I Recognize You from the Awesome Edge of Your Sword

Very very infrequently I hate being a Pisces - two fish swimming in different directions with their tails tied together. It's not a problem in a determinist sense. I mean just because their tails are tied together it doesn't mean they have to swim against each other. But sometimes they do.

Right now, I really want to move out of this country. I've tried to understand why. I've eliminated politics. I've eliminated fundamentalists (not literally; you'll have to do that yourself). I've eliminated job dissatisfaction. I've eliminated family strife. I even moved within my MSA, thinking that I'd left a piece of my soul somewhere around Penn Square Mall. After six months, it appears I didn't. The only reason I can think of is genetics (or is it heredity?). I'm descended from Ulster Scots. It's in the blood. I have to move. My paternal line is so nomadic it's nearly impossible to fathom. By the time I turned 19, we had moved 21 times. I've already described the hereditary willingness to abandon homes and families in order to satisfy a biological urge to roam.

But that other fish is indicating that I stay. "You know we belong to the land" - it's written right there in our state song. My whole adult life I've resisted moving to Texas like everyone else -- the brain drain. I've tried to be a voice of reason -- purple. I even listed Okie apologetics as one of my interests. I should be on the state payroll I'm such a patriot. Several people have said that I have helped them appreciate the place, Tex included. So, it's not that I've been staying out of complacency or letting the moss grow. I've tried to make it a better place. I feel guilty for wanting to leave.

So, I've been scheming. A few months ago I was thinking Ukraine. The criteria, loosely, are that the place be reasonably stable, have a reasonable number of English speakers, have a reasonable chance of letting me work (that rules out Canada and Western EU), and I'd prefer they weren't anti-American on the street (the toughest criteria). I figured I'd have a better chance of working in an Eastern country and Ukraine looks so damn much like home. But the regular airline crashes, energy disputes with Mother Russia, and that assassination attempt on the president via a flesh-eating bacteria are a tough sell. Plus the Cyrillic.

Then, last week it hit me. That's it! Cyprus! It's an island; 62% speak English; they have a violent past which is sexy with it's green line. And - it's the birthplace of Aphrodite. C'mon, you know the story...Chronos castrates his father and throws his er, guy parts, in to the sea and Aphrodite rises up from the resulting foam. That's Cyprus! And they're in the EU. The EU doesn't let unstable countries in. Finally, they're not crazy about us, but they don't hate us.

For the record, I am not moving to Australia. My dad almost moved us to Australia in 1975, but we joined the cult instead. Everybody threatens to move to Australia. The rationale is that it's just like we used to be. Why would I want relive the last 40 years of our history? New Zealand I could do - yarn heaven. Probably no jobs, though. I'm open to suggestions. Just leave a comment.

So, now I have to convince YHWH, et al, to make the move. Won't be easy. I guess the girls could sort it all out in therapy later.

In case you were worried about the Israel-Lebanon sitch, I have some good news. One of the 24 hour newschannel heads just said that, "Tempers have definitely frayed this morning." That's a relief. You'd hate to see tempers flare.

Gouldie, I am in temporary possession of eight Godzilla movies belonging to a local legend movie critic...