Bless your heart, bitch

Southerners have this reputation for being somewhat hypocritical. Always nice and sweet to your face but talking smack behind your back. That's 100% not true.

Southerners have no problem expressing direct disapproval. They just do it nicely. Listen and learn how it's done:

Every time you feel the urge to say something really mean about someone... don't fight it. Indulge it. Just remember to add a "Bless your heart" to whatever it is that you are saying. As in:

Bless his heart, he is the stupidest, most self-centered, self-important mother fucker I have met in my entire life.

See. Nasty but oh-so-sweet.

I LOVE THE SOUTH.

Memphis in The New York Times

How awesome! There's a great feature on Memphis in the travel section of The New York Times today. The focus of the piece is on the less known side of Memphis, beyond Elvis and Beale Street; you know, on the stuff that locals like to do!

Two of my favorite bars, The Cove and Wild Bill's, are included! In fact, Kyle and I were at The Cove just this past weekend. Their dirty vodka martinis are delicious but VERY VERY DANGEROUS. There's parents and young kids reading this so I'll leave it at that!

I am so excited and proud to see this! People! Really! Memphis is great! Come visit!

Daily Routines

Kyle (who never leaves the house without a camera) says that people are mistaken about good photographers. He says that most of us think that professional photographers take good pictures because they are exceptionally talented or have super equipment. According to the Professor, even though talent and equipment are big factors, one of the most important reason why good photographers take great pictures is that they take MANY pictures EVERY DAY.

I don't doubt this because I've heard a lot of people say the same about writers. Good writers become excellent writers by writing every day.

Memphis Sunset.

So now I take a camera with me everywhere I go and try to write here more regularly. Hope you'll help me keep at it.

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Gender roles in bi-cultural relationships

When our pipes froze, I started calling people for help. I called Angie whose dad has a maintenance company. I texted friends, I updated my Facebook status, searched the local Craigslist. Everyone and their mother knew that we needed a plumber. I was able to talk to about a thousand plumbers who gave me very consistent and straight-forward directions:

1. Find any vents and/or openings in your basement and make sure they are shut.
2. Find the central switch and turn your water off when you leave your house.
3. Turn your heat up.
4. Wait and listen for sounds of water leaking.

I did a great job of taking notes and communicating their directions but at no point in time did it occur to me that I would be involved in the actual implementation of the advice. I just sort of... well... assumed that my husband would go out into the garage, locate the appropriate tools and take care of vents, openings, central water switches, whatever.

That's exactly what he did. He covered the vents, found the switch, turned the water off when we left the house, turned it back on when we came back, turned the heat up, kept checking the faucets, etc. etc.

I can't remember the last time I felt as Bulgarian as I felt earlier today.


As many of you already know, I find Bulgarians quite curious on the gender equality front. Bulgarian women have been getting higher education degrees in "traditionally male" disciplines forever. Most women work outside of their home. Our legal framework is fairly progressive, granting a variety of provisions that make parenthood and child-care manageable. Women are still paid less, get promoted less quickly and are often harassed by their male colleagues but, generally, women do alright in the public sphere.

The domestic space is a bit different. Most Bulgarian families are quite traditional when it comes to the division of domestic labor. Women do most of the cooking, cleaning, childcare, family networking; men change light bulbs, work on the car, take out the trash and do other "manly" jobs. This angers me quite a bit as most of the time it's women who end up taking up most of the burden in household management. Yeah, sure, men do difficult jobs but those are jobs that happen only once in a while. Women cook, clean, etc. every day.

I see a lot of that in my own family (although my dad is a big helper) and friends. And I notice some of it on my own end... albeit our own dynamic is a bit different. Kyle and I are good about sharing all of our household responsibilities... BUT... I can't be bothered with "typically male" tasks: mowing our small lawn, changing light-bulbs, screwing in lose screws, and, today, closing off open vents.

I am very embarrassed by this and had a hard time deciding whether to write about this but I thought it'd give us an opportunity to have a good conversation about gender roles in our bi-cultural relationships. Based on little stories I've heard here and there, it seems to me that the division of household labor along gender lines can be a big source of tension between people: for example, Bulgarian women expecting their non-Bulgarian partners to be handy-men and Bulgarian men expecting most cooking and cleaning be done by their partner...

Is that how things have been with you? Do share even if you prefer to do so anonymously!

Frozen in Memphis

All week last week Kyle and I rolled our eyes at Memphians for freaking out over the weather getting cold. The stores were crowded, the schools were closed, there were special news editions on TV telling people that if their fingers got blue, they were probably too cold and needed to go back inside. We laughed and laughed and laughed. It really was hilarious.

Then, of course, it got cold. So much so, in fact, that our pipes froze. We have been without water since Thursday night. Just a little under 48 hours. Gross. I know.

We spent most of Friday being pissed and then said, fuck it, booked a room via Hotwire (best website for hotel reservations! I highly recommend!), put hats and sunglasses on as not to be recognized (read back the part about 48 hours without water, etc.) and took a cab downtown. The receptionists at our hotel were so taken by our story that gave us vouchers for free wine at the hotel bar. It was a great experience, especially because it was Elvis's 75th birthday and the hotel lobby was abuzz with Elvis fans.


Right before we went back to our room, we saw an Elvis impersonator. I think he's Eastern European, I said, I heard an accent. Of course, he is. Kyle said. He's smoking in the lobby.

Good times.

***
Photo by Benimoto

This Thanksgiving

I am grateful for my mom and my dad who are the sweetest, most caring and giving adults I've known in my life.

I am grateful for my little sister who is funny and smart and inspires me every day but also fills my heart with heaps of joy.

I am grateful for my American family who always remind me that home is not a place. Home is people that care.

I am grateful for friends: here, there, everywhere. Old and new. I am always amazed at how generous and gracious y'all are and how much easier the rough times are when you are around.

I am grateful for technology that helps us all stay in touch even thought we are thousands of miles apart.

I am grateful for this little life we are living: Midtown, our feather bed, our jobs, our cute house, our pots of herbs, our record player, the old film cameras we purchase on Ebay and the produce section at the local Kroger, my Borders discount card. For the first time in a long time I feel like I live HERE. This is where we are AT.

I am grateful for a wonderful Thankgiving day with Dr. J's family who are the most welcoming bunch you'll ever meet.

I am grateful for Dr. J sharing her Memphis with us.

I am grateful for finding a great recipe and making coconut-and-oats macaroons that might have just become my favorite dessert.



But most of all, I am grateful for my husband who not only had the brilliant idea to dip the macaroons in melted chocolate but also makes me feel like I am the luckiest girl in the world. EVERY. SINGLE. DAY.

Much love to you all!

Memphis kindness

When I was getting off the bus this morning, an old lady said to me: Have a blessed day, sweetie. You know I am not the religious type but I loved her for sending some good vibes my way.



As I was waiting for my transfer, this guy walked by... spring in his step, all smiles. Hey, are you new to Memphis? he asked. I walk this way every day and I've noticed you recently. You stand out, you know. What's your name? Turns out his name is Bobby and we seem to be on the same work schedule. He asked if I had a boyfriend but when I told him I was married, he took the news like a true gentleman. Damn, he said. Well... that's alright. He then made me promise I would continue to say hi to him.

Riding the bus is one of my favorite things to do in Memphis.

***
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Happy Friday!

Tonight we are staying in, looking at slides that Kyle took over this past summer.


What are you guys up to?

Following my own advice

Saturday night at the K-G's

Kyle and I have been BUSY. This new city we live in is wonderful and we are both excited about our jobs but today we both felt like we needed to have a quiet day at home. Reading, watching baseball, and eating lazy food. It's divine.

Riding the bus: Memphis style

A couple of weeks ago I started a new job that, unfortunately, is not within walking distance from our house. I was excited, of course, but booooy was I worried about how I would be getting there. Like I've mentioned before, Memphis is not a walking city. You either drive or take the bus. I don't drive, so I take the bus. To all of you Sofia people, before you even raise your voice, NO, taking a cab is not an option. There are not that many to go around and the ones that are available are 1) unreliable and 2) VERY expensive. The affordability of taking a taxi should be prominently featured on all Sofia tourism guidebooks and brochures. Anyhow.

When I was faced with the option of taking the bus, I was... hmmm... how do I say that... let me think... well... PISSED. I didn't know why exactly. I just felt like I was being wronged. Me?! On the bus?! NEVER. I quickly realized that even though I do go by Princess these days, I really am not one so I'd better get a grip. I also started to wonder (privately) whether my strong aversion to riding the bus wasn't actually some deeply rooted snobism and (oh, god) racism struggling to come to the surface. See, in this city, like most American cities with the exception of NYC, Boston, DC and the like, it's pretty much only poor people that ride the bus. In Memphis in particular, poverty and race are correlated. I was terrified that I didn't want to ride the bus because I didn't want to be around poor black people. I didn't think that was IT. I was just afraid that it might as well be and that, let me tell you, was one scaaaarrry thought.

When I am faced with a big fear, my natural tendency is to attack it straight on. Not sure if this is brave, smart or stupid. It's just how I am. When I was in high-school, I volunteered to solve math problems in front of the entire class even though math was by far my least favorite subject. I guess, I figured it would be less embarrassing to fail if I failed upon my own volition. So, similarly, grumpy and nervous, I decided to start riding the bus.

And I am SOOOO glad I did.


People!!! Riding the bus in Memphis is FUN. First of all, bus drivers are incredibly friendly. They always greet you as you step in and are super helpful when you are trying to figure out how to get to where you're trying to get. Then, when a passenger gets on, they not only greet the bus driver, but also greet everyone on the bus: Good evening, everyone! they say. People don't necessarily respond but most people nod and acknowledge the gesture. Finally, once everyone is settled in, someone will inevitably start a conversation that all are welcome to join. This morning some guy fell on a lady and the entire bus started cracking jokes about how that wasn't really a mistake and how if he wanted to talk to her, he should have just started a conversation. On my way back home, I listened to a heated debate over Memphis mayoral candidates and Miss Kim, the driver, encouraged everyone to go vote.

The thing that I love the most is that if you are waiting at a bus stop, everyone who walks by you says hello. It's like people know that maybe you've been waiting a long time and are ready to just get on the frickin' bus and be done with it. So when they walk by, they tell you... hey, hang in there. It's not all that bad. I LOVE little acts of kindness like that. This morning I was waiting for my transfer and I was the only person at the bus-stop. This homeless guy walked by, pushing his shopping cart filled with all his material possessions. As soon as he caught my eye, he smiled a toothless smile and said to me, Hey, there, Cleopatra!

What can I say, this city has me charmed.

Urban gardening

Kyle and I planted basil, parsley, oregano, zinnia and nasturtiums. We love watching them grow.

Get the flash player here: http://www.adobe.com/flashplayer

The basil is the fastest of the bunch. Some unidentified bug seems to like munching on it so we might need to re-plant at least some of it and bring it inside. The nasturtiums and zinnias are doing pretty well too, despite their initial shyness.

Scary Memphis Stuff

There are a couple of things that scare me about Memphis:

1. Tornado sirens: Before we moved here, everybody kept telling us that the weather would be awful, that it would be so hot, we would want to poke our eyes out with a fork, that we would hate how sweaty and sticky Memphis could get. Well, Kyle and I have called bullshit on that. It simply hasn't been THAT hot since we got here and, maybe the fact that we spent our summer in Germany has something to do with it, but we kind of have enjoyed the warm weather. It's summer and it feels like summer. Nothing bad about that. The tornado warnings are a whole different story, though. We have not had any actual warnings since we arrived but I have had tornadoes on my mind because the test the sirens, just in case. And the sound is unnerving, to put it mildly.

2. Our electricity bill: I am the first to recognize that the reason why we might not have suffered through the high temperatures/high humidity combo here is perhaps the fact that we have central air-conditioning and we've kept it on since we first got into our house. I've never lived anywhere else where that was necessary and anticipating our first electricity bill was quite scary. Everyone kept saying, well, be prepared to pay a lot more for electricity than you are used to... but nobody ever said how much more. So we just waited. We got our first bill and it was alright, but it only covered our first couple of weeks here and doesn't really count. I continue to live in a permanent state of horror. What happens if we get a $2000 bill?!

3. Walking in Memphis: Not as romantic as one would imagine. Most people drive everywhere and treat the sidewalks as extensions of their yards. When we walk around we usually end up jumping over branches of trees and other random yard waste that people dump on their sidewalk. Also, we are usually the only people walking, which can feel a bit eerie. Kyle and I distract ourselves by talking about architecture and checking out people's gardens. There's a woman down the road from us whose front yard is covered in rosemary bushes. It smells divine.



4. Memphis driving: One of the reasons why everyone drives in Memphis is that the public transportation system sucks. Because everyone drives, there's not much need for taxis. There's some, but not many. Because you can't count on being able to get a cab, you end up driving even when you probably shouldn't. Like, for example, when you are out getting slaughtered with your friends on a Friday night. Everyone is doing it. Everyone knows that everyone else is doing it. I'm confused. Confused and scared.

5. Big bugs: But I've already talked about that.

***
Photo by: Ravencrest Travel

That's Memphis

I've loved William Eggleston ever since Kyle introduced me to his work a couple of years ago. His subject matter, Eudora Welty writes, includes "old tyres, Dr Pepper machines, discarded air-conditioners, vending machines, empty and dirty Coca-Cola bottles, torn posters, power poles and power wires, street barricades, one-way signs, detour signs, No Parking signs, parking meters and palm trees crowding the same curb." To put it differently, he usually photographs "ordinary" life: the strangeness and beauty of it. The trite and the odd. The usual.







Of course, I'm the last one to realize that Eggleston is actually FROM Memphis. And that a lot of his photographs are, in fact, taken around town.

WHAAAA?!

Then I look back at some of his work and it makes perfect sense. That's Memphis.

Memphis style

Because Memphis is HOT HOT HOT in the summer, fashionable people here are fashionable in this unfussy, unpretentious, easy kind of way that I absolutely LOVE. Here are some examples from the Memphis Flyer Style Sessions blog:



It's all dresses and simple tops and cotton, cotton, cotton. So comfy! Not sure if it's Memphis that makes people here so cool and laid-back or cool and laid-back people make Memphis the city that it is. But, so early in the game, I don't care either way. I just love it.

Good Things Recently

Our social life in Memphis is so fast paced, it's hard to keep up. Here's a list of all the wonderful events that have been keeping me way from this blog:

• Dancing at Wild Bill's two Saturday nights in a row: The place is totally unassuming but the band is AMAZING and the guests are super fun. You leave and your soul feels nourished.
  
• Hosting Dr. J's birthday party in our back-yard: Drinks and guitars and good people up until the early hours of the morning. Everyone loves Leigh.
  
• Meeting Memphis peeps: I have yet to meet someone who was not smart, kind, incredibly generous and fun.
  
• Still basking in the glory of kicking our cockroaches' asses: 'Nuff said.
  
• Seeing my first baseball game ever at the Redbirds stadium: Got the Grizzlies' catcher attention and he threw me a ball. There were no kids around us so I got to keep it!

We still have got to learn the city, unpack our boxes of books, mow our lawn and do all those things that people do when they actually live in a place but, despite it all, I know that in no time we will feel like we belong.

Neighborhood noise

Last night I was sitting in front of our house, enjoying a quiet moment with my book when the silence was disturbed by a wild SURPRUUUUUHIZE! Apparently, our neighbors were hosting a surprise birthday party for a friend of theirs. It was the best neighborhood noise one could wish for.

Princess Grady

The first week after we arrived in Memphis, Kyle and Dr. J and I went over to the philosophy building at Rhodes. Kyle needed a key to his office and I wanted to see the campus. While we were there, we met Karen who is the administrative coordinator for the philosophy, religious studies and art departments. She is a painter, a political junkie and a generally cool person that y'all would love to meet.

Karen filled out some paperwork for Kyle which included a couple of lines about his spouse, i.e. me. Do you go by Ms. or Mrs. or Dr.? Karen asked. Nobody had ever asked me that question before so I was a little confused and for while wondered if she was talking to me or Kyle or Leigh or... You should call her Princess, Dr. J suggested. Princess Grady. We all laughed out loud but I thought to myself... Princess Grady... I kind of like that.

Yesterday at the corner store an OLD skinny guy smiled a toothless smile and said to me: How you doin', princess?

Love it when the Universe seems to be listening.

The world is an inch

Do you remember when I first discovered Jim Hanas earlier this summer and could not stop obsessing over his short stories and his website and our then-distant Memphis connection? Good. Well, here's an email I received from him earlier today:

Here's how I think it happened. Dr. J posted about my lecture- presumably because you turned her on to my blog- on July 19. The next day, Joshua Miller- a friend of Dr. J's?- posted an item on Metafilter about the Adult Ed lecture series.

That's where the Sunday editor of the [New York] Post saw it and asked me to quickly re-work it for the paper here.

As a VERY southern friend of mine used to say: "The world is an inch." Now more than ever. And thanks to whoever you know in this chain.

best,
jim

It's sort of obvious, but I am going to go ahead and say it anyway: I LOVE THE INTERNETS!

Pest control

Memphis is great and all but, I must admit, the bugs are freaking me out.

Kyle doesn't usually like to kill bugs. If he finds a spider or an ant in the house, he usually tries to take them outside or lets them go about their business undisturbed. Not all bugs are created equal, though, so neither of us feels bad about killing cockroaches. Especially after living in an old apartment in downtown Sofia where our pest-complaints were met by our landlord's suggestion that we should be happy about the situation. In Sofia living with cockroaches is prestigious because it's a sign you live in an old building, the guy liked to say. Yeah, whatever. We rolled up old newspapers and hit them really hard. That way we didn't have to watch them agonize. One second they were there, the next they were dead.

The first night Kyle and I saw a cockroach in our kitchen here in Memphis, we both just sort of stood there, staring at it. It was so big, we could not believe it. Then, we had to kill it, of course. But it was so big, our usual paper-rolling technique didn't cut it. The bug was tough and it seemed to have all the resolve in the world to keep on livin'. It didn't fight or run. It just would not die. Dealing with it felt less like getting rid of a bug and more like murder. Whatever you want to call it, it was gross.

We had two or three scary evenings where we would slowly walk into our kitchen, inspecting the walls, looking under the table, cleaning out all dishes before using them. We found bug-traps and put them around the house... but then... wait a minute. You use traps or poison if there's a finite population of pests you are trying to exterminate. In a place like Memphis where the weather is warm and humid for most of the year and things (plants AND animals) seem to grow uninterrupted by bad weather or some such, poison is simply a way to attract pests into your home.

Instead, Kyle did some research and found out that there are certain natural products that give cockroaches the creeps. Those things are: red pepper, cedar chips, mint oil and bay leaves. We got ourselves a bottle of TABASCO sauce, which we put in a spray bottle and mixed in with some water until we had our very first batch of home-made pepper spray. We used the mix to spray our kitchen counters, between cabinet cracks and all those little spaces that the cockroaches seemed to love. I am happy to report that there have been no roach sightings since.

I am sharing this story because I hope it will inspire you to never go down without putting up a good fight. In the age of the internets you really have no excuse! You MUST be willing to do your research and look for alternative solutions to whatever problems you may be dealing with. But also, let's face it, this bug-repellent recipe is way too awesome not to be passed along.