Rose 8

Halfway through the list, Xar and I stop for a break.
In small talk, I ask, "are you the only anthropologist covering Earth?"
Grin, "bite your tongue. Planet is such a screwed up mess it takes three dozen of us."
"And I suppose you use male anthropologists on our men?"
"Logically, it should work, but it didn't. Yours were so uptight, ill at ease, afraid of possible attack; it led to lousy communications. However, once Earthling men find a sympathetic and non-threatening ear, they don't stop talking. Men are half of my clients, give me 3/4 of my usable information. Helpful about it too. Most make lists of stuff, so they don't forget when they next see me."
"It sure has not been my experience that they're forthcoming at talking."
She laughs, "think of stranger on the airplane syndrome. Once the guy trusts you, knows the info will end up in an anthropology textbook trillions of mile away, he becomes very candid."
A ping announces I've received email. Of course I'll ignore it.
Xar looks rather uneasy, "ah maybe you better check that."
In bold and large print, it proclaims, "Earthlings, this is your final warning. So far you have refused to meet our demands. Unless each and every one of you converts to being a Jehovah's Witness within 30 days, we will be compelled to take drastic action.
"We have a cannon, specially calibrated to turn your planet into a giant Limberger cheese. Imagine the decline in lifestyle. Air travel could be difficult with soft runways. Cafe menus would become boring. And that's to say nothing of the smell!
"Still, there is one positive benefit. Food banks would be rendered obsolete."
By now, both Xar and I are roaring with laughter.
I look at her appraisingly, "you knew they were gonna send something? Now you're relieved it's not too bad, right?"
She shrugs, "in our culture, there is a saying, 'aging is compulsory, maturity is optional'. Half the anthropologists are still stuck in junior high mode."
I grin, "and of course, they're hoping for a reply?"
"Very much so, they'd be disappointed if you didn't zing them back."
I type, "your idle threats scare our Evil Empire not. Our military is so sophisticated, it's like you're stuck in spear days. Have your fun, shoot! You'll find the cannon shot deflected back at your ship. Bon appetit!"
I show Xar, then send. After we laugh, it's back to work.
As this proceeds, I come to a realization. The communication between her and myself is exceedingly good, better than I've experienced with a fellow human.
You see, these anthropologists would not break down the client list by geography. Pointless, when you consider they can zip back and forth at the speed of light. Nor by language, they have a universal translator. They have broken down their client list by personality type, matched you to a specific anthro. Someone up there is a genius, even if some are immature.
(So ends Part One; the blog could be inactive for several months as Part Two is prepared.)

Rose 7

My eyes are sore, from struggling with too many footnotes. I hear a slight pinging sound, turn to see Xar.
In sympathetic tone, she says, "you people have way more footnotes than us and in smaller print. Do your eyes feel waxy?"
"Oh you bet."
"Well then, take a break and chat with me."
"Xar, could I offer you tea, coffee, maybe orange juice? Sorry, can't offer any alcohol, don't own any."
"Coffee would be great, yours is better than ours."
We do small talk as it brews. She raises her cup theatrically, takes a sip, "ah, pure heaven, dark roast. An Earthling after my own heart. Now Rose, I realize I did a lousy job of explaining last time. Musta left you with the impression I'd be hounding you over everything from acid rock music to Icelandic Parliament."
We both laugh.
"It's not like that at all. I have about 100 people I visit regularly, plus my duty roster of media watch. And of course, I tend to ask these people about stuff in their own fields of interest."
"I'm relieved to hear that."
"Now Rose, I hate to disappoint you, but I'm not here to chat about Japanese literature. Not yet anyhow, it'll come up over time. For now, I'm trying to understand university life in general, to be able to intelligently compare it to ours."
"Sounds like a rather open ended topic."
"Rose, I don't mean the stuff like electives and prerequisites. I'm perfectly capable of reading a calendar. I need help on the informal side of life."
"Such as?"
Goofy grin, "for starters, everything written formally at a university encounters some degree of censorship, though they don't call it that. However, there is one avenue of totally uninhibited free speech."
"You ah don't mean ah?"
"Yes Rose, bathroom graffitti. Now I got about 100 things here which simply defy belief and credibility. It would be really helpful chatting with you."
"You realize of course I won't know all the answers. Some will be inside jokes."
"Doesn't matter, shall we start?"
By now I'm even starting to think of her as a friend. And it's not like she's demanding rocket science answers. I smile, "shall I pour us more coffee before we begin?"
"That would be wonderful Rose. I rather suspect some of this is anatomically impossible even for you Earthlings, being more agile and flexible than us. In fact, some of it couldn't be done in zero gravity. And it does seem your politicians have rather kinky fetishes. Wierd stuff."
We both laugh.

Rose 6

It's now pack mule time. That is, I have to check out a dozen library books to work on my one chapter during the holidays. And yes, I'll admit I'm puffing by the time I reach my third floor walkup apartment.
As I open the door, I see a strange sight. Say four feet tall, a green female space alien. And no, I never drink nor do any drugs, legal or otherwise.
She grins, in a metallic whir which indicates a mechanical translator, says, "hello Rose, how are things going?"
"I rather doubt that you happen to be a hallucination. So, what exactly are you doing here?"
"Allow me to introduce myself. I'm Xar, an anthropological officer aboard the SS Gargantuan."
"Xar, don't for one minute think you can fool me. There is nowhere in the known galaxy where you'd be assigned the Earth beat unless you'd screwed up bigtime. So, level with me, tell me the story or get lost."
She blushes a bit, turning a darker shade of green. Then she shrugs, "all right then, I prefer them that way. Less hoohaw and running around in circles." She then goes on to give a long and humorous story of a crowd of cadets out on a bender. Coming home in their hovercar, her driving and well over the legal limit, they have a head on collision with the commandant of the academy.
Tentative smile, "and now, what I want outa you. We always seek out those sentient beings who happen to be alone mosta the time, they tend to be much better observers and more perceptive towards their fellow beings. And it is against our policy to show ourselves to two or more gathered in the same place. So, I intend to drop in from time to time, ask you various questions about ah shall we say anomalies in Earthling thought."
I chuckle, "Xar, you're nuts or high on something. Go on back to your ship. Given that there is little to no logic in the Earthling condition, how in Hades am I to be expected to answer about any of it?"
Huge smile, "well for sure you passed the test, exactly the sort of person we seek. I'll drop in several times over the holidays."
As she fades into thin air, I groan inwardly. What can you do?

Rose 5

As I head for a coffee break, I fall into step with one of my former first years.
He grins cheerfully, "good morning Ms Adilman."
"Good morning Ty, how's it going?"
"I meant to thank you for being so kind. Saw you posted up the marks yesterday."
"Kindness has nothing to do with it, it's marked on a curve. You performed in the top third of the class, you earned the mark."
"Good lord, if I'm in the top third, is that sad or what?"
We both laugh.
"Ms Adilman, now that's it's over, can we be honest with each other? Don't you get sick of dealing with all that bad attitude? Coping with all those people who are forced to take that first year half class?"
"Certainly, that's why I continue my own education. Hopefully in future, I'm dealing with upper years who want to be there in lit."
"Now I'm gonna ask you, just for the sake of my own peace of mind. Can you tell me even one thing I got outa that that is worthwhile? And don't cop out and say it's always been a requirement."
"Ok Ty, now let's fast forward to the future, say a dozen years after you graduate. Two possible scenarios, failure and success. Let's say your career goes nowhere, a series of McJobs and you can't make a real dent in that student loan. You won't hate me. You probably won't remember my name or face. You'll hate the whole economy for this business of having to be overqualified for everything, too many degrees chasing too few real jobs.
"But let's say things work well. You and your wife are on your way, in your nice car, to a corporate party, where you'll rub shoulders with those a bit older and more powerful. The topic drifts to literature. All you can remember is say four, five, six one liners from my class. But you pace them out wisely, sound as intelligent as anyone else. After all, that's probably all they remember too. Two days later, you run into me on the street. You'll recognize me, thank me for it. It may not be much, but better than sounding like an ignoramus."
We both laugh.
He grins wickedly, "in that case, I'm sure glad I stayed awake throughout the classes."

Rose 4

Naomi grins tentatively, "now I would guess that, whether it's true or not, it has a fairly negative impact on your love life."
I groan, "what love life?"
Earnest tone, "now see all the Jewish guys are privy to the rumor. And while mosta their parents voted for him, you still seem disreputable to them."
I nod.
"And in these parts, mosta the goy men hated him, past tense. And even those few who actually liked him, there is still a problem. That is, the Trudeau look may make a man handsome. It simply doesn't translate well onto a woman."
I laugh, "that is the most polite I've ever heard it said. The usual saying is there's only one grad student/sessional who looks worse than me."
"You mean of course Indira."
I nod.
"And that brother of yours. What a shame the best looking ones are always gay."
We both laugh.
She grins, "if he were straight, I'd make a play for him. But then, I'd need sharp elbows, to fight my way through the crowd. Enough of all this crap. How's your thesis progressing?"
Drily I reply, "one chapter needs to be redone. I've made a little too much reference to the monetary success and not enough to the literary."
"Still, one chapter only, that's pretty good compared to most."

Rose 3

Once again I'm at the Starbucks counter; Naomi waves from her table.
As I sit, she asks tentatively, "mind if I ask for some advice?"
"Go ahead."
"By the end of the holiday, they'll expect me to narrow down the exact topic for my Masters thesis. Could you share your experience with me?"
"Sure, what would you like to know?"
"The overall thought pattern, in as much detail as you like."
"First, it must be a topic you like. Reason, it'll always end up more work than you think. If it's something you like, it's enjoyable. If you only chose it to gain some strategic advantage, you'll resent any extra work."
"So that's why you chose Japanese women's literature?"
"Well yes and no. Yes, I do happen to like it. But bite your tongue when you say 'women's literature'. According to Prof Anderson, that leaves me open to all sorts of charges such as ghettoizaton, being a pawn to the male dominated big publishing houses and so forth."
"So what exactly did she suggest you title it?"
"Literature written in female voice targeted primarily at female readers."
We both laugh.
"So what else Rose?"
"Assuming you like a topic, aim for as wide a terrain as you can. Reason, you'll always find surprises, pleasant and unpleasant, and things will come out a lot different than you think. As well, much as possible, aim to find the unexplored, terrain that hasn't been hunted to death."
She pulls a face, "isn't that a contradiction in terms? Hasn't every topic of any great importance been beaten to death and then some?"
"All right then, as I understand it, you're fluently bilingual, being from Montreal. How exactly do you feel about writing in French Canadian voice in that history thesis?"
"No problem at all, got on well with the Quebecois, in fact better than with fellow Jews. It's doable and easily."
"Ok, start by avoiding big stuff. For sure anything to do with the original settlement or say the Treaty of Paris will have been picked over. But if you aimed to say chroncile daily life in an uneventful era of say circa 1700, chances are, no one has done it yet."
"Ah I see what you mean, I'll think on that. One thing I always meant to ask you, if it's not too intrusive. I've noticed a pattern in you Rose. You avoid any other Jewish students like the plague; they do the same to you. So ah why?"
I look at her in wild disbelief, "you mean you've been here, at this very university for two years now and you still haven't heard that? They must really keep you outa the loop, doubtless because you're seen fraternizing with the enemy, moi."
We both laugh.
Then I shrug, "no reason I shouldn't tell you, you'll hear sooner or later anyhow. Rumor has it I'm Trudeau's illegitimate child."
She gasps, then, "good thing I wasn't sipping coffee at the moment. So, do you suppose it's true?"
I shrug, "who knows? Though people do tell me I have a resemblance."

Rose 2

My cell rings. I groan inwardly, seeing it's bro's number. It would be nice if once, just once, he could phone to chat and not to ask for a favor.
Still, to be fair, it's not like he borrows money or needs bailing out of jail. Mosta the favors are truly nonsense trivia.
"Hello Nathan."
"Hi there Sis," I attempt to control my squeamishness as I hear obvious bathhouse sounds in the background, "you remember my buddy Chad?"
Hard to forget Mr Super Over The Top Flamboyant, "is he the one with the neon clothes?"
Nathan and Chad both laugh.
"It's like this Sis. Chad's little sister is going through the whole lesbian angst thing. And yes she knows there's counselling at the Center and free. Best if I put Chad on."
Friendly tone, "Rose, she's scared to death of going to one of those appointments alone. Ditto, being seen in that area with an obvious person like me. But there's lotsa other places straight people could be going to on that street, like the New Age bookstore. So please, could you escort her to the first appointment?"
Inwardly I heave a sigh of relief, coulda been worse, "I understand they have evening appointments?"
"Yes they do Rose. Could I count on your help?"
"Tell her Thursdays are no go. Book any other evening and I'll be glad to do it."
"Thank you so much Rose. You're a nice person, lot better than your brother."
We all laugh.

A Cold War era spy would approve of the amount of planning Megan puts into rendezvous. She chooses a coffee house several blocks away, favored by straights, shunned by gays.
I must describe myself and clothing in detail and she even gives several lines of recognition code. It's not lost on me that she doesn't describe herself. Doubtless leaving open the option of chickening out at the last minute. Do it bimbo and it'll be a Frosty Friday before I do anything else for you.
Rendezvous goes without incident. Spies don't accost us.
Now Megan sees herself as incognito walking down the street in those oh so nondescript clothes. But the amount of rubbernecking and eye motion would earn brownie points from even the toughest US Sgt during days of Nam.
Once she's in her appointment, I take out a textbook.
A half dozen gay guys are lounging about, obviously there just for the free coffee. They switch to talking about the last S&M night at the bathhouse. So obvious they're trying to gross me out.
Still, I have the ability to totally switch off, concentrate on the text and do so.
As Megan and I leave, she says the words I long to hear, "I realize how silly all this has been. I can go by myself in future."
Yes! There is a Santa Claus.

Rose 1

Weekday mornings I detest the Starbucks near campus, too crowded. But if you're going to the university library Saturday or Sunday, it's a great way to start your day. I arrive about half an hour before library opening time. One of those small tables is barely big enough for your coffee, a textbook and notebook.
Several minutes later, Cindy arrives. Does she ask if she can sit here? Or how I'm doing? No, simply closes my textbook, sets down her coffee and starts her rant, "is that Harper evil or what? Junior league version of his buddy Bush. There is a reason Bush is that way. Texas cowboy with his shorts on too tight, affects the blood circulation to his brain."
She laughs, I join in.
She continues, "and now look at what the Prince of Evil is doing ..."
When she runs outa energy, I deduce I am expected to say something, "look at the bright side. This is a democracy, you'll soon enough get another chance to vote against him."
Bad move, she looks angry, "and vote for what, smart ass? The Marxist Leninist Trotskyite who'll tax us out into bankruptcy to pay for all his silly ideas? Or maybe dude man with poorer English than most illegal immigrants from China?"
I shrug, "well now, don't you think that makes us better off than Americans? We get a choice of three idiots, not just two."
She takes umbrage, "you actually believe we're better off than Americans? Do you ever read a newspaper from one year end to another? The Canadian tax system is so unfair compared to ..."
It's on the tip of my tongue to suggest she emigrate if she feels that way, but I choke it back. No point being nasty.
As the tirade dies down, she looks at me, as if seeing something for the first time, "I've got it, know what your problem in life is."
"And that is?"
"Perpetual smartassism. It's why you never have any friends. Also why you never seem to have a boyfriend. Everyone knows guys are naturally smart asses. And yes, they like smart ass girls, but only if she's not as smart ass as them. They hate it, loathe it with a passion when she outdoes them in perpetual smartassism."
"Perpetual smartassism?' Is that a diagnosis from your third year psy text?"
Sniffs, "there you go again, just never stop." Picks up her coffee, goes to sit at the counter.
Back in history, McLuhan said the medium is the message. Now had this criticism come from a peer, an approximate equal, I might be willing to give it consideration.
However she happens to have been my younger bro's for cover girlfriend back in his closeted days. Once he came out, he decided she is sooo a waste of time.
Since every time she sees me she gets nasty, I hardly think her message warrants further thought.