Asian fast food

Pre-Elliot, I would try a million different recipes.  I would tear them out of magazines, borrow them from  websites and hound BigD for directions of how to make whatever it was that I remembered from the dinner table when I was eight.

These days, while I will try new things occasionally, I have gotten into a bit of a rut. Along with a few surprises every now and again, our staples are Husband's favorite tacos, the BigD classic*, Jenny's wok recipe and crispy chicken wraps.  Most of these are not created from scratch.**

But even as my head is still clouded with Elliot-things: like getting to know each other and helping him learn important skills, I am slowly trying to get back to cooking meals that are a little more fun than what can be found on the packet aisle at the grocery store.

Last week, we ate lunch with a friend from Singapore.  She served us soup that was so good and so pretty that I asked for the recipe.  She said that it was "just Asian fast food."  That it was nothing special and that in Asia you could buy it on the street for just a few dollars, but it was special and a few nights later, I made it for Husband.

And it was good...

Here's what you need...adjust the amount of each ingredient for the amount of soup you'd like to make.  Keep reading...I think it will make sense...***

And, depending on your level of skill and time, you can create every single bit from scratch or cheat a bit and get it from cans and jars.****

Pork filet

Cha sui marinade, which is kind of like Asian BBQ sauce, sweet and a little tangy

Kernels of corn

Chopped green onions

Cooked udon Noodles

Medium boiled egg sliced in half

Miso soup

Marinate a pork fillet in Cha Sui sauce for a few hours.

Bake it in the oven at about 250 degrees C until it's done (flipping and spooning the sauce over it about every ten minutes or so).  Make sure it's still a little bit rare in the middle...the timing depends on the size of the piece of meat.

In the meantime chop the vegetables or pour them out of a can.

Boil an egg to medium (about 8 minutes)

When the meat is cooked, set it out and when it is slightly cooled, slice in disks.

Cook the miso soup to boiling.

Put noodles in bowl about 1/2 way, then pour boiling soup over top.

Add in slice of egg, disks of pork, onions and corn.

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*Awesome pasta with zucchini and squash. If you've ever eaten dinner at my house, you probably have had it.  It's one of my absolute favorites and no one cooks it better than the BigD herself.  But I try.

**I didn't know that "from scratch" was a good thing until I was about 25.  My elfin grandmother, who was not an elf, but was about the same size as an elf, was a fantastic cook (Her fried chicken is unparalleled to this day).  But she was sadly lacking in baking skills---with the exception of pound cake and chocolate cake...those were TASTY.  She was not aware of this and often would proudly present her brownies, proclaiming that they were "from scratch." We would take a bite, praying not to chip a tooth. For years afterward, I was certain "from scratch" was polite code for "tasted horrible" and would avoid it at all costs.


***There is a talent to writing recipes. I am pretty sure I don't have it, but hopefully you'll understand it anyway.

****Guess what I did?  And really, it's Asian fast food.  Also, I'm not in the business of judging.

Yesterday's yoga

So how did Baby Yoga go you may wonder?

In case you didn't read yesterday, Elliot had been running amuck.  All the other babies were calm and good.  I thought it was stressful and tried to turn in my classes to no avail.

So we went back.

And it was better, mainly because Elliot had an entire room to himself.  Seriously.  The yoga room is giant and L-shaped.  The class happens in one end of the "L" and the other part is supposed to be sort of off limits because the footfalls disturb a doctor who works underneath.

Apparently the yoga people were willing to make an exception for Elliot.  And it's not like he's all that noisy other than a few thuds and the occasionally LOUD babble.

They had even baby-proofed.  The electrical sockets were filled in, the heating coils were off.

I did have to go through the room and move all the giant loops of rope hanging from the wall.  Other classes use them when the students lie on the floor, then grab the loops to pull for leverage.  They were right at Elliot's neck level, but were easy enough to loop higher than his little hands.

And this time, I only had to get up five times during the class, which split over an hour, averages about once every 20 minutes and that may not seem like much, but if you consider that about 15 minutes was spent working with Elliot.  And also that the teacher took him and carried him with her for the last ten minutes, that's alot of popping up and down.

But we've (really meaning "me") has switched my attitude about it all.  I have given up any hope of yoga-ing myself and have decided to look at it as Elliot's play time.

Because Elliot loves it.

One of our friends and her daughter comes and he loves to see them.

He thinks the massages are the best thing ever and he laughs and laughs.

When I pop up to save him, it's big fun for me to come and play with him.

Sometimes, the teacher will pick him up and let him sit with her, so he gets a different view of the class.

And really, Elliot is my funny little love and any mischief he causes in only in the spirit of curiosity and having fun. And I cannot blame him a bit for it* and overall, think it is the best thing ever.

And, this time, the "worst" thing I caught him doing was leaning over another baby blowing raspberries in her face.  And, she loved it too.

Only five more classes to go.

_________________________________

*He cannot help his gene pool.

Buckshot Traveling

Tomorrow we're leaving for the Spanish sunshine and what could possibly be our last European vacation.

While our trip this summer was great fun and so good to see so many of our friends and family, it wasn't calm and it wasn't so relaxing. We criss-crossed the country thinking about maybe coming home and what and where that even means. And between luggage, time zones and sweet baby Elliot, it was a journey. A great journey, but a journey nonetheless.

So when we got back, as we all got sick, we decided that some quiet time in the sunshine would cure it all. And for the first time we're going to leave laptops at home to completely tune out.

The coming months are going to be big ones full of major decisions and this could be the last family vacation for a while.*

So, as we do, on any vacation that requires calm and not much at all**, we employ The Buckshot*** Method of Travel.

First we set out the constants, the factors that will not change. And for this trip they were:

1) A certain budget

2) Sunshine and warmth

3) Within a six-hour window of travel, which is about as long as we want to travel with a six-month old.

4) A direct flight

5) The one-week window Husband has between projects

6) Nothing nearby that we would feel guilty for not going to see.

7) Good food.

So with a few internet searches and a map of Europe, we came up with a flight to the Alicante airport in Spain, which is on the southeastern coast of the country.

Then we did another few searches and came up with a villa in Moraira, Spain, which is a little town about 82km up the highway. Apparently, it is a small fishing village that is not even listed in the Fodor's Spain guide.

We looked at the photographs of the villa and sent an email. We settled on a price with the owner and wired the money to an account in England. And just yesterday the keys came in the mail.****

It's near the beach, a tapas bar and has its own pool.

Best of all, September is the off-season so it's cheap cheap cheap.

We're going to go to the grocery store and sleep late and take Elliot to the beach.

And when he's had enough, we're going to go home and sit by the pool while he naps inside. In the evenings we may go to dinner a few times, but that's pretty much it.*****

Until the past few days, I hadn't done much research on it at all, because really, who cares?

I'll be hanging with my two best people close to good Spanish food and the ocean.

But, while the little man was napping this morning, I started looking at some traveler's notes online...apparently the Costa Blanca (the area of Spain where we are headed) is about a 50/50 split of Spanish and British expats.

And most of the beaches are topless, often populated by portly British grandmother types.

I love it.

Seriously, if this is true, I think it sounds even more awesome. I love grandmothers.****** Grandmotherly types love babies, so they will be friendly Elliot. And the more portly they are, the less portly I will seem.

Perfect.

_____________________________

*And really, this is our first family vacation of just the three of us--Unless of course you count the places we went before he was an actual person...

**The Buckshot Method got us to Jade Mountain for our honeymoon, Nice for Christmas and Portugal for last summer's holiday. It works. Trust.

***For those not familiar with Southern Culture, meaning the Southern Culture of the United States, hunting is big. And, buckshot is a type of ammunition. When you shoot buckshot, it sprays out and unless you're very unlucky, you'll probably hit something. The Buckshot Method, as I call it, works for lots of things, but you have to be enthusiastic. That helps.

****Yeah, I thought it was a little risky, too, but I did an internet search on the owner and he seemed normal. Plus, he apparently lodged a complaint with his township in England about unpicked-up dog poo on his street. So by logic, if he's particular about his street, he's probably particular about the house. I'm sure it will be fine.

*****We may also play lots of Scrabble. I am also hoping to read a book.

******Well, most of them.

A Small Lesson Starring Lasagna

I miss our Mormon.

(JD, the lasagna and Jacque)

We live on the second and third floor of a three story house.  The bottom floor is split into two apartments.  On the right is where a rotating pair of Mormon missionaries live. (On the left is where the smoking* Goths make their home.)

The Mormon apartment has two windows on the street level.  One is plastered with photos of Jesus and Jacob Jingleheimer Schmidt**. The other is situated right in front of the desk where the guys do their paperwork and studies.  

And when I noticed that, I got a little nervous.  I hate any sort of sales pitch.  I don't want help picking out my clothes in a boutique and I don't want pressure regarding religion. 

But, thanks to Megan, I never got the conversion hard sell (if there even was one). When she was visiting, we were wondering past the movie theater and one of their colleagues stopped us to chat. He was American, cheery and friendly, so of course we weren't going to be rude. But early into the conversation, Megan announced that she was all good on the religion front and I said that I was committed to my Protestantism. We added that I lived above some of his friends.

The next day, Jacque introduced himself (as Elder LastName from Denmark) and we were happy "hey" buddies afterward. When I waddled by, they would wave and Jacque would pop his head out and offer to carry my bags. When I would run into them in town, they would chat and ask for updates and still want to carry my bags.  

In the beginning, I was convinced that I was being (benevolently) stalked a bit. But eventually I realized that he and his fellow Mormon walkabout-er (JD from Utah) were not truly after my soul and Pickle's. (Though I suspect they wouldn't have turned down either.) 

They were just really nice guys.***

Along with their general cheer and helpfulness, they were fun to chat it up.  Jacque would tell me about how he was looking forward to being a capitalist once his two-years were over.  And JD mentioned how he missed snowboarding back home. 

When Elliot was born, they presented us with a lasagna.  When Jacque came up to deliver it, he told Husband a story about how when his mother had a baby, she really appreciated the dinners people dropped off.  So when I went into the hospital to have Elliot, they got the very best cook in their church to make dinner for us. 

And we ate it for days.****

When Elliot was just about three weeks old, there was a knock on the door.  It was kind of late, about 10pm.  I was crashed and exhausted, lying on the couch in my pajamas. 

Husband went to the door to see Jacque standing there.  He had gotten the order to head to Oslo the next day and wanted to say good-bye.  Because I was not dressed, I didn't go to the door.  And I missed him the next morning. 

And I've always regretted it a bit.  It wasn't the right move at all.  He had been a kind, cheery part of my day for months and I appreciated it.  I wish I had told him a last time and sent him good wishes on his way.

JD and his new roommate don't wave and they just watch as I stagger past with Elliot in a car seat and bags of groceries.  And as I type this on at noon on a Friday, the Goths have a their music cranked UP and my floor is quivering to some Middle Eastern-ska-wailing.

So, I've been thinking about good neighbors.  

Overall, I've been pretty lucky. 

In New York, I had dear Derek downstairs and the cigarello-smoking, black leather clad (down to his bikini, no joke) cowboy across the hall.  

In Atlanta, there was creepy downstairs Jodi, who was so icky that (almost) Husband and I spent more time at his house, contributing a bit to his becoming Husband sooner rather than later (thanks Jodi!). And there is dear Joan, Husband's next door neighbor.  We loved her and will stop by to see her when we are in town next month.

But overall, in any definition of the term, good neighbors are hard to come by...and wherever Jacque is now, as he finishes up his last months of Mormon walkabout, we wish him well.

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*By "smoking" I don't mean "model-like good-looks", I mean "suck on the unlit end of smoldering cigarettes directly underneath our open windows."

 **I know, I know.

***Also, I was giantly pregnant.

****If anyone you know ever has a baby, bring them food.  Trust.

Things I Learned Today: Oslo with an Infant

This afternoon we returned from our long weekend in Oslo.  We had to go to the US Embassy to get Elliot registered and passported, but we stayed for our first family mini-break.  

It all went shockingly well, but we did learn some lessons* which will serve us well when we attempt our upcoming trip to the US.  

1) Always pack 1/2 of what I think I need. Always pack twice as much as what I think Elliot needs.

This is mainly because I don't wet, poo or spit up on myself. 

2) Keep the sleep situation as consistent as possible.

Some dear friends of ours sent Elliot a Sleep Sheep. It is magic. He always sleeps to white noise, but for travel, his Sleep Sheep is magic.  (It is so magic, I will write it twice. On purpose.) That, along with his wrap and us, made it all okay.

3) Don't attempt too much.  

We never left the room before about ten am.  We choose just one goal a day. (Friday: Go to Embassy. Saturday: See The Scream. Sunday: Go home.) Then everything else was just extra fun. 

5) No matter how challenging it was to learn to breastfeed, the convenience is worth it.

We couldn't have done nearly as much if we had to constantly make a bottle. Warm it. And then wash them all, etc... Now feeding Elliot is really just a matter of finding a semi-quiet, out of the way place and adjusting my shawl as to not flash the general public.

3)  I am almost the master of camouflage.

This is especially key because we're going to be all over the US and Elliot is going to need to eat.  

Yes, I know it is all legal and super healthy for babies.  

This does not mean that I would like to be the posterchild for it.  I can count on one hand the times I have ever seen a mother breastfeed in public.  I can remember many more times I read articles about issues with it.  

Really I don't care what other people do. I prefer to be super discreet. (At least in static places, like restaurants.  In trafficked places, like airports, I care much less.)

4) Most people will give you a break if you are carrying a sleeping baby.

Seriously.  Even the people with the grumpiest faces will help out.

6) It is possible to have good meals as long as you go either early or late. 

It's not so much about Elliot's behavior, which is pretty steady right now.  It's more that I feel too stressed to enjoy it if I am worried that we could possibly ruin other people's dinner. 

7) Allow twice as much time to get whatever it is done.  

Seriously.  

When I was in high school...really as far back a I can remember...whenever we going anywhere --particularly church, for some reason--- Big D set a time for us to leave.  Then whenever she was finished getting ready, she would go out to the garage, get in the car and honk.  

Take note: No one was late.

 She just happened to get ready early and would run out of things to do inside, so she would go outside and sit in the car and honk.  It was to hurry us up, but really it just drove me nuts.  Now that I am an adult, I still get anxious when I am about to be late. 

(Actually being late is not nearly as bad.) 

But now, I find as long as I build in lots of time, no one gets anxious...particularly me. 

8) It helps to at least try to speak the language.  

Occasionally I find that when I am at a loss for language, it affects the service.  

Luckily, Husband is fluent and when he chatters a bit with pretty much anyone, it greases the wheels in all sorts of ways. In just the past 24 hours, it has gotten an extra seat on the plane and general smiles.  

It may also help that Husband is hot. 

9) There's always one more form. 

No kidding.  More on that tomorrow.

____________________________

*Some of them are age-specific and yes, I realize Elliot could become beasty at any moment, but he's not today.

Snapshots

Tomorrow Husband, Elliot and I are flying to Oslo for a long weekend.  The little man needs a passport and the only way to procure one is to show up at the embassy in person.  

I'm excited about the trip---Not only because we haven't been anywhere since Christmas, but because I am excited about checking out the embassy experience (which I will report on post-haste...) and most importantly because it will be dry run for Elliot's Debut World Tour. 

But first, we needed a passport photo.

(Once the top of his hair got cropped out, he looks a little like a mini-samurai warrior. I like it.) 

The requirements for a baby passport photo are the same as they are for an adult or anyone else, including:  full face, looking directly at the camera, must show ears, white border, closed mouth, open eyes...

This can present quite the challenge in the case that you have a ten-week old who not only is not well-versed in the English language,* doesn't have total control of his body and also is keen on studying everything around him.  

Here are a few tips:

1) Spread out a white sheet and deposit him on it. (Sitting up on a stool in front of a white background is not an option.)

2) Start snapping

3) Keep snapping.

4) Then when you realize (58 photos later) that this may be a job best left to the professionals (because who knew that the mohawk** coupled with the precise angles would be a problem), rush to the photo studio for the second time and shell out the 250NOK ($38ish USD) anyway.***

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

*In case you are judging, give the little guy a break.  I've lived in Norway for more than a year and I am not totally solid in Norwegian. He's much newer, so let's skate on past that. Also, just between you and me, I am not sure he's one to take orders easily.

**It spikes up of its own accord.  I do not discourage this and occasionally train it in various directions.  I had to comb it down well to get the one that worked. Mohawks are a bad idea for passport photos because you can't get the white space at the top while still keeping the face the right size.  Who knew?

***I was totally against this because there is a photo booth at the police station, right outside of the immigration office where you can take four passport photos of yourself, then choose the best one for 20NOK ($3ish USD).  So considering I own both a camera and am in close proximity to the photo subject, I thought I could handle it. I could not.  And then willingly handed over the kroner to the nice man with the camera.  He cut me a break, too, and only charged me half because I'd already been there once to print out the photo I took.

A Short Story About Strollers and Babies in Them

This was taken yesterday. Notice Husband's hands on Elliot's stroller.

When we first arrived, Husband's work hired Tune (TOOOOOOOO-NAH) to help me get acclimated.  She drove me around, showed me around town and answered my questions about Norwegian life and culture.

As we wandered, I noticed that often people would walk into shops and cafes with their dogs, but leave their babies in the strollers parked outside. 

Why do you wonder?

"Occasionally dogs disappear, but the babies never do."

Emily Post

This weekend the cover story of the New York Times Magazine is "Exposed," a personal essay by a writer named Emily Gould.

As an avid follower of Gawker.com, I followed her posts during her tenure, which true to Gawker's tone, were snarky and insidery with a heavy dollop of schadenfreude.

In her own blogs, she was ultra-revealing of the details of her own life, as well as of many of the people around her.

And, about six months ago, I interviewed her for an article I wrote for the Atlanta Journal-Constitution (the AJC) called "Plugged in For Life."*



The story explains how Google works and that its memory is forever, if not longer. The portion of the interview with Gould that made it into the story was:

"We are all responsible for how we present ourselves online, " says Emily Gould, Gawker editor and author of the posts chronicling Page's story. "Shame is the new fame. People come to the public attention because of the things they do. It's really a culture of narcissism."


And, in the last paragrapher, in reference to the subject of the story, a man who earned internet noteriety...

Page is left with only two courses of action, said Gould at Gawker. "It's scary that it's out there for perpetuity, but put it into perspective: It's not easy to erase, but you can always do something bigger. And at the very least, the pace of the Internet turns over quickly.

"Just remember you're not the center of the universe."


"Exposed," this weekend's article in the NYT Magazine, chronicles her experiences blogging and the effects it's had on her psyche, her career and her personal life.

I would have liked to see it as less of an essay and more of a serious magazine article, a real in-depth look into blogging, buoyed by her own personal anecdotes.

But make no mistake; the article is well written and details the personal ramifications of a cultural phenomenon.

For the most part, the commenters have ripped her apart as self-centered, selfish and invasive, and deemed her words a waste of trees, and oxygen.

They've decided the cover forum should have been used for "more worthy" subjects such as the war in Iraq or the earthquake in China, which inarguably are worthy subjects.

But to decry blogging as an unworthy subject is wrong.

The magazine is not the newspaper.

Put simply, the newspaper is a quick turnaround medium for the news, with a time frame made even shorter by the ever quickening race to get it online and first.

The magazine, while a part of the NYT, is a general interest magazine, with a much more thoughtful lead-time, comprised of short and long-form articles, Q&As, essays and commentary. It covers a variety of subjects, which include politics, and culture, which also includes "pop" culture.

Right now, while blogging could arguably be called "pop" culture, it is just about three minutes to becoming "actual" culture, if it's not already.

According to data complied by Technorati, a company whose business it is to follow what's happening online, "there are over 175,000 new blogs (that’s just blogs) every day. Bloggers update their blogs regularly to the tune of over 1.6 million posts per day, or over 18 updates a second."

And that's just what is happening today. That is not counting all the ones that existed yesterday or the ones that will be created tomorrow.

Blogging, in its most simple definition, is merely writing in an online forum.

And to that point, more than sixty years ago, George Orwell wrote an essay called "Why I Write."

And his essay is exactly that and well, well worth reading.

In it, he identifies the four reasons that any writer writes:

1) Sheer egotism: "a desire to be clever" and "to be remembered after death."

2) Aesthetic enthusiasm: "words and their right arrangement."

3) Historical purpose: "to find out the facts and store them up."

4) Political purpose: "a desire to push the world in a certain direction."

Orwell also said, "It can be seen how these various impulses must war against one another, and how they must fluctuate from person to person and from time to time."

Because you're reading this, on my blog, perhaps you wonder, why I write...

So the answer (in a attempt to organize into a semblance of order) is:

1) Historical purpose:

Chronicling our life for readers (family, friends and clickers) who are thousands of miles away and many time zones helps me feel more connected. And it helps them feel more involved and intouch with our day-to-day.

It's also a kind of picture diary/memoir of our life here, in both the adventure and the mundane.
_______


2) Aesthetic enthusiasm/Sheer egotism:

In my past life, I practiced daily deadline journalism.

Now as I morph into whatever career or life as it is unfolding, I need to keep my fingers limber and my perspective fresh.

Also, I think of one of Big D's mantras, which can be applied to almost anything, "If you don't use it, you lose it." So whatever it is that I "have," I don't want to lose.

Plus, one day, I want to be in a card catalogue. Seriously. One day, if they even still exist, I want to look up my name, check my shelf number, wander through the stacks and search for my book.
_______


3) Political purpose:

This one is a bit foggier, but it's solidly there...And it's wrapped up in community and perception.

To be clear: I wouldn't change a thing about my life. I love Husband and our pack more than anything in the entire, whole world. I couldn't have a better partner and family. We're on a great adventure and it's only getting better.

But make no mistake, over the past six months, we've gone through a lot...marriage, global move, job changes, family illness half a world away, just to name a few.

It's occasionally been a momentary challenge, but here's the thing: We're not the only ones. All over this town and the world, there are people in their first year of marriage or with sick parents or living as expats or wondering "what" they are when their roles have changed.

So that's a big part of "why I write." Before I moved here, I followed blogs of the day to day experiences of people in similar situations to help me gauge what was about to happen and it helped.

So while I'm still thinking about this one, it's a big part.
_______



So, saying blogging is a self-indulgent exercise and, by extension, to vilify Gould, is a rash over-simplification.

All over the world and the internet, blogging has changed the face of journalism. Now on every major newspaper staff there is at least one "mojo," which is short for "mobile journalist," a real-time reporter, who in a very real sense, writes by blogging. Then there is the "citizen journalist." Note the captions and bylines on some of the CNN photos of the earthquake. Those are from real people out in the world.

All over the world and the internet, bloggers are connecting through prayer groups and religious affiliations. Still others discuss the minutiae of the worldwide economy and how to fix it. Others contribute to computer code to make our machines run faster and better. Others dissect Man United strategy in their win over Chelsea.

And others detail their lives, which, if put on paper, would be shelved under "memoir."

So judge the flaws as you see them in Gould's essay, but don't judge Gould.

She's just a microcosm of what is really out there.

Every single day, every single second, millions of people blog. Millions more read their words.

Whether or not you may approve of the content is a personal decision. Hang out until the very last word or click away, it's up to you.

And if you don't like what someone is saying in their blog, get your own.


+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++


*In case you want to read "Plugged in for Life"

AJC Main Edition
Date: Monday, 11/5/2007
Section Name: Living
Section Letter: C
Page: 1
Label:

PLUGGED IN FOR LIFE
Take care: 'Shame is the new fame' in the online world, and your public humiliation could last a long, long time.

ELIZABETH COBB / Staff
ecobb@ajc.com

When Atlantan John Fitzgerald Page fired off a scathing e-mail to a would-be online suitor at match.com, he couldn't have imagined the repercussions.

Page's e-mail wound its way through cyberspace, landing last month in the in-boxes of "The Bert Show" at Q100 and finding a high-profile home at the New York-based media gossip site Gawker.com, where it generated 285,000 page views and more than 3,000 reader comments, most of them attacks on Page's hubris. The AJC story about Page, which appeared Oct. 12, generated more than 135,000 page views.

A cautionary tale of the Internet age, Page's story is proof that everyone is game where scandal or public embarrassment is concerned, and the fallout can last into perpetuity.

Page's note to the woman who rebuffed him accused her of being out of shape and berated her for rejecting him despite his many qualities, which he listed as: "8.9 on [hotornot.com], Ivy League grad, Mensa member, can bench/squat/leg press over 1,200 lbs., has had lunch with the secretary of defense, has an MBA from the top school in the country, lives in a Buckhead high rise, drives a Beemer convertible, has been in 14 major motion pictures, was in Jezebel's Best Dressed, etc."

The simple stroke of the "send" key wound up getting Page branded "The Worst Person in the World" by Gawker. Offline it would have been a fleeting moment of shame forgotten in a matter of weeks. Not so online. In a world where 70 percent of North Americans are Internet users, according to InternetWorldStats.com, and the Google search engine is so pervasive it is now a verb, nothing online is ever completely forgotten. And in an era when potential employers, romantic suitors and friends Google each other as a first step in getting acquainted, a negative post can having a resounding effect. Today, when Page's name is plugged into the search engine, the Gawker post pops up second in the list of sites that contain his name. Unless he tops the scandal in popularity, that is most likely where it will stay.

"We are all responsible for how we present ourselves online, " says Emily Gould, Gawker editor and author of the posts chronicling Page's story. "Shame is the new fame. People come to the public attention because of the things they do. It's really a culture of narcissism."

Public scandal was once more commonly the domain of celebrities and politicians. And with the advent of Internet culture, their sins may be forgiven but never forgotten.

Paris Hilton has starred in a reality TV show, had a chart-topping record, written two best-selling books, walked thousands of red carpets, done a stint in jail and is great-granddaughter to the Hilton hotel founder. But Google her name. A page detailing her infamous sex tape, "1 Night in Paris, " leaked online in 2003, pops up third in the list.

Former N' Sync member Lance Bass says in his new book, "Out of Sync, " that his mother discovered he was gay by Googling her son's friend, reality star Richard Lehmkuhl. When rumors popped up that the two were in a relationship, he was forced to come out to her and then days later on the cover of People magazine.

Removing a Google link to embarrassing material can be an almost insurmountable task. Google will remove content if it contains personal information such as Social Security numbers or credit card numbers, but it can take days or even weeks to investigate each case and remove the offending item. The only other course of action is to ask that the content be removed from each individual site that contains it.

"This is to protect the integrity of the Web, preventing people from capriciously pulling content lawfully posted by others, " says a Google spokesman.

Jerry Portwood, a former Atlantan who's now managing editor of New York Press, recalls a phone call he received from a former intern who had written a personal essay about his mother convincing him to reconsider a surgical procedure he'd planned to have. It was titled "How mom saved my manhood."

"He called begging me to take it down, " says Portwood. "He was trying to get a corporate job and every time an employer Googled him, that was the first thing that popped up. I told him that it was a good piece and also that it's part of our archive." The story stayed. Portwood says he's gotten at least six similar calls --- from both writers and subjects of stories --- over the last year.

Let this be a lesson: Nothing electronic is totally private, not even personal e-mail, the source of Page's public shaming. Page added to the maelstrom by posting responses and comments on gawker.com and his personal Web site, maintaining that the message was private and intended for one person only. He requested Gawker remove the e-mail from its site, adding, "I really don't want to get my legal team involved." Gawker refused.

One attorney thinks Page may have been wronged.

"E-mail can be protected by copyright law just as an article, book or work of art is protected, " says Atlanta attorney Doug Isenberg, of the GigaLaw Firm, who's been practicing Internet and technology law for more than a decade. He likens Page's situation to a 1987 copyright infringement case won by author J.D. Salinger against Random House, which had planned to publish lengthy quotes from letters the author had written. According to the ruling, quoting a few lines of a letter may be permissible, but publishing long passages or complete letters is not.

So does Page have a case? "At this point, proving damages would be difficult, " Isenberg says. "Really you can't put the genie back into the bottle. Right now it's out there in so many place that it wouldn't be worth it."

Page is left with only two courses of action, said Gould at Gawker. "It's scary that it's out there for perpetuity, but put it into perspective: It's not easy to erase, but you can always do something bigger. And at the very least, the pace of the Internet turns over quickly.

"Just remember you're not the center of the universe."

WHAT WILL GOOGLE REMOVE?

Content containing personal information such as ...

> Social Security or government ID numbers

> Bank account or credit card numbers

> An image of a person's signature

> Explicit content that violates Google's guidelines, which could include pages that install viruses, contain hidden text and other manipulative and deceptive practices.

Author:
Graphic Info:
ID: 0007403974
Type: Graphic
Name: 0007403974FinalGoogle102507
Date: 11/05/2007
Page: C1
Edition: Main
Pub: AJC
Caption: JEMAL R. BRINSON / Staff
Illustration features a man imprisoned and on display in an electronic device with a Google logo.

We Don't Live on Mars

The straight line distance between Atlanta and Stavanger is approximately 4252 miles or 6843 kilometers.

Things I Learned Today, Installment One

So our camera broke today. An error message saying "Memory Card Error" popped up on the screen instead of the inspired photo I was trying to take of the giant shrimp statue in the harbor.

Husband replaced the memory card, but was too embarrassed to take it to his friend, the technophile, because it is so out of date. So for a while, until we get a new one, we'll have to do without photos, but not for tooooo long....

In the meantime, I'll add in links when I appropriate (or deemed so by me...).

Today, we got a loaner car. It's a Saab 93 diesel (wagon, natch...) and we'll be driving this one until our actual car comes in the mail or on a boat or via train or however it is that cars get to places when they are not being driven. So Husband ditched work early and picked me up for a Friday afternoon drive.

We went all over the area and into the country side and here are a few things we saw and a few things I learned.

1) If you are driving along the road and see a sign that says "Fartputer" do not be alarmed. Slow down because, if not you will soon be flying over Speed Pillows, which are speed bumps.

2) A goat is a geit, which is pronounced Yight (rhymes with sight). More than one goat is a geiter.

3) It doesn't matter that it was cold enough that we were buttoned up and wearing gloves. On this afternoon, the sun was out and the waves were breaking. So, car loads of people were pulling up to the beach, stripping down and then zipping up their wetsuits all for a few hours of surfing in the afternoon sun.

4) Not all cars in Europe are stick shifts. Some of them are automatic, one of which, in our possession for the next month or so, is parked right by our front door.