This past Saturday morning, I was stirred from a deep sleep by the eardrum-piercing ring of our flat phone. Looking forward to whiling away my free-day in bed, I got up and cursed the representatives of Glasgow's student unions, who frequently mash multiple flat doorbells in order to pass out flyers, for rousing me from the pocket of warmth under my duvet. Imagine my surprise when I was greeted not by a pimple-faced ambassador from the GUU, but rather a Royal Parcel Service employee bearing a gift from the States.
My mum and pops--ever the awesome parents--and my darling sister had slapped together a little care package for me, filled with some Creole staples that I've been missing in my time abroad.
The package, as laid out on our cow-print ironing board. The contents: two packages of Zatarain's Jambalaya Mix; a box of Zatarain's Red Bean Seasoning Mix; one-pound package of Camellia red kidney beans; one bottle of Tabasco sauce; one container of Community Coffee's New Orleans Blend Coffee with Chicory instant coffee crystals; Mardi Gras beads (for the flatmates); a box of homemade pecan pralines; a letter and some silly photos of my kitties.
This bodes well for my flatmates, as I'll be making a flat dinner this Sunday evening with my loot. The jambalaya won't be nearly as good as the stuff my dad makes, but it'll certainly hit the spot. I'd also like to report to my mom that the six of us inhaled the pralines in a matter of days.
The coffee crystals are a godsend for several reasons: 1) it seems that there is no such thing as drip-coffee in the UK outside of some prissy coffeehouse, so if I want coffee, it's the freeze-dried crapola; 2) I only drink coffee with chicory, as anything less is just warm, bland bean water with a few glorified purine rings floating in it; and 3) as much as I like tea, I need something to break the monotony. Granted, I miss out on the experience of brewing my own pot of coffee, but as long as I have the taste, I can wait until my return in December to whip out the Krups machine.
Had the package contained only what I've listed thus far, it would have made my semester. That it contained an extra-special present from my sister made the whole year of 2006 for me. That might be a dash hyperbolic, but I'll run with it.
If you're not familiar with the website Threadless, do yourself a favor and make its acquaintance. One of their most popular shirts is called "The Communist Party." Now, I'm no dirty, pinko Commie, having repented for my involvement in "progressive" politics about eighteen months ago (due in part to the actions of two readers of this blog who shall remain nameless). But look at this screenprint:
Karl Marx with a flipping lampshade on his head. How could I not own this shirt?!
Johnnyfer, you're the best. As I'm taking a course on Marx this semester, and it's no secret that I take issue with just about everything the man wrote, I think I'll have to wear this to seminar.
On a related note, I have a question for the readers. Do the "hip" kids who wear Che Guevara shirts (you know, the ones emblazoned with this treacly image) just not get the joke? The irony of purchasing a t-shirt bearing the face of a Communist revolutionary has never been lost on me, even when I was an empty-headed, politically-muddled college freshman.
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