On midwestern adventures (part three)

Five years ago I went to Ann Arbor, Michigan to visit my friend Tami. Little did I know that I someday would be coming back for work (and to visit Tami again, naturally).

So far it's been mostly work, as you kinda have to put in long days when your job sends you to the other side of the world for a few weeks to gather material for your research project. You don't wanna come home short on material (so, naturally, I bring home way, way, waaaay too much). However, I did get to hang out with Tami and some friends of last weekend, and this weekend we'll get together again.

In the meantime, my only adventures have been walking around on campus, on my way to the archive. They have geese there. And squirrels. On campus. Geese and squirrels in search of an education, no doubt.

Gesse. Because, geese. 

Squirrel. And some nut who didn't realise her mitten-cup-combo was in the shot...

Column. With a certain phallic quiality, as columns tend to have. 

Crocus. And a surprisingly ghost-ish tree shadow for mid-day. 

On recycling, part two - the squirrel saga

Unless you have heard of any major rescue missions involving trolls and Norwegian mountains, it is probably still safe to assume that I am on vacation, having a good time. In the meantime, I am taking the opportunity to recycle some of my old blog posts, as suggested by DL Hammons. The following was originally posted on October 20th, 2009:


If you haven’t already done so, you need to hear the Llama song. In fact, even if you have heard it, you need to hear it again. And again. And again.


Once it’s properly stuck... Let's change the lyrics! (As has been done, more than once)

Here’s a squirrel

There's a squirrel

And another D.C. squirrel

Hungry squirrel

Ninja squirrel

Squirrel

Squirrel

NUT!

 
I have shown you pictures of squirrels before. I have spoken of why I find them interesting (they pose for photographs). I have explained how I have a(t least one) friend who speaks Squirrel. But I have not told you about the etymology behind the word squirrel.


I don’t know the etymology behind the word (so I am not going to tell you either).

I bet you’re really disappointed now.

What I do know, however, is that the Norwegian word for squirrel is ekorn. If your mother tongue isn’t Norwegian (and what are the odds, huh?), you might not have known this (but now you do! Wee!). And thus you might also not have known that it is pronounced almost exactly like “acorn”. Coincidence? I think not! I smell a buried nut somewhere!

My theory is that either the word ekorn was exported from Norwegian to English, but somewhere along the line something got wrong; OR (and let’s face it – Norwegian isn’t exactly a world language – chances are…) it was the other way around. I can picture it clearly: an English (or Irish or American or Welsh or Australian or even Singaporian – is that what people from Singapore is called? I used to know someone from there, I should have asked him) man walks into a Norwegian bar. He is carrying an acorn. He always does this, as an ice-breaker of sorts. (His name is also Mr Acorn, but that’s besides the point.) The man, Mr. Acorn, points to the nut, and says: “acorn”. The people in the bar, the Norwegians, like the word. They actually like it so much that they decide to name the only remaining animal in Norway they hadn’t yet found a name for. Due to a common Norwegian skill of mispronouncing certain English words, however, they named it ekorn. Everyone is happy. (Pehaps except Mr. Acorn, who had to change his name since everyone kept calling him squirrel...)


The third alternative is, of course, that both the Norwegian ekorn and the English acorn are derived from the same original source. Even if this explanation is slightly more boring than the one I envisioned, it might seem like it is also slightly more realistic. From what I could find online (quick tip: what I really, really want for Christmas is a GOOD etymology dictionary. Seriously!), the Norwegian word ekorn apparently comes from the Old Norse ikorni. It also appears that both 'oak' and 'acorn' too have close ties to Old Norse. As does the Norwegian word for oak, eik. Still, they all appear to be related to a different Norse word than ikorni; akarn. If I knew any Old Norse (but I faked my way through that part of high school), I might have been able to tell you if these two words are related at all; if they both come from an even older, Indo-European word; or if these simply are slanderous speculations from my part. Until I get a second opinion from an actual etymologist (as opposed to a wannabe-etymology-geek-but-doesn’t-really-know-enough-about-it-to-qualify), my guess is as good as yours.

What I learned while trying to come up with clever ways of rounding off this post, however, is that the word “squirrel” also is a term in debating jargon. It indicates “a definition from the side of the opening speaker that makes it too easy for his or her side” (according to Wikipedia). I guess that having today’s post touch upon debating jargon is appropriate, since yesterday’s post was about a debate (and it in turn spurred a debate). Today’s post is of a lighter kind (I’m willing to claim it is Delusional Thursday material even if it’s only Tuesday), but by all means – if anyone has strong opinions about squirrels (or acorns) I’m more than happy to hear them…

On squirrels and acorns and llamas and ducks

If you haven’t already done so, you need to hear the Llama song. In fact, even if you have heard it, you need to hear it again. And again. And again.


Once it’s properly stuck... Let's change the lyrics! (As has been done, more than once)

Here’s a squirrel

There's a squirrel

And another D.C. squirrel

Hungry squirrel

Ninja squirrel

Squirrel

Squirrel

NUT!

 
I have shown you pictures of squirrels before. I have spoken of why I find them interesting (they pose for photographs). I have explained how I have a(t least one) friend who speaks Squirrel. But I have not told you about the etymology behind the word squirrel.


I don’t know the etymology behind the word (so I am not going to tell you either).

I bet you’re really disappointed now.

What I do know, however, is that the Norwegian word for squirrel is ekorn. If your mother tongue isn’t Norwegian (and what are the odds, huh?), you might not have known this (but now you do! Wee!). And thus you might also not have known that it is pronounced almost exactly like “acorn”. Coincidence? I think not! I smell a buried nut somewhere!

My theory is that either the word ekorn was exported from Norwegian to English, but somewhere along the line something got wrong; OR (and let’s face it – Norwegian isn’t exactly a world language – chances are…) it was the other way around. I can picture it clearly: an English (or Irish or American or Welsh or Australian or even Singaporian – is that what people from Singapore is called? I used to know someone from there, I should have asked him) man walks into a Norwegian bar. He is carrying an acorn. He always does this, as an ice-breaker of sorts. (His name is also Mr Acorn, but that’s besides the point.) The man, Mr. Acorn, points to the nut, and says: “acorn”. The people in the bar, the Norwegians, like the word. They actually like it so much that they decide to name the only remaining animal in Norway they hadn’t yet found a name for. Due to a common Norwegian skill of mispronouncing certain English words, however, they named it ekorn. Everyone is happy. (Pehaps except Mr. Acorn, who had to change his name since everyone kept calling him squirrel...)


The third alternative is, of course, that both the Norwegian ekorn and the English acorn are derived from the same original source. Even if this explanation is slightly more boring than the one I envisioned, it might seem like it is also slightly more realistic. From what I could find online (quick tip: what I really, really want for Christmas is a GOOD etymology dictionary. Seriously!), the Norwegian word ekorn apparently comes from the Old Norse ikorni. It also appears that both 'oak' and 'acorn' too have close ties to Old Norse. As does the Norwegian word for oak, eik. Still, they all appear to be related to a different Norse word than ikorni; akarn. If I knew any Old Norse (but I faked my way through that part of high school), I might have been able to tell you if these two words are related at all; if they both come from an even older, Indo-European word; or if these simply are slanderous speculations from my part. Until I get a second opinion from an actual etymologist (as opposed to a wannabe-etymology-geek-but-doesn’t-really-know-enough-about-it-to-qualify), my guess is as good as yours.

What I learned while trying to come up with clever ways of rounding off this post, however, is that the word “squirrel” also is a term in debating jargon. It indicates “a definition from the side of the opening speaker that makes it too easy for his or her side” (according to Wikipedia). I guess that having today’s post touch upon debating jargon is appropriate, since yesterday’s post was about a debate (and it in turn spurred a debate). Today’s post is of a lighter kind (I’m willing to claim it is Delusional Thursday material even if it’s only Tuesday), but by all means – if anyone has strong opinions about squirrels (or acorns) I’m more than happy to hear them…

On midwestern adventures (part two)

Partly since Tami has reported some (check her blog out, among her posts from the previous week is a BRILLIANT Dr. Seussesque poem you cannot miss), and partly because I sort of outwrote myself on the whole travelogue genre yesterday, today's post will be more of a photo album than anything else. I will write some short comments where appropriate, but don't expect long narratives (and there was much rejoicing).

Lunch at NYC Pizza Depot (is that what it was called, Tami?) with Tami's daughter. Good pizza, and good company :)

A (for Michigan) unusually prude man (clothed and leafed - what was his problem?)

The campus of Michigan university was pretty! Why are all U.S. campuses so much prettier than the Norwegian ones?

Squirrel!

If you are wondering why I have this strange obsession for squirrels (aren't giraffes enough?), I can enlighten you. It's not the squirrels per se, but it just amuses me that they are willing to pose for photographs. I couldn't convince a Norwegian squirrel to let me take a picture of it even if I pretended to be a giant nut (which it might be argued that I in fact am, but that is besides the point).

The Museum of Natural History at the university was in the process of preparing an exhibit featuring "Ida", more commonly known under (the misleading) description "the missing link". This amused me, since "Ida" currently lives at the Museum of Natural History in Oslo. I haven't been to see her yet. Maybe I should?

Every city has a monument resembling a giant phallus. This is Ann Arbor's.

Tami and I debated for a long time whether or not this was Poseidon. Then we gave up and went for cocktails.

Colours! It's fall! :)

Pretty tree. Actually, I believe it's the main attraction of Ann Arbor's Stick Museum.

Pretty Tart (with pretty Hufflepuff scarf) hugging pretty tree

Fairy door! There's a whole bunch of them! This one's from Jefferson Market.

Red shoes! (The store, silly)

There's also a ticket window for the fairies. Why shouldn't fairies get to be cultural too?

I think this is probably my favourite. I particularly like the "subtitles": "Please do not touch. These books are out of circulation. Besides there may be someone living in them."

On my final day we went to the Henry Ford museum, where we saw such curiosities as the car Kennedy was shot in (slightly macabre), the chair Lincoln was shot in (do you see a pattern?), the bus Rosa Parks refused to give up her seat (in terms of historic importance it's interesting, but at least this was less morbid) and the Wiener Mobile (don't ask).

Wooden bike (!)

This image is somewhat misleading since I was the one doing the flying that day. After the museum Tami dropped me off at the airport, and I went back to D.C. where I now only have two weeks left. It's insane how fast time has passed, at the same time as it feels like an eternity since I've seen my family and my fiends at home. I will do my best to spend the remaining time well (there are some upcoming events I'm looking forward to), and then it will be time to pack my bags and prepare for flying again. I am very, very glad I managed to take this trip out to Minnesota and Michigan (I'd be happy to do so again, but it'll have to wait for a potential next stay in the U.S.), and I am so glad I met all the lovely people I did.

On religious encounters

Yesterday (today, Sunday, hasn’t seen any adventures yet) I went for a walk. It was an exercise in Digressionism, to say the least, and therefore I feel compelled to write about it here. I’m not pretending this is the gospel of Mari, but for any of you out there with a foot or more in my religion of choice, reading this might be a good place to start. It also has a tad of “real” religion in it, but I will try to avoid sticking my tongue too far into the bee hive.


Before I left the house, my landlady/host mom/roomie/TV buddy, Linda, told me about a craft fair at the Presbyterian Church nearby. She gave me some directions, and I decided to see if I could find it. My original plan had, after all, been limited to “go outside since the weather is good” (Norwegian to the bone). A goal was not unwelcome.

By now I have lived here for close to two months, and with a lot of help from a map, the elimination method (otherwise known as trying and failing and failing and failing and failing before maybe succeeding), and directions from random passersby (frequently squirrels) – I have with time learned to navigate the tricksy streets of my neighbourhood despite my lousy sense of direction. That is – I have learned to navigate the parts of it I actually need to know. Send me off in any other direction, however, and I am lost as a cupcake. To my defence, let me point out my poor sense of direction (or lack thereof) isn’t the only thing to blame – the neighbourhood I live in really feels like a maze most of the time. I remember the first few times I went in here (as a passenger) in a car, and I realized that I would never be able to get back out again on my own. Not too far from the truth. The streets all have similar sounding names (most of them has something with a tree in them – pine-; forest-; wood-;– get the drift?) , and for some reason they seem to be moving around (you thought you were walking down Woodberry Lane, but all of a sudden, you find yourself in Wells Parkway. You take a left in Pineway Drive, knowing that this will take you up to Forrest Hill, but no – you’re back on Well’s Parkway. The only safe thing with these streets, really, is that no matter where you try to go, you will always end up in Well’s Parkway. It’s magnetic, or something). In addition, 90% of the houses are made of red brick, and they all have similar looking yards and driveways. All the driveways are inhabited by one Lexus and one minivan. I kid you not.

So, to expect me to find the Presbyterian Church on my first attempt, was a haphazard to say the least.

I walked down our street. I knew that if I only followed it to the end, I would end up at Route 1, which would take me either to College Park town or to the area where the church was supposed to be, depending of which way I went. However, since I now know the area “so well”, I figured it wouldn’t hurt to take a little detour. Since it was such a lovely day, I wanted to take some lovely pictures with my lovely camera (whose name is Buck, so you’re all introduced). This was a bad idea.

I walked in what I thought was a circle. When I get lost, I usually walk in circles. When I am not lost, or have not yet understood that I am lost, however, it turns out I don’t walk in circles. Either that, or the circle failed to take me back to the start (that’s not really an “either”, is it? Circles always take you back to the start – that is sort of the point...). Anyway, where I ended up was (amazingly enough) not Well’s Parkway, and thus I had lost my one foolproof method of navigation. Since I didn’t have my map with me, and since I no longer trusted the elimination method since it now apparently did not take me back to Well’s, I was forced to turn to my last option: ask someone.

The first squirrel I met was not very helpful. I tried to climb the tree it directed me to, but no luck. I should have known better – Presbyterians are too down to earth to have their churches in trees.

After a while I ran into a nice looking group of mothers and kids, and they were able to give me much more useful directions. Apparently, I had been walking in circles after all – only the church was in the middle of the circle.

Once I got there, the fair was almost over. I went in, looked at a few items, and figured out that I was not feeling entirely comfortable there. I had not brought a lot of cash, and I had also failed to bring any sincere intentions to buy anything. Nothing feels worse than having 4th graders look at you with their big puppy eyes, wondering why you’re not buying the egg cosy they have made under great risk of stinging their own fingers. I ended up getting a couple of used books (25 cents each, so I had cash for those) – ironically one was about a sordid love affair and the other one was about a Jewish man losing his faith (was this my suppressed opposition to organized religion speaking?). Then I left, feeling oddly aware of my (limited, yet visible) cleavage and the fact that I was in a church.

I don’t mind religion, especially not when people don’t feel the urge to convert others (which, I should point out, no one in that church seemed to have even the tiniest inkling to do). I even respect it – to the point that I feel compelled to be properly dressed when I visit a church or another religious site, since I am the one coming to them and thus should strive to not offend anyone. However, even after this brief encounter with religion, I felt the need to seek an idolatry that much more fits my personality – Starbucks (which incidentally is where my camera got her name. Yes, she is a she. Don’t ask). This time I easily navigated my way back to Route 1, went into College Park and found my place of worship.

Currently reading: Here, There Be Dragons by James A. Owen, though with only some 50 pages left, I believe I soon will venture on to the “new orange book” (that you will have to good grace to hear about tomorrow).

Currently listening to: September’s Playlist as assembled by J. M. Hunter at this awesome blog (I stalk the blog for the music, and end up giggling over the incredibly funny posts).

Currently eating: Goldfish S’mores – since I was too lazy to go make real breakfast before writing this…

On walking between bookstores

The final day of Leanne’s visit in D.C. had one goal, and one only: to make us completely and utterly exhausted so that we would be able to sleep on the overnight train to Boston. We did our best, and we were pretty exhausted, but did we sleep on the train? Not so much…


Thursday started early – we had a breakfast date with our mutual friend, Sarah. Even though we did most of our packing the previous night, somehow we were still unable to be completely ready at time. Fortunately Sarah was patient, and tolerated being attacked by my host family’s over-enthusiastic dogs. When we finally were off, it turned out that the intended destination – a vegetarian breakfast place – was not yet open. We settled for alternative number two – bagels in a local college hang-out. The place was more that good enough, but in reality it probably had not mattered at all where we ate – we would have had a great time anyway. I have met Sarah in person before, Leanne had not, but our online interaction goes a long way back. We had such a great time thinking back to the “good, old times” we used to have, and since we share a lot of mutual interests, the conversation never stalled.

Sarah kindly dropped us off at the metro station, and then Leanne and I headed into the city. My office at George Washington University is, as I may have bragged about before, just a few blocks from the White House, so we went there to drop off our luggage before we started the day that was to be characterized by walking.

We walked to the White House, around it, from there to the Washington monument, around it, down the mall to the Lincoln memorial, yes, around it, and back to the White House area where we had lunch. Then we returned to my office, walked around it (but it’s not very big), went out again and ended up in Georgetown.

During this walk we also learned that Leanne apparently speak squirrel. The squirrels in D.C. are plentiful and relatively tame – they will for instance happily pose for photographs. However, I have never seen one approach by request until now, in fact it got so close that both Leanne an I were slightly worried the little bugger was going to climb her…

Squirrel pit stops set aside – in total this is a decent walk, especially considering we gradually added weight in our bags (we did naturally stop in every bookstore on our way). When we finally returned to my office that evening, we were tired enough to take advantage of my GWU privileges and call 4-RIDE to transport us to the metro rather than walk some more. This ensured that we got to Union Station in one piece (well, actually, Leanne and I were two separate pieces, and we had many pieces worth of luggage, so let me estimate we got there in maybe seven pieces). From there we managed to print our tickets, have some food, and board the 10 o’clock train.

The train ride was long. It is one thing to spend ten hours on a train when it’s light and you can see things. It’s a whole different matter when you’re exhausted and cannot sleep. No matter how comfortable the seats were, they were not comfortable enough, and I had a feeling my neck wasn’t attached to my body in the same spot as usual when we finally left the train in Boston. However, despite the lack of sleep, our spirits were high. After a (not so) quick stop at Leanne’s apartment to leave luggage, freshen up and introduce me to her two beautiful cats, we went for a(nother) walk – this time around the area where she lives. It was very nice – one of the highlights was, naturally, a bookstore (before Leanne went to stay in one for the rest of the night – aka work).

When she left for work, I went on my own to the area around Harvard university. Forever and ever I will now be able to say that I once went to Harvard. Feels good.

The area is, however, worth a visit even if you hadn’t been able to say those words. It’s filled with quirky little shops of every kind (not to mention the bookstore of bookstores – I will shut up about them soon, I promise, or at least consolidate my thoughts into a single post…), lots of college students (but in my opinion they looked slightly smarter than what I see at other universities – this might be a trick of the mind…) and beautiful, old buildings.

Finally, however, the walking caught up with me, and I was thoroughly happy when I finally could go to sleep on Leanne’s couch.