What do I look like to you?
Apr. 24th, 2004 09:25 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
xaara"Stop whining," my coach declared the other day after I complained to him that my knees hurt from the constant crouching abuse of catching.
"But we have enough money in the budget," I said. "We could buy a pair of kneesavers and then I swear I'll never complain again unless that *omitted* girl from Ballou runs into me at home plate again."
He turned toward me, a smile lurking at the edges of his mouth. "Kneesavers are for girls," he said. Evidently, he thought this would deter me from my expressed desire for a pair.
"What do I look like to you?" I asked. "Last time I checked, I was a girl."
He blushed, muttered something under his breath (he mutters a lot under his breath - I should be glad he's not a wizard or I'd be cursed forever), and walked away without responding.
Another conversation in the life of Carmen.
I found myself watching the sky yesterday, just watching the clouds move by and the sun shine through. The sky is fascinating, and happened by the merest chance - it could just as easily be yellow or green as it is blue. And then I wondered if the sky determines something about humans. We've defined blue, the color of the sky on a beautiful day, as a relaxing color; red, the color of the disappearing sun, as the color of death; grey, the color of the clouds that threaten rain, as an ominous color. But what if we bled yellow and the sky were orange? Would our definition of relaxing tones change? Our symbolism certainly would.
Another random series of thoughts in the life of Carmen.
It's finally summer, which means - drumroll please - that I'm going to have to go figure out what I did with all of my summer clothes! I found about half of them yesterday, but several skirts and various shirts have gone AWOL and disappeared into the attic. It doesn't help that my dad's up there all the time rummaging around and trying to "fix the wiring" (read = mess something up so horribly that we'll actually have to call an electrician). My brother and I call his weekend projects the "I'll be down in ten minutes of Doom."
Another utterly useless observation about the life of Carmen.
I miss Sicily. I think that's the reason I'm not entirely happy with living here. Don't get me wrong - I'm not depressed or sad - but I miss the volcano and the ocean and the mopeds and the Italian and the way the sun shone on the cobblestones. I miss the castle and the Chiesa Madre and Carnival and the festival of the patron saint. I want to go back so much that it is at times a physical urge. Americans, at least those who have never left the United States, generally frustrate me no end. I want to tell them that they have no idea what the rest of the world is like, no idea how the rest of the world sounds apart from the broken Spanish they manage to learn. There are always exceptions to that, but my relatives on my mother's side of the family are classic examples of how the loss of curiosity and wonder results directly in the loss of interesting and innovative thoughts. They're the most boring people I've ever met.
Another rant based on experiences in the life of Carmen.
Oh, and I decided that I want a British accent. I want to be able to say "Bugger off," and have people not laugh at me.
"But we have enough money in the budget," I said. "We could buy a pair of kneesavers and then I swear I'll never complain again unless that *omitted* girl from Ballou runs into me at home plate again."
He turned toward me, a smile lurking at the edges of his mouth. "Kneesavers are for girls," he said. Evidently, he thought this would deter me from my expressed desire for a pair.
"What do I look like to you?" I asked. "Last time I checked, I was a girl."
He blushed, muttered something under his breath (he mutters a lot under his breath - I should be glad he's not a wizard or I'd be cursed forever), and walked away without responding.
Another conversation in the life of Carmen.
I found myself watching the sky yesterday, just watching the clouds move by and the sun shine through. The sky is fascinating, and happened by the merest chance - it could just as easily be yellow or green as it is blue. And then I wondered if the sky determines something about humans. We've defined blue, the color of the sky on a beautiful day, as a relaxing color; red, the color of the disappearing sun, as the color of death; grey, the color of the clouds that threaten rain, as an ominous color. But what if we bled yellow and the sky were orange? Would our definition of relaxing tones change? Our symbolism certainly would.
Another random series of thoughts in the life of Carmen.
It's finally summer, which means - drumroll please - that I'm going to have to go figure out what I did with all of my summer clothes! I found about half of them yesterday, but several skirts and various shirts have gone AWOL and disappeared into the attic. It doesn't help that my dad's up there all the time rummaging around and trying to "fix the wiring" (read = mess something up so horribly that we'll actually have to call an electrician). My brother and I call his weekend projects the "I'll be down in ten minutes of Doom."
Another utterly useless observation about the life of Carmen.
I miss Sicily. I think that's the reason I'm not entirely happy with living here. Don't get me wrong - I'm not depressed or sad - but I miss the volcano and the ocean and the mopeds and the Italian and the way the sun shone on the cobblestones. I miss the castle and the Chiesa Madre and Carnival and the festival of the patron saint. I want to go back so much that it is at times a physical urge. Americans, at least those who have never left the United States, generally frustrate me no end. I want to tell them that they have no idea what the rest of the world is like, no idea how the rest of the world sounds apart from the broken Spanish they manage to learn. There are always exceptions to that, but my relatives on my mother's side of the family are classic examples of how the loss of curiosity and wonder results directly in the loss of interesting and innovative thoughts. They're the most boring people I've ever met.
Another rant based on experiences in the life of Carmen.
Oh, and I decided that I want a British accent. I want to be able to say "Bugger off," and have people not laugh at me.
