My account at work was set up and for days I looked at a blank, blue background. The worst thing you can have is a blank white background, but blank, flat blue follows close behind. First I put up some Indiana Jones wallpaper. Just the image of Indy running from a giant, concrete ball makes work at a dentist's office feel more adventurous.
Run from gingivitis! Flee!
Soon after, inspired by my love of Bollywood flicks, I posted the trio from Mujhse Dosti Karoge on my desktop. My dentist, and most of her clientele, actually are Indian. She took one look at my desktop and burst out laughing.
I'm fine with being full-blown blinding Irish. While lean and tan may be the thing, I'm okay with glowing in the dark. And when I pursue what interests me, I laugh because I tend to end up as the only white person in the crowd. I work in an office with Indians, I head to the Brazilian cafe for lunch, I live with a Turkman, I love pan de sol. I think nothing of it because I'm one of these people who literally does not notice the obvious differences. I see arms, legs, eyes, hair (or lack thereof), smile, frown, crinkly eyes, etc. Looks like a person. I get that. Color? Not so much.
Indians laugh when they find out I like Bollywood. The barista at the cafe laughs when I try to use on of the three Portuguese phrases I know. At least I'm entertaining.
Speaking of Portuguese, I really do know three phrases. I got "hello, how are you?" from an exchange student. The rest came from the cooks at a restaurant where I worked. They were all male. Half were Brazilian, half were Latin American. Not surprising, the phrases the Brazilians taught me consist of Stava com sandages de voce (I've been missing you) and Eu quero dar-lhe um beijo (I want to give you a kiss). I eventually asked a girl from Brazil to teach me to say
"I have a boyfriend" and suddenly the guys stopped teaching me Portuguese. Crazy.
Another funny thing with language. I remember a conversation with another server. He said that every time the cooks broke into Spanish he figured they were talking about a girl and just threw in a "si" or a "yo sé" here and there and they all laughed and got louder, convinced he understood. But whenever I responded in Spanish, it was always met by the most profound silence. Weird.
Run from gingivitis! Flee!
Soon after, inspired by my love of Bollywood flicks, I posted the trio from Mujhse Dosti Karoge on my desktop. My dentist, and most of her clientele, actually are Indian. She took one look at my desktop and burst out laughing.
I'm fine with being full-blown blinding Irish. While lean and tan may be the thing, I'm okay with glowing in the dark. And when I pursue what interests me, I laugh because I tend to end up as the only white person in the crowd. I work in an office with Indians, I head to the Brazilian cafe for lunch, I live with a Turkman, I love pan de sol. I think nothing of it because I'm one of these people who literally does not notice the obvious differences. I see arms, legs, eyes, hair (or lack thereof), smile, frown, crinkly eyes, etc. Looks like a person. I get that. Color? Not so much.Indians laugh when they find out I like Bollywood. The barista at the cafe laughs when I try to use on of the three Portuguese phrases I know. At least I'm entertaining.
Speaking of Portuguese, I really do know three phrases. I got "hello, how are you?" from an exchange student. The rest came from the cooks at a restaurant where I worked. They were all male. Half were Brazilian, half were Latin American. Not surprising, the phrases the Brazilians taught me consist of Stava com sandages de voce (I've been missing you) and Eu quero dar-lhe um beijo (I want to give you a kiss). I eventually asked a girl from Brazil to teach me to say
"I have a boyfriend" and suddenly the guys stopped teaching me Portuguese. Crazy.Another funny thing with language. I remember a conversation with another server. He said that every time the cooks broke into Spanish he figured they were talking about a girl and just threw in a "si" or a "yo sé" here and there and they all laughed and got louder, convinced he understood. But whenever I responded in Spanish, it was always met by the most profound silence. Weird.
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