I am sure it is user error, but I'm not having an easy time getting Blogger and Picasa to talk to each other. And as Tina says, they're supposed to be friendly! However, I did manage to get a little film that I took in Fes uploaded to my gallery on me.com. This was taken in the Medersa Attarine during a call to prayer, so don't mute it. Unfortunately, I forgot that you can't rotate films. But most of you can rotate your heads, so do that.
http://gallery.me.com/meshirley#100005&bgcolor=black&view=grid
This is a pretty typical, though very well maintained; example of Moroccan architecture and decorative elements.
Showing posts with label The Idiot. Show all posts
Showing posts with label The Idiot. Show all posts
Sunday, February 28, 2010
Friday, February 19, 2010
The Never-Know
Sunday, February 14, 2010
Error Checking
Good evening and happy Valentine's Day, folks. I realized I either need a copy editor or I should not write blog posts after Chianti. I was looking over last night's post and I realized I committed apostrophe errors (horror of horrors!) and I also informed that Michelangiolo's David was at least 12 inches tall. Yes, I pulled a Spinal Tap Stonehenge gaffe. It is now corrected.
In that vein of the dumb things I do, there is nothing like travelling to really make you realize you don't know anything. For example, I popped into a supermarket in Florence yesterday, getting some provisions for my train ride, and I picked up a couple of mandarins. Once I'm getting checked out, the girl says something to me, I automatically apologized (a useful reaction when you don't know what's going on), and then she leaves her station, goes to the back of the store, returns after a bit, and waits until another employee brings back my two little mandarins with the addition of a sticker that has the weight and price on it. That was my job to do. Who knew?
My first night in Florence, Mathias had invited me to meet him at his rowing club, which just happens to be in the basement of the Uffizi. I left my hostel a little late, so I raced through all these tiny little cobblestone streets (a 23 minute walk that had 15 turns) and keep coming upon these landmarks, the Duomo, the Palazzo Vecchio, the Uffizi's sculpture platform. But I was late, so no time to enjoy the view. I found the entrance to the club - it's this low green door on the ground level of the Uffizi, right on the Arno river, and I pressed the buzzer. I heard the lock unlock, so I pulled on the handle. I pulled and I pulled, making the kinds of sounds you do when you think you're alone. I could not get this door open. Just then, a member of the club comes by, and he saunters on up to the door, greets me, and pushes it open, as easy as can be. I laughed more than he did, but he didn't see my struggle. A few minutes later, I tell this story to Mathias and his rowing partners, a group of strangers I'd just met, and the bartender at the club interjects something in Italian. I believe she said that when I was trying to open the door I sounded "like a whining puppy." And she imitated me for the group. I dispute that exact characterization; however, I will admit sounds of a plaintive nature may have been made.
I have been paying extra attention to push and pull signs from that moment on.
Off to Morocco tomorrow, I will get you pictures sometime....
In that vein of the dumb things I do, there is nothing like travelling to really make you realize you don't know anything. For example, I popped into a supermarket in Florence yesterday, getting some provisions for my train ride, and I picked up a couple of mandarins. Once I'm getting checked out, the girl says something to me, I automatically apologized (a useful reaction when you don't know what's going on), and then she leaves her station, goes to the back of the store, returns after a bit, and waits until another employee brings back my two little mandarins with the addition of a sticker that has the weight and price on it. That was my job to do. Who knew?
My first night in Florence, Mathias had invited me to meet him at his rowing club, which just happens to be in the basement of the Uffizi. I left my hostel a little late, so I raced through all these tiny little cobblestone streets (a 23 minute walk that had 15 turns) and keep coming upon these landmarks, the Duomo, the Palazzo Vecchio, the Uffizi's sculpture platform. But I was late, so no time to enjoy the view. I found the entrance to the club - it's this low green door on the ground level of the Uffizi, right on the Arno river, and I pressed the buzzer. I heard the lock unlock, so I pulled on the handle. I pulled and I pulled, making the kinds of sounds you do when you think you're alone. I could not get this door open. Just then, a member of the club comes by, and he saunters on up to the door, greets me, and pushes it open, as easy as can be. I laughed more than he did, but he didn't see my struggle. A few minutes later, I tell this story to Mathias and his rowing partners, a group of strangers I'd just met, and the bartender at the club interjects something in Italian. I believe she said that when I was trying to open the door I sounded "like a whining puppy." And she imitated me for the group. I dispute that exact characterization; however, I will admit sounds of a plaintive nature may have been made.
I have been paying extra attention to push and pull signs from that moment on.
Off to Morocco tomorrow, I will get you pictures sometime....
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