Phlegm Advice

Remember a month ago, when I was sick, I told you about how my friend said to spit out the phlegm that I coughed up. At the time, I thought it was a strange and seriously disgusting piece of advice, but I have been proved wrong. At the top of an article about phlegm is the following statement: "Say what you will about the Maoist propaganda machine. They're right; you should spit the phlegm out." The reason it gave for the advice was that the phlegm may carry bacteria that's making your lungs sick, and if you swallow the phlegm, some of the bacteria may fall back into the lungs infecting it further. Am I grossing you out yet? Needless to say, I have not started on this new spitting regime. If you're interested, here's the website about phlegm: http://www.getridofthings.com/get-rid-of-phlegm.htm

Amazon Deals

Good marketing works wonders on me. Every online store must love people like me! Even as I write this, I've flipped over to Amazon.com twice to look at the "Today's Deal's" page, even though a new deal isn't due to appear for another hour. Luckily, they sell a lot of DIY equipment, so I'm not buying much, but that doesn't stop me from following the website punctiliously. I hate it when I have to leave for class every day for fear that a great deal will appear as soon as I step out of the door. Then, it's always such a relief when I return home to find that whatever went on sale was some grass-cutting or baby-feeding device. It's Saturday today, so no class, but I did (in a moment of madness) promise a friend that I'd meet her for lunch today. I think I'll have to tell her that I'm too busy studying for finals today.

Exam Season

I bought 11 pairs of shoes today. It really wasn't good for my credit card, and it really wasn't good for my tiny closet, but it had to be done. My girlfriends spend the weeks immediately before exams desperately vacuuming every last speck of dust from their floors and rubbing every piece of metallic-wear until they sparkle. My guy-friends suddenly discover the gym and religiously visit those hallowed halls as if sweating profusely will making God answer their prayers about passing law school exams. I crack jokes and laugh at them, but secretly, I envy them. Once exams are over, they're left with immaculate apartments and muscular bodies while I sit fat and penniless in my unkempt apartment filled with shoes I'll never wear.

Crêpes

Have you ever encountered any problems with the word "crêpes?" I ask because the word seems to be a total mystery in America. A couple of years ago I was walking past a crêpe shop in Santa Monica, Los Angeles, when a guy behind me asked his friend, "What's a creep?" I was so shocked I turned around to make sure it wasn't a child asking the question. Then last night, I told my friend the "creep" story as we sat in a restaurant eating crêpes for dessert. However, my story didn't produce the desired polite laugh, and instead, she popped out with the question/accusation, "I always thought it was crêpes (kr-ay-ps), but you call it crêpes (kr-eh-ps)." I stopped in the middle of cutting my crêpes and looked down at them, wondering whether blowing on the powdered sugar would distract my friend from her searching question. Finally, I shrugged and made some excuse about how all British people butcher French words. When I got home, I immediately sat down before the computer. Google once again came to the rescue, and a happy gloating sensation filled me as I realized that it was the Americans that butchered French words.

Word of the Day: Squash

Sometimes I feel like I'm teaching English in a foreign country. Today's word is "squash" - the drink, not the verb, sport, or vegetable. I pick up a bottle of the drink in my favorite New York supermarket (they also sell imported English tea). The Americans look back in confusion. "This is orange squash," I explain. A vague look of comprehension passes over some of the faces. "So it's a mixture of orange and squash juice in a plastic bottle?" one of them asks. I shake my head; this class is not going well. "It's concentrated orange juice," I start in my lecturing voice. "You pour a bit into a cup and then top it up with water." A general murmur of "water" goes around the group. Questions start flying everywhere: why do you have to add water; why not just drink fresh orange juice; why is it called squash? I shrug miserably and offer in weak protest: "It tastes really good." The class disintegrates.

Diet-coke Cake

Diet-coke cake. 178 calories per serving, recipe makes 12 servings. Ingredients: 1 can of diet coke, 1 box of cake mix, preferably chocolate. Instructions: Turn oven to 375F. Grease a baking pan. Mix the can of diet coke with the box of cake mix in a large bowl and pour into greased pan. Bake for 35-45 minutes until toothpick comes out clean. Result: good smells throughout apartment, lots of friends saying, "yum," "this is amazing," "I gotta try this." My opinion: real cake tastes way better.

Karaoke all night long!

I hate karaoke - I always have. But they just smiled when I told them, and so we went to karaoke. It wasn't hard to find a place - they seemed just littered throughout K-town, and so they took me to this place called Grand Karaoke. It was a poor choice of name because it happened to be very not grand. Bursts of music shot out of each supposedly sound-proofed door, and I cringed at hearing the discordant voices. I hate karaoke. Once inside, I promptly sat in front of a book and my eyes started scrolling through the list of songs. My hand started flipping over the pages as my mind searched for songs I like to sing. Suddenly, the remote was in my hands, and I was desperately punching in numbers. A song comes on, and I instinctively reached out for the mic. The showercap mic condom was snapped on, and I launched into song. They turned and smiled at each other. They knew exactly who loves karaoke.