Oodles of Woodles

It was the Woodles that did me in.

English is widely spoken in Sarajevo. However, most native English speakers in the area are involved in diplomacy, aid organizations, or the consumption of cheap Heinekens and meat pies. This leaves the locals to translate restaurant menus into English, with occasionally hilarious results.

At our local café, Cappuccino’s, the menu can make me giggle for hours. Local dishes are listed under a section called “Offer of National Cooking.” Entrée translations are often a little odd, but the all-time winner had to be Woodles with Tunny. I assume it’s Noodles with Tuna, but I wasn’t daring enough to find out. All I do know is that I collapsed into hysterics right there at the table, to the bemusement of the locals and the perplexed concern of my husband. I think that moment was when I finally realized that I am very, very far from home.

Culture shock is a lot like a whirlwind romance. For the first few weeks, you’re madly in love with your new home. It’s handsome, fascinating, and every quirk is adorable. They really do drive Yugo hatchbacks here! After a couple of weeks, every quirk becomes maddening. Maybe your new city pees with the door open, or answers his cell phone in upscale restaurants. (In case any of you wondered, Bogotá never could learn to chew with his mouth closed.) Sarajevo has choppy sidewalks, and I’ve never been so sick of watching teenagers devour one another’s tonsils on park benches.

Culture shock is a process, and it’s a tricky one. Matt seems to be doing much better adjusting than I am, but he’s always done better with change. I lived in the same apartment for years on end, not necessarily because I liked it, but because it was home.

That apartment has been out of my hands for almost two years. Instead I have a new home where everything is unfamiliar. The appliances are European and scaled more for Oompa-Loompas than actual human beings. You can fit four cups, two plates, and a colander in the dishwasher. The washer and dryer don’t have normal settings; instead everything is done by pictures. However, Gorenje needs to hire some new artists. As far as I can tell, my washer settings are Leaf, T-Shirt, T-Shirt with Squiggles, Capricorn, Celsius Cauliflower, and Circle E. The dryer settings include Sunshine, Half Sunshine, One Teardrop, Two Teardrops, and Three Teardrops. So far, we’ve had the most luck with the Leaf and Half-Sunshine settings.

Like everything else in Sarajevo, the appliances were adorable until yesterday. Now I want giant American energy sucking, environment-destroying mega-gadgets, and I’m done with this hippie European crap. I want big cars, smooth sidewalks and the Gap.

But as I know from my time in Bogotá, this time soon comes to an end. Next time you hear about me, I’ll be thrilled with cheap organic vegetables, the endless generosity of the Bosnians, and the shrapnel holes in the balcony. Real change doesn’t come cheap, and neither does happiness.

You Can Go Home Again…But It’ll Cost You a $4 Convenience Fee

So my 10-year high school reunion is in two weeks. For those of you doing the math, I graduated in 1994 and am just now getting to my 10-year reunion. And, yes, that’s really slack. What makes it even worse is that we’re having a co-reunion with the class of ’93, who are even slacker than we are.

However, what’s eating at me is the $100 ticket price. According to Great Reunions, Inc, official nostalgia management firm, that’s $96 per ticket plus a $4 “convenience fee” for using a credit card to buy my ticket from their website. Why is there a fee for using a credit card, when that’s how absolutely everyone purchases things on the Internet? And why am I being charged for convenience? Isn’t that by nature inconvenient?

According to the nostalgia management trust, the other $96 pays for a name tag with my high school yearbook photo, because I desperately want to relive my hot roller and dark lipstick days. It also pays for a “bio book”, or a collection of the biographies of people who actually had the time to submit all of their information plus photo more than a month in advance. In other words, a bio book full of the unemployed and/or deeply bored. Extra copies for kindling will set me back $21 apiece.

As for the event itself, my 96 bucks will purchase “food stations” (can I change the channel?), a sit-down meal, an elegant evening of music and dancing at the Hilton Arlington, and a non-hosted bar. For those of you that were never in the hospitality business, “non-hosted bar” means I’ll have to pony up $5 for every Heineken I swill.

So why am I attending? I want to see who got fat, that’s why. Plus Chrissy and I are going together, and we’ll sneak in a flask of bourbon. I’ve been looking forward to it. Plus, something about going to a reunion makes me very curious. Who’s still a pain in the ass? Who’s still really shy? And, better yet, who’s changed? Who’s funnier, smarter, cuter, happier, better than they were in high school?

I just wish the party was something we could all afford. A hundred bucks is a day’s wages for many people, and compared to rent or daycare, it’s a frivolous expense. We’ve created a reunion for the rich. (For the record, last year I did email the reunion committee to offer my help, and wasn’t asked to pitch in on a single thing. So I’m not just sitting around whining.)

Lastly, I wish we could all work together to stop the Eventification of America. Why does a high school reunion have to be held as a sit-down dinner in a hotel ballroom? Couldn’t we have just have had a potluck or a picnic, so that everyone could attend? Why do eighth-graders have proms and graduations? Finishing middle school isn’t the end of an academic career, it’s much closer to the beginning. Why do I see $400 prom dresses everywhere I go? Why is the average wedding cost creeping closer and closer to $30,000? All anyone wants to do is have a drink and wish the couple well. In my wedding attending and hosting career, I haven’t heard a single guest say, “Boy, they should have had lobster and Dom Perignon.” All I ever hear is that the service was lovely and the couple looks so happy. Why are funeral costs so extravagant? Do the dead really need luxury coffins with satin lining? Why does every event in our lives have to be an Event? Do we need a ticker tape parade for every rite of passage?

I don’t know. I think maybe as we get older, our lives get more complicated. And as our lives get complicated, we want every event to be an achievement. We’re like precocious cocker spaniels, wanting all of our finer moments recognized and rewarded. And if it’s an achievement, then it has to be extra special, with food stations and hotel ballrooms. And that desire to be the belle of the ball has crept further and further back, from death to marriage, back to high school, and further back to eighth grade. Let’s get back to just living our lives. I’m sick of jumping from one milestone to the next. There’s a lot of great stuff in between, and I don’t want to miss it.

Name Britney’s Baby

The results are in!

Robert Anderson:
1. Christina Aguilera/Christian (depending on girl or boy)...that way Kevin can ask 'Who's your daddy?' to two of the biggest trash queens of pop music.
2. Chuck N. Spears
3. Pear (like Gwyneth's Apple)

Worth Anderson:
The child will be named Pickles Spears, for evident reasons.

Jerome Hohman
Great contest. I think I'm sticking with the Kabala/Gwyneth Paltrow-themed name. How 'bout Gilda Pear Federline Spears. (Shannon’s note: Two votes for “Pear”…interesting. Prophetic?)

Josh Miller:
If a boy: "Justin," just so poor Kevin can be constantly reminded of his second choice status...

If a girl: "Kori"; that is the name of Kevin's daughter, and that way _both_ she and he will be constantly reminded of their second choice status...

Chrissy Uertz
Atraeyou (named after the child warrior off the film Neverending Story). Not sure if it's spelled that way, but you know how people change the spellings of names to look cool anyways.

Dave Walker:
Navel (oddly Buddhist and reflective of pre-pregnancy attire).

Mike West:
Tyffhanni. Spelled exactly that way, although they may put an E on the end (Tyffhannie). But then, they won't want the Spears name out of the family, so Tyffhanni(e) Spears Federline. Why? Well, duh. Tiffany is THE quintessential bimbo name (even more than Tami), but this is the Britneys so they'll have to trash it up a notch or three. Really, this is a gimme.

Boy's name: Jock. Rationale: Britney will want to name her son after Madonna's son, Rocco, but it will sound too gay for Kevin, who wants something very manly like "Steele." Jock will be the compromise.

And the winner is….

I have to say “Pickles Spears Federline”, submitted by Worth Anderson. Pickles! Awesome. Plus, pickles are crunchy and fun but have no substance whatsoever, much like Britney herself. Worth, your prize is a Dial-a-Blog. That’s right, you can submit a topic and I will write an essay about it. Please let me know your topic by the end of the week.

Until next time,

Shannon

Name Britney's Baby

Dig yourself a bomb shelter, the Apocalypse is upon us. Trash queen Britney Spears (who knew that the naughty schoolgirl outfit from her first album would be her classiest moment ever?) is preggers. The father, I can only assume, is arm-candy husband Kevin Federline. Though if he's arm candy, he's one of those candies that even kids refuse to eat, like Mary Janes, black licorice or Payday bars. I mean, Britney's gotten a little odd-looking herself, but Kevin looks like he should be a middle school janitor.

But let's talk about that poor, poor child. Aside from being awarded with a primordial soup of mullet and half-shirt DNA, what else can possibly go wrong? A name, that's what! Considering the recent trend of stupid celebrity names, the Britbaby is sure to be saddled with something horrendous. Kevney? Britelin?

To that end, I'm having a Name Britney's Baby contest. Please send your suggestions and rationale to slstamey@hotmail.com by Friday at 4 pm. I'll post all the entries next week, and the winner gets bragging rights (I'd give out prizes, but this is a no-budget production).

While we're talking about Britney, I'm actually a little disappointed that I'll be in Sarajevo when her reality series airs. You know, the one that Kevin Federline called a "documentation of our love", which sort of sounds like a tech manual to me. With all the home movies and narration, this is sure to be a thrill. Now, I like home movies as much as the next person (that is, not at all), but isn't this odd? And how is it a reality show if she's picking and choosing what airs?

Britney, pose for Playboy already. You know you want to. The rest of you, send me your best baby names.

Stop the Madness!

I died just a little bit inside when I saw that Julia Roberts had named her twin babies Hazel and Phinnaeus. Poor little Hazel is going to spend her entire childhood explaining that she is not, in fact, a 72-year-old chain smoker, while little Phinnaeus is going to be in high school before he can spell his name correctly on the first try.

But whom should we really feel sorry for? The teachers of America, because in just a few years our kindergartens and day care centers will be full of little Phinnys and Hazels, to add to the current crop of Mackenzies, Madisons, Masons, Barretts, Merrilyns, Aislynns and Jadens. Names have gotten really, really stupid, and this is from someone whose sister is named Skye. Oh, and my dad originally was going to spell my name with umlauts and a couple random consonants, until common sense (aka my mom) intervened. So I know whereof I speak.

To all you expectant parents of the world, I want you to do the following things for me when you’re thinking about baby names. If the name fails any of these tests, for the love of all that is good and holy, pick something else.

The Ten-Step Test of Baby Name Sanity:

1. Can you both spell and pronounce the name correctly on the first try?

2. Can you say, out loud, “Introducing the next President of the United States...(full name)” with a straight face?

3. Does this name remind you of anyone from Lord of the Rings? Or a mythical creature from a Dungeons & Dragons guidebook? If so, pick something else.

4. Would this name be suitable as a stage name for a porn star or exotic dancer? If so, skip it.

5. Did you pick this name out with the idea that your child would spend the his/her entire life as an infant? Names have to fit the adult, as well.

6. Are you picking out a weird name just for the sake of being weird? Some names, like Kaicie, seem like a continuation of those kids in high school who thought they were “noncomformists”, but dressed exactly like all of the rest of their supposedly weird friends. Besides, names move in cycles, and despite your better efforts Kaicie may well be Jennifer: the Next Generation. Don’t get wrapped up in picking something “unique.”

7. Does this name sound like the rich-kid villain of a teen exploitation film? I could totally see a Barrett shoving a nerd into a locker, then zooming off in an Iroc-Z to a kegger at the lake.

8. If you are choosing an “ethnic” name that is not of your own ethnicity, please do your research. Don’t inadvertently name your kid the Cherokee word for “pigeon poop.”

9. Person or disease? If it sounds more like an obscure tropical illness than an actual name, pick something else. Try saying aloud, “I’ve come down with a case of ….(name)”.

10. Finally, do your friends and relatives cringe when you mention your name idea? They may be afraid to tell you that you’re naming your child something stupid.

Conspiracy Theory!!

Have you ever wondered to yourself, "How did this crappy TV show/movie/torture device EVER get made?" There’s a reason for everything!

1. From Justin to Kelly: An American Idol Movie
Wow, this movie was bad. If you could call it a movie, or if you could call it "bad" – I’d call it atrocious. Take your pick: Beach ball choreography? Surreal subplots involving dancing waiters? A neverending boat ride where the two amateurtagonists (I wouldn’t call them PROtaganists) hum treacly ballads to one another? A dance routine to "That’s the Way I Like It"? Better yet, stilted dialogue like, "I am genetically incapable of a relationship with a woman"? Take your pick, there are literally hundreds of reasons to hate this film. So, how did it ever get made? An optimist might say it was greed, but I’ve thought of a more sinister reason.

The Culprit: College-age rock snob guys created this film as an insidious plot to get their girlfriends to stop listening to Top 40 music. I bet every 19-year-old girl who saw this film started to listen to Pink Floyd and Zeppelin in order to cleanse their brains.

2. Beverly Hills, 90210
In retrospect, this show sucked like a Hoover on steroids. The hair was always plentiful and gel-frozen. The plots were a universe of random. In the last week of episodes I’ve seen, Kelly attempted to adopt an abandoned baby (abandoned by a teenage Jessica Alba!), David walked away from his big musical break due to a payola scandal, Noah lost a $10 million lawsuit, and Donna got wacky on painkillers and stole another fashion designer’s ideas. Let’s for a moment ignore the fact that, in this show’s world, a 22-year-old is a major fashion designer. Let’s look at why this show was ever made.

The Culprit: Aaron Spelling. This entire show was designed to boost the ego of Tori Spelling. Over the course of 10 years, Donna is stalked on four separate occasions, becomes a model, beds a millionaire or two, and is told 100 times an episode by other characters that she’s beautiful and wonderful. All this for a girl who looks like Donald Duck? Yeah, I’ll put in for conspiracy.

3. "Gigli", "Paycheck", "Surviving Christmas"

Granted, I’ve never seen any of these movies. I’d really rather not make my eyeballs bleed.

The Culprit: All that is good and kind in the world, in an attempt to end the career of Ben Affleck. Right on!

4. "7th Heaven"
Ah, my old favorite. Confused plots, ridiculous moralizing, 27 people living in a parsonage, and characters mysteriously moving to "Florida" (known in the rest of the world as "rehab".)

The Culprit: The atheists. This show makes organized religion seem so uppity, condescending and awful that people who see it leave their church in droves.

Every Time You See Underpants, DRINK!

My greatest discovery in Colombia hasn’t been the food or culture, or even the people, it’s how the music videos are so awesomely awesome that I can’t tear myself away. We’ve got HTV, "Este Es Musica Latina!" Roughly translated, "We Don’t Need No Stinkin’ Clothes!" Here’s an alphabetized field guide to some of my favorites:

Bisbol, David is from Spain. He has pretty, bouncy girl-curls, which he plays with often. His songs are operatic and have titles like "Desnudate Mujer" (Honest-to-God translation: "Get Naked, Woman"). He’s always overwrought about something, and his videos always feature West Side Story dance-fights in bullrings, or at the very least, plenty of nudity.

Café Tacuba are Mexican art-rockers. Expect a lot of acid references, rather than sexual ones. This makes them unique in the Latino music world.

Chayanne is Puerto Rican, and his videos can make even the happiest person in the world want to leap off a balcony. My favorite is the one where he and his daughter drive for 12 hours to visit his wife’s grave. The depressing part isn’t finding out that the wife is actually dead, but that she’s buried in a cornfield in the middle of nowhere, and doesn’t even get her name on a headstone. Chayanne’s a jerk of a pseudo-widower.

Ferro, Tiziano is actually Italian, but he often sings in Spanish. He’s always in a café somewhere, smoking pensively and exuding the sexy. He wears more leather than a dominatrix.

La Oreja de Van Gogh are from Spain and follow the Blondie/No Doubt formula. Put a striking and fashionable woman out front and let her sing. Meanwhile the guys show up in t-shirts and count their money.

Mago de Oz: I've never been able to sit through one of their videos, but they're still something I want to share with the world. Why, you ask? They're a Spanish-language Celtic band. Uh, yeah.

Martin, Ricky: his Spanish-language videos are awesome. He’s always damp, half-dressed and writhing on a nightclub floor. I’m not sure if it’s sexy so much as unhygienic.

Nosequien y Los Nosequantos are unattractive men hovering on the brink of middle age. But don’t worry, their low-budget videos always have at least a dozen 20-year-old girls, dancing suggestively in miniskirts. They’ll also have a blonde get in and out of a bathtub three times per video (I call her "The Cleanest Girl in the World"). Count on lots of footage of the girlies leaning forward so you can see down their tops, spinning their skirts so you can see their panties, or cuddling one another.

Rubio, Paulina is a teeny little Mexican whose videos are softcore set to music. She’s the only petite woman I know of who can carry off sexy clothes. Personally, I always wind up looking like Jodie Foster’s character in Taxi Driver. Her most recent video features her writhing inside a bulldozer, wearing nothing but caution tape and some yellow panties. This same video features firehoses, suggestive jackhammer dances and a lot of girl-on-girl dancing.

Tisuby y Georgina: I have yet to figure out which one is Tisuby and which one is Georgina. They both dance around in skimpy outfits to poorly counterfeited Stones riffs. They’re rebels, or, like, something.

Matt and I are back from our 10 days stateside, and because I’m too lazy to write a real column, I’m making a list.

Rules and Regulations for a Shannon-Style Vacation

When making a side trip to Laughlin, Nevada, aka "Ghetto Vegas", do not attempt to play Spanish 21 in Spanish. This rule applies double after three Bloody Marys.

 Also, do not eat an In-N-Out cheeseburger immediately after said Bloody Marys, unless you have a stomach made of iron.

Special Rule for Skye and Merrill: tip your waitress and your blackjack dealer. It is not necessary to tip other players, and in fact in may weird them out.

However dirty it may sound, a "Tongue Burrito" is a legitimate entrée in Los Angeles ethnic restaurants.

Do not mock Skye’s Hapsburg-level inbred cat, no matter how many times it stares at you cross-eyed.

Rodeo Drive has more people taking pictures of people shopping than actual shoppers. 

Don’t see a movie with an unemployed friend, as they’ve seen just about everything. You’ll wind up spending 9 bucks on White Chicks.

When flying Continental Drift Airlines, assume your flight will be late and you’ll only have an hour to get through Customs and Immigration.

Colombian airports were designed by a ten-year-old with ADD. Expect two disorganized check in lines, which then swap positions so everyone must crawl over each other.

 Do not drink an entire glass of Aguardiente under any circumstances. Except maybe a dare.