the preacherman

I had a truly American experience the other day. I was on the bus on my way to work, when a man got on and stood right next to me. When the bus moved off he started preaching. Very loudly. The usual Jesus loves you kind of stuff, with some hell, fire and brimstone thrown in for good measure. I don't think he had thought about what to say beforehand, but just shouted out whatever random thoughts came into his head. He seemed particularly keen on the idea that we might all get killed in an earthquake next year, and was really thrilled that his prayers were working, because look he wasn't in a wheelchair yet. (At which point I was far too intimidated to point out that being an agnostic for many years hasn't done me much harm either!) The response from the passengers on the bus was pretty unanimous. A few smiles at first turned into some uncomfortable looks, and when he still didn't get off people started moving to the other end of the bus. But more seriously, I do get mildly offended when people try to convert me to their religion. I am quite capable of deciding for myself whether or not to believe in God, thank you very much, and no amount of yelling at me on a bus is going to make me change my mind.

a dramatic accident

The other day I was sitting at the food court of a university here in LA, eating my lunch. I heard a crash behind me. A child had tripped up some stairs while carrying a glass bottle which smashed as he fell, covering him in glass. Fortunately, as someone helped him up, it became apparent that he wasn't hurt except for a scratch on his finger. He was a bit shaken, but his father was there to comfort him, and soon he was absolutely fine. So far, so not very dramatic. The drama came later. One of the staff at the food court informed a security guard what had happened. Having spoken to the kid he whipped out his walkie-talkie. "There has been an incident in the food court", he barked. "We have a minor with a small scratch on his finger." He convinced the father to make a formal report. Pretty soon another security guard came along to add to the general excitement. He was followed soon after by two others, one to take photos and another to take the report. Call me unsympathetic, but the words mountain and molehill spring to mind.

surveys LA-style

So I managed to escape the Icelandic winter for a few weeks, and am currently enjoying the sunshine and palm trees in Los Angeles, on a visit to a university in the city. A wierd thing happened to me here the other day. I was on my way back home, waiting to cross a road when I was stopped by a young man who asked me if I would mind answering a few questions for a survey. I agreed, wondering if I should point out that I don't live in LA, so any questions about shopping habits and the like wouldn't be very relevant. So, here's my first question, he said. What do you think is distinctive about my appearance? Rather taken back, I floundered for a while, my mind totally blank. I find nothing distinctive about your appearance seemed a cruel thing to say. Oh, just say anything, he prompted. Eventually I managed, rather feebly, your hair? Fortunately he didn't seem too offended. He moved on to his other three questions. What do you think of the environment? Do you believe in past lives? What do you think people can do to make the world a better place? I answered the questions, trying to work out whether he wanted to chat me up, convert me to Buddhism, or convince me to recycle more often. Apparently none of the above. He just wrote down my answers and moved on. Another of life's little mysteries.

catsitting

For the past week I've been staying at my friends' house, looking after their four cats while they were away. There's Darius, in my friend's words the grumpy old man of the house, who likes people to watch him while he's eating (the number of times he's chirruped at me to follow him, then led me straight to his food bowl and started tucking in). There's Bianca, the quiet one, who likes to sit in the bath after I've had a shower and let the drops fall on her head. Then there's Scruffy and Leo, the aggressively affectionate young'uns, who have been having enormous amounts of fun with my furry gloves (don't tell my boyfriend - he gave them to me for Christmas. I don't think cat toy was what he had in mind when he bought them!). I'm all stroked out - four cats and only one lap! (And if anyone saw a crazy girl running around after a cat on Njalsgata around midnight last night, yes that was me. I think Scruffy had just discovered girl cats, and had no intention of being lured back inside) .