Existential Questions

Here I am, in West Africa again, until April 3. My guidebook assures me that the southern part of this country "has two rainy seasons: the first is from April to mid-July. . . . Harmattan winds billow out of the Sahara between December and March, and the hottest time of the year is from February to April." Do we all remember how much I hate heat and humidity? Good. Now it's time to ask ourselves some existential questions (EQs).

I spent the last week in lovely North Africa (which I promise to tell you about another time), where it was in the 70s and 80s, mildly humid, and I sweat up a storm. Last night, I took an overnight flight from North Africa to West Africa, with one stop in Wester Africa. Many of the people on my flight were wearing sweaters and coats. A woman sitting next to me, who boarded the plane in Wester Africa, where the outside temperature was 28° C (82° F), was wearing a shearling jacket.
EQ: Was I flying with a plane full of crazy people?

When we landed in West Africa at 5:30 am (you know, the coolest, freshest time of day), it was also 28° C (82° F). According to weather.com, it is currently 91° F outside, with a dew point of 77°, and a heat index of 104°.
EQ: Why does God hate me so much?

The airport was like a sauna, and stepping outside the airport was like stepping into a better-heated sauna. Then I got onto the hotel shuttle, where we had to sit and wait for about 15 minutes, to see if any more hotel guests were on that flight. The outside air blowing in through the open door of the van felt like a fresh, cool breeze compared to the interior temperature of the van. Of the many places that sweat was streaming from my body, I noticed that there was actually sweat pouring inside my ears.
EQ: Where was this sweat coming from? Do I actually have sweat glands in my ears?

The air conditioner in my hotel room emits a high-pitched and very annoying squealing noise whenever it's turned on.
EQ: Is it really worth running the a/c--wait! Sorry. This isn't an existential question. It's a rhetorical one.

On Time

Last Sunday, when the U.S. switched to Daylight Savings Time, I was resetting my "good" watch when the knob suddenly stopped making the hands turn forward. Today, I finally got around to taking it into a repair shop. The guy there told me that I had apparently stripped the teeth off a central cog, which would be an expensive repair. He recommended that I just set the watch by turning it backwards, until that no longer works, and then bring it in to be fixed. That sounded like a sensible approach, especially since, he reminded me, "You only set your watch twice a year!"

I thought about that for a moment, and then told him to go ahead and repair the watch now, and I'll pick it up when I get back from my upcoming business trip. Why? Well, I leave tomorrow, and in the next 3.5 weeks, I will be changing my "cheap" watch from Minnesota time to:

- Atlanta time, then to
- Paris time, then to
- North Africa time, then to
- West Africa time, then to
- Paris time, then to
- Cincinnati time, then to
- Minnesota time.

I guess there may be a reason that I've stripped the teeth off a cog in my watch.

Tragic Tags

When I moved back to the U.S., my very lovely parents gave me their old car, which used to be my car, before I sold it to them when I moved to France (my family thinks of cars like adopted children, which must never leave our family so long as we both shall live). They transferred the title into my name, and I inherited not only my sweet little Sentra, Simon, but also his very cute license plates: HWT 088.

I consider this is a great licence plate, not only because 8 is my favorite number, but also because it was very easy to remember, HWT obviously standing for Becky Hewitt, who was in first grade with me.

The tags had to be renewed in February, and I assumed I would just be getting a little "2010" sticker to put on the existing plates. But no! They sent me entirely new license plates (and sent them to the wrong address, ignoring the "Change of Address" form that I had filled in and submitted along with my check for the tag renewal), with a horrible, tragic new number:
341 BDC.

What's wrong with this tag? Let me count the things:
1) Nary an 8 to be seen!
2) The numbers come before the letters, which is Not As It Should Be in Minnesota.
3) Not only is the number odd, it's practically prime (divisible only by 11 and 31).
4) BDC isn't an obvious and easy-to-remember abbreviation for anything (although it's slightly better than "BDO", which is what I initially thought it said, and which clearly stands for Body Odor).

I Have Been Assimilated

My transition back to being fully American seems to be very nearly, if not totally, complete, as evidenced by how I spent my Saturday:

1) In the morning, I drove to the hardware store. Did I mention that the hardware store is 3.5 blocks from my house? And that I was not buying anything bulky or heavy, or going anywhere else on this trip? Nope, I drove 7 blocks round trip just because it was a little cold out*, and I didn't feel like walking.

2) For the first time since I moved to the Twin Cities, I went to the Mall of America, one of the largest malls in the world (there's an amusement park inside, if that tells you anything).

In the not-so-distant past, I would have been ashamed of myself for exhibiting these behaviors, but now that I'm American again, I think it's normal.

Resistance was obviously futile, but is it really too late for me to be saved? Is there any chance that my upcoming visit to Paris could cure this horrible and rapidly-advancing disease?!
Stay tuned . . .

*8°F/-13°C, with a windchill of -2°F/-19°C, in case you're wondering how we Minnesotans define "a little cold".