Feet of the Duck

I am always willing to try new things. This is particularly different than when I was a young child. Sitting at the kitchen table, all alone, I frequently spent my night staring at the delicious dinners that my mother prepared. I did not want to eat the chicken Parmesan, or spaghetti, or stew. EWW!! GROSS!! I would literally go so long without eating that my parents were afraid I was going to starve myself to death. But when something was placed in front of me that I actually liked, I would eat my body weight in it. Pancakes and shrimp, bread and cereal. My preferences did not follow much rhyme or reason. If it was pink I would eat it. Other than that I pretty much lived off of bread and nothing else. Finally, I matured and my taste buds followed. I would actually try some of the food that was set in front of me, and LOW AND BEHOLD! It tasted good! I soon ventured out and tried many different foods. There are still some foods that I just cannot stand; bananas, onions, peanut butter, but for the most part, I will try anything. And at this point in my life I mean absolutely anything.

Growing up in a particularly ethnically diverse city, my family eats at many different restaurants. We eat everything from the fiery hot peppers of Thai food to the slow cooked Jamaican. We will eat blood soup with the Vietnamese and Curry with the Indians. My favorite place to eat though is Chinese BBQ. There is a big debate among the Chinese (and my family) over which Chinese BBQ restaurant is better. I personally choose First, but some people will refuse to eat anywhere besides King's. After loyalties have been decided, we started frequenting this restaurant many times. It is all family style, so the more friends you bring, the more dishes you get to order. One day after church, we had about 15 people eating at this restaurant, and decided to be very adventurous and order one of the strangest things on the menu (for white people at least). This was during the Beijing Olympics, and the news had done exposes on delicacies over there, one of which was duck's feet.

So, you guessed it, we ordered a plate of duck's feet and passed it around. Only the more adventurous slid the slimy white treat onto their plates to try it. I was among them. I picked up one of them with my chopsticks and tried to bit off just a small chunk. Well it was chewy, and we had no knifes. I had to dive right in; it was all or nothing. I grasped it between the two plastic utensils and ate it. It was disgusting. It was tough, chewy, slimy and so flavorless you couldn't stand it.

I stopped after one bite, but I am glad I tried it. I think it must be one of those things that you have to grow up with. I certainly did not enjoy it. I am glad that I tried it though. I can always win any contest of who has eaten the strangest food. If I don't win with duck's feet, then I go onto tongue, tendon, blood soup, or squirrel. I wasn't kidding when I said that I really would try anything now.

The Lottery

The lottery was a very interesting story to me, perhaps mainly because of the setting. The setting of this story was interesting to me since it was so contemporary. When I first finished the story, I thought that surely it would have to have been set a hundred and fifty years ago, or more. When I found out that it was less than half of that, I was shocked. I couldn't even imagine something like that happening today. Then I took a moment to think, and realized that something like The Lottery could happen today. Perhaps it wouldn't happen here in Fort Worth, but it could happen in a different part of the world. And if you really get down and think about it, we take away people's rights like that right her. Perhaps not to such an extreme extent, but we do take people's rights away purely by the random selection of what they believe in. While I am not going to turn this blog post into a political forum, I do think that no matter who you are, you will agree that somebody in America, right now, is not receiving all of the freedom that they deserve.

This story was a particularly shocking one. As I read the posts of my classmates and listened to the class discussion, I realized that many of them began the story like me. There was not the slightest inkling in my mind that something terrible was going to happen. In the very beginning, I thought that The Lottery would be something to win, something exciting. Perhaps that is linked to my current connotations with the word lottery. When I drive down the highway past the powerball sign, I usually spend the next 15 minutes day dreaming about what I would do with all that money. So while I was reading this story, I started to imagine what the winner of the lottery would win. The buzz of the town got me excited, but soon I realized that this was not necessarily the buzz of winning a few thousand dollars or a big screen tv. Nothing, however, prepared me for the stoning that was going to happen. The screaming and chasing caught me off guard and shocked me.

Like many other stories this semester, this one did not leave me in a happy-go-lucky mood, but rather a deep, almost dark contemplative mood. The type of mood I picture troubled artists have all the time. Perhaps that is the point. 

Hunting adventures

            I grew up in the great state of Texas. This means that every fall, my dad would head out with his buddies for a weekend of hunting. All I ever saw of this was the tasty venison that he brought back. As he got older, he would go on bigger expeditions looking for something more than a Texas white-tail. Well, my father has recently retired, and as a result has a plethora of free time to spend hanging around the house doing who knows what and playing tennis. As far as I can tell, all he ever does is play tennis. I walked up to my father last winter and told him “you are out of excuses Vati (german word for father). It is time that you took me hunting. I don’t have tennis and you don’t have work.” To my great astonishment, he agreed. Well I was so excited. I also made sure to bring it up every few months to make sure that he knew I expected him to keep his word and that he was excited about it.

            This November, we took a trip down to a family friend’s ranch, and yep, you guessed it! I went hunting! I was very excited and nervous to go hunting. I had never killed anything more than a squirrel with a pellet gun before. My dad and I loaded up Frank (see my previous post if you don’t know who Frank is), and drove down to go hunting. We got there Friday night, and I started doing target practice with the gun I was going to use (.243 Winchester, if you were curious). I was a little worried, because my target practice got consistently worse. My dad shrugged it off, and then we went to bed. 

4:30 am the next morning we woke up and went out. I knew that we were going to have to wake up very early. I am NOT a morning person. This is a problem when you are hunting, because coffee is very pungent. Deer have an excellent sense of smell. Well, when it cam time to wake up, I had no problem because I was so excited. I actually was awake before my dad came over to wake me up. We silently crept out to the blind to await our prey. Once we got to the blind, we waited, and waited, and waited. While waiting for the sun to come up, the flies started encroaching into my area. I was a good hunter and did not move much to get them off of me, and instead just let them walk on me. Well one particularly annoying fly was creeping all over my arm. I flex my muscle to try to make it move. It doesn’t work. I do it again. It doesn’t work. I finally look down and try not to scream and ruin everything. There is a giant ugly hairy spider crawling up my arm. Well I flick it off and my dad smashed it with the binoculars. He told me that he was just proud I didn’t knock everything over and make a scene.

A little while later, the does start wandering in front of us. We see a small three point, and then finally an 8 point wanders into my sights. I stead my self, take a deep breath, exhale half way, and BAM! I took down that buck with one shot. He didn’t even take a step. I have never seen my dad more proud of me. I got another buck that weekend, but nothing compared to hearing that first shot ring out and seeing my animal We skinned it, and took it home. Now, thanks to my efforts, I have some delicious venison chili in my fridge. This was a great experience, and one that I am very proud of. I cannot wait until next fall when I can go back and do it again. 

Franklyn

            The day I turned sixteen I expected a fun new car out in the drive way with a giant bow on it. I got no such wonderful surprise when I woke up on that March morning. Unfortunately.  Very Unfortunately. I drove my sisters car around that day. This was the car that we had both learned on, but she put it through a lot more than I ever did. See my sister had a habit of parking this car. Into stationary objects. She and her friends put a lot of wear and tear on that old Toyota Rav 4.

            Now you see a Rav 4 is a perfectly respectable car. It gets good gas mileage, is a nice size, and would suit most people’s needs very well. I, however, am not most people. I am a car person for one. I love cars. I enjoy looking at cars, reading about cars and driving fun cars. I also have very specific options on the different automotives that people drive, and like a stubborn Texan, I am set in my opinions.

            I drove all through my sophomore and junior years of high school in that green mediocre car. Because that is exactly all that it was: mediocre. Driving around town with my mother was, I’m sure, torture for her. Every car that I would even consider driving I would point out to her, and let her know that I really liked it. This mostly consisted of trucks and sports cars. Unfortunately, my mom reverted to her Yankee upbringing and refused to buy me a truck. She also said that if I get a sports car, I would kill myself. I really had no argument on that second one. I did point out one car that she didn’t have much of a problem with. It was not a practical car, but it was a very safe car which was important to her. It was nice and big, and practical. It would have very low maintenance when it got older as I graduated college and started paying for more things on my own. I had picked out an electric blue FJ Cruiser.

            One morning the summer before my senior year, my mom told me that we could go LOOK at cars. She emphasized over and over that we were only going to look. There was no way that we were going to buy a car today. We had several other dealerships to visit. WE WERE NOT BUYING A CAR TODAY! “Okay, okay, we aren’t buying a car. I got it mom.” We walked on to the lot, and of course were ignored. We looked at a lot of the FJs and none of them have what I was looking for. They were new cars, but had thousands of miles on them already. None of them were blue, and all of them were automatic. After looking around the whole lot, we finally spotted one blue one over in the used car lot and decide to meander over and take a gander.

            There it was. That was my car. Sitting in the middle of the used car lot, it was the last of the cars that they had bought from another dealer. The odometer read a whopping 22 miles on it.  It was only left because most of America is too lazy to buy a car with a standard transmission. It had every single thing I wanted, from the racks to the wheels. This was my car. And it was a third of the price of all of the new cars we had looked at.

            Well my mom went back on her word, and we traded in my sisters green mediocre car for Frank. His name is Frank the Tank. In family settings he is Franklyn. 

The Cask of Amontillado

The Cask of Amontillado was the only story in the class that I had read before. This made it interesting because the first time I read this story I was no where close to being a sophisticated reader. I think it was somewhere in junior high when I first read this story, but it went way over my head. I did not understand much of what was going on, and didn't know what to think of the story when it was done. Looking back on my second reading of the story, I realize how much more I absorbed while reading this time around. I understood better what was happening, and why Fortunato was killed. The first time I hardly even realized that he was murdered, never to be found again. I was more focused on the reasoning and the thought processes than the fact that it was all happening while there was a big party going on outside. 

            Montresor is very cunning in his plan, and the reader can tell that the idea is well thought out. The timing is obviously thought out, since Poe tells about it. The carnival distracts people from what is going, people are not reliable and somebody wont be missed immediately on a night like tonight. Montresor knows what to tell people to make them do what he wants. Although this is evident with his manipulation of Fotunato, it is much more evident with the servants at Montresor’s house. He knew that by telling them he wouldn’t be home during a big event, that they would leave. This shows his deep perception about human nature. Poe really understands how people work and what makes them do certain things. This is evident in his stories, and to me, is one of the reasons why they are so highly disturbing.

           

Edgar Allan Poe is an excellent author of short stories in my opinion, but he is a little to dark for my preference. I really like how he understands the psyche and what gets to a person.

Finally, I leave you with Mister Edgar Allen Bro.

Fathers and Sons

            After reading so much Ernest Hemmingway this semester, I think that the one story that best illustrates the Nick Adams stories is Fathers and Sons. This story illustrates the struggles that Nick had growing up. These struggles he had as a child did not leave him when he became an adult. They only changed. His struggles with his father were translated into the struggles that he had with his own son, trying to be a good father.

            Nick does not know what to do to be a good father, but he does try to do a better job than his father. When his son is curious about his grandfather, Nick fibs about what kind of man he was. He wants his son to have a good image of his grandfather, and not the same image that Nick has.

            The reminisce in the middle of the story is a very interesting change. It does not particularly make sense to the rest of the story. Nick is driving through the area where he grew up and is thinking back on it. It is interesting because most of the story is about the role of fatherhood, but the flashback does not touch much on fatherhood, but rather maturation. The flashback pairs well with the story before it however, Cross-Country Snow. The two stories deal with Nick growing up and learning about life. Perhaps Cross-Country Snow is why Hemmingway put that particular memory of Nick’s in Fathers and Sons. Since he linked two stories together often, the similar memories in each story would help to link them.

            Doing what is right by our children is a big part of human nature. People are always struggling with how to raise their own children better than their parents. I think that more often that not, ones parenting skills are no better or worse than that of their own parents. They are only different methods. There is no one perfect way to raise a child, and as Nick is learning in Fathers and Sons, you can only do what you think is best for your own children. 

The Yellow Wallpaper

The Yellow Wall-Paper was one of the stories this semester that had the biggest impact on me the semester. Much like the public when it was published, this story was shocking. I did not expect it to be so vivid or detailed. This story transports you into the narrators mind. Since it is written in almost a diary format, you feel that you know exactly what the narrator is thinking. If it was told in first person, this would result in an entirely different story than the one that Charlotte Perkins Gilman told.

One of the biggest parts of the story for me is the subsections. This illustrates the worsening of the nervous disorder. As each section is read, you feel for the narrator and feel how she is going insane locked up in the room.

I think the fact that the description of the room is very important to the story. I know that I have seen wallpaper before, that has foil or something else in it, that makes it appear that it moves. This is very disconcerting, particularly when I was a child. Wallpaper is not supposed to move at all. I can understand how the narrator would be very disconcerted with the wallpaper after being locked in the room all day with nothing to do but stare at the wallpaper.

            The story made a big impact on me since it really transports you there and you feel like you are just as bad as the narrator. The shockingness of it plays a very big role in it as well. As a very hyperactive person, I can understand how much worse I would get if a doctor had prescribed me the rest cure. Even if there was nothing wrong with me in the beginning, I feel that after the rest cure, I would have gone crazy as well. 

9/11

The biggest event so far in the lives of my generation was 9/11. This is the day that we will always remember what we were doing. Much like Pearl Harbor, or man walking on the moon for future generations, 9/11 is what will be forever imprinted on the minds of our generation. I was in 5^th grade in 2001. My parents drove me to school that day like any other day. When I got to school, my teachers were all acting very strange. They kept leaving and going into the halls, talking to each other, and more or less doing no teaching what so ever. In my English class, three of the 5^th grade teachers were in a corner of the room listening to the radio very quietly.

None of our teachers were allowed to tell us what was going on. When discussing this day with my contemporaries, I realized that this is not what happened in most schools. For most of my friends, their parents came and picked them up from school or school was cancelled all together. Teachers were much more upfront with them than my teachers were.

Walking out of the school, across the fields I was still carefree and happy. I did not realize anything in the world was different until I walked outside of the fence and spotted my mom’s car. Now this was not strange. My mom picked me up from school every day. No, the strange part was that my dad was sitting in the passenger seat. On that day, I could not remember another day when my dad had picked me up from school spontaneously. Occasionally he did, but I always knew about it before I left for school that morning. Mom would remind me that my dad was picking me up from school, and to be patient if he forgot and was running late. It was after I got into the solemn car that my parents told me what happened. I did not understand the true consequences of that day until I had grown many years older though. 

The imaginarium

            Growing up, my backyard was pretty legit for the suburbs. It was a big hill that ended in a fence and then a small lake. This meant that you can run up and down the hill, and then when you are tired, its time to go fishing, right out of the backyard! My dad and I had a garden in our side yard, where we grew a bunch of delicious vegetables that I didn’t eat. I was a very picky eater when I was a little kid. Eventually though, my mother decided to redo our backyard, and completely ruin it for my childhood games. The terrace she added prevented me and my sister getting in our wagon and riding down and slamming into the fence at the bottom. The fountain in the middle made any further football or soccer games impossible. Even my dad’s garden that we spend so much time on was banished since it was not aesthetically appealing enough. Don’t get me wrong, I love my mother and she has excellent taste. The unfortunate part of this is that children do not care much about taste.

            There was one very positive benefit for me during this landscaping. When I came home from school, there was a giant pile of dirt in my backyard that stayed there for about a month. I would run up and down this huge pile of dirt and have the time of my life. I would get home from school, put on my cowboy boots, and go explore and see what had changed. The dirt came from digging up our yard, so as a result I found a plethora of lost treasures. I found a house key, many fun sticks that could be used for imaginary games, lots of “cool” rocks to put on display in my bedroom and even an arrowhead.

Looking back now, this pile of dirt was probably only slightly taller than I was at the time. That didn’t matter to me though. This was my imaginary wonderland. It was a battle field and a castle. It was a cave and a mountain. It was anything and everything that my young mind could imagine. 

Latest Meeting

At our last meeting, My conversation partner and I met outside for a short and sweet conversation. It was just before Thanksgiving, so we talked about holiday traditions with our respective countries. I asked her if they had Halloween where she was from. She responded that they had Halloween, but nowhere near to the extent that we have it. People will have small decorations on their houses, but that is about the extent of it. Children do not dress up and go door to door asking for sweets from total strangers. The most interesting part of this was when she explained the most likely reason why this was. She said that in her country, the streets are not safe enough for children to be out wandering at night, even accompanied by a parent.

            At first my reaction to this was how is that possible. What kind of country would one live in where you can’t walk down the street at night with your children. Then I took a second and rethought the whole thing. I realized that there are neighborhoods in our cities now that are like that. I think of Halloween in my neighborhood at home. Carloads of kids are trucked in to trick or treat in better neighborhoods. I thought of the places where some of my classmates from high school grew up. Not all of our neighborhoods in America are like those where me and the majority of other TCU students grew up in. Many are unsafe and dangerous. Sometimes all it takes is a little perspective on what the truth really is to realize what a person is saying and where they are from. If you look at things from another angle, sometimes you can find a whole other side to the story. 

They forgot Halloween

With Halloween as the next holiday on my mind, my apartment has a witch’s boot filed with candy and pumpkins scattered around, I choose the October issue from 1950’s. To choose something a little bit different, I went with the Ladies’ Home Journal. Flipping through the magazine, I realized that it has much of the same concerns that women today worry about. How do I look good, balance my family life, and get everything done for a reasonable amount of time without spending too much money. There are many advertisements for making recipes homemade, but with fewer ingredients.

There is an entire article about “going steady,” with advice for women and girls on what is and is not appropriate. The biggest difference I noticed between now and then was their suggestion of what “your age should be…” They say that there is no point in dating a boy before you are 18. This is interesting, since not that long before this many women were married before they were 18, and now most kids start dating in elementary school or junior high. A lot of the advice talks about getting hurt when you break up. It assumes that most people cannot handle it if they get their heart broken too young. I think that this is ridiculous, because getting your heart broken is part of growing up and maturing. If you never take the risk, you will never gain anything. This takes the opposite approach of the old maxim: It is better to have loved, and lost than to never have loved at all. Also, there is a section on how to walk in high heels. This was entertaining to me, since their heels are only one or two inches high, and incredibly stable to walk in. My closet is full of heels at least twice that high, and I have learned to walk in them all on my own without ever reading about it in a journal.

The journal also has many fictional stories, or perhaps they are true experiences, of what it means to be a lady. There are several stories of young girls and their experiences, along with watercolor pictures depicting them. These stories tell of what girls should be feeling about their everyday experiences and how they should react to them. These stories help me to imagine what it was like to be a young woman 60 years ago. They give more detail into the thoughts and feelings of these women, rather than just advice on the things that they are struggling with, which just happens to be the same things that I am struggling with and my friends are. Does he like me? What do I wear to this? Etc.

Another main focus of the journal is help from appliances and modern day conveniences. These are electric rangers, toasters, pre-packaged food, Aunt Jemima pancake mixes, dri-polish mixes. Everything is about easier and faster and better than before. There is even a letter to the editors “modern mothers have cinch” that says “instead of asking all the young women conveniences how they manage (and pretty poorly, seems to me), ask my mother-in-law, who is now eighty-three. She has had fifteen children, no modern conveniences and little money.” Lots of social opinions seem to focus on how a woman acts in the home, and how she utilizes her time. The advertisements are all encouraging the use of their helpers and such, but there seems to be a faction of older readers who do not agree with this method of cutting corners in the home.

Some of the advertisements are no different than current advertisements. Paper towels tout their strength, and how you can re-use them. This is no different than paper towel commercials on TV today. Obviously some things never change.

For the October issue, there is no mention of Halloween. No cute Halloween cupcake recipes, no tips on making costumes, or any other mention of the upcoming holiday. Since I was curious about the difference, I went to the Ladies Home Journal website today, and the very first picture that I was greeted with was of cute ghost Halloween cupcakes. Many of the overall stories are still the same. There are topics of beauty, relationships and women’s hygiene. Other top topics are community and do-good. I’m sure that these are topics that the 1950’s readers of LHJ would approve of.

The price of the journal has not increased as consistently as the products advertised in the magazine. The issue in 1950 cost 25 cents and issue, and now you can get an entire year for $6.00. That’s 50 cents and issue now, so it has only doubled in over 60 years. Not a bad bargain if you ask me. I wish that you could say the same about groceries and the price of cars. My budget would be in much better shape if that were true.

There is a much bigger focus in these journals on cleaning the house and cooking quickly. Also, the 1950’s LHJ focuses more on parenting than the current version does, but I think that is because women then spent more time in the home raising their kids, and less time out and in the offices like modern women do. Lots of the daughters described in the magazine are the perfect daughters. They are popular and well liked, beautiful and do well in school.

Overall, the general issues discussed have not changed, but how the women go about them have changed. Women focus less on the home, and just accept modern conveniences as a way of life. The way of life in general is the same. Women still want to do well in their relationships, although the emphasis has shifted from husbands to boyfriends, and cook good food. Looking through the magazine has been very interesting, but taught me that as much as things change, people in general still stay the same.

Second Conversation

After a lot of confusion the first week on who my conversation partner actually was, I finally got it figured out. I have been talking with more than just my conversation partner, because many of the IEP students will hang out after their classes are over. Many of them come over to talk, resulting in a very different experience than my first conversation which was one on one. My partner is very shy, and usually gets tired of speaking English after a while. Not that I can blame her!!! Lina, my real partner, is 18 and very nice. Her English is excellent, and I have learned that she is in one of the higher levels of English.

Norelly, who is my accidental partner, is much older than Lina and me. She has a more difficult time with English, and asks me to slow down often. Lina, Norelly, and a few other IEP students and I all were talking today, about a wide range of subjects. They are teaching me some Spanish (not that I am learning it very well) and I am helping them with English. One thing that this is helping me with is actually learning more about English. Today, I was trying to explain the difference between "may" and "can". I know that "Can I use the bathroom" is grammatically inncorrect, but I cannot tell you why. I also cannot tell you why "may" is correct and what the difference between the two is. Thinking about the subtle differences in words is a whole new thing. Some words mean basically the exact same thing if you look at their definition, but in a sentence they can have incredibly different meanings. Talking to my conversation partner(s) has showed me how much language is learned, rather than taught. I also have a newfound admiration for all teachers who teach another language, because they have to answer questions that I don't think I ever could answer.

English is hard, I get that. I just can't explain why.

A step back in time

Perhaps it is because I am a marketing major, but anytime I read a magazine, old or new, I look at the ads. When looking at the ads, I examine who is supposed to be reading this magazine. Nail polish ads, this is a magazine geared toward younger women. The type of car advertised tells me the income level, and everything else just builds on this portrayal of the audience. I often laugh out loud at the TV now, because they will miss out completely on who I am (ESPN doesn't realize I am a 20 year old female who loves to shop, but is still interested in sports). In general though, I know that reading ads tells me a lot about who is reading the magazine.

When I first open to TIME Magazine March 14, 1932 (I was born one day and 59 years later) I spy an article about the increase of pipe smoking as the economy normalizes. As I continue to read, I realize that this is actually and advertisement hidden in the format of an article. Different than current advertisements, where that is the first thing the article lists, I made it about half way down the one column article before I realize that it is encouraging working men to smoke Edgeworth smoking Tobacco, for "that cool, slow-burning, sweet smoke." The advertisement begins by describing a certain type of man, one who has to work for his dinner and knows the hardships that come with a bad economy. It tells the men how relaxing smoking a pipe is. This was an interesting ad to me, because it perfectly depicts the average man in the time period. This man needs to come home and relax, he has had a hard few years and he he is part of "a generation that has no illusions about sudden wealth without work." Even with no knowledge of the current events of 1932, I could have figured out a little bit about what just happened, and how it has affected the people that have lived through it.

The rest of the ads in the magazine follow this same outline. Relax after long hours of working. You earned it YOU deserve it. Take a vacation, go to Colorado, Japan or Russia.

Also, there are several advertisements about the railroad, which was celebrating an anniversary. Central United National Bank of Cleveland recalls 96 years ago the first railroad was chartered in Cleveland. They are looking towards "what the next four score and 16 years may hold!."  (Why don't we use scores to measure years anymore? Next time somebody asks me how old I am, I should reply with 1 score). If the writers of this ad could jump forward even to now, I doubt they would believe the changes. Instant communication all across the world, microwaves, cell phones, space travel and molecule science.
Another part of the magazine that astounds me are the prices of everything. You always see old advertisements for penny candy, and other everyday items for a few cents. However, looking at more expensive things puts it into a greater perspective for me. Chrysler has several advertisements for the net Packard eight. You could by a high quality convertible for $1,795. Also, there is an ad talking about $5,000 or more being an incredibly high income family. Today, that is what I hope to make all year working a minimum wage job while going to school, only to support my social life and shoe obsession. Families that make over $5,000 buy over twice as many automobiles and twice as much soap. I’m not sure why rich families get so much dirtier, but they obviously have plenty of money to make sure their kids wash behind their ears.

Many of the ads try to target what kind of person you are. This is very different than today, when ads assume that you already know exactly who you are. Are you a woman, who looks for a good deal? Then buy a Copeland refrigerator. If you think of yourself as a worldly person, buy A1. The advisements are very different, and say a lot about the people reading them. They are people coming out of a depression, who are smarter about spending their money. They are beginning to buy luxuries, but still looking at places where they can save a few pennies. They are interested in World News, and want to think of themselves as well informed about other parts of the world and their cultures. Looking at this magazine showed me more in depth about who these people are and what it meant to live in 1932 as a middle class American Citizen.

The First Encounter

After many problems with trying to connect to my conversation partner, (and more problems still continuing) I finally sat down and had a chat with Lina. I still have no idea what the first question she asked me was, but after a while we got into a pretty good rhythm. The hardest thing was coming up with things to say. Normally when you meet somebody new, you have a place or event in common that can serve as a topic when conversation lags. Randomly meeting a person who you know nothing about challenged my conversational skills. On the upside, it was great practice for those awkward first dates when you realize you have nothing to talk about. After a while we found out that we both like extreme sports. She started teaching me Spanish (I'm about the only Texan who doesn't speak it!) and I helped her with her English.

It was a very interesting experience learning about somebody who grew up in a different country, but finding out that it really isn't all that different. In general, people all over the world are the same, no matter what.