At the time when I met my beloved husband, I was living in a big old house in San Jose. It had 1700 square feet upstairs, and a finished basement that brought the total up to 3200 square feet. There were four or five people living there, but still, it was a big house.
When I married Jim, I moved into his 1100 square foot condo (that he had gotten used to living in by himself).
When we moved up to UBC, we moved into a room at Green College that is 412 square feet.
When we went to Guatemala, we stayed in what was essentially a short-term boarding house, where our room and attached bathroom gave us about 113 square feet.
When we went skiing last weekend at Whistler, we stayed at a hostel with a bunch of of Green College folks. We managed to get a private room (with bathroom down two stories) that was only about 70 square feet.
When I commented on this to Jim, he said that I at least knew that 36 square feet was the limit because he’s six feet tall. I laughed and pointed out that he’s only six feet tall in one dimension.
Most people, if their spouse started visiting casket shops, would start worrying that their spouse was thinking of murdering them. Me, I’d worry that he was shopping for a new home.
I was talking with someone about our Governer, Arnold Schwarzenegger.
Recently, he was in a motorcycle accident, and it was discovered that he didn’t have a motorcycle license. I see a disturbing pattern. He seems to think that rules are for other people.
- Motorcycle licenses are for other people.
- Sexual harassment laws are for other people.
- Competitive rules against steroids are for other people.
- Immigration laws are for other people.
A “to hell with authority” attitude might play well in Hollywood, but I get really nervous about political leaders who don’t think the rules apply to them.
I went skiing on Saturday, which was a lot of fun despite it being 9 years since I skied last, despite not being used to skiing in powder, and despite being 42 years old. But that’s not what this post is about.
It was busy enough that a (very nice) couple crashed our table at lunch. Making smalltalk, they asked us where we were from, and I didn’t know how to answer.
Let’s see… my Mom lives in Bellingham, WA, where I’ve never lived. I grew up in Illinois. I’m registered to vote in California. Our car is registered in British Columbia. I live in Vancouver. Most of my stuff is in Blaine, Washington. My passport says US. We will probably go back to California, but that’s not 100% certain.
So I’m not sure where I’m from.
I wanted to keep control over my blog. I wanted to use my own software so that I would have control.
Of course, I never actually got around to finishing setting things up the way I wanted. So I never posted.
I finally decided that keeping tight ownership of non-existant posts wasn’t really buying me much. Besides, it was either set up a new blog or catch up on my studies, so here’s the new one.
Go see the old blog.