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I’m now multi-lingual. When it comes to Christmas.

17 Dec

LOSER.

I’m here to tell you that any song, no matter how great, can be ruined by the “repeat” function on your iPod. So now, imagine what that function can do to a song that’s not great. In fact, imagine what it can do to the entire Glee album. THE HORROR.

[I’m embarrassed to admit that I own more than one Glee album, so I need you to be loving, kind and gentle with me during this post. No judgements, and no derisive remarks suggesting I add “Fame” to my Christmas WishList. I’m trusting you here.]

Even worse than a language I don't speak: squeaks.

Anyway. Last weekend I got in the Christmas spirit. After making some holiday-ish desserts (by which I mean a tub of frozen brandy slush), I selected “holiday” as the genre on my iPod and kicked back with a stack of cards to write. The music started great with Peanuts Christmas by Vince Guaraldi. Then it transitioned to some indie holiday tunes (This Warm December) by mixed artists, and I was still smiling.

And then… it cycled into an album titled something like “Christmas Around the World.” For some reason, these songs were 20% louder than everything else on the playlist. And in languages I couldn’t understand. And featuring slightly obnoxious guitar lines. And maracas.

The first time they came on, I scratched my head thinking, “This is awful. I can guess the words because I know the tune, but really? El Niño de Tambor? Sounds more like a tropical storm than a little drummer boy.”

Then, the second* time I heard the playlist, I thought, “Wow. This is just obnoxious. Each country should be forced to come up with their own unique melody to add lyrics to, instead of repurposing the classics in other languages.” Then I remembered “Oh Tannenbaum” and felt guilty.

Next* time around: “What IS this album? Where did it come from? How do I even own it?”

And the last* time: I was singing along. As it turns out, I can now wish you Christmas in Spanish, French, Portugese and some African language I assume is Swahili. Also, if anyone need a little niño with or without a tamborine? I can totally hook you up.

* = sequence/accuracy of events might be comprised due to brandy slush consumption.

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Make your list. Check it twice. Then check it again.

3 Dec

I generally pride myself on being a pretty thoughtful gift-giver. I try to pay attention throughout the year when someone mentions a guilty pleasure or item they’re coveting. There is little more satisfying than seeing a person completely surprised by something they can’t even remember saying they wanted.

Clearly, a preface like that can only mean one thing, right? That I am an absolute, utter jackass. Let me explain.

My good friend Betsy came over for dinner on Wednesday. The last time I saw her was a few weeks ago, when we celebrated our birthdays. It’s become something of a tradition to make dinner together and exchange gifts.

The thing is, other than the year I had postage stamps printed featuring a photo of her dog, I always come up short when trying to think of creative gifts for her. She already HAS a lot of the things I would naturally think to give her, so I often find myself “giving an O’Connell* Gift,” as my family calls it.

[An O’Connell* Gift is when you give someone a present that you would like yourself. We call it this because as a high schooler, my friend Ryan O’Connell’s brother – drawing his pre-school cousin’s name in their annual gift exchange – gave her a subscription of Sports Illustrated. Yeah.]

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I only parlez-français when it comes to champignons.

2 Nov

Our Learning Services team supports our offices around the world. I tell you this to explain why I was dialing Paris at 10am.

I thought I was calling someone who expected my call. We had a meeting invitation on our calendars, and I’d checked our corporate directory to ensure I had her direct line. But somehow, between trying to remember the international exchange code and entering her number, I managed to enter the general office number.

So I was surprised when she answered with a flowing sentence of French, beginning with the only word I understood: Bonjour. I responded with a Bonjour of my own, before switching to English in a “let’s drop this joke” kind of tone and said, “Hey! It’s Alison. Are you ready for me?”

Silence on the other end. Then, “Bonjour? Repetez, s’il vous plait…”

Which is when I realized it was NOT the person I was trying to reach. So, digging deep into my dusty mental reference drawer, I called upon the French I’d learned eight years ago when I briefly lived in France.

I strung together a sentence which – roughly translated – was intended to communicate the following: “Hi. My apologies. I speak little French. I am American. I am searching for Perrine. Is she there?”

The woman on the other end exclaimed like she finally understood me; then I was put on hold. After a brief delay, another woman answered. “Bonjour?”

Cautiously, I answered. “Perrine?”

Apparently not, because her response was a long sentence which left me stumped.

In my defense, even at the height of my French comprehension, I heavily relied on visual cues. The phone was always my enemy. Taking a deep breath, I had flashbacks of two other French phone calls from my past.

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I’m just here for the books.

11 Oct

Happy Columbus Day, old man.

I walk to the MLK Jr. branch of the DC public library on Saturday to pick up a book I had on hold. It was a gorgeous day, so I was glad to invent a purpose for a four mile walk.

The city was kind of odd — despite the great weather, it was desserted in areas that are normally nuts on the weekend, and over-run with people in areas normally desserted. I suppose I could’ve solved that mystery earlier by picking up a copy of the Washington Post, and realizing a) It was Columbus Day weekend, so many locals were traveling, and b) It was Columbus Day weekend, so Taste of DC was luring people downtown on the weekend.

In any case, I was caught off guard when I approached the library, and saw a virtual party in motion. Lining the street in front of it was a MetroBus with representatives handing out literature about the bus schedule, and a Whitman Walker van providing free HIV testing.

On my way into the library, I passed Mayor  Vincent Gray, glad-handing with a few fans while his bodyguard looked on. (At least, I assume that was his bodyguard. Or his especially thuggish looking cousin. You never know in DC.)

This dog belongs in a library.

Inside the library, the trip continued. A live gospel/jazz band was playing (on Volume 12!) while 50+ people (mostly senior citizens wearing shirts made of Old Glory) looked on, clapping and bobbing. I threaded by way through the crowd to retrieve my book from the Holds shelf.

I got distracted in the Popular Collections room, browsing CDs while tapping my toes to the band’s version of “Papa Was a Rolling Stone,” but apparently not as distracted as the woman who had walked her two DOGS into the library and somehow lost the leash of the massive Golden Retriever. I looked up just in time to see it sprint out of Popular Collections, into the main foyer and across the stage where the Jazz Band was performing.

I can’t really get on the owner for being slow to the draw, because when I went to check out my book, I asked the clerk what the occasion was. “Is this a Columbus Day festival?” I asked.

He looked at me with some degree of incredulity before scanning the crowd, which — as I followed his eyes, I realized — was made up primarily of people sporting wheelchairs, canes or walkers.

“This is in celebration of Americans with Disabilities,” he told me.

And suddenly, it all made sense — the extra-loud music, the free medical tests, the dogs in a library, the flag-themed clothing.

As someone wearing a tank top and sporting a yoga mat strapped to me, I felt especially foolish for having trotted through the crowd. Next time? I’m going to take advantage of that free vision test.

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How quickly we forget…

26 Sep

I was in LA all last week for work, turning in 12+ hour days while battling a cold. This week I’m off to NYC for more of the same, so I took it easy over the weekend. By which I mean: I spent all of Sunday rolling around on my couch, reading and napping, which is completely out of character for me.

Before I tell you this next part, I would like to reiterate: I was VERY tired. And I was alternating between a hard copy of Bon Appetit magazine and an iPad version of Vanity Fair, so what happened next is somewhat understandable.

Instead of turning the page of the magazine, I took my finger and slid it on the article, trying to get it to move up the page. Except, it turns out that only works on an iPad. Not on a real magazine.

As soon as I did it, I was a bit sheepish because it called to mind more than one dumb blonde technology joke: Using white out on a computer screen; Asking someone to fax over a blank piece of paper.

I am convinced: technology is making me dumber.

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