Skirmishes December 5, 2000 with DMV over driver license, with honey dough, and during shopping amongs Christmas madness.

Last week was so hectic that I did not even mention how I passed a written test for my driver license. It was something special, which deserves a closer look. DMV (Department of Motor Vehicles) is an institution, which looks like a neglected post office at times of holiday mailings. True, clerks make faces somewhat more friendly than those seen at Czech post offices, and people usually don't argue. They wait with a fatalistic abandonment, and they suffer the long lines like a sudden act of God, which of course cannot be prevented.

And so I, too, entered the appropriate line, where a small Asian guy began to question me in broken English, why is it that I wait there. If he were over a foot taller and about ten years older, I would think he tried to pick me up, yet this way I came to an inevitable conclusion that I attached myself mistakenly in the MIDDLE of the line, and the disarrayed cluster of people behind him was a continuation of said line. Two distinct waiting queues were mixing chaotically there -- line to tests, and line to picture taking and fingerprinting. Eventually I managed to squeeze through this entry level intelligence test and after less than an hour I was issued a test form.

During previous few weeks I strategically placed my traffic rules book in our bathroom, where I read in it occasionally, and so I felt perfectly prepared.

Wrong. While my first test asked in principle reasonable questions regarding feet and inches of parking, passing, speed limits in a town etc, my second test reminded of an intelligence test created by a mad Martian, and seemed to be targeting mentally damaged individuals.

To let you enjoy it properly, I submit a few select questions:

You will certainly agree that such a test, which ranges from idiotic questions to questions best fit for a psychic, is rather mind boggling. Yet I passed. I still must do a driving test, I have an appointment for December 22, so I will try to speed it up. American driver license is also a personal identification document, and as soon as I get a license, I can stop dragging my passport along.

Last week I was also recovering from our trip to the desert, I processed our pictures and worked on the journal page. Including photographs, a page like that takes me two days to complete. But now, with Paint Ship, the biggest problem is selecting the best images. The software can fix many a thing one botched during picture taking -- bad exposure, ugly composition... there's practically no refuse.

On Tuesday I had been with Alfy at the Santa Clara climbing gym. I told him where we went on a trip, he had his fingers all cracked by frostbite, since he had hiked someplace in Washington, so he did not climb much. I started challenging myself to some 5.11, but it did not let me through, damnit. Alfy suggested me to buy "lunch time membership". For $36 a month I can come as often as I want and for as long as I want -- I only must arrive before two p.m.

On Wednesday I had arranged a lunch with Martina. I was getting ready for Christmas baking and I needed advice regarding flour, sugar, butter etc. And also where to buy such thing as cookie sheets.

Sid just by the way mentioned that he threw out a cookie sheet for "it was getting ugly". I got almost hit by a stroke upon such ignorance, but I was wrong. Sheets here are designed to be DISCARDED, (at least those made our of some sort of thicker aluminum foil), and you simply throw them away after a while and buy new ones. Alternatively, you can buy more durable sheets with NON-STICK coating.

We stopped in Martina's favorite sushi bar. It looked rather terrible (like a railroad terminal cafeteria), but at least it was clean, and they had cheap and EXCELLENT sushi. Then we playfully dealt with most of our shopping.

And since I had made my purchases, I turned to baking Christmas gingerbreads. I started by borrowing a kitchen scale from Martina (a very intelligent scale as it shows weight in both pounds and ounces, and kilos and grams as well). Then I had to drive out to the store to get baking powder. Back home, I went through a hysterical fit, this time very loud and targeted. Just imagine, I'm standing at the kitchen counter, both hands stuck in a honey dough, and I tell myself: "the dough is too sticky, it needs adding flour," but how do I add the flour when my hands are stuck in the dough?

Then I had to jump into Cecilia again and drive out to buy a roller and butter brush (we're still more or less bachelor household), but did that with a peace on my mind... well, who's not gifted from above, must compensate by running back and forth.

	Please tell me, do you see any "hats"??? :-)

The rest was easy, my gingerbread dough was easy to cut and new non-stick cookie sheets work like in a fairy-tale.

And all you gingerbread bakers, you can envy me. Cane sugar has one great property -- it does not crystallize as much, so decorating is an unhurried process, without getting upset over plugged frosting.

When Sid came home, he beheld the gingerbreads with an expert gaze. First he observed that I really made some gingerbread hippos, and then he asked me, why I made those hats. And I worked so hard on them bells!!!

Just so that you don't get tired by my household fixation. This week we also had a movie time, Sid rented Forrest Gump (to patch some holes in my history lessons), which I liked a lot, and I also watched Titanic, more or less out of boredom, but I got pleasantly surprised. Authors avoided many opportunities for bittersweet happy endings, and overall kept their hollywoodness in check.

On Thursday we went (for a change) after some exercise, namely to the gym. I though that our first family visit there would stay the last as well, but Sid began to DEMAND to go climbing and he even abandoned his beloved robot at work before seven p.m.!!!!

Unfortunately Twister was pretty packed, four turkey-voiced teenage girls were the worst, making more noise than all other climbers combined. I dragged Sid into a bouldering cot and showed him some basic techniques. He grumbled a bit that he was already tired, well I was not the freshest either, what more, most climbers at Twister are beginners who don't use chalk, and they sweat and slime over every hold. So we chose to call it quits before a full hour.

In the evening I had to help Sid with opening a cola bottle, and then he found that he was unable to brush his teeth. I welcomed him among climbers. Yes, we all had been there, with a strained forearm!!!

Saturday afternoon was dedicated to All-American most favorite activity -- shopping! We both agree in hating it, and the stores we must visit, but I really needed that scale. We went to Target, Wal-Mart, Macy's, and Crate & Barrel, we could have practically anything, except for a silly kitchen scale.

Instead, Sid suddenly stopped at Target and his eyes got really big. It disquieted me a bit; if he were gazing at something at Fry's (computers), it'd be OK. But he was doing it in a kitchen department! They had an ELECTRIC KETTLE, something we tried to find for months. (Americans use coffee machines and don't have much use for kettles). The score of our shopping is therefore 1:1 (we won our kettle, but the stores scored in denying us our scales).

My beloved kettle satisfies all my practical demands, only it has this smooth, round, white body and a very contemporary looking, aerodynamic spout, with a wing of a handle. Overall impression. Heavy chicken about to take off. Anyway, it's ours now!

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