that which we call a rose

yesterday i googled my last name, because, hey, i've been stuck in georgetown for over a week and i've kind of run out of options for occupying my time. and two neat things came up:
1. my last name is apparently an acronym for the Great New York Read Aloud program. funny. i wonder how they pronounce it.
2. my cousin darcy apparently won an award from the city of calgary for helping chase down a bad guy who tried to kidnap a woman and her child. my family is a family of heroes! top class.

also, i decided that maybe the reason i prefer relationships through osmosis as opposed to formal introductions is because i hate having to tell people my name. don't get me wrong, i really like my name and how unique it is. but people have the hardest time with it. trying to call my parents collect, the conversation with the operator usually goes something like this:
"operator. may i ask the name of the person calling?"
"caylie gnyr@."
"cally grin-ra?"
"no, caylie. c-a-y-l-i-e."
"c-a-l-i-e?"
"no. there's a y before the 'l'."
"c-a-y-l-i-e?"
"that's correct. my last name is gnyr@. g-n-y..."
"g-y-n...?"
"NO. g---n---y---r---@. gun-air-ah."
"gin-ra?"
"NO! cay-lee gun-air-ah."
"please hold while i connect your call... international operator with a call from carly ny-ra."
thankfully, my parents have dealt with this long enough to know that any indecipherable, unfamiliar name the operator says usally means it is me calling.

the taxi driver who i had arranged to pick me up from the airport when i arrived in guyana in january had a placard with my name on it, but he told me he had no idea what to look for. "african? latino? european? what exactly ARE you?" not expecting an english-speaking white girl, eh?