The Pat-Down Experience

In times of need it is common for people to make physical contact with one another. For example, holding someone's hand or touching their shoulder can easily provide comfort to someone who is upset. When you're going through airport security, however, physical contact does not provide comfort and has a hit rate of somewhere around 100% in making people feel upset, unsafe, and rather unhappy with particular security officials.
I acknowledge that our government intends to reduce airport security risk by putting people through X-ray scanners when they go through security, but for a lot of people, the personal risk to their individual health can very well be just as dangerous, for them, as someone who goes on the airplane with a bottle of liquids that is--dare I say it?--3.1 ounces rather than the institutionalized 3. Despite reports that have been released claiming that these X-ray machines are relatively harmless and pose no threat to physical health, many doctors--and many travelers--disagree. The average person is not supposed to have many more than 2 X-rays per year, and with the added frequency of these X-ray machines in airports, it is becoming less healthy to travel than ever before.
My choice, whenever I am assigned to the film-canister-like X-ray box, is to opt out and get a pat-down; this is the only alternative provided to anyone. And it sucks. It just doesn't suck as much as damaging my body from too many X-rays.
I think they like to pick me to go through the X-ray machine because of my hair, or something. I have curly red hair, and sometimes, it gets big. It's not on purpose! It just loves to react that way to humidity... Anyways, they all seem to think that I'm capable of hiding explosives in my hair. This is the most ridiculous thing ever: A). I would never take an explosive on a plane--I'm not suicidal, and B). if I were to conceal one in my hair--which is insanely stupid, I might add--it would surely pull really hard and be super uncomfortable, and that wouldn't be good for my hair either. But anyways, back to my story. When my parents and I went to Hawaii over winter break, we had to take somewhere around 5 flights to get to our destination, and I got chosen to do the X-ray machine all five times. It was fun--SARCASM. The first thing they did? Well, after they give me the spiel about what side of their hands they're going to use to touch me where, they go for the hair! Every time! And I just love how as they're really awkwardly fingering it and poking it and touching my scalp and neck and hair they're telling me "I love your hair." At the same time. Well, if they love it that much, why don't they just quit groping me???
And then they go for the body. That's an experience every time. All I can say is at least I get a female grope-guard, as I call them sometimes. Let's just say that these grope-guards get to touch me--four times per grope, I might add--in places where my dad would murder a boy for touching me. And, yes, don't worry--they get to touch the insides of my legs with the front of their hands and the back of their hands, and from behind me and from in front of me.... Then they move to my arms and chest and everything else. It's horrible. And I'm ticklish.
Anyways, I think that our security system is not going about this the best way they could. By attempting to protect us, the system is also suddenly making it appropriate to be groped in a public place by a complete stranger (and you better hope you don't know your grope-guard because then it might be even more awkward--something like "hi, Sussie--I live down the street! I'm just going to feel the undersides of your breasts now with the back of my hand, so don't worry. And hey, I loved the pie your--" yeah. That'd be even more awkward.).

Frozen is hot, Baby!

In case you haven't heard, Frozen is hot. And by hot I mean hot, h-o-t. This wonderful phrase works several ways: when it's hot, you eat something frozen; frozen stuff is super-in and popular all over the place right now. And we all eat frozen every day (or nearly so, if you're smart :P ) during the summer. Just think; we love frozen yogurt, frozen lemonade, frozen fruit drinks (the yummy kind of popsicle), frozen dessert (ice cream, ect. ), and frozen fruit!  Yes, frozen fruit. 
IT IS SO GOOD!!
Especially in Utah, when it's between 95 and 100 degrees and you're on the tennis court from roughly seven AM until around four (and note that I only include this information because I'm sure that that's an experience we all have at one point or another--just wait!). So, we went to the pool yesterday afternoon at our hotel, and on the menu they had frozen fruit. It was frozen fruit on a stick, or frozen fruit kebabs--it was named something like that.... Anyways, it's delicious, and so refreshing on a hot summer day. Plus, luckily for you, they are easy to make!
There were two kinds of frozen-fruit-on-a-stick: grape-pineapple and strawberry and chocolate-dipped banana. They were served on shish kebab sticks, which is easily accessible at grocery stores. 
To make these delicious and refreshing snacks/life-saving foods, just rinse or cut up the fruits of your choice and put them on sticks like you would for a shish kebab. For the chocolate-dipped banana pieces, just slice the banana into relatively small pieces that can be eaten in one or two bites, dip them in chocolate, and stick 'em on a stick and stick it all in the freezer. 
The result: hours later it's yummy and a lot less sweltering. 
:) :) :)

The Benefits of Creativity

One of our greatest enemies is the army of magpies that comes for a lovely unwelcome visit every year. Every summer, the struggle moves to the fruit trees. We have five sour cherry trees in our yard. Right now, with all the red cherries, they're quite pretty, but the birds are doing all they can to ensure that the bright red cherries disappear as quickly as possible. So, a couple days ago, my parents began picking cherries as quickly as possible. As of two nights ago, there were over ten pounds of the little cherries in the refrigerator. The fact became undeniable: the cherries were taking over the kitchen! 

So, yesterday morning, my parents baked two cherry pies. However, they were faced with a challenge: how is one to bake a pie when the temperature is 97 degrees? 

My parents decided to bake the two pies differently; one was to be baked in the toaster/mini oven which was moved outside near the grill, and the other was baked on the barbecue!! 

So, I've now witnessed the outcome of our first barbecued pie. Not bad, actually.... despite the fact that my dad accidentally didn't check the pie when he took it out the first time and it forgot to cook (but don't worry after he put it back without the foil it cooked just fine!). A small piece of advice for any pie-grillers out there: don't put foil on the pie before it goes into the barbecue. 

So, we now have two pies, one barbecued, the other "toasted" outside. 

Then, my friend came over and we made two more pies--both of which were barbecued! They turned out deliciously, and ours has already disappeared...don't ask how... and I assume theirs is well on the way to the same end. In short, I don't think I'll ever have a case to plead for an oven-baked pie again. 

On the other hand, pies from the barbecue are just as good! So, for all of you bakers out there who are troubled by the hot weather predicament, not to worry! Just put on a hat and outdoor shoes and stick the pie in the barbecue. And, yes, we still set it to 350 degrees. 

Safe to say, now I love barbecue--not that I didn't before--because one can make dinner & dessert--the only dishes being pie tins/plates and silverware. Easy and yum :)

At Long Last

Tonight, I am going to see the final installment of the Harry Potter series. In honor of this monumental event (and no it's not any less monumental because of a five-day delay) I am dressing this post in Gryffindor colors. 
The world's nine-to-thirty-year-olds have been theorizing about this moment for months, and many of us have tried, with a most optimistic sense of stubbornness, to pretend it would never come. But it's not sad at all. My generation has grown up with a cast of wonderful, magical, and very familiar characters. 
I remember the year I was the proudest Hermione ever for Halloween. And yes, before you ask, I still keep my Griffindor tie hung on a hook in my closet, and earlier this morning I found my robes in an elegant heap on the floor. In fact, my Facebook profile picture is Hermione Granger at this very moment... Ahh I love Harry Potter and the magical world he inhabits with his equally magical and achingly loyal friends!
Perhaps it is the universal yearning for such good friends, magic, and adventure that has kept children and adults around the world engrossed, and devoted, to Harry Potter for nearly a decade. I personally know that I used to dream about living in the world of Harry Potter, and many mornings I would awake having lived an entire adventure with Harry, Ron, and Hermione. 
I'm feeling slightly sentimental about the Harry Potter movies coming to an end, sniff sniff. But it seems, at least for me, a good place and time for it to end. When my parents and I were in England two weeks ago for a few days, we visited Oxford and I got to see the real-life Great Hall and entrance to Hogwarts! It was so cool, and the perfect poignant goodbye for a Harry Potter fan.
Also: I am SO READY to see this movie! While on one hand I really don't want it to end, I've been anticipating the final movie--Part II (I have a love-hate relationship with the idea of splitting the final book into two movies) --and simply can wait no longer! On our trip--which was tons of fun--we passed through many cities, towns, and by many advertisements on bus stops. I have had Harry Potter's (and Ron's and Hermione's) face looking at me in three countries!! And, yes, I noticed on our final evening in Barcelona that our hotel room--which had a spectacular view of the beach, city, and sea--also overlooked one last bus stop with the Harry Potter advertisement facing our room up on the 30th floor! 
Also, while I was in England, I read several articles in local and national newspapers about the Harry Potter phenomenon. So now, I'm all excited to go see it!! Woohoo! 
hogwarts
hogwarts
An interesting tidbit that I bet most of you didn't know: one of the Harry Potter themesongs uses lines from Shakespeare's Macbeth when Harry enters Hogwarts for the first time. It seems that the lines of witches doesn't change much through the centuries... You might recognize these lyrics:
Double, double toil and trouble,
Fire burn and cauldron bubble

 Mischief managed!

Spanish Nightlife: Baile Baile!

To all those American parents out there: have you ever had a row with your child because they stayed out too late at night? 
To all those young-life Americans out there: do your parents worry if you miss a midnight or 2PM curfew?


The likely Spanish response to an affirmative answer to any of these questions is "Que? En serio?" 
When we were in Barcelona, we met this really nice receptionist at our hotel. We had a great conversation about nightlife in Barcelona. She loves her job and works ten-hour shifts 5 days a week, and often goes clubbing or partying after. This is her schedule for her job and nightlife:


2:00PM-12 work at the hotel
12 go home to change
2:00AM go out to a club with her friends
5-6:30AM finish clubbing and go home. 6:30 if she's not working the next day, 5 if she is.
2:00PM the next day--go to work. 


This receptionist is not some sort of "loose" person--she is, in fact, dedicated to her job and even moved herself to England for eight months to work in a shop to learn English. Plus, she's super nice. She told us she doesn't drink if she has work the next day, so that at worst she'll only be tired--not hung over, too. 
To me this just seems amazing!
Of course, everything in Spain is later than in the US and most parts of the world; we ate dinner usually around 9 PM, had lunch at 2 or 3, and got up between 8 and 9-10. Personally, I'd never be able to function if I partied all night from 2-6 and had work the next morning, but it's normal in Spain, especially during the summers. 
The receptionist, who is from Madrid, told us that as a teen living in her parents' house, her curfew was 7AM (!), and her dad would call her at that time, worried if she wasn't yet home. Wow. But she said she was very responsible and didn't give him anything to worry about. Maybe there's something to it: give your children more freedom and they learn how to deal with it? Maybe. 
Either way, the Spanish love their nightlife!! And if you're ever going to Spain, make sure you're ready to dance! You'd better get on the late-night schedule, though, because most night clubs are empty until 2AM. Still--don't be fooled! Spain in tons of fun in the day, too! So much to do. Basically, you're guaranteed to have fun all day and all night. 


The last day of our stay in Barcelona and Europe, we had to get up at 5 in the morning for our flight to Heathrow. The driver took us through the city, but it wasn't empty! There were hundreds of people flocking around, in skirts and shorts and sandals and night clothes, talking and laughing and walking around; they were just leaving the night clubs!

L'espadrille

Tout de France aime les espadrilles! Et les personnes de la cote de Basque aiment les espadrilles aussi!

My parents and I just got back from a two-week vacation to Europe; we visited England, Barcelona, San Sebastian, St. Jean-de-Luz, Biarritz, and Bidarray. And we had tons of fun! I loved it. The last four towns/cities we went to are in the Basque region that lies around the Southern part of the border of France and Spain. Though in San Sebastian the national language is officially Spanish, and that of the French towns is French, the Basque region is famously united by the Basque language-- Euskara--, a common heritage, culture and tradition, and their long history in the region (the Basques were the first Europeans and still speak a language unlike any others spoken on the continent today).
But, as I have learned, they have more in common: Espadrilles!! And, proudly, I now have that in common with them as well--as can you. Espadrilles are from France, and St. Jean-de-Luz has several shoe stores that sell nothing but espadrilles! A shoe/espadrille-lover's heaven. The shoes are the most comfortable shoes I have ever tried on in my life; I literally tried them on in the stores and had the distinct impression that I could walk twenty miles in them if I had to--and gladly. Most espadrilles are light-weight, so they are ideal for walking. So far, I don't know how long they last, but I do know that nearly every local in San Sebastian and the towns in the cote de Basque was wearing espadrilles to walk around in, and many wore them for dinner as well. They come in varying styles and levels of formality.
All espadrilles have a sort of woven canvas or cotton bottom that's anywhere from a centimeter to a couple inches high if you buy espadrille platforms. Traditional espadrilles are sandals and flats, with nude, basic, or colorful fabric forming the top of the shoe.
And the coolest thing: they ALL fit me! It's truly amazing. Buying shoes in America, I always have to try on one or two sizes depending on whether the brand runs small, or large, or even "normal". I'm a size 37 in European sizing, and every single pair of size 37 espadrilles fit me perfectly. MIRACLE!! Plus, we were there during the sales, which provided an unimaginable amount of need for self-control.
My advice: get some espadrilles! They might be a bit pricey, depending on the store, style, sales, and the Euro (if it's a shoe store in France or Spain) but they are so comfortable it'll easily justify the price, plus they're coming into fashion in the US, they're always in fashion in the Basque region, and they're super-cute, comfy, and wearable.
Many European espadrille shoe stores are stuffed floor-to-ceiling with espadrilles on every wall, and the flats take up nearly no space both in the closet and the suitcase.

Espadrilles:

Espadrilles in a shoe store

Somebody told me that only Americans are so uptight about the health of their teeth...

This morning, in London, I decided to recharge my electric toothbrush. I brought it in honor of my recent dentist appointment and, to uphold my promise, I wanted to recharge it to keep my teeth all clean and extra shiny.
     The outlet near the desk in our hotel room is a complicated contraption. There are five plugs, each with a different arrangement of holes and, apparently, voltages. One of the plugs had two converters stuck into it (one probably to convert the plug shape to France or somewhere because the other one probably converted a French plug to an American one) and was also the plug where my cell phone recharger had been plugged in. I used that one, figuring--in my jet-lagged mind--that it would be compatible with my electric toothbrush recharger as well.
     I plugged it in and began rummaging around in my suitcase. About a minute later, we heard a loud pop, like a fire-popper had just imploded near the desk. I looked around, shocked. There were slender streams of smoke circling around the desk as well. My dad came rushing in and--lo and behold--quickly removed the charger from the wall. Genius in residence (I) had ruined my toothbrush recharger after being in the country nearly twelve hours. In my dad's words, it "sizzled and fried" because I'd thoroughly the thing beyond functionality. Now, I'm sitting at the desk and examining the outlet while writing this blog post. Hmmm. The outlet I plugged my cell phone charger into says 230V. Oops. Sorry, dentist!
     And thank you mom for getting dad and I new toothbrushes from the front desk!