Stained Glass Mafia

A few weeks back I decided to take a beginner’s stained glass course at a local art studio.

Let’s just say the experience has been one to remember.

On our first day, me and a few other girls were crowded around one of the two big tables in the studio listening to our 70-year old instructor set down the ground rules.

Our first little lesson: Your hands are going to get cut at least once during the next 6 weeks.

Our second little lesson: You can bring “Red Juice” to the studio during your class. Oh, red juice is what we call wine here, he says with a little wink.

Interesting concept. Cutting class and drinking alcohol. Not sure if I’m board with that one yet.

As the instructor was going over the basics with us, this huge fat woman at the next table over was talking so loud it was like she was shouting. Then she’d throw in a couple loud guffaws for good measure every once in awhile. Me and another girl were like WTF? We can’t even hear our instructor over this loudmouth.

Well, I did some checking around and it turns out this woman comes to every class they have. She pays and comes even if she’s taken the class before. Apparently, it’s her big night out for the week or something.

Since she pays, the owners not only put up with her but give her special treatment and pretty much let her do whatever she wants.

But wait.

It gets better because the word around the kiln is that you don’t cross this woman or else you may come in next time and your glass will be all smashed up!

Apparently this happened awhile back to some poor girl who questioned this stained glass Nazi.

What did I walk into here? Who knew an art studio was going to be so political?

I say political because there are 2 types of glass class that happen there: stained glass and glass fusion (which is where all the “cool regulars” including the stained glass Nazi were).

Us newbies were the stained glass lepers at the other table.

And when I say lepers, I’m not joking. Not one of those women deigned to look over at us or acknowledge us in any way.

In fact, once I was waiting in line for the glass grinding machine and one of them cut in front of me. I said excuse me and she just looked at me and was like, “my stuff was already in here”.

What was I supposed to do? You can’t punk someone out or throw down at an art studio. That would be too sad.

Feeling like a tattletale, I mentioned it to our instructor but he was pretty much like that’s the way it goes.

Maybe being the stained glass instructor, he’s low man on the totem pole too.

I guess that’s why he was hoping each week that one of us brought the red juice to share.

Blogger Etiquette

After having spent the better part of a week dealing with a computer virus and not having access to the Internet all weekend, I got to thinking about blogger etiquette.

This came up because I saw I had a new follower who invited me to follow her blog. She had some sort of restricted access on it and I couldn't read it, so needless to say, I couldn't follow it.

Within a few days I noticed she had stopped following my blog.

What is that? Retaliation for not following her blog? lol. I'm still not sure, but if anyone out there has any ideas, shoot them this way.

Personally, I feel bad when I stop following someone's blog. Almost like I'm being somehow rude to someone who I've likely never met and likely never will. What gives with that?

This is why I'm now following like a million blogs (even if the person stopped writing months ago). I really need to spring clean my following list.

One thing I've been lucky to have been spared so far are any nasty comments. (Watch, now I just jinxed myself).

I've seen some pretty snarky hit and run comments on people's blogs and think this is pretty stupid.

There is a little thing called Freedom of Speech, so if you don't like someone's blog Stop Reading It.

Anyone have any thoughts on blogging etiquette?

KIA

Just for those people who have forgotten the human cost of this war. This is a Facebook Update from my 18-year old stepson about the guys from his unit who have recently been killed in Afghanistan.

"Anderson got hit by an ied (broke his femar and had a bad concusion) Swingle also got hit by an ied broke his femar and hurt his back, the BC got back injuries from the same ied as swingle, doc mitchel got shot in the thigh, peak A. and Ward from Catt both were killed in a ied."

Champagne, Fireworks and Dancing Germans

Picture it: New Year's Eve 2009. The Mittlere Bruck Bridge, Basel, Switzerland. It was a mild Swiss night as we set out for the Mittlere Bruck, the first bridge to cross the Rhine River. My friend Laura had grabbed a bottle of champagne and two glasses before we left.

This is a little of how the conversation went:

Me: But we won't be allowed to drink alcohol on the streets! Especially not with real glass! Don't you have a paper bag and we can do it NYC bum style?

Laura: What are you talking about? Of course we can drink on the street. This is Europe, not the U.S. Besides, the town council is giving out free hot wine to everyone!

Me: To everyone? What about kids?

Laura: Sure? Why not?

Laura: There will be fireworks too, but I didn't get a chance to buy any.

Me: Now what are you talking about? They won't let us set off fireworks on the bridge. Only the city can do that.

Laura: The city is doing fireworks, but we're allowed to do our own too.

Me: And there's no people fighting or vomiting or planning a date rape due to all this free alcohol and craziness?

Laura: Ah, you Americans.

So we get down there and it's as great as she promised. There were people of all ages and there weren't any problems. A few people should have watched where they were pointing their bottle rockets but overall, it was no big deal.

We met some random Germans and ended up dancing with them during the countdown. And by dancing, I mean forming a big circle and jumping up and down. Not the most traditional Bavarian dance I think.

I was all for it until someone started blasting "Take Me Home, Country Roads" by John Denver and the Germans went crazy trying to sing the loudest. It was a bit surreal.

Although this was the 2nd time I had heard this song during my time in Europe--the other was a busker on the street.

Here is the chorus in case you need reminding how weird it is to hear this song anymore period, let alone in Western Europe.

"Country Roads, Take Me Home
To the Place I Belong
West Virginia, Mountain Momma
Take Me Home, Country Roads"

I'm not sure if they really understood what they were singing or not. And I'm not sure what way would be better.

Cute Spanish expressions

In an effort to remember Spanish expressions or idioms, I'm going to post my favorites here.

The first two that come to mind are:

• Camarón que se duerme, se lo lleva la corriente"--which literally means, "

• The shrimp who falls asleep, gets carried away by the current"

• or in English, "You snooze, you lose."

The second, which I think might be more of a Spain Spanish idiom is,

• "Te conozco tu bacalao aunque vengas disfrazado" which translates to:

• I know you bacalao (codfish), even though you are disguised" or in English

• "I know what your little game is/I know your type"

Hiking San Diego's Highest Mountain

In honor (or in spite of) Valentine's Day, I decided to tackle the Matterhorn of San Diego. Duhn duhn duhn....Cowles Mountain. At just over 1.5 miles, it's our own little version of Mount Everest.

So gathering up Lil' M (plus a plastic dog bowl and doodie bags for her), bottled water and plenty of sunscreen, my little sister and I headed out to East County.

On-street parking was pretty easy, considering how crowded it was. There were people carrying babies vying for trail space with serious fitness nuts who were trying to jog up the path. There were the couples out for a Sunday stroll squeezing past the octogenarians with their walking sticks. And there was every shape, variety and mix of dogs bounding around and tangling the leash up between their owner's legs.

Ok, so this isn't the most flattering shot but considering we were hot and sticky and had to hold the camera ourselves, I don't think it turned out too bad.

Since San Diego is basically in a desert, the mountains here are very dry and look like God or someone up above got mad one day and rained rocks down on the landscape. (I've been way out in the desert, near the AZ border and it looks like Mars--the only thing you can see for miles are rocks).

The climb up is pretty steep and you will get winded (although there is a taco shop at the bottom of the mountain for that post-workout snack--although word to the wise on something I learned the hard way, the Spanish word for lard is manteca and in a lot of the mom and pop taco stands around here, they love them some manteca).

Supposedly, on a clear day you can see all the way to TJ (Tijuana), although truth be told, I'm not sure why you would want to see TJ, on a clear day or not.

We only made it about a third of the way up because little sis needed a potty break and trying to be a good role model, I didn't want to suggest that she squat behind a rock (even though I had napkins in my backpack, lol).

The climb kind of reminded me of Dunn's River Falls in Jamaica., except this was a lot hotter and drier. But you still had to climb up a mountain of rocks to reach the top (although this time tour guides didn't make you hold hands with the creepy tourists behind and in front of you--the idea being that they could steady you if you fell. But the reality being if one person fell, they would take down the whole line of tourists like a stack of dominos).

See picture to the left.

Sometimes Southern California People Just Don't Get It

Having lived here for the past 3 years, I sometimes wonder if it's all the sunshine that's addled SoCal people's brains. Often they just seem so oblivious to the rest of world including history, culture and geography (I've met people here who can't point out all the 50 states, let alone name 1/4 of them. And this is someone who has graduated college).

A lot of people have never lived anywhere else and it really shows.

I've had people here act as if they are experts on race relations, despite the fact that in the whole city of San Diego there are like 2 black families. There are tons of Mexicans but the vast majority of white people don't have any Mexican friends and vice versa.

Having lived in Detroit, Philly, Virginia and Atlanta, which all have a sizeable black community, I think it's hilarious when people here talk about black and white race relations. Too funny.

Especially because they think they actually know what they are talking about.

However, the kicker today was when I was driving behind a BMW with a Che Guavera bumper sticker on it.

C'mon. Really?

You're driving one of the most expensive cars out there in one of the most expensive cities in the United States and you put a picture of a South American Marxist on your bumper.

Idiot.