Norway, please

Today was an Alexander* day.

It began with rushing about to get to Elliot's Heath Station appointment, which led to a crabbiness with Husband. The house was a giant "just-got-home-sort-of-from vacation" mess and I couldn't find what I needed.

Then it started raining.

All in all a bad way to start out a day.

Once Elliot and I left the house, it got incrementally worse:

A car darted out at a roundabout when it wasn't the driver's turn, narrowly missing us.

A group of people crowded the sidewalk in front of a bus stop (there was no bus there) and the vast majority, who were non-Norwegians, parted ways. Two teenagers, facing a bit away, stood their ground and there was no way for me to pass.

There was no way they didn't see the rest of the people move, yet they didn't.

I said "Unnskyld" ("excuse me") several times, each time with a bit more volumne. Then loudly cleared my throat. Finally, I reached way over and poked one in the shoulder and said, in English, "Excuse me!" Both of them gave me a rotten looks and laconically ambled out of my way.

Then, six men, all ranging from about mid-20's to mid-40's, all seemingly healthy, pulled together and fit, went past me as I was struggling to get Elliot's stroller through the swinging door and up the five stairs into the elevator lobby.

Not one held the door and not one offered to give me a hand to lift the stroller up the stairs. These were not the neighborhood crackheads or even unkempt. These were businessmen who should have better manners.

But that's the problem, I'm not sure they did.

As I've written before, I have been warned that I am too polite.

I say "please" and "thank you" on a regular basis. I open door for people and have been known to offer assistance to women and their strollers. And a few weeks ago, I let two people cut in line at the grocery. Each had one item and I had fifty.

These are not commendable acts. They are just the right things to do.

Or so I have been raised.

Also this is not a trait unique to the Southern US where I grew up. I lived in New York City for almost a decade. It happens there, too.

And, while I am not terribly well-traveled, I have been a few places and have noticed these stranger-to-stranger kindnesses all over, even in France. Even when they knew I was an American in France.

Here not so much.

This is not to say that there are no kindnesses.

There are and there are many.

Just in recent history, Elliot's pediatrician kept the office open after hours to see us when I called and said I was worried about his cough. Colleagues of Husband's have made an effort to befriend me and make me feel welcome and acclimated. A fellow customer at Ultra about my age, bagged my groceries so I could pick up a howling Elliot and pay the cashier.

And, just a few days ago when Elliot decided to be rambunctious on the plane home from Alicante, a group of Norwegian grandmotherly sorts talked to himand the oldest one of them all, who had a smiling face akin to a dried up apple, made him laugh until he lost his mind.

But on the streets, no one will hold a door. And at the airline gate, the crowd of ticketed passengers will press to get to the front. And be warned, you should watch the hell out in the IKEA corridors.

Most of the time, I just accept it as a cultural difference and go along my merry(ish) way.

But today, on a grey yuck day, it just made everything worse.

After Elliot's visits with the nurse and the doctor, which was fun and hilarious, I was still feeling out of sorts (and it was only 10am).

Back in the waiting room, I was getting Elliot back into his warm clothes and was standing next to another mother, a Norwegian woman about my age, who was unbundling her young daughter. We started chatting a bit and it turned out that her baby was one day older and that we lived in the same neighborhood. She asked how I was doing and if I was a member of a baby group. And I had just enough time to say "yes" before she and her baby were called to their appointment. They headed off in the direction of the nurses room, but turned around long enough to say "Ha Det Bra," which is a salutation which means, "Have it Good."

And it made me cry.

*The star of "Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day." Fantastic classic children's book. No joke. If you don't know it, read it. If you do know it, read it again. His day wasn't so bad and neither was mine, really, in the big scheme of things, relatively speaking and all of that...but also, that doesn't make it good.

Coffee and Ice Cream?

In a previous (and perhaps future) life, I was a celebrity reporter.*

And, in these pages, I have written about some of the fairly clear delineations between the different levels of celebrity. 

But here's another tip, one that is really not a new story, but one I started thinking about as we were wandering through Nice this week....

Many celebrities do some kind of advertising in other parts of the world, often in markets and in mediums that would be considered career suicide,** if they took part in them in the United States.  

And up until recently, most included a clause in the contract forbidding the ads from running in the US. 

But who could blame them for signing up for the ads?  It's piles of dough for relatively little work.  

For instance, just for a few tiny examples...Michael J. Fox shills for a Japanese energy drink whose slogan is "Good Afternoon!" Jennifer Aniston starred in Heineken beer commercials around the world and credit cards in the UK. And Japan is a huge market for the ads, many of which can be seen on Japander (which doesn't seen to be running well right now...)  

But it's widely accepted and usually really funny, too and often a slight indication of the level of celebrity enjoyed by the star....

So here's your quiz question...

Which celebrity is on the fairly untouchable REALLY BIG LIST, which is even higher than A level? Which celebrity is firmly settled (for now at least) on one of the slightly less prestigious letters of the alphabet?

Example A)

An advertising campaign for a coffee-like beverage---seen on giant groupings of poster panels in French airports, hilarious prime time commercials and back covers of major magazines.

Example B)

An advertising campaign for ice cream---seen on a stand-alone poster outside of a cafe on the top of Nice's Castle Hill, which is a hill, but is no longer home to a castle.

  

*To be clear:

Celebrity reporter does not equal paparazzi. 

To be more clear:

Paparazzi jump out of bushes armed with cameras, I used to knock on doors (among other adventures, which included but were not limited to red carpets, nightclubs, fried chicken in kitchens, backstages, etc....) armed with a tape recorder and a pad of paper.

**Or perhaps merely a fairly serious form of cutting.

REVISED --- Husband Knows Stuff #4: Wontons

We've been busy for the past few days....

We've been to a Holiday Cocktails/Cut-Throat Book Swap Party. 

We've cooked Chinese Food.

...including wontons. 

 

It was worth the wait.  

So well that the next night, we tried it again.  I made Spring Rolls.

What did Husband make, you wonder? 

....which is much more complicated than you would think, and it was yummy.

So whether you'll be spending Christmas Day eating Chinese food, lucky enough to gnaw on some fried turkey or even picking through some duck like we will be....

Happy happy holidays!

We'll see you in a few days!