Hemingway is Depressing (and Other News)

David moved away at the beginning of this summer.  He didn't exactly abandon me.  Not exactly.  He's been transferred to Tanzania - give it a few months and Zero Degrees South will be making its debut as Almost Eight Degrees South.

Anyway.  In the meantime, I've been forced to find new ways to occupy my non-work time - ways that don't include pestering him.

From this was born a rather cliche "30 Before 30" list (I've got a little more than 2 years before I hit the big 3-0).  I googled it.  I google just about everything that pops in my mind - and that's how I know for sure it's cliche.  There are a ton of these.  From what I can tell, peoples' lists range from the utterly self-indulgent (get glamour shots!), to travel-based (Paris est tres chic!), to self-improvement (learn to forgive!), to education (speak French!).  So, I made my list accordingly, although hopefully my goals are slightly less saccharine than the average.  I'm not going to share my list, because if I'm anything like the rest of the 30 Before 30 blogosphere, that would mean you'd have to read a few "Dear Diary" moments and then, let's face it, you wouldn't be back... even if this became 89 Degrees South (although that would be foolish, because who wouldn't want to read about someone living there?!)

That's how I discovered that Hemingway is depressing.  I googled him.  (Googling isn't on the list... reading is.)  He committed suicide in my neighbor's hometown.  Consequently, she attended Hemingway Elementary.  I feel like I keep leading you astray - Hemingway's life was depressing, but again, I'm referring to his books.

I'll give you the other news in headlines (extended headlines because concision is not my strong suit...)

• It's now been a year since we discovered that Pickles is kind of a racist.  He can now sit, shake, lay-down, roll-over, and fetch.  He cannot, however, keep from terrorizing compound visitors.

• I am now facing cockroaches as my arch-kitchen-nemesis -- humane captures are no longer a priority.

• My new roommate (following David's abandonment) and I went sailing on hippo-infested waters but were thankfully spared any sightings.  We made the mistake of asking the "boat boy" if anyone had ever been killed.  "Many."  We were already on the water, so there wasn't anything for me to do at that point but continue to bail.  (I did willingly embark on a semi-sinking boat, so you are still right to question my judgment in general.)

• I spotted a semi-aquatic ungulate in a swamp.  It mainly looked like an antelope.  And the swamp like a wetland.  So it wasn't quite as nightmare-inducing as you might think.

• I flew in a 12-seater plane.  I sat right behind the pilot.  So close I could have touched him.  Don't worry... I didn't.  But I could have.

And that's the news that's fit to print.

I checked for leopards first.