So: The philosophy of snow shovelling. Any thoughts?

It's snowing here in Chicago, as it is wont to do. It apparently will continue snowing for much of the day. So: Go out and shovel the couple of inches of icy snow we have now, or wait until it stops snowing and tackle the icy, packed-down footprints of the day?

The last big snow we had, I waited. I ended up shoveling 10 to 12 inches of wet, heavy snow -- the sort of snow that's great for snowballs and snowmen, but a bitch to shovel. Ow.

Today, I chose to go out and shovel the couple of inches we already have, which was relatively easy. It was already starting to get packed-down where people had walked on it, so I felt virtuous and smart. Now I'm sitting inside, looking out the window at the snow continung to fall. And I keep thinking Sisyphus. Harumph.

Newest object of loathing: The insurance industry. Bastards

So you know that the house got robbed several times in December. We only made two claims to our insurance company, because hell, we didn't want to piss them off and have them boot us. We're still having words with them over the claim -- "How do we know this manuscript you speak of really exists?" -- and to make things even better, I got a letter from them saying they would not renew our policy when it expired this year.

Now let's think about this: You're saying that you're more than happy to insure us, so long as we don't actually make any claims on the insurance. That, in a word, is fucked up. (Fine, in two words. Whatever.)

So now I'm going through the fun-filled process of trying to find a new insurance company that won't charge us up the wazoo. One that will take into account that, since the robberies, we have improved security 10 fold and haven't had any further problems. One that won't punish us for being robbed, or living in our neighborhood (This is Andy's cue to snort derisively and cough 'Crack house!' into his hand. Yeah, shut up, Andy.)

The thing is, we have to have insurance -- the mortgage company will not take kindly to the building they own the lion's share of not being insured. If it (god forbid) burns down, they lose their investment. We lose our home, but what is that compared to the pain we'd cause a major corporation? Grrr. Anyway, if all else fails, the mortgage company will find insurance for us. As you might expect, that insurance will benefit them -- coverage for if anything happens to the building, so they'll get their money back -- but not us -- no property coverage, no housing allowance is the house gets blown up by a volcano and we have nowhere to live, etc. Plus we'd be looking at a $5000 deductible.

I know that insurance is an industry, but isn't is supposed to be a service industry? Sure, they're supposed to make money, but that's not their sole purpose, right? Isn't the purpose of it to protect people when things go wrong? Because there's precious little point of protecting people only when things go right.

I feel I must retract my comments on ice dancing. Why? I will let this letter I received speak for itself:

Dear Ms. Jersild (if that is your real name),

On behalf of the Ice Dancers International Observing and Tracking Society (I.D.I.O.T.S), I must tell you that I found your bitter and inaccurate posting about our sport at fiendishplot.com to be cruel and unfair. It is obvious that you have no understanding of the glamour, emotion, beauty and dedication that are ice dancing today.

From its beginnings in an indoor mall in New Jersey, this sport has flourished, as it continues to capture the hearts and feet of millions. Recent innovations -- pure chiffon costumes from Taiwan, protective cups from Canada, permanent hairdyes from Russia, unisex makeup from Brazil -- provide some idea of how truly international this sport has become. Did you know that historians at the University of Kjull believe early forms of ice dancing were even used by the Vikings to lull visiting enemies to sleep before their skulls were crushed?

In addition, ice dancing is enjoyed by people of every age; the champion of our "Splendour on the Ice" Tour, Ruby del Ray, was a youthful 98 when she retired last August! While it is true that Ruby suffered an unfortunate fall upon attempting a dangerous Tango Passion Clamp, she remains one of ice dancing's greatest proponents and spends her Sundays working with ice dance youth groups throughout Kansas. Perhaps this additional information has given you a new perspective on our magical sport. I hope so.

May the Magic Find You,

Eustace M.V. de Longhe, DIS, HHL, XYZ

I stand corrected.

Strangely, this message came from the address of my friend from high shcool, Andi Gates. Hmmm.

Welcome back to Chicago, Sarah! On my first day back from the relaxing Jersild Day weekend, I experienced:

• Sub-freezing weather
  
• Snow to shovel
  
• Public transport delays
  
• A trip to the dentist, including cavity and filling (ow ow ow)
  
• Looking slightly like a stroke victim, as I couldn't move half my face until the Novocain wore off
  
• The alarm in our tenant's apartment going off, causing the alarm company to call us and me to flee back to the house to see what the damage was (Answer: Nothing -- the tenants set it off accidentally. Must speak with tenants.)
  
• Wishing the Novocain didn't wear off.
  
• A CAPS meeting, meaning I couldn't tape and watch both Buffy and Smallville, due to a quirk of my VCR/cable.
  
• Retaliatory cat vomit. (That'll show me for going away for the weekend!)

So yeah, it's good to be back. No, really.

Also, Mary sent me a picture of the horrors of Syndrome de Jersild. I won't link to it, as it's foul. Suffice it to say that Syndrome de Jersild is typically suffered by women who engage in anal sex with someone who has syphilis, chlamydia, gonorrhea or something equally nasty. If the prospect of dying of AIDS didn't convince you to use condoms, let Syndrome de Jersild be a lesson to you: Even if you don't die, there are plenty of nasty STDs out there that can make you wish you were dead.

I was hanging my head in shame about having an STD named after my family, but Jane, being an intrepid medical reporter/editor, reassured me:

jlowers79: I've checked out Jersild Syndrome in the Merck Manual and Dorland's Medical Dictionary, which has just about everything, and it's not in either. So I think you can rest assured that it occurs only in French people.
sjerslix: Thank god.
jlowers79: Funny, I would have thought Jersild syndrome involved cats and angst.
sjerslix: Exactly. We were coming up with possibilities -- anxiety disorder, lousy eye sight, clumsiness -- but no such luck
jlowers79: I've checked a data base of medical research, and so far Jersild just brings up a couple of Swedish docs who write about suicide, euthanasia, and the influence of major Russian authors on their careers.
jlowers79: good lord you're a grim people
sjerslix: This is a surprise to you?
jlowers79: no, I was just admiring the consistency.
sjerslix: Ah. Well thank you
jlowers79: Just jealous, actually. My last name is a present-tense verb, and I end up with a lot of hits to self-published fiction.

Back from Philly and Wilmington. well-rested, well-fed and generally relaxed. I stayed with Amy in her gorgeous Philly apartment for two nights, Laura and Jorge in their enormous guestroom on Sunday night (seriously, it was at least as big if not bigger than my apartment in Hong Kong), and had lunch with my parents on Monday (lamb and saffron rice -- yummy). Plus, I got back home to find the cats alive and all my electronics still here. Score!

So now it can be told that one of the main reasons for schlepping my ass out to Philly was to meet the mythical Darrin, my sister's boyfriend (and I'm not just saying that because he Googled Jersild and found out I had moved up from page 14 to page 6. Whoo-hoo!)

Oh, digression -- the other thing you will discover, if you Google Jersild, is Syndrome de Jersild. We have a Syndrome named after our family! This sounds horribly exciting and romantic ("Oh, my love! I would pledge my heart to you, but our happy life together is not to be, for I am stricken with [gasp] Jersild Syndrome!"). It isn't. The page is in French, but I'm pretty sure I can tell what "anogénital éléphantiasis" translates into. I'm most distraught. I just hope the syndrome was named after the doctor who discovered it, not the patient it was originally found in. Urgh.

Anyway, Darrin is way cool. We like him, even though he is Canadian. (Heh. Kidding!) Not only did he deal well with me, but he survived a visit to Jeremy and Becky's more or less unscathed.

Jeremy, as I have probably mentioned before, is a friend of mine from high school and one of the most -- hell, I don't even know how to put it -- Original? Weird? Self-actualized? Completely insane? the list goes on -- people I have ever met. If you have a low weirdness threshold, you probably won't get Jeremy. That would be your loss. Jeremy is the sort of person I can call and say "You have an exciting opportunity to host this year's Jersild Day celebration!" and he won't hang up on me. So we descended on their house (with food -- I wasn't so rude as to assume that they would both house and feed us) and shared stories of giant insects, practical jokes perpetrated, Arabic grammar, Vietnamese pronunciation and more. Much enjoyment.

I also got to pick Jorge's brain about Puerto Rico (he and my sister have started a sort of sideline taking Spanish-language classes to Puerto Rico where they can practice their Spanish skills and learn about the island) for my friends Christine and Brian. Jorge knows all the coolest places you wouldn't find otherwise. Huzzah!

And to top it all off, I'm back in time to watch Angel! Life is good. (And my expectations are small.)