another thought of the day.. what can i say, i'm a thinker

Aside from folks of the geriatric and/ or disabled community, who waits 5 minutes for an elevator only to get off on the first floor?

thought of the day

Who wears corduroys when its 95º outside?

silliness

Some say that a successful career is personally rewarding. Others contend that having a gaggle of diaper-wearing screamers running around and knocking things off store shelves is the cherry on top of the sundae of life. Me? I'm a whole hell of a lot simpler- well, that and I'm a whole lot less ambitious (shrug) and a whole lot less pregnant (shudder, gag, choke). The first three things that come to MY mind when I think of life's rewards are: 1) 2 scoops of moose tracks ice cream, 2) popping open a brand-spankin'-new cannister of tennis balls and, finally, 3) a good stretch.

I'm not referring to the "Doctors recommend that you stretch for at least 15 minutes before and after exercising" type of stretching, either. That's just damage control- head out for a run sans stretch and risk destroying the perfect muscles of your lithe gams. Kind of like buying flood insurance when you don't anticipate the flooding of any nearby bodies of water. You naively bank on maintaining an incident-free streak while running the risk of flooding your basement, thereby destroying great-great-grandpa's wooden leg or anything else deemed worthy of saving but not worthy of ground floor status.

When I say stretch, I'm talking about taking multiple minutes in the morning upon waking up (after you finally shut the snooze alarm off on the 4th, 5th or 6th round of infernal beeping) to just stretch out like a cat, writhe around and contort your body in ways that, should they be spotted, would land you a quick appointment with an exorcist.

During high school, for example, my morning routine was: wake up, call Mark and wake him up, and then - en route to the shower - throw my upper body over the edge of the bed, my legs still sprawled up top, and then stretch out in all directions until I slid into a heap of limbs on the floor. Then, I'd stretch there too, taking advantage of the floorspace. My parents would walk by my room, find me hanging upside down off the bed and - naturally, I suppose - wonder what the frijoles their daughter was doing.

This morning, due to an early wake-up to travel across the city by 8:30am, I missed out on my morning stretch. So what did I do when I got to work? Locked myself in the bathroom and went to town.

Alfonso: 1... Betsey: 0

Alfonso: (insert string of unintelligible complaints) Ugh it's too hot in Sevilla... it's an inferno! Nobody likes it here... these aren't liveable conditions. Don't you hear those birds? They're making all that noise because it's so %&@$ing hot out here... (etc.)

Betsey: (rolls eyes)

...2 minutes pass...

Betsey: Hear those birds? You know what? They're HAPPY. They're HAPPY birds who LOVE Sevilla... they're SINGING with glee, not complaining because they're hot.

... Silence...

Betsey: Oh... Ok so that's the noise of the crosswalk light... but EVEN so...

Childhood "Things"

Now every person has their fair share of childhood peculiarities that they may or may not share with their friends. My dad, for example, used to play a game with his neighborhood chums back in the good ole days in which they competed to see who could hit their head the hardest on a driveway. Due to a stray pebble, he still has a literal dent in his forehead from this wholesome childhood past-time... but gosh darn it did he win.

Mine? Well other than the whole ambiguous gender issue, there was my obsession with sleeping with all my stuffed animals because a) I really did feel bad if I didn't pay equal attention to all of them and actually feared a revolt, and b) I needed to keep them protected from the mask-wearing robber who was surely on his way to climb up a ladder, in through my window and straight after my beloved stuffed critters.

Then there was my massive sticker and keychain collections, both of which I am still incapable of throwing out. Not to mention my unwavering refusals to put jelly on my peanut butter sandwiches, try new things, and eat anything white (milk, coconut, cheese, etc.). My love of turning a bike upside down and pretending it was an ice cream maker. The "Roadrunner" game I used to play with my sibling, which consisted of running around in a circle in the family room saying "meep meep" "meep meep" as we ran. Then there's my steadfast aversion towards change, as demonstrated by the puffalump show-and-tell incidents as described 2 posts ago; dressing up as a cat for 6 straight years for Halloween; requesting that my mom make me the exact same birthday cake - the one with flattened gumdrop balloons and licorice strings - 4 years in a row... trust me, the list is endless.

Anyway, the Matterns are clearly not alone. By far the best part of my week, thus far, has been learning about Joanne's favorite childhood hobby. So, without further ado, enjoy the inner workings of a young Egnatchik, as narrated via gmail chat:

me: im imagining the egnatchik household

Joanne: haha

did i ever tell you about my hobby

me: hmm im not sure?

5:05 PM Joanne: from the time i was born til about 14 i used to buy huge 11 by 17 size sheets of construction paper

and cut it up in to the tiniest pieces ever

5:06 PM me: HHAHAHAHAHAA

Joanne: and store them in the plastic boxes my dad had to hold slides

me: the pieces of paper???

Joanne: yup

me: o my god

amazing

Joanne: i wasnt allowed to throw confetti

but

i was allowed to make it

me: you sure had enough of it

hahahahaha

o my

thats awesome

Joanne: my mom threw it out when i slept i´m sure

me: heeh

5:07 PM Joanne: cuz she always seemed to have a new empty box for me

i also liked to tape things

not grabar

sino scotch

which is fitting, since i have a future in cutting and pasting

me: :)

Joanne: not just things that were ripped

not even taping things together

just cutting a piece and strategically placing in on a piece of paper

5:09 PM me: hahahaahahahaha

this is the best part of my week right here

Joanne: just another reason for you to love me

5:10 PM oh yes,

the confetti boxes needed to be taped

because i didnt want any pieces to fall out

5:11 PM me: naturally

only in america... oink oink

I was just skimming my local Connecticut newspaper's headlines... and these two were literally one right after the other:

"Nutrition-Education Programs Fail in Obesity Fight" -- About the government funding of programs and initiatives to promote healthy eating.

directly followed by...

"Only in America: Nation Celebrates a New Eating Champion" -- About the new champion of the annual Coney Island hotdog-eating contest. He ate 66 hotdogs, bun included, in 12 minutes.

childhood crush

My first favorite television show was David the Gnome, which I watched each day before scrambling off to Mike Walker's driveway in hopes of arriving at his mailbox before him and subsequently ensuring my spot in the front row on the bus (nerd alert) en route to a stimulating afternoon of kindergarten.

The memory of enjoying the adventures of David and his pint-size posse goes hand-in-hand with the memory of my childhood babysitter/ honorary grandmother Phoebe, who would lay out a delicious daily spread of chicken nuggets arranged in a circle around a squirt of ketchup, hogdogs finely chopped into quartered slices ALSO symmetrically arranged around a squirt of ketchup, de-crusted peanut butter sandwiches sans jelly, or waffles cut perfectly along the lines. Who knew such an anal 5 year old could blossom into such an indifferent 24 year old whose life motto is "meh, whatever."

Tangent: Another fun kindergarten tidbit is that I would bring the exact same thing in each day for "show-and-tell": my beloved Christmas mouse puffalump (see photo). The game involved a format in which the show-and-teller gave hints to his or her fellow kidlets, who then tried to guess what the mystery object was. My turn usually ended with someone muttering "ughhh the puffalump again?" and yet I - clearly living in a world of one - would get giddy with content over the success of my hints as if it were the first time. Only now do I feel mildly dim-witted for this. Hey, hindsight's 20-20, right?

Punky Brewster is another classic, partly because she was essentially my twin and partly because Brandon was a carbon copy of my golden retriever Winston, aka "Winnie." Plus, the gal's fashion sense was way ahead of her time. Around the same time I was enthralled by Small Wonder, in which it turns out that a cookie-cutter middle class family has a robot daughter who wears the same lacy frock every day. Yes, a frock. While other kids had scraped knees, Vicky experienced the occasional short circuit. I think it was when her parents opened up her back revealing her circuit box that I deemed it a masterpiece.

And then... there was MacGyver: the crush of my childhood. Dreeeeeamboat, toot toot. In my pre-pubescent eyes, he could do no wrong. His voluminous locks styled effortlessly into the most glorious mullet to grace the small screen, his hip acid-wash jeans tapering down just so behind the tongues of his rockin' high-tops, and his discrete way with the ladies had me completely smitten. Plus, his quick wit and resourcefulness in moments of crisis totally blew the shipwrecked professor (also dreamy in his own right) of Gilligan's Island fame and his coconut telephone totally out of the water-- pun 100% intended.

Luckily, they air hours of MacGyver re-runs every morning and afternoon in Spain. Not so luckily, I made the mistake of switching the language into English- now an option with a few of the tv channels. As an enamoured young'n, I never quite came to realize that he was great at action but terrrrrrible at dialogue. In a world of awful dub jobs, you know it's bad when the cheesy Spanish voice they give to American tv show characters is better than the real thing.

Another dailypuppy all-star...

"Such a regal young fellow. It is amazing to see the quick progression of development in this breed. One can only imagine the deep bark of this gentle giant. You lips are so full and lushious. Massive kisses and ear rubs to you sweet baby."

... Seriously???

bark bark

One of my go-to stops as I do my morning internet rounds (and therefore postpone doing any actual "work" until after the coffee hits) is The Daily Puppy, a website that each day features a different plucky little pooch.

On my google homepage (yes, another pre-caffeination, pro-procrastination creation), I have Daily Puppy well above world news, weather and (gasp!) even celebrity gossip. Frankly, those pudgy little chow-chows, puggles, labs and shih-tzus have a much better impact on my a.m. attitude towards life than tuberculosis outbreaks, plane crashes and even the Hollywood trainwrecks' latest stints in rehab.

Well I'm certainly not the only one frequenting the Daily Puppy (www.dailypuppy.com, if you want to aww along with me), but I'll bet I'm one of the most normal of the crew. Visitors can browse through each puppy's pictures, award 1 through 11 virtual biscuits and leave comments. Now I love the little tail-wagging fur-balls, but sometimes I can't help but think that the real creatures are some of the people who leave comments. I can picture them sitting in their home, a living shrine to their ankle-biting Yorkie, dedicating their lives to painting their dogs' toe nails, maxing out their credit cards on designer doggie rain coats and abusing the utilization of the baby voice. For instance:

• "What a beautiful baby! I could just eat you up with a spoon. Massive hugs, kisses, and buddha belly pats."

• "Chloe, you are so expressive! You are a sweet sweet girl! I love your little smile! Kisses to you Chloe!!"

• "Too cute! I think my computer just melted from all the puppy sweetness. Chloe looks as if she is trying to talk in a few photos. Absolutely beautiful! Massive belly rubs and nose kisses to her."

• "OMG! OMG! OMG! I am soooo... in love with you Rufus!!!!!!!!!!!! You have the greatest, most expressive face!!!!! I can not gush over you enough!!! If my doggies knew (especially my black lab) they'd be so jealous! haha"

And finally, my personal favorite:

• "Hey Woofus...you are a mighty cute lookin' pup. You have a very sweet face and eyes! You look like you need a friend! I am Bailey the golden retweevah...my mom didn't get me on this website when I was little but I would very much like to be your friend...wanna play? You should be warned though, my mom calls me the TAZ short for the Tazmanian "debil". And I am also known as CHAIN SAW...I will let you figure that out!"

conjunction junction, what's your function

During the second year of my illustrious - illustrious in this context translating to frequent hangovers, constant procrastination and the rediscovery of Lucky Charms - academic career at Holy Cross, I was faced with a decision. No, not deciding whether or not to go to Spain the following year, but rather deciding which of my remaining core requirements I would fill and which ones I would put off until senior year.

Deciding to ignore icky-icky science for as long as humanly possible, I decided that I would suck it up and get my philosophy requirement out of the way. I would eventually fill that remaining math/science requirement during my final semester with a riveting class commonly referred to as Physics for Dummies. The geology class, better known as "Rocks for Jocks," had - much to my chagrin - been cancelled the previous year with the retirement of its 964-year old professor.

Now I'm not exactly into the whole "what is life, why do we exist" spiel, so when perusing the catalogue for possible philosophy courses, I narrowed in on a class called Logic & Language. I figured it would be something like the logical study of language and therefore devoid of all that far-fetched philosophical bull-poo. I was half right, but that's a story for another day. Let's just put it this way. I never "did" office hours. Never! And yet I was in that professor's office at least 8 times that semester with a look on my face which I believe communicated to him what I was feeling: "What the FRIJOLES are you talking about?"

The professor of the class was German, and whenever he spoke I couldn't help but think of him as one of the jolly animatronic oompah boys in the Bavarian Christmas Village at the Yankee Candle Company in Massachusetts (exactly 2 people will know what I'm talking about). Sure, he'd often launch into a lesson speaking and scribbling on the board in his mother tongue. Sure, sometimes we had no idea what the guy was saying or how to spell any of the philosopher names that he spat out because his accent was so thick that everything just sounded like spoken marbles. However, when it came to conjunctions, the guy was a veritable fiend.

I have never in my life heard anybody else who so often integrates "ergo," "hitherto," "notwithstanding" and "thenceforth" into conversations- even when I'd run into him outside of class and he'd chat about his son's soccer (or "sog-haahhh") game. The pride and joy of his mental bank of conjunctions was, without a doubt, "insofar as." I quickly took to keeping a tally at the top my page of notes (I remember once counting over 65), something I've done since middle school whenever I've picked up on teachers' habits- an entertaining tactic to get through class without falling asleep. However, I often had to stop, as the class material had such an incredible knack for being boring that I would become delirious, nearly erupting into laughing fits every time he said it.

I often contemplated my professor's dominance of the conjunction; I couldn't help but picture the miniature red-cheeked version of my professor as a child in the Bavarian Alps reciting lists of conjunctions in knee socks and lederhosen, a beer stein in one hand and a fork loaded up with kraut in the other. Oh, and then Heidi and Peter showed up and they ran off to frolic with the goats.

Fat Hell

Fat, in most contexts, brings to mind images of obese swimsuit-clad women at theme parks, colossal men scratching their asses and plump 9 year olds named Marshall who thrive on a steady diet of Ruffles, Hershey bars and Big Macs.

Hell, as we all know, is the final hang-out for the world's so-called "bad boys," not to mention the cozy subterranean abode of Lucifer himself. A land with no exit door, but with an abundance of bubbling magma, nursing home thieves and politicians. Now that my imagination's running wild, I can't help but wonder if hell has monasteries for "wayward" priests. Hmm.

So Fat Hell would be what? A fiery abyss ruled by a tubby lord of darkness with chocolate constantly smeared in the corners of his mouth? No, no, no! Fat Hell may seem - to the untrained imagination - the epitome of unappealing destinations. However, the negatives cancel each other out, making Fat Hell a paradisaical land. It's pure mathematics, folks.

Comparable in many ways to Willy Wonka's clandestine factory of widespread literary and cinematic acclaim, Fat Hell is a magical place to which my friend Joanne and I frequently refer. No Oompa-Loompas though; frankly, they creep me out with their Gregorian-like chanting and orange hues acquired from extensive fake-baking sessions in the melanoma booths.

Despite its reference to Hell, Fat Hell is not yet a part of popular culture and it's definitely not used as a fist-waving threat in any recognized religion. However, plans are tenatively in the works for the creation of a non-suicidal, non-comet-chasing but sugar-loving and hyperactive cult in which adoring members bow down and lay offerings of Cadbury mini-eggs at the feet of chocolate effigies of their wise leader: me.

Anyway, Fat Hell is a positive place. If I walk into a room at 9:00 in the morning and Joanne is elbow deep in apple pie, I simply acknowledge what we both know: she's going to fat hell. Then we laugh maniacally and she hands me a fork. If Joanne condemns me to Fat Hell just for the heck of it, we toast to my impending doom by running out to buy pair of pastries. After all, being condemned to Fat Hell is, when it comes down to it, the equivalent of being exiled to an island in the Caribbean with swaying palm trees, crystalline waters and a tan daquiri-fetching cabana boy named Diego.


All that said, I'm pleased to present the Fat Hell Recipe of the Month.

Fat Hell Recipe of the Month
Reeses Peanut Butter Cup Sandwich

Ingredients:
2 slices of bread (alternate possibility and Betsey favorite: 2 graham crackers)
Skippy Superchunk Peanut Butter, 2 tablespoons or to taste
Betty Crocker "Rich & Creamy" Chocolate Frosting, 2 tablespoons or to taste

Directions:
Create. Enjoy.

story time

I spent the night in the city park. Sure, it's not a five-star hotel resort, and sure, the nights in the park are cold and boy are they dark... but the park affords us hours of tranquil peace in which we can dream about what life could have been, should fortune have only chosen a different path for us.

We - that is, us lowly guys - aren't picky when it comes to sleeping accommodations. Essentially we just settle in for the evening wherever we wind up once the sun goes down. Next to the swings, underneath the slide, inside the sandbox... wherever, really. Considering where some of us wind up, the park is like the country club of us ill-fated nobodies. The silence goes undisturbed- well, aside from the occasional prostitute that click-clacks by in her 5-inch platform heels in search of clientele. As long as they don't inadvertently step on us (the heels on those duds can inflict quite the blinding degree of pain), we coexist quite peacefully with society's godforsaken outcasts. Prostitutes, beggars, drug dealers, runaway teens...and us. We all have a common bond... a thread that unites us: people look down upon us. They forget us. We are, in every sense of the word, anonymous.

As the city's forgotten ones, we spend all day being walked on, kicked through the streets, thrown into puddles. For the love of God, if I had to tally up the number of times a sweater-wearing Yorkshire terrier has lifted its leg to shower me with its morning bowl of filtered water... well let's just say I don't have the fingers and toes to count that high. It's humiliating.

Today, I spent earliest moments of the morning enduring the kicking rage of a couple of ratty-haired school children whose parents, accompanying them to school while chattering away on their expensive cell phones, have clearly failed to provide an adequate upbringing. What ever happened to love and respect towards all of God's creations? Do you know what it's like to be kicked down the street, wind up in a puddle and lie there shocked and appalled as nobody says a word? Let's just say it's not an ego-booster.

Feeling particularly dejected following the morning's incident, I was presented with the unique opportunity - the opportunity we all wait and hope for - to even the score against the world's so-called "blessed" ones. It was going to be a victory for all of us... a symbolic event that would give us hope and change the future. Images flashed through my mind of me - little ole me - appearing in the history books, the encyclopedias, the classroom posters. They would interview me in Time Magazine about my inspiring rags to riches story, and I'd speak eloquently about the French Revolution, Rosa Parks' quest for equality through simple acts and my dream of eradicating social stratification around the globe.

I saw her coming nearly a block away. She was absolutely stunning. I hated her confident stride, her elegant air and her designer busines suit. I conveniently got in her way. Well, that is, I conveniently got in the way of one of her expensive European stiletto heels. She tripped and fell to her knees. She looked down at me and scowled before glancing around and smiling awkwardly at those who caught her in her fall from grace. I had done it! I was already envisioning my agenda booked solid with speaking engagements, commencement addresses, invitations to black-tie dinners...

But then, she stood up brushing herself off and laughing, commenting to the onlookers about how silly it was of her to have worn her brand new shoes without getting used to them first. Young women who had paused mid-step when they caught the flailing arms out of the corners of their eyes were now sharing a laugh... but they weren't laughing at her, they were chuckling and sympathizing with her!

"Oh why that happened to me just yesterday!"
"You know how us women are with our shoes..."
"Where DID you get those shoes? They're adorable."

No, this couldn't be!!! The young woman flipped her hair, caught her reflection in the store window, and smiled - her chin up and her shoulders back - before continuing along her way... leaving me there, forgotten and defeated, in the middle of the sidewalk.

Such is the frustrated life of a pebble.

I can't help it... these are strangely addicting to fill out

Survey: 70 Quirks about me:

1. What are your initials?
EMM... although good ole cousin Bill likes to point out that they're also BM. Whatever dude, his are BO.

2. What is your favorite thing to wear?
an eyepatch. yarrr

3. Last thing you ate?
apple

5. I say Shotgun, you say?
nuh uh I already called it

6. last person you hugged?
lucky, lucky person

7. Does anyone you know wanna date you?
well i certainly hope so

8. Has anyone ever bought you flowers?
yes

9. Name something you like physically about yourself.
toss up between my abs of steel and my rockin ass

10. The last place you went out to dinner to?
kebab!

11. Who is your best friend?
mark j guarraia.. 19 years and going

12.Why are you still up?
namely because they might not take it well if i just passed out on the keyboard

13. Who/What made you angry today?
nobody yet... it's just a matter of time though...

14. What was the last injury you've had?
cut on thumb? does that even count?

15. Do you have any tattoos?
aside from the "naughty" scribed on my ass, nope

16. Favorite type of Food?
potatoes (chips, fries, mashed, baked...)

17. Favorite holidays:
thanksgiving... the only holiday dedicated solely to the art of unbuttoning one's pants and eating oneself into a food coma

18. Do you download music:
yes. arrest me

19. Do you care if your socks are dirty?
well if there's an option between dirty socks and clean ones, i'll take the clean ones...

20. Is your hair clean?
pshhh personal hygiene is overrated... but society says i have to shower, so i do

21. Would you date the person who posted this?
haha

22. Has anyone ever sang or played for you personally?
i think i would laugh... the "hold it in, hold it in... EXPLODE" kind of laugh

24. Do you like Bush?
in either context of the question, no

25. Do you like to swim?
i don't know if i'd define my water activities as "swim" but i like to bob around... particularly if it involves a giant inflatable alligator or something...

26. Have you ever gone white-water rafting?
scares me

27. Has anyone ten years older than you ever hit on you?
it's spain. it's what old men do

29. Have you met a real redneck?
middlebury, vermont... a town with two bars and fame for being the birthplace of john deere. enough said

30. How is the weather right now?
sunny... it's no match for this fabulous fluorescent lighting though... SIGH

31. What are you listening to right now?
billy joel- downeaster alexa .... NEW ENGLAND REPRESENTTTT

32. What is your current favorite song?
?

33. What was the last movie you watched?
umm... the perfume... or at least the 2/3 of it that i tolerated

34. Do you wear contacts?
20/20 baby!

35. Where was the last place you went besides your house?
work?

36. What are you afraid of?
1. drowning... back seat of a two-door car going off a bridge... does this not bother ANYONE ELSE?
2. birds... i swear those damn pigeons are plotting world domination... i see unbridled wrath in their beady little eyes...

37. How many piercings have you had?
5... we're down to 4 though

38. How many pets do you have?
4

39. What's one thing you've learned this year?
that a spanish term for "camel toe" translates to "deaf mute," because you can read her lips...

40. What do you usually order from Starbucks?
no clue

42. Have you ever fired a gun:
only ones that squirts water

43. Are you missing someone?:
lots of someones

44. Favorite TV show?
arrested development, scrubs, how i met your mother...

45. Do you have an iPod?:
yeah

46. Has anyone ever said you looked like a celeb?
according to those celebrity look-alike photo analyzer thingees, my closest match was lucy liu. fyi, SHE'S CHINESE.

47. Do you have a celeb crush?
of course

48. Who would you like to see right now?
my daaaaaaaaadddyyyyyyy

49. Favorite movie of all time?
little mermaid... OBVI

50. Are you loved?
hope so!

51. Have you ever been caught doing something you weren't suppose to?
who hasn't?

52. Favorite flower?
daffodil perhaps?

53. Butter, plain, or salted popcorn?
butter & salt... if i'm gonna buy popcorn at the movie theater, it had DAMN well promise to give me a heart attack

54. What Magazines are you reading?
i'll spring for an InStyle from time to time... namely when they come with free stuff

55. What's your favorite pair of jeans?
i have 2, and they're from the same place.

56. Has anyone you were really close to passed away recently?
the last was my beloved beta fish, jesus

57. What was the funnest thing you've done in the past 24 hours?
power-walked to work listening to Ace of Base. i know... awesome

58. What's something that really bugs you?
people that can't spell / write; the woman in my office who constantly smokes even though she's 8 months pregnant

59. Do you like Michael Jackson?
his old school music rocks... the fact that he named his son blanket, however, does not

60. What are you wearing right now?
a smirk

61. What's your favorite smell?
just after it rains; the ocean; banana bread in the oven; orange blossoms; fresh cucumber candle from Yankee Candle Company; new tennis balls; fruit markets

62. Favorite baseball team?
red sox!!! who wants to go this summer???

63. Favorite cereal?
lucky charms! i've come a long way since age 6...

65. What's the longest time you've gone without sleep?
3 days in college.... ahhh, holy cross: where your best hasn't been good enough since 1843

66. Last time you went bowling?
when i was home for xmas... wild night in SE CT...

67. Where is the weirdest place you have slept?
well when i was a kid i spent years either sleeping inside my closet or underneath my parents' bed...

68. Who was your last phone call?
BERRRRRRRRRRRRNICE

69. Last time you were at work?
now... and now... annnnd now...

70. What's the closest orange object to you?
close call... either orange juice or an Enforex brochure...

sue me... i was hungry

Despite my mother's worries that I had succumbed to the dark world of eating disorders last year, there are few things I lurve more than food. I attributed the unintentional but welcome weight loss to a combination of a) full-day hangovers (which has led me to very nearly swear off heavy drinking) during which I can't eat, and b) power-walking to class, a high-speed daily endeavor not all that different from slalom skiing (just replace the red and blue flags with slow-moving Spanish señoras wrapped head-to-toe in thousands of dollars worth of animal fur). Due to my affinity for waking up late and procrastination in general, I did in 10 minutes what my roommates did in 20 in order to get to school before the spit-flying festivities of Teresa Bordón's riveting 9 a.m. linguistics class commenced.

Digression over. The fondness (understatement) of food - particularly those foods involving high levels of sugar, deep fried potatoes and/ or scoopable lactic products- is genetic to the noble Mattern lineage. It was passed down to me by my dad, Jim "why get 1 cinnamon roll when you can get 2" Mattern, much in the way that other families pass down antique pocket watches or china dishes brought over on the proverbial boat from the homeland. When it comes to edible goodies, the admirable self-control of my mom - Bernie "who wants to split a cookie" Kaiser - clearly has little or no presence in my gene pool.

This brings me to the random encounter of the day.

On my way to work this morning, I decided some mini-donuts would make a delicious companion to my multiple morning cups o' joe. For a fleeting moment (something more or less equal to the speed of light), I contemplated stopping into the fruit market to grab an apple or some other farm-grown product of nutritive value. However, in a mental boxing match of less than one round, fresh produce quickly lost out to the sugar-fused brawn of bite size chocolate-covered rings of dough.

As I cheerfully walk out, donuts in hand, a homeless guy approaches me. To ask for money? No. To ask for donuts? No. To tell me he's Jesus re-risen from the dead? Not even! The comment was essentially the following: "Be careful... pretty girls who eat too much turn out not so pretty."

Don't worry though, the Dr. Phil tough love approach doesn't work well on me.

ramblings on tourism

I was totally that girl at one point. Yes, the one walking around snapping hundreds of pictures, thinking that - in the long run - the pictures that my artistically-inclined eye elected to take would do justice to a 14th century cathedral or a winding, cobblestone street. Hell, I took 400 pictures during Holy Week in Sevilla. Do I ever look at any of them? Rarely. Looking back, I think about 5 pictures to document the week would have sufficed. Frankly, unless I'm on the hunt for a new picture for my computer background, I generally skip right through entire chunks of albums - yes, even my own - until I get to the much more interesting pictures of people... namely the ones in which I look pretty. I kid, I kid..

Sure, pictures are fun to flip through when you feel like getting nostalgic for past experiences. I LOVE looking at pictures from college, for example. Then again, pictures taken at college are 100% necessary- without them, all those fuzzy Friday and Saturday (and Tuesday and Thursday and occasional Wednesday) nights would remain mysterious and forgotten. "Hmm I don't recall doing a kegstand. Why was I in a headlock? Aha that must be where my cell phone is! Oh, so THAT'S why my leg is sporting a bruise the size of Texas. Oh no, did I REALLY wear a trucker hat? Hey wait a minute... I don't smoke! So THAT'S where my pants are. Why am I playing the air guitar on top of the beer pong table?" The 68 long-arm photos (that you SWEAR you didn't take) that magically made their way on your camera served as guides to help piece together an evening's events and fill in the myriad blank moments.

Pictures are also good for - in cases like mine - keeping in touch with people who are far away. But hell, if I only see you twice a year, in the interim I sure as hell don't want to see pictures of a building you saw during your recent business trip to Minneapolis. I'm really only interested in if you got fat since I last saw you. Joke! I want to see you out frollicking through the streets of Manhattan, riding a mechanical bull at the Liquor Store bar in Boston, canoodling with your girlfriend/ boyfriend/ baby-daddy who I haven't met yet, looking all gussied up for your cousin's wedding, etc.

Back to tourism. The thing that kills, kills, KILLS (exaggeration rocks) me is seeing tourists so intent on snapping "the perfect picture" that they miss out on practically everything that lies beyond the limits of the tiny camera window that they have their eyeball constantly plastered to. The desired monument comes into view and BAM- they scramble frantically from one side of a building to another, switch from vertical to horizontal shots, zoom in and zoom out. They don't just sit back and take it all in- the view, the atmosphere, the people, the simple idea that they are looking at something that has been around since before America was even discovered. To contemplate the fact that Segovia's Roman aqueduct has not a single ounce of mortar holding the stones together or that Granada's incredible Alhambra palaces were built prior the existence of Spain as a single, unified entity.

Nowadays you can't walk through a cathedral or read the inscription on a monument without walking straight into someone's picture. It's like a touristic game of minesweeper... First step- clear. Second step- clear. Third step- shit, that entire group of golden agers is about to launch their fanny packs at me. THEN people get pissed at you because you inadvertantly "ruined" a group picture that they roped some poor, unsuspecting victim into taking with 8 different digital cameras. This is the digital age people- share your photos! That's half the benefit of digital photography!

Once they leave a monument, those same tourists then walk through beautiful medieval streets that wind through old buildings en route to the next stop listed on the travel guide itinerary. But, they miss the so-called "little things" along the way because they spend that walk flipping through the pictures they just took. And it's sad. The draw of European destinations is without a doubt the atmosphere. Everything is steeped in history and a world away from the modernity of American cityscapes. But too many people miss those experiences because of their quest to get the most "oohs" and "ahhs" from people back home to whom they show their photo albums.

In the end, what really makes a trip are the experiences you have while the camera is stowed in its carrying case. Memories - the visual, true-to-proportion image complemented by its accompanying feelings, sounds, smells and tastes - are far more detailed and true to reality than a photoshopped picture. A fantastic dinner, getting tipsy off a bottle of wine, kicking back in a plaza and people-watching, that dog in front of you that peed on every lamp post in sight along the way. Your mind automatically remembers these things - or at least mine does - because it knows when the camera isn't being used. So replace a few of those digital photos with mental snapshots while you sightsee... and for the love of God, fanny packs are so 1992. Let's not abuse the concept of utility over fashion...

the decline of the english language

So I don't think it comes as any surprise that I enjoy writing. I do. I enjoyed writing the slew of application essays for college and grad school... and I think I even wrote a few extra just for kicks. However, I have long lived under the impression that making any sort of living as a writer would be beyond my capabilities. Hell, I may write decently well, but there are people out there who weave together verbs and adjectives in ways that stomp mine out like a cigarette butt in the pavement.

At the current moment, I am in fact making a living writing (well, I guess it depends on one's concept of "making a living"). I spend my 40 hours a week writing Spanish city guides, content for the company's four million websites, monthly newsletters, etc. Overall, I enjoy it. What throws you off, however, is when people who write like SHIT are being paid the same as you. You, meanwhile, will spend a half-hour reworking a sentence and racking your brain for witty expressions so that the text is at least vaguely interesting for the reader. What angers you is when not only do they write like a mentally challenged elementary school child, but you have to go through 100 pages of their text rearranging sentence structures and correcting their interpretation of basic grammar and spelling.

We currently have a freelance writer who writes some of the less important city guides. She claims to be British and a native English-speaker. Yes, England... the birthplace of the English language. My take is that she's about as British as the Dell customer service operators who claim to be Americans named Tom and Barbara, even though their unintelligible English gives away the fact that they've never traveled outside of India.

While this girl uses ultra-British and therefore inherently heinous expressions like, "If you have a hankering for..." which I promptly delete and replace, her comprehension of basic grammar and writing tactics that we learn before we hit puberty is deplorable. I have told my boss more than once that this "Anna" is either lazy, on drugs or just plain stupid. He has yet to act accordingly... in fact, he's rather pleased with her. Apparently the French know more about the English language that an English-speaker. Therefore, I continue to roll my eyes, grit my teeth and correct all of her guides.

While I was, for awhile, depressed at the fact that she probably gets paid about what I do, I have recently come to the following conclusion. Basically, if this girl can get continuously paid to write 100 page city guides, hell I could easily get paid to write entire novels. I'm not saying that I'd necessarily get a lucrative two-novel deal from Random House. However, I'd bet that my literary masterpieces could at least be sold at supermarket check-out lines with other $2.99 novels, right there amongst the book covers with long-haired and open-shirted Fabio-esque studs riding on white stallions, their tanned pecks grasped from behind by their recently-rescued, flowing-haired, untied-bodice-wearing lovers.

I may be coming across as overly self-righteous and haughty. Worry not! I have tangible proof. To be able to laugh about it - and to break up the hours of boredom and desperation - I began keeping track of some of Anna's treasures. Riveting text, really. My personal favorites are numbers 7, 8, 11, 12, 13, 18, and 21

1. San Sebastian just loves their festivals and parade, which provides a veritable calendar of exciting events – the Film Festival, Jazz Festival, Tinkers Parade, La Tamborrada are just among San Sebastian’s highly enjoyable events.
2. The portico is in the Renaissance style while a tower that in the baroque style was added in 1777.
3. How does San Sebastian's music scene look like?
   
4. Zona Romantica – ah, the district for romance! Located in the junction of Calle Larramendi and Calle Reyes Catolicos, this district is where you will find a great place to take your date – from great music pubs to chic cafes. What’s more, the cooking here is first-rate.
   
5. Get to know San Sebastian a little deeper as you look into its different district, culture and tourism.
6. This was chosen as the political capital of the Basque country, just recently (1980s).
   
7. It is one great way to taste all that Cadiz has to offer – and not end up losing your budget (not to mention your belly!). Tapas can be composed of virtually anything – the food mentioned above, plus cheese and locally produced ham.
8. Hmmmm – mmmm!
9. In fact, shopkeepers close down for a few hours as they enjoy this meal at home, after the meal, they cozy down to get some siesta (midafternoon nap).
10. It used to consist of a number of layers of walls, currently however, only one wall remains standing.
    
11. Made in pink brink has Mudejar style arches. (yes, that's a full sentence)
12. What's there to buy in Cadiz? Plenty, that's what.
13. And a-one, two, three, four... Move your body!
14. These includes egrets, vultures, ducks, doves, falcons, herons, flamingos, geese and many others.
15. The park also houses a learge population of mountain goats, deer, mountain ox and stag. These, as the rest of the animals are protected by law.
16. The fauna is just as varied – the wide umbrella pine forest gives excellent shelter to palmettos, blackthorns, junipers and rosemary.
    
17. Whether you want to go on a wine-tasting binge in Jerez and the "Sherry Triangle", or visit beautiful Seville or the White Villages.
18. Jerez de la Frontera is synonymous to the word sherry. In fact, that is what Jerez is. Jerez actually means Sherry.
19. For more inquiries about a trip to Jerez de la Frontera, visit the Jerez Tourism Information Office at Edificio Los Claustros).
    
20. the Fine Arts Museum (which has the second largest collect of pictures in Spain)
21. Culturally, Sevilla offers the best of Andalusia – flamenco and bullfighting. But that is not all that Sevilla has to offer – its people (the Sevillanos) are jolly, warm and fun-loving. Because of the people vibrant personality (throw in a bit of wit and charm), Sevilla sparkles in the minds of tourists because of its vitality.
    
22. This is especially seen during the Feria de Abril. This is when Sevilla especially bursts in brilliant color and sound.
23. Construction of the church was began by the master builder Alonso Rodriguez
24. To make the most of your excursion to Gibraltar, visit the Gibraltar Tourist Office, at the Duke of Kent House, Cathedral Square
25. Nestled between the Mediterranean Sea and the Atlantic Ocean, Gibraltar is quite small, only 5.8 square kilometers, but it is a complete community – with all the necessary amenities.
    
26. These are called the White Villages because the of the white-washed houses, castles and churches do make an enchanting sight, against the backdrop of green and brown countryside.
    
27. Reaching Cadiz by Car is an experience in itself – you get to see the countryside and stop whenever you want or feel like it. Take your time, explore the villages you pass along the way.
28. If you are staying in a hotel with a parking garage, you can make use of this facility, which charges around €9 to €14 a day.

Madrid!

The New York Times knows what's up...

Damn straight, biatches!

50 "who the hell cares!" B.Matt Trivia Tid-Bits

1. In pre-school I ate paste because it smelled minty. I ended up being sent home from school with a sore throat.

2. I am an introvert par excellence.

3. My sister, at the ripe old age of 8, proclaimed me in one of her "angry letters" to be "Miss Sarcastic of the Year." Where's my sash?

4. I spent a year - 8th grade - looking like a lumberjack. A male lumberjack, that is.

5. I went to college as an English major and graduated as a Spanish major.

6. My first boyfriend was Chris Pressler in the third AND fourth grades. It was an elementary school love match like no other. I got him a race car calendar for Christmas. Vroooom.

7. The words panty, wound and fester make me cringe.

8. I was good at sports growing up... except basketball, at which I was quite terrible. There are plenty of basketball anecdotes which I will not go into. We'll leave it at that I got more than a couple of confused looks from referees.

9. I'll never be too old to sip from juiceboxes... even though I have to drink 2 at a time to quench my AM OJ-craving.

10. I think that the French language sounds like spoken vomit... but I am thinking about learning it anyway.

11. My mom is a surprisingly talented beer pong player... even when she insists on playing with flavored wine coolers. Moms are cute like that.

12. Stephanie Casey and I used to have sleepovers to write - and illustrate - marvelous stories together.

13. I have a lot of strange and borderline OCD habits that nobody has known about until riiiiight now. Examples:
A) If I accidentally kick my left ankle with my right foot while walking, I repeat it the other way around to even things out... even though it hurts.
B) When in the car, I lightly squeeze a muscle or tap a toe inside my shoe everytime a light pole is passed. I have done this for as long as I can remember.
C) I constantly imagine ridiculous scenarios... such as if I were threatened with death unless I could remember how to play a certain piano song from memory, would I be able to?

14. I think too much and talk too little.

15. I grew up wanting to be a pilot. I took flying lessons and loved it... yet eventually turned down the acceptance into flight school.

16. I once pulled my brother's arm out of its socket because he wouldn't help clean up the Hungry Hippos game. Poor li'l tyke.

17. My parents named me Elizabeth even though they 100% planned on calling me Betsey. Why not just name me Betsey? Family mystery!

18. Driving a standard car is way more fun than driving an automatic. I don't think I'll ever be able to go back.

19. I sometimes worry about the fact that I don't worry about my lack of professional ambition.

20 I am deathly afraid of knives, paper cuts in the eye, doctors, being judged, driving off a bridge into water while sitting in the back seat of a two-door car, and birds (the ones that walk, not so much the little hopping ones). Luckily I have, since my childhood, overcome my fears of actually looking like a girl.

21. My favorite childhood activity was playing football with the neighborhood boys. I would pounce on Mike Walker's back trying to tackle him.

22. My dad knows me too well. I am essentially the younger, female, and non-Republican version of him :o)

23. As a child, my little sister used to eat dog food. For some reason I think I also recall her munching on newspaper once or twice. Good times at the Mattern household.

24. I am allergic to cats. It took going to Florida and staying with a friend's aunt to figure it out... she had 8 furry felines. I considered going to the hospital to see if I was dying from pneumonia.

25. I worry too much and take things too personally.

26. At Cliff Orvedal's Halloween party, I accidentally swallowed 2 feet of fake hair when a clump of my witch wig stuck to my cupcake frosting in the very last pre-bite moment. Mrs. Orvedal had to yank it out. I have had an aversion towards spaghetti noodles ever since.

27. My favorite movie of all time is and always will be the Little Mermaid. I can't help it... it's beyond my control. We got no troubles, life is the bubbles!

28. I was the ONLY student in my high school Culinary Arts class who did not receive an A+. I attribute this to one or both of the following reasons: A) possibly because I added 3 tablespoons of pepper instead of 3 teaspoons to my final project, resulting in a rather piquant New England clam chowder, or B) possibly because the teacher was my basketball coach. See #8.

29. I now get carsick due to my lack of car travel in Spain. On the way to JFK airport after Christmas my dad had to pull over so I could switch into the front seat.

30. My sister and I hated each other until I was 18 and she was 15, and my brother and I engaged in physical fights until I was in college.

31. I don't particularly like boats. I was on one when it caught fire.

32. I really want to go skydiving.

33. I despise the following instant messenger tendencies

• IM lingo (LOL, LMAO, TTYL, etc., etc.).
• when people put the humping hearts, i.e. <333,>
• when, again in their profiles, people randomly AND OBSESSIVELY change their fonts FOR NO APPARENT r.E.a.S.o.N.
  

34. I have never sucked an entire lollipop. I bite them as soon as my teeth will let me.

35. I am physically incapable of burping. Mark always said that he was going to feed me Alca-Seltzer pills to see if I'd explode. Apparently that's what happens to seagulls.

36. My first memory is going with my dad to buy a swingset. I was two and remember thinking it was the longest ride ever. I later found out it was a whopping 45 minutes, if that.

37. My favorite number to write is 4, and my favorite letter to write is a lowercase cursive z. I do a mental fist pump each time I get to the z while signing my name.

38. I can't watch surfing because those waves scare the begeezus out of me.

39. Scary movies really do give me nightmares.

40. I can entertain myself for a remarkably long time with a wad of bubble-wrap. My mom gets mad at me for popping all the bubble-wrap that protects our Christmas ornaments.

41. I love aquariums and zoos. There's just something about poo-flinging monkeys and dolphins jumping through hula-hoops that I can't get enough of.

42. I believe both in ghosts and in extraterrestrial life. E.T. WHADDUPPP

43. I am cluttered and mildly scatterbrained by nature. When things are organized I can't ever find anything I'm looking for.

44. I like art.

45. I abhor deep political or philosophical discussions, as the people who want to have them are generally pretentious and love to hear themselves talk.

46. My college roommate and I once went on the South Beach Diet. After a week and a half we threw the idea out and celebrated with a Costco-sized bag of Doritos. It was glorious.

47. I love Muppets marathons, especially the Swedish Chef skits. Bork! Bork! Bork!

48. I'm strangely glad my parents got divorced. I can't imagine my life without the additional family members that came out of it. Plus, two Thanksgiving food comas and two Christmases! I kid, I kid..

49. I dislike uncomfortable shoes, popped collars, small talk, bad grammar, decisions, and loud/open-mouthed chewers

50. I like banana bread, dirty jokes, socks, seeing new places, writing, celebrity gossip, going out for breakfast, cheesy pick-up lines, being immature, and opening brand-new tennis ball cannisters.

being pensive

When I set off to study abroad in Sevilla three years ago, I decided to really buckle down and make a conscious decision to start a journal... and to not succumb to my characteristic laziness. Surprisingly enough, I actually managed to write in it at least once a week... and I'm glad I did. I like to sit down and relive almost getting stranded on a Greek island, spending my first 4 days in Spain with no luggage (it was sitting on a trolley in an airplane hangar at the La Coruña Airport), fending off Spanish suitors and a slew of random and documented communicative issues, such as telling my Spanish mom that there was no more soup in the shower (oh come on now, which one looks more like the word for soap: sopa or jabón?)

Last year, when it came time for round two in Spain - this time in Madrid - I hopped on the technology train and decided to replace pen and paper with a blog. In its conception, good ole Bepsi Cola was meant to serve as a journal-esque type of chronicle which would allow my friends and family to keep abreast of the happenings in the life of the international superstar that I am... and also to quelch any worries that I may have fallen in with the wrong crowd and - to feed my crack habit - was making a living turning tricks on the corner.

However, the whole "journal" idea lasted approximately 2.2 seconds. Why? Because living in Spain for the second time was never really about brand-new, ground-breaking experiences. The first year was all about visiting Europe for the first time, seeing my first "real" cathedral, grimacing at my first bullfight, experiencing my first European soccer game, trying new food (never one of my fortes in the past... when I was 14 it took my dad 40 minutes to get me to taste manicotti), living far from home, integrating into a family of strangers... not to mention the whole language thing.

The second - and now the third- year in Spain has pretty much morphed into a life of the typical day-to-day "stuff" that I knew in the US. Everything that makes life what it is - inside jokes, workplace grumblings, relationships, friendships, bad moods, favorite restaurants, playing sports, grocery shopping - is the same, it's all simply transcurring on a different geographical pinpoint on the globe.

My "new" experiences are things that, frankly, excite only me and aren't necessarily worth of describing it for friends and family: discovering a new favorite candy (the red ones with the white stuff inside) or yogurt (Vitalínea, peach-flavored), following work-out vernacular at the gym's spinning class, or finding out the Spanish equivalent of something completely random and not academic (a "butter face" in English, i.e. a girl who is hot and attractive everywhere but-her-face, is apparently called a "shrimp" in Spanish, because you eat everything but the head).

Somewhere along the way, Spain stopped being a visit. Instead, it's just turned into finding a niche for myself in which I can thrive, be comfortable, be happy and see that happiness enduring. There is no ultimatum in the foreseeable future at which it will all end... no bought plane ticket with a set date and time printed on it... no "next semester" to get back for. I can do whatever the hell I want, and that is - for lack of a more eloquent expression - pretty damn rad.

randomness

Today I left for work for the second day in a row without a jacket... and I left the gym this evening in my shorts. It was glorious. Hoping that this trend continues, I am almost ready to bid the seasonal adieu to coats, sweaters, winter blues, hot chocolate and being a hermit. So here's a little ode to spring and everything I like about it.

Blah blah blah the whole rejuvenation of nature spiel... flowers blooming, trees budding, birdies chirping and the rest of the accompanying cliché classics.

Visitors! Friends, sisters, BernBerns and cousins have sangria-induced Spanish shenanigans pencilled into their calendars.

Sidewalk cafés! In an age when international fast food chains are trying to gobble up the "cute café" culture anywhere they can, Spain's little outdoor cafés and bars comprise what is - without a doubt - one of its best assets. In fact, I put it on the totally unbiased "Spain Top 10" in my Spain guide (What Spain for all 2 of you who are interested)

Walks! As enjoyable as speed walking through the streets hoping that, in the process, the friction between your various out-of-shape body parts will stir up some additional body heat, strolling leisurely about in nice weather is always a more pleasant alternative for all involved.

Spring ahead! The sacrificed hour of sleep is every bit worth the additional daylight hours during which one might enjoy the aforementioned sidewalk cafés and leisurely strolls.

Lunch! Gone will be the days of eating at my desk. Facebook stalking and catching up on my celebrity gossip blogs will have to wait for the post-work hours, as they are soon to be replaced with dining al fresco- i.e. saran-wrapped sandwich from home on a park bench.

Ice cream! Last week, two coworkers and I played hooky for 15 minutes to partake in the inaugural "first ice cream of the season." We also raised up our plastic spoons and merrily toasted to many more to come... or at least I did.

Open windows! In houses, in cars... everywhere! The breezes are light, the air is fresh and, providing those pesky allergies aren't attacking like merciless kamikazes, there's nothing that says "spring time" quite like your arm hanging out a rolled down window.