A quick turnaround

Music bores me. The whole current Scotty Emerick infatuation aside, I am not one of those people who can sit/stand/walk/work with the headphones on.

It’s not that I don’t like listening to music, but hearing the same stuff over and over bores me to death. (It's also considerably unsafe to be even remotely distracted while dodging motorcycles on a walk to work.) Especially during a workout routine that’s about two hours long.

Doing the joggy thing on the elliptical seems to last longer with Alan Jackson in my ear. A new song comes on and I immediately think “OK, that’s three minutes gone [Note: this is with the exception of the extended version of ‘Chattahooche’ – who the heck’s idea was that, seriously?], now, how many more songs do I have to listen to before I can get off this thing and stand in front of the AC and gasp for a minute?”

So I find alternatives. Mostly, these have been biblical. I keep up with Pastor Curtis at Thomasville Road Baptist Church and have dabbled in this lecture dude on apparent contradictions in the Bible. Pretty fascinating stuff.

Lately, I happened on a “Through the Bible” series that’s been on the radio since John the Baptist was in fourth grade. The guy – not JtB, obviously – died in 1988, but whoever does this now has a lead-in and then plays this old-time preacher named J. Vernon McGee guy going through, well, the Bible.

The whole “bus ride” takes five years and I decided to jump on with the farthest one back on the archive, which was July 2007. It’s a daily show but I’m fast-tracking. I listen to four during my workout routine and then might listen to one later, depending on what’s on TV. November starts tomorrow.

It’s in no particular order so far as I can discern, but I’ve been listening most recently to Kings. Prior to this, he did David’s life and McGee, this country preacher, keeps using quaint phrases. I mean, it’s REALLY old school – I think he must have originally recorded these during the war in Vietnam based on some of the side comments.

One of his phrases has been “the chickens come home to roost,” which I haven’t heard in forever. He uses it a lot, kind of describing karma. Usually he uses it in negative terms, such as Jacob fooling Easu out of his birthright and then later being duped when he wanted to get married

But sometimes those circular things aren’t bad. Especially if you’re not, you know, sending the husband of your pregnant lover to the front lines to be killed. Sorry, Uriah!

I remember this happening free and clear in Glasgow. I tend to buy those daylong subway passes and, when I am done for the night – I tend to turn in earlier than others – I’ll hand them off to someone about to buy one and say have at it.

When I went to Scotland, I traveled by train to Glasgow from Edinburgh but accidentally bought a round-trip ticket. I went to the little machine and found this guy who gave off a “clearly poor backpacker” vibe and handed it to him.

After getting to Glasgow a couple hours later, I tracked down the buses to the city. Before I could buy a ticket, a guy from the bus place asked if I was headed into town. I said yes, and he handed me a ticket. Someone had given it to him and said to pass it off.

At the time, I laughed, thinking payback didn’t come any quicker than that.

Well, I was wrong.

There’s a lady and her daughter who frequent the overpass I cross over to go to work or the grocery store, or practically anywhere else in my small area of this 650-square kilometer metro area. I’ve no idea of her name or her circumstance. I’d peg the little girl at maybe 6 or 7, though.

They’re clearly homeless, or close to it, but she’s not actively panhandling. I mean, she has a little cup nearby, but she doesn’t look at me and expect me to give her a handout, as this other lady did today.

I’m a bule, which means white person, and of course that means I’m rich. Never mind I am pretty much hand-to-mouth here, but it really, really offends me – and pisses me off, actually – when someone comes to me and ONLY me to ask for money, especially when I am walking in a crowd.

But that’s another rant. This woman, whatever her circumstance, has never asked me for anything and always returns my smile when I pass by. I see her maybe twice a week, and sometimes she and her daughter are just completely asleep when I go by.

Once, when they were both sleeping and I was headed to the store, I came back and left them – still sleeping – with a little bag of goodies. Nothing much – a donut each, some crackers and two drink.

On my way to the store today, they were crashed out again, so I deliberately shopped for them a few snacks. Nothing much, really: two apples, two yogurts (I hope these are good because I got me one, too), two donuts, a tea each and a pack of non-Scooby Snack crackers.

Quite honestly, right now wasn't a good time to do this. I'm almost completely out of cash. Today was payday and the money went to my US bank account OK, but I don't touch that. I live off the housing allowance that I get monthly in rupiah. It's enough to live on modestly and it's a good system.

It's payday for that, too, but since I am off I can't get mine until Monday, when both I and the admin staff are back. In the meantime, I'm down to very little to get me through. But I felt convicted to help these two out, and happy to do it.

Like last time I splurged on these two, it was kind of fun buying for someone else – kind of like a secret Santa. What would a little girl like? Does the mom like guava or mixed fruit? Who doesn’t like chocolate sprinkles?

This time, the duo happened to be awake, which was a little disappointing on a couple of levels. First, I do prefer to remain secret and second, I don’t want to set up any expectations.

But they were grateful, as you can imagine, and even thanked me in English.

Five steps past them – still on the overpass – I saw some paper close to blowing off the overpass. I bent down to pick it up and realized it was money. There were four bills that I caught before they jumped the bridge and into the depths of traffic.

The “chickens-roost” line ran through my head and I laughed to myself as I went down the stairs on the other side of the overpass onto my side of the street.

When I got home, I counted the bills. Rp 34,000, or about $4.

I figured it had to be about what I’d spent on the duo and wondered if God really does have that quick a turnaround on payback, so I dug my grocery receipt out of the bag.

Yogurt: 9,930

Apples: 1,964

Crackers: 4,290

Donuts: 7,980

Tea: 4,380

Total: 28,544

No doubt.

Getting it done

My lease is renewed for another three months! I debated moving to a place closer, but the fact is, I’m in the cheapest place I can get while still having a kitchen, and I’m OK with it.

Don’t get me wrong – I am tired of sink-washing clothes (and my clothes are so stretched out it’s insane) but it’s not worth paying another $60 US a month for something that’s only marginally closer to work.

Renewing the lease – oh, what fun.

I knew it was coming and fortunately had a day off about the time I needed to do it. Basically, I had to just tell my landlord I wanted to stay and then give him the money.

The money required a bit of trickery. My rent is Rp 4 million a month, and the lease is paid three months in advance. This equates to about $1500.

The way I’ve been working here, my paycheck goes directly to Florida (God bless Envision, only a $5 charge). I like that, because it’s much easier to transfer my IRA contribution from there, and the checks for the horse flip ER bill and also my useless Sprint bill come out of that account.

So I’m OK not having a local account. That’d make paying bills easier here, but I don’t make anything easy.

Instead of using my Envision money to live on, I’ve been using my Rp 3 million that’s allotted as “housing allowance.” (I tried really hard to find a place for that – nothing exists.)

So that means that when it came time to cough up another inches-high stack of Rp 100,00 bills, I didn’t have it.

Fortunately, I had some USD stashed. My reimbursement for my plane ticket over came in greenback, for some reason, and I managed to exchange that plus some extra rupiah I had from previous months, so I didn’t have to actually delve into Envision to get it.

Next renewal I will, but that’s a bridge I get to maneuver in October. Fun times ahead.

I’d told my landlord I wanted to renew, and he signaled me to come on by the next morning, which was AOK with me.

So I plan on waking up and getting it done. Then, naturally, variables happened. That evening after work, I *finally* got my cable/modem bill. I’d paid for the initial setup at the end of April, but until mid-July heard squat about how much it was a month or anything.

Then, night after I make plans to pay a bill, I get another one.

Bills here get paid to different places. I pay the maintenance bill (electric, water and all that) to one bank and the cable to another. The rent goes straight to the guy, so that doesn’t require a trip outside the building.

But the cable did, so I had to wake up even earlier (GRR!) and head over there to cough up the equivalent of something like $60. Seems steep, but I have no idea how long that’s for. It is the first bill I’ve received.

By the time I got back, I went directly to the dude’s office and waited on him.

I was thinking – oh, I’m such a simpleton – that I’d hand him the money, get a receipt, and walk away. Not so much.

I had to sit there while he and two assistants printed an entirely new lease, which I had to fill out. Of course it’s in Bahasa, which I don’t read, but I filled in the blanks in English like I’d done last time.

I had to show ID again – for some reason – and this means he sees I’ve gotten a new passport, which is another layer of copies and receipts.

Finally, I think I am done. By this time, despite having started out the day at the bank about 9:10, it’s close to 11:30. Any thoughts of working out are shot. I’m trying to get out of there and my landlord says something about the maintenance bill.

This freaks me out, because I’ve paid them. I tell him this – he speaks a little English, fortunately – and as it turns out, I am supposed to bring my receipts from the bank to the apartment office so they can stamp them and staple them.

He tells me to come back tomorrow to do it and I agreed, but on the way back to A08-09, I figured I did not want to blow another morning and just went back and got the three I’ve collected to far and got it done.

So glad I don’t have to go through all that for another three months!

Today, too, I did something I’m going to be avoiding – at least through Ramadan, which begins in a week or so.

This being my regular day off, I hit the grocery store, as I do practically every day off. I opted to go to the Walmartish store, which is located in a mall I didn’t know existed until a week or so ago.

I’d gone there previously and can you say “overstimulation”? I wasn’t prepared for what’s essentially five floors of flea market-y stalls ad naseum. The Walmarty thing is in the basement, which is not the same as the semi-basement. It’s lower, and you can’t just go down, you have to go down one escalator from the ground-ish floor, then walk around a path to find another escalator thing. (It’s more of a moving ramp, like an airport thing on an incline.)

This week, I thought I was prepared for it, but no. I forgot everyone is Ramadan-planning, which means there are beaucoup people around. Not to mention the whole Saturday afternoon thing.

I couldn’t get out of there fast enough. It took forever, because I had to deal with the stupidity that is mall people in order to fight my way down to the basement.

Anyway, I opted to change up the regular food and got some spaghetti, which seemed like a good idea only I forgot about Parmesean cheese. I did OK with what I had, though. Overloaded the garlic.

The store, though, just about killed me. I made it to the registers – which, oddly enough, were not crowded – and realized I’d wanted to get some moon pies and just said forget it. It wasn’t worth going back into the throng.

Yes, I did find moon pies. They’re a bit small (let’s get real – so are Indonesians. I tried again at another mall with another “XL” dance top and again, it barely made it to my elbows) but they’re tasty.

I took one to work and snacked on it. When someone mentioned sweets, I’d mentioned I’d found moon pies and was glad to have done so.

Well, neither the girl from Vancouver nor the girl from New Zealand had ANY idea what the heck I was talking about.

Ever tried to describe a moon pie? I thought I was dead-on with my description but they looked at me like my third eye was winking, you know?

Finally, I realized I still had the wrapper, so I pulled it out and showed it to them. They were like, “Oh! Chocolate cakes.”

Apparently foreigners have a completely different take on Southern treats.

And no, they had NO idea of what RC Cola was. And I didn’t even try to explain. It was like, trust me, this is what you’re supposed to have with a moon pie.

Invest in Gold

So, about this “dry season”

Ah, Saturday. It’s nice to have one consistent day off during the week, even if the other one floats around.

I pretty much keep the same schedule, only it tends to start a tad later than usual. Last night, for whatever reason, I got no sleep so I slept a bit late before starting the routine, which began with making pancakes. Mmm….

For whatever reason, they’re not as good as in Morocco, but they’re still fine. The margarine I use, though, doesn’t really melt well. It’s pretty greasy.

After doing a bit of sink laundry, I grabbed by cloth bag and headed to the grocery store. Clouds loomed on my walk, but it’s the dry season now, right?

Well. Sometime while I was in the Giant in the basement, the clouds opened and holy cow, it rained. Badly.I did not have my new, frou-frou umbrella with me, as it's SUPPOSED to be the dry season. Liars.

When I got out of the store, completely oblivious, it was still raining cats and dogs. I hung around awhile and thought maybe it was clearing up so I set out.

Mistake. Fortunately, it being my day off, I was wearing Chacos and capris instead of tennis shoes and long pants, because the water just flooded. By the end of the 15-minute walk home, I was, quite literally, as soaked as I was after my post-workout shower that morning.

But it’s water, not napalm, so whatever. Everything’s drying on the balcony, including the morning’s laundry, which of course hasn’t had a moment to dry.

Nothing’s jumped off the railing, though. That’s a plus.

While at the mall, I had a major disappointment in my clothing quest. I’m hoping to find a new sports bra or bathing suit top suitable to work out in, what since my venture for a new T-shirt isn’t going so well.

Happily, in the department store where I bought my shoes, I found something appropriate – I think it was a dance top. It’d work, and it wasn’t too pricey.

It was, however, WAY too small. I picked up a large and an XL to try, and I gave the XL a shot first.

Perhaps my workout routine is far more successful than I noticed, because I couldn’t get the thing past my elbows. I heard threads popping. And that was the XL.

Thinking maybe they were different brands, I gave the large the ol’ college try. Barely made it to my forearms, and I’m not Popeye. I’m just glad I was able to get it off before it looked like something a tranny Incredible Hulk would have shed.

Yeah.

It’s tough to buy stuff in another country. Food is fun. You take a lot of risks, whether it’s making sure the powdery stuff really is baking soda for the pancakes, if that A&W can *really* is root beer or when choosing candy.

The fake M&Ms I think I’ve documented. Pretty darn good. It’s possible, but tough, to go wrong with chocolate. Cookies and things like that, well… there is a lot more room for misinterpretation.

All apartment buildings, as well as practically every kind of business, have some form of minimart in it. Mine’s called, for some reason, 5-11. I think they pulled that out of a hat because it is NOT open until 11. I have been getting home around 10:45 lately and it’s clearly been closed and abandoned by that time. I cannot verify the “5” part. Nor do I want to.

But when I was down there dropping off my laundry, I hoped to get some kind of non-sugar snack. These days, I don’t mind rewarding myself with sugar because according to the little workout machines I’m doing away with about two Snickers bars every morning and I don’t actually eat Snicker bars here, so I feel I can treat myself.

But sometimes you want salt over sugar. I am not a big fan of the flavored chips here – I mean, I can do BBQ, but “chicken BBQ”? Salt chips exist, but are hard to find. We have Pringles and even a fake Pringles, but my particular 5-11, my only option at this craving attack, didn’t have them.

So I looked at the crackers. Not a package in English, so, like PCVs and expats everywhere do at times, I took a stab based on the picture.

It looked good. Really. Kind of orange-y and welcoming, like a Ritz with salt sprinkled on them. They were big and rectangular, though – pretty hearty-looking.

And cheap. I guess crackers are cheaper than sugary things, and you get more of them. So, sold.

God help me. I was an ad major; I should have known better.

I sort of chickened out immediately and didn’t bother trying them for a few days. Eventually, I decided I needed a cracker and tried them.

Oh, man. Nasty stuff. I couldn’t place the flavor, but it was nowhere near a Ritz, and definitely not even one of those Cheetoh-colored ones that have the peanut butter inside.

No, this was some flavor I couldn’t place, and I think the reason I had a hard time placing it because it was *sugar,* not salt, topping it. That’s just wrong.

Still, I had a whole pack and wasn’t going to waste them. I took them into work to eat in case I got hungry.

And, eventually, I got hungry. I thought maybe the second one would be better.

No.

No.

NO.

It’s grimacy bad, really. So not what a cracker is supposed to taste like.

But really, I was unsure of what, exactly, it WAS supposed to taste like. I mean, perhaps that head-shaking taste with the sugary bite at the end was exactly what it was supposed to be.

In this lovely Google age, and especially at work with a computer sitting right there, I figured I had the power to find out.

I typed in the words on the package, and, to my horror, learned I was eating “beef-flavored” crackers.

My God. We have those in America. They’re called "dog biscuits."

I swear. I’ve been eating Scooby Snacks for people.

YouTube amuses me

I’m a week removed from the Fourth of July, which obviously isn’t a big deal here. As you’d figure, it’s a regular workday for most, but somehow I managed to get off.

That itself was a tad annoying. We got our June days off list at the start of the month, and I realized I had a two-day weekend during the last week, with ran into July. My days off fell on July 2-3, which would have been really cool IF I had my passport back. I could have gone somewhere, but since I wasn’t in possession of it, nothing was in the cards.

So I had a nice Saturday, doing pretty much absolutely nothing except this:

(Photo of Gracie Bulldog courtesy of Wendy. I love that dog. Do not tell Kocur.)

My Saturday goal, though, had been to finish my scrapbooking, which I’ve been doing online lately. It’s not the greatest creative outlet, but it’s possible to get it done remotely, which is kind of key when you’re half a world away.

I didn’t want to not meet my goal, so I started doing my “Westward Ho” scrapbook (from Laramie River Ranch to Denver, St. George and eventually Palm Springs) at 11 p.m.

I finished at 2 a.m., so I wound up sleeping late on Sunday. Woke up at 11, checked my email and went to the fitness center.

There, I have started a trend, I think. It’s been *far* more busy lately. Today, for example, five people went in and out in the hour and a half I was in there.

Someone who is shorter than me comes in and uses the bike after me and leaves nasty sweat drops all over it. Disgusting. Other people, such as the ones who came in today, leave the door wide open even though the AC is blasting. I just don’t get it.

Anyway, back to July 3 – I did my little routine and then went back to my hotel room-sized apartment and logged on again. Had a note saying “Sorry for the late notice, but your regular day off is tomorrow.”

So, a day and a half into it, I found out I had a three-day weekend. Drat.

At that point, there was just no way I was going to do anything like go out of town, so my big thing was Skyping a friend for three hours.

However, I decided to go ahead and do the American thing and get a burger, fries and a Coke at Wendy’s.

Yes, I have a Wendy’s. If I exit my apartment and turn left, there is a huge compound across the street named, eerily enough, the World Trade Center. I go through that complex, turn right and it’s there in some building.

As to which building it was in, I had no idea. The way it’s set up here is odd to me. You have McDs and KFCs, but they’re not freestanding necessarily. (I haven’t seen a freestanding one, anyway). They’re hidden in office or apartment buildings.

In Wendy’s case, it’s in the basement of a bank building. I wasn’t sure which bank building, as the sign is smack dab between two of them, but I took a chance and went in the right one.

Another aside: you don’t just wander into any buildings here. You ALWAYS go through security, whether it’s your own apartment and they just wave, the mall and get wanded down or other places where you walk through a metal detector.

But no one questions as to why you’re entering such-and-such building. You just get checked extremely briefly and walk on in.

The Wendy’s was in the basement of this particular building, and I found it pretty much right off and went through an additional metal detector down between the convenience story and the fast-food place.

Ah, it was such an American-type fast foot place, and not even five minutes from my house. I got there quicker than we get to Granny’s in Havana!

I noted I can get a Frosty, and they have chicken noodle soup, which is good to know. Also baked potatoes, which I crave – but those seemed a bit pricey in comparison.

But I ordered my No. 1 combo and waited on it a bit. I have to say, even sitting there, I realized how badly I was craving an American burger and sat there wondering if it could live up to my expectations.

It’s not inappropriate to use the word “lust” to describe how I was feeling for that burger. I even thought “Man, I am setting myself up for disappointment here” and laughed at myself for looking *so* forward to it.

But you know what? It lived up to my expectation. Fabulous burger, nice salty fries and a fountain Coke with *ice cubes*. I am not sure it can get better, honestly.

The rest of my Fourth weekend was quite boring. There’s no way I can sit out three days again, but I amused myself with YouTube.

From there, I’ve been stalking the writings of Scotty Emerick, who is the guy who wrote most of the good stuff that Toby Keith’s done. Apparently he’s done more than that (Emerick, not Keith) and is sort of a beachy country writer, which I like.

So I spent the better part of the Fourth watching several videos repeatedly. The most fun one is here:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jhTweJ3mDKs

In this case, it’s not Emerick singing it but Billy Currington. Apparently it’s on a CD of his, but it’s on the Currington CD I own, which is sad because I adore the song.

The gist of the song is basically that dogs are superior to dates and why. The video isn’t official; it’s just some guy who’s pulled random photos off the Internet in a slideshow. The lyrics alone crack me up but the photos whoever it was pulled down are just hysterical.

Three favorites:

The “I iz trin 2 explod ur hed wit mai brain” Chihuahua at the “he don’t look at me like he hates me” line, the growly pup on the “when I say her sister is a bitch” line but my absolute favorite is the “he don’t play dead when I try to pet him” puppy. It’s at the 1:20 mark and I cannot get through the video without cracking up.

It’s not Emerick’s best song, I suppose – there are much “deeper” ones out there – but man, I absolutely love that one.

Billy Currington reminds me of a hockey player, but I can’t pin down which one.

Gone With the Wind

Not talking about Margaret Mitchell’s finest work, which turned 75 this week. I’m talking about my T-shirt, the Hockey Ministries International one I got while working for a camp in Windsor.

I think in all, I volunteered there for three camps, and it was a lot of fun. I was the “tuck lady,” which meant I was the much-loved person who showed up in the afternoon and sold them candy. Good times.

For this I got a T-shirt, and that navy blue shirt was the only one I opted to bring with me to Jakarta. Honestly, the selection was kind of slim. Since I made (or, let’s be more specific – had made) three quilts made up of T-shirts (for those keeping score: a hockey one, an FSU one and a Hard Rock one – and no, I will not be purchasing a HR shirt ever again, even though I now am in need of a T-shirt and live within a few miles of one) my selection wasn’t the best.

Honestly, I have very few T-shirts at this juncture. I wasn’t about to bring the newest one, which is a Bobby Bowden appreciation shirt. (Kind of demonstrates how long it’s been since I bought anything new, doesn’t it?) That one is long-sleeved anyway. And I can’t didn’t want an easily-stained white one, while ruled out the only other FSU shirt I had.

So anyway, the HMI T-shirt made the cut. I figured it’d last the 6-12 months I’m here.

And perhaps it will, but not on my watch.

I’d been wearing the shirt every single day when I worked out. The navy looks just so great with the shorts, which are also navy. I look like some kind of color crayon.

Anyway, post-workout, I’d either rinse it or actually wash it with soap, and then hang it over the balcony to dry. Then, when I got back to work at night, I’d do my nightly routine: head to the balcony door, pull the stuff of the railing, close and lock the door, pull down the blinds, hit the AC on, strip and jump into the shower. I swear, sweat comes easy here.

One day, walking to work, I was surprised at how nice the weather was. I mean, it was darn balmy – even pleasant. A nice breeze blowing and everything. I tried to prop my back door open to let it in. That didn’t work, but it was still so nice I decided I’d even wear jeans to work instead of the usual Columbia pants. I love the jeans, but usually it’s just too darn hot to walk to work in them.

So I headed off to work, jeans, Chacos and whatever the heck shirt I had on, and left the stuff on the line. What a nice walk, too. Just probably the best weather day I’d had since I arrived.

Even the way back was nice – no humidity, no rats.

But when I got back home and started the routine, I realized there was no HMI shirt to be found. Stuff has dropped before, but on my side of the rail. There’s a little ledge on the other side, but my shirt wasn’t there. Mchat. It was gone.

I guess the wind blew it from its little 8^th floor perch. I kind of intended to look, but once I thought about what I might find, it turned me off a little. Think about it. I’m in a residential section, and had it fallen, it would either be swooped up and taken to a better place or left to die alone, run over by motorcycles, discarded food items, rats and liquid things I prefer not to think about. (Public peeing is big here.)

So now I’m down a shirt and having to work out in one of the two tank tops I brought. Not ideal, considering the culture here, but I’m dealing with it until I find an appropriate (code for “cheap but not lewd”) T-shirt. Another not-so-ideal deal with the tank is that when I wash it every day, it tends to stretch. I have serious issues with it staying on my shoulders.

Obviously it’s a slow news day when it’s all about kamikaze T-shirts, but that’s not the only clothing item I’m down: I finally sacrificed my tennis shoes to the Jakarta street gods.

They were really wearing down, with holes in the back where my orthotics stabbed them and the tread on the bottom was pretty much trashed.

Poor little things. They weren’t even a year old, really – bought to work at the ranch only last July or something. Or maybe I bought them for the Y, which would put them at a year.

But whatever, Zippy hated them and threatened to burn them even before I came here, so they kind of knew they were on their last legs. Does that cliché work for shoes?

Currently, Jakarta is having its 484^th anniversary and lots of places are having sales. I’d been stalking the only tennis shoe place in my nearby mall for about a week and thought I found some likely replacements, but once I actually brought socks to try on potential candidates, I learned that they didn’t have any in my size.

So I went to the department store-ish place there and found a couple more options. Neither was overly attractive, but since I had taken the oldies for their last walk and left them on the side of the road, I didn’t have a lot of options. I guess it never occurred to me my size would be hard to find in a non-tacky item.

Once the sales guy and I were on the same page as to the size – for some reason, the other guy told him I wanted a 43, and I wanted a 40 – I did find a pair. It’s a little too white for me, but I figure that’ll likely change as soon as I start to wear them on the streets.

They’re mid-cut little Reeboks, white with red trim. It’s not blood red, but it’s not pink or fuchsia, either. Or maybe the red pales because the white is so white.

They’re OK, I guess. I’ve been wearing them a couple of times in the mornings. I do still have another pair – the one I found at camp. They’re all right, too, but they are pretty ugly and a little small. I can either walk to work in them or wear them to work out, but I can’t do both in the same day.

Other than food and household items, that’s really the first purchase I’ve made here. I’d kind of hoped it’d be a little more exciting – I really do want some of the batik shirts – but it hasn’t panned out just yet.

Perhaps the quest for a new T-shirt will be a little more exciting, but I’m not holding my breath. This is me we’re talking about: possibly one of the most boring people ever.