, <i>wait until the plane lands?</i> <br />
<br />
The nervous man doubles over now. There is a commotion. He comes up, pinching my ring between his fingers.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaSf7RLSnmpzfRIUQFDTVgdmy3StOtp39aAcdwx3H_emDC3YzCvV1z4e624rC-EyfbzJSqP_Tx94tq9trspfKtkE2sA9-YiO4bP5WbToAxhKhy7AS0QoFk7iQcigaVp7rXPgHVTucaCSFv/s1600/chinese+man.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="232" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaSf7RLSnmpzfRIUQFDTVgdmy3StOtp39aAcdwx3H_emDC3YzCvV1z4e624rC-EyfbzJSqP_Tx94tq9trspfKtkE2sA9-YiO4bP5WbToAxhKhy7AS0QoFk7iQcigaVp7rXPgHVTucaCSFv/s400/chinese+man.jpg" width="400" /></a></div></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div>C. Noah Pelletierhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14007077233622728069noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3580400107020592072.post-25191627890843591292010-11-17T14:36:00.002+01:002010-11-24T08:23:54.149+01:00Getting Even<div class="MsoNormal">So here I am, again, standing across from the mailman. Actually, it’s a mail<i>woman</i>. The woman’s in her fifties, fair skinned with a curly, round head of hair. She’s not looking at me, but I’m looking at her and thinking <i>This is a broad who’s played life by the rules. </i> I’d never say that of course. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg39qQh3wSsCYo9TuyUf0CIB6KzgdR_S70uYS10DH-Gqb2M7wkimorQmEitEPybNBPknQ4GHTD-zjpTsatKAmtHi4BNYIdwXSr-Kd3fY-vuNXcx4o_UdgC7ir38atRbrAsQDdFQSY3RpaGa/s1600/postwoman.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="232" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg39qQh3wSsCYo9TuyUf0CIB6KzgdR_S70uYS10DH-Gqb2M7wkimorQmEitEPybNBPknQ4GHTD-zjpTsatKAmtHi4BNYIdwXSr-Kd3fY-vuNXcx4o_UdgC7ir38atRbrAsQDdFQSY3RpaGa/s400/postwoman.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
Maybe it’s just the uniform rubbing off on me. It’s one of those sky blue, Government Issue two-pocket oxfords. What a mouthful, and for what? The thing’s practically wearing her, and yet, I can’t stop staring. There are four plastic pens in the left pocket; three blacks, one blue. The blacks are crammed into a corner, but the blue one, the misfit, is hovering over Nipple Territory. <br />
<br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">The mailwoman lets out a sigh. It’s for me. Her colleagues look over, but they know the score. Beads of sweat are rolling down my back. After seven minutes, she’s still counting the three-pound-bag of change I tendered as payment. There was some regular change on top, a few 10 and 20 cent pieces, but now it’s down to the nitty-gritty: The 1 cent pieces. Back home we call them pennies. The European ones are even smaller. You can’t spend them as fast as they come in unless you’ve got a motive.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I found a motive two hours earlier. I rode my bike over to pick up the package my mother sent from the States. She sent it two weeks before my birthday, and now, a month later, I get a memo in the mailbox. It’s in German. I don’t know what it says, but something about the layout seems to communicate: It’s your lucky day. I left my apartment and cut through the park, taking the cemetery trail to the 704 line. The Deutsch Post is further up on the right. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">There were only two people in line. When I reached the counter, I handed over the memo and the woman went back and found my package. I asked her if she spoke English in German. She said “yes,” in a way that reminded me of rainbows. “Great!” I said. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">She asked for my ID. I told her sorry, I didn’t bring it, and recited my mother’s address instead. She looks carefully at the package, which she hadn’t handed over yet. She raised an eyebrow. It was good enough for her. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">She scanned the package and gave me another test. I wouldn’t be able to charm my way out of this one. To take home my package, my birthday present, I would have to pay 33 Euros and 56 cents. The package, it seemed, contained items the German government wished to profit from. It was a business tactic based upon the popular model of consumerism: I desired the package more than the money. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">This tactic was also, coincidentally, based upon the model of ransom. Ransom is the practice of holding a prisoner or item to extort money to secure their release. Most cases of ransom involve kidnapped people, but not always. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">I am reminded of an incident where thieves broke into the tomb of Argentine president Juan Perón. They weren’t looking for gold or jewels. They wanted the president’s hands. This was no arbitrary detail, however. Perón's hands were viewed as a symbol of national power. The thieves sawed them off. Newspapers worldwide ran stories on the Hands of Perón, as the incident became known. As the story unfolded, it was also made public that the thieves removed another type of symbol: The president’s genitals. They requested $8 million to return the hands. It wasn’t made clear whether or not the genitals were included in this deal. It didn’t matter. The government refused to pay the ransom, and the items were never recovered. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">My situation was a matter of ransom disguised as customs charges. Be that as it may, I wasn’t going to react as the Argentine Republic had. I was willing to pay the Post’s ransom. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">But I was not able. I had 20 Euros on me. When I told the mailwoman this, she understood. I had never incurred customs charges on a package before. I made it quite clear that this charge was unexpected. She whisked my present back into the bowels of the Deutsch Post. I walked out to my bike empty handed, ruing my ill preparedness. While peddling home, however, those feelings of self-pity turned to anger. I would, amongst other things, plot revenge on the post office. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">The only question now was "how?" </div>C. Noah Pelletierhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14007077233622728069noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3580400107020592072.post-41101217485075292572010-11-08T12:42:00.001+01:002010-11-08T12:43:31.832+01:00We're Chugging Right AlongI've published another story on the Matador Network called <a href="http://www.blogger.com/goog_1063611894"><i>Hitting the Skids on Emerald Isle. </i></a><br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">"A lot clearing business, a man named Brian, and life in a trailer — </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">C Noah Pelletier describes growing up in a family of Beach People."</span></div><br />
Nick Rowlands, editor of Matador Life, did a great job working behind the scenes with this story.<br />
<br />
If you haven't checked it out yet, you can read it <a href="http://matadornetwork.com/life/hitting-the-skids-on-emerald-isle/">here</a>.<br />
<br />
And please leave a comment!!C. Noah Pelletierhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14007077233622728069noreply@blogger.com0