This post is based on a mutual Googling experience my friend The Yant and I had last week.
Someone she knew (nu?) had an email with the domain extension .nu. This was new (nu?) to both of us.
"What the heck is .nu?" I mused, both of us laughing uncontrollably––in the middle of the day, on the telephone. "I've never heard of this." So both of us, she in New York and I in Greenville, begin the Google process.
I hit paydirt straightaway.
"Oh, look, it says it's some country called Nuie that has sold all these new (nu?) .nu (nu!) domains." So, nu? Oy!
Further investigation led us to several websites telling us about this new (nu?) country, around only since 1974 and seemingly a province of New Zealand.
It looks really beautiful. Their main export is coconut cream along with lime oil. The entire island closes down on Sunday because the natives are devout.
Then I read the meaning of the name. "Nuie means, 'Look! There's a coconut!'"
More uproarious laughter ensued.
We apologize to the residents of the tiny island of Nuie for our laughter at their expense. We hope you will find it in your hearts to forgive us.
I really must say I appreciate coconut cream and lime oil in all of its manifestations. And if I am ever in Nuie, and also The Yant will be there with me, we will probably be able to find lots of coconuts for you, if you just invoke the solemn word, "Nuie!" or its English equivalent, "Look! There's a coconut."
Well, you learn something new (nu?) everyday.
Friday, December 15, 2006
Sunday, December 03, 2006
I Sing The Party Electric
The Christmas Holiday Party season has officially begun.
The earliest one is always a delightful affair. I have good friends that also attend and this time Bill came with me. We had some good nog with lots of Jack in it and some good discussion. I didn't partake of any food since I figured the eggnog made up for any caloric deficiencies.
Kind of a warm night, so after all the nog, figured I would go out on the back deck. The hostess' mom was out there, a very sweet woman whose (20' x 20') bedroom I fauxed about 6 years ago. She remembers me as "the girl who does..." and then there is a JAZZ HANDS! sweeping gesture. The technique I'd used involved large sheets of plastic placed atop freshly glazed wall parts, and through what is called "smooshing," random patterns are left. I had biceps the size of sides of beef after I'd finished that job. She still likes it, though.
To get to the hostess' mom, though, there was a bit of a blockade.
Is it that I am hyper-aware, or is it just that people are asleep or just pretending to be so?
I opened the door to the back porch. A tiny bit. About a foot and a half in front of me was this bobbed blonde woman. She was standing with a very tight little circular group. Someone in the group was relating a story. The door was open at her back and she just stood there and smiled at the person telling the story. I opened the door a bit more, still not touching her back.
She didn't budge.
A little more. On the edge of touching her back.
Nope.
"Excuse me?" I ventured.
Nothing.
I pushed the door just enough and spoke more loudly. "Excuse me!" and she finally turned around and gave me a look that would have wilted Patton.
"Sorry!" I said. All that time with the Canadians had taught me how to be very properly British. No effect on this woman, who hated me for interrupting her personal space. She merely moved enough to let my friend and I through, as if she too were a door, and swung immediately back into place.
Is it just me? Am I so wrong? or is it just that one cannot break the confines of a circle without some consequence?
A circle is strong. Wedding rings are round. The table at the Algonquin is round. At that moment I wished I were Dotty Parker, and if I were able to be endlessly (like a circle) quick and witty on my feet, I could have said, "Thank you dear, so glad you could accomodate my intrusion." But she would not have got it.
So it's the vicious circle, impenetrable, and what makes that spot so hallowed that you cannot even tear yourself away to recognize that there might be some other bit of life right outside it? Or has it been recognized, but then ignored, so that one's inclusion in the round might never be disturbed?
Either way, it's body language gone awry. Complete and utter lack of awareness, or just basic reactionary hostility? I'm cool where ever I am, and where ever I am is the coolest place in the world, or, this is my space, Bucko, get the hell out of it.
Once I was leaving, going 'round the other side of this circle toward the door, a high heel kicked me right in my knee. "OW!" I screamed. Some tartaned tart had whanged me during her demonstrative full body laughter. Not only did she not realize she kicked me, she didn't realized I'd been hurt when I screamed. Bill was out there by this time, asked what was wrong, told him, no one in this circle had any idea of anything outside their little world. "Ow," I repeated gamely, once the stinging really set in. Nope. Not going to get any sympathy from this group.
So I am voting for the unawareness factor. People asleep in their personal spaces, allowing no one to penetrate their circular slumber, and completely oblivious to the consequences of their dreamlike state.
Walt Whitman was all about a state of awareness and enjoyment of one's surroundings. If you can't sing the body electric, then I guess you're relegated to the party electric, harnessed by group dynamics and a false sense of aggrandisement. Personally, I would like to proceed through life with JAZZ HANDS! and inclusivity.
But that's just me.
The earliest one is always a delightful affair. I have good friends that also attend and this time Bill came with me. We had some good nog with lots of Jack in it and some good discussion. I didn't partake of any food since I figured the eggnog made up for any caloric deficiencies.
Kind of a warm night, so after all the nog, figured I would go out on the back deck. The hostess' mom was out there, a very sweet woman whose (20' x 20') bedroom I fauxed about 6 years ago. She remembers me as "the girl who does..." and then there is a JAZZ HANDS! sweeping gesture. The technique I'd used involved large sheets of plastic placed atop freshly glazed wall parts, and through what is called "smooshing," random patterns are left. I had biceps the size of sides of beef after I'd finished that job. She still likes it, though.
To get to the hostess' mom, though, there was a bit of a blockade.
Is it that I am hyper-aware, or is it just that people are asleep or just pretending to be so?
I opened the door to the back porch. A tiny bit. About a foot and a half in front of me was this bobbed blonde woman. She was standing with a very tight little circular group. Someone in the group was relating a story. The door was open at her back and she just stood there and smiled at the person telling the story. I opened the door a bit more, still not touching her back.
She didn't budge.
A little more. On the edge of touching her back.
Nope.
"Excuse me?" I ventured.
Nothing.
I pushed the door just enough and spoke more loudly. "Excuse me!" and she finally turned around and gave me a look that would have wilted Patton.
"Sorry!" I said. All that time with the Canadians had taught me how to be very properly British. No effect on this woman, who hated me for interrupting her personal space. She merely moved enough to let my friend and I through, as if she too were a door, and swung immediately back into place.
Is it just me? Am I so wrong? or is it just that one cannot break the confines of a circle without some consequence?
A circle is strong. Wedding rings are round. The table at the Algonquin is round. At that moment I wished I were Dotty Parker, and if I were able to be endlessly (like a circle) quick and witty on my feet, I could have said, "Thank you dear, so glad you could accomodate my intrusion." But she would not have got it.
So it's the vicious circle, impenetrable, and what makes that spot so hallowed that you cannot even tear yourself away to recognize that there might be some other bit of life right outside it? Or has it been recognized, but then ignored, so that one's inclusion in the round might never be disturbed?
Either way, it's body language gone awry. Complete and utter lack of awareness, or just basic reactionary hostility? I'm cool where ever I am, and where ever I am is the coolest place in the world, or, this is my space, Bucko, get the hell out of it.
Once I was leaving, going 'round the other side of this circle toward the door, a high heel kicked me right in my knee. "OW!" I screamed. Some tartaned tart had whanged me during her demonstrative full body laughter. Not only did she not realize she kicked me, she didn't realized I'd been hurt when I screamed. Bill was out there by this time, asked what was wrong, told him, no one in this circle had any idea of anything outside their little world. "Ow," I repeated gamely, once the stinging really set in. Nope. Not going to get any sympathy from this group.
So I am voting for the unawareness factor. People asleep in their personal spaces, allowing no one to penetrate their circular slumber, and completely oblivious to the consequences of their dreamlike state.
Walt Whitman was all about a state of awareness and enjoyment of one's surroundings. If you can't sing the body electric, then I guess you're relegated to the party electric, harnessed by group dynamics and a false sense of aggrandisement. Personally, I would like to proceed through life with JAZZ HANDS! and inclusivity.
But that's just me.
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