It came, it went, it conquered.

Why does Christmas have to end? Each year, I feel such a post-Christmas let down that I have to spend the rest of my break moping around watching past TV series on DVD. Some days I can't even leave the house for fear that Christmas will slip that much farther away. Because outside my house, I'm sure the world has moved on. But inside my house, wearing my Christmas pjs around the clock* and propped up on either side by Christmas goodies from friends and family, Christmas lives on.

I'm thinking about posting a few pictures, but I'm trying to discipline myself to write all I have to say before I start uploading, because that long process always puts end to my typing hands. This Christmas was lovely, I mean-- is lovely. It snowed and snowed and snowed which is exactly what I asked for. I also discovered the hobby in my future which will make me socially indispensable: yodeling. (Thanks Uncle Mike.) Believe me when I tell you I will be practicing. During my sophomore year of college I decided I needed to learn to roll my Rs, and I drove my roommates nuts with my incessant talking to myself, and only ever one word--correo. Roommates, consider this a late Christmas gift. We'll all benefit, I promise. All good things take time.

I'm done. Enjoy some pictures.

Skiing makes us all happy.


David's request for Christmas morning wrestling didn't end so well for him.

Love this creche.


Girls' outing to The Nutcracker.



*I actually don't have any Christmas pjs. But that hasn't stopped me from wearing my regular pjs around the clock.

A quickie

To all automatically flushing toliets:

I appreciate your efforts (especially when wearing skirts or very tight jeans cause my momma done taught me right--only flush with your foot) but could you at least wait until I'm done?

I'm speaking for my niece too, who jumped off the toliet at the bowling alley mid-go if you know what I mean because the flushing scared her so bad. Sheesh. There are some places where a person deserves a little leisure time, even in today's fast-paced world.

P.S. I took the above picture from a ny times article about kids who fear automatic toliets. I'm including some of my favorite lines:

"Even some adults confess that the machines make them nervous. But to many toddlers, they are the stuff of nightmares."

"Jerilyn Ross, president of the Anxiety Disorders Association of America, said that a fear of automatic toilets did not, in itself, meet the criteria for a psychiatric diagnosis."

" For children who panic about automatic flushing, she said, “You can say, ‘Ooh, look what happened, it flushed without you.’ That really helps a lot.”"

Read the whole article here: http://www.nytimes.com/2007/11/12/nyregion/12flush.html?partner=permalink&exprod=permalink

So, this is Christmas

I'm not listening to Christmas music, but it's not snowing, so I feel like the universe and I are square. Music vs. Snow--that may be my ultimate life "would you rather" dilemma. I've gotta have them both.
So right now I'm emotionally, geographically, and temporally (and grammatically and ecumenically) in the middle of finals--but the end is in sight. And actually, finals week has always been my favorite time of the semester because I get to do or not do whatever I want whenever I want. No class. No teaching. No office hours. The days are mine to fill as I please, start to finish.

I really love making choices. (Note: at least once during every blog post, I see what I'm typing and think "Anne Shirley, what in the heck are you doing here?"..."Fishing for lake trout." no, what I really think is "why would anyone else care how much I really love making choices?" But those moments are brief, my egotism kicks in, and I get back on blog track.) I really really love making choices where I get to do what I want in exchange for a consequence--or in other words, where I get to weigh my own priorities and opportunity costs. Example: I can choose to study for my test and get a good grade or I can choose to sleep in and make hashbrowns and not get a good grade. I get something sweet in either case. Which is what this blog is all about--me and the sweet things I get.

Can't wait for Christmas break and the reunition of the fam-dam. But if you know me, you know that my Christmas ends about three weeks before midnight of the 25th, when the long wait till next year begins. Christmas '09--I'm already counting down.

Holiday cheer and non-Christmas music to you all.

on second thought

I don't understand my last post. How can there being nothing worse than all of those things? I should probably have only put one. "I sell cheap books. So sue me."

Nothing worse than...

Saying something you think is funny and no one laughing.

Hearing someone else say something they think is funny and hearing the silence of no one laughing (I have this problem with sympathy embarrassment; it makes going to the theatah a painful experience.)

Being disliked. For no apparent reason. Maybe the reasons are apparent to you--I find myself kind of likeable. If I didn't, I would probably change.

Waking up over and over to blue skies and no snow. Sheesh.

Waking up from really good dreams.

Waking up and remembering all the stuff you didn't do yesterday cause you said you'd do it today.

Waking up in general.

A nose raw from sneezing, with dry skin that looks like perma-boogers.

Being stupid.

Chewing gum till it disintegrates in your mouth...when it loses its holistic sense and turns mutinous.

Feeling like you're in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Hurting people's feelings.

The end of the movie (Cait, Jane, you know what I'm talking about.)

That one time I spilled my tomato sauce on my shoes.


So all in all (minus sixth and third from bottom), my life is pretty darn good.

Growing Down

My tastes are getting younger and younger every year. I've spent the past two nights at HSM3 and Twilight, respectively. This is vaguely embarrassing, but not enough to deny that I'm listening to the HSM3 soundtrack as I type this. I belong to the demographic these movie-makers target, but do they choose me or do I choose them? Go ahead and judge me.
Today I finally downloaded pictures from the semester, and since I'm usually word-heavy, I thought some pix would be a nice change.


my fave brekky.

learning to work the bellows at an early age; cowboy around the clock.

homecoming parade with my fave ladies. (it snowed that day--what's wrong with today?)

halloween as a hippie--wearing my own clothes.

remembering two years.

and finally--the lowest low-light of the semester: the aforementioned spaghetti sauce incident. Both feet are shown.

What I'm learning at school

Young writers should be encouraged to write, and discouraged from thinking they are writers. If they arrive at college with literary ambitions, they should be told that everything they have done since their first childhood poems, printed in the school paper, has been preparation for entering a long, long apprenticeship.

--Wallace Stegner

Amen, Wallace. It's quite the road ahead.

Impossible!

That a plain yellow pumpkin would become a golden carriage. Impossible!

My iPod broke over a month ago--realdeal broke this time. I took it to Jim, iPod genius; I plugged it into every computer and wall I knew; I finally buried it mournfully in my desk drawer. RIP iPod.

Why did I not tell you? Perhaps it was too much for me to bear, and saying it aloud on my blof would only make it definite. So I kept it to myself. I carried my silent burden all over campus (I am not one to be loud when annoying things happen and I am alone...example: last week a glass bottle of spaghetti sauce fell from the Suburban and shattered, spraying sauce all over my leather/suedey shoes and jeans. I didn't say a word. I didn't make a peep. ('I don't want to hear one more poop out of you!' 'He means peep.')) And I was actually starting to get used to the silence. I started noticing people around me and I remembered my love of campus eavesdropping.

Then today, for who knows what reason, I dug through my drawer and found my old iPod. I tried starting it, resetting it, and rubbing it with love. Nothing. One of those bad pictures with a frowning iPod face. I tossed my poddy in my bag and went to school, thinking I would take it to the apple store and see if it could be reloaded (all music erased, etc.). Just now, I reached into my bag for my phone and I saw a light--No! It could not be my faithful resurrection pod that has come back to me after so many scares. In fact, my iPod is now working after a month and a half of darkness in my drawer.

Riddle me that.

It's Time

It's raining in the valley, snowing in the mountains, and happiness inside me. Not to mention I'm listening to Cat Stevens and Bob Dylan and thinking of how lovely my life has been. I have been alive for 8,877 days. Today is my 8,877th anniversary. Thank you all for remembering and sending gifts.

Think about that though. 8,877 days, 213,048 hours, 12,782,880 minutes, 766,972,800 seconds. Those are my life stats. I know I'm biased, but I think those numbers add up to some good life lessons (don't spit a mint out with a helmet visor over your face), some fantab experiences (from coast to coast, a couple different continents), and a whole heapin lot of love.

One memory: driving to Wulanyilli P3 (the school where I volunteer taught in Ghana) in a downpour--a rain with weightiness that made you check for dents in your car--seeing the beauty of fields with dust rising and mixing with the rain, dust rising like relief and a burden removed. We pulled up at the school convinced that the rain would have kept our students inside (but did we forget these were not American students eager for snow days and excuses to stay away from school), and found 50+ kids waiting for us. Drenched. Smiling. We stayed in the van because the driver said (and we knew) the classrooms would be too dark to teach in. The students rushed the van anyway, and I remember seeing those faces and the colors of their clothing blurring into a mess of light on my puddley window. They were beautiful...here's to you, children of the Wulanyilli P3, who will never see snow.

You know that book, The Giver? We are all like Jonas, I suppose, passing our memories back and forth and transmitting scenes, feelings, colors, dreams...my memory contains things I've never experienced myself. Keep sharing with me.

Yes we can, part 2

"Let us resist the temptation to fall back on the same partisanship and pettiness and immaturity that has poisoned our politics for so long. Let us remember that it was a man from this state who first carried the banner of the Republican Party to the White House - a party founded on the values of self-reliance, individual liberty, and national unity. Those are values we all share, and while the Democratic Party has won a great victory tonight, we do so with a measure of humility and determination to heal the divides that have held back our progress. As Lincoln said to a nation far more divided than ours, "We are not enemies, but friends...though passion may have strained it must not break our bonds of affection." And to those Americans whose support I have yet to earn - I may not have won your vote, but I hear your voices, I need your help, and I will be your President too.

"And to all those watching tonight from beyond our shores, from parliaments and palaces to those who are huddled around radios in the forgotten corners of our world - our stories are singular, but our destiny is shared, and a new dawn of American leadership is at hand. To those who would tear this world down - we will defeat you. To those who seek peace and security - we support you. And to all those who have wondered if America's beacon still burns as bright - tonight we proved once more that the true strength of our nation comes not from our the might of our arms or the scale of our wealth, but from the enduring power of our ideals: democracy, liberty, opportunity, and unyielding hope.

"For that is the true genius of America - that America can change. Our union can be perfected. And what we have already achieved gives us hope for what we can and must achieve tomorrow."

--Barack Obama, President-elect

botheration

Today things are bothering me. But: I am not grouchy about these botherations. (I don't think I'm allowed to put a colon behind a but but: I'm doing it because this is a blog and the wave of the future and the wave of the future doesn't care about grammar.)

Let me revise. I am and am not grouchy about them. I am not grouchy about them in my interactions with people (except for two people), and I am not grouchy about them in my general attitude. It would take many botherations to overcome my happiness at snow on the mountains and a potentially drizzly day. Potentially drizzly days just might be better than drizzly days.

I am grouchy about them in the back of my mind and in this blog-o and in my attempts to resist said botherations.

Number 1. A parking ticket that I shouldn't have received in the first place from a copper who has forgotten that he is also a human, which ticket somehow entered the justice system wrong and now I have late fees I don't deserve.

I just solved the first part of this, but it turns out that the late fees weren't nearly enough percentage of the fine. Rats.

Number 2. A "letter" that is as inhumane as that copper from the Utah State Tax Commission telling me that I owe them more money because mr. HRBlock filled out my taxes wrong. My impulse is to pay without investigating, but this impulse reveals my attitude towards the state botheration machine, which (for lack of understanding) I always assume is honest, accurate, and in my best interest. Today I'm doubting.

Haven't yet figured out how to solve this problem, since I didn't understand my taxes in the first place...hence mr. HRBlock.

Number 3. My front teeth don't touch. My top front teeth do not meet my bottom front teeth in the middle. There is no compromise, no happy medium, no you do your part and I'll do mine. "There's nothing between us. Just air." Why does this matter? Cause it really gets in the way of my incisors incising. I cannot bite things open like tubs of ranch dressing or otterpops. I cannot bite off hangnails (probably a good thing.) I cannot tear into anything that is smaller than the space between my teeth. I feel very vulnerable and handicapped by this problem, and I worry that it might someday get in the way of my survival...natural selection will rule me out, send me and my posterity packing....

I do not know when or how this happened, nor how to solve it. I often forget that it is the case until I try to bite something and feel the frustration of having something just out of reach. AARGH.

Number 4. Today I purchased a carrot snack dipper between classes, and after using my pen to open my tub of ranch, my first dip tasted overwhelmingly like mayonnaise. I know ranch dressing has mayonnaise in it, but this was more like 100 parts mayo, 1 part ranch. I am not okay with that. In a moment of stupidity, I thought it was me and not the dressing, and I tried dipping five more times. Each time--mayonnaise. The near solid consistency should have tipped me off.

Despite the botherations, I love LOVE fall. Cheers.

Halloweenie!

One of my favorite things about Halloween is not knowing if people are dressing up or dressing normal...a guy just walked past me and I thought, "oh cool, he's a nerd for Halloween." On second thought, I wasn't so sure. The more authentic the costume--the more believable it is--the better, right? I decided to be a diligent homework-doing-non-procrastinating student this Halloween. What about you?

Highlights from today's news

From the reader's forum section:

"We live in a competitive world where jobs and research opportunities favor those with higher GPAs. There are many hardworking students who do all they can just to make C's and low B's. It is not at all fair for these students to earn lower grades than people who have an aptitude for academics. I think the university should impose a redistribution of grades policy that would spread high GPAs around, taking grade points from top students and giving them to those who aren't as lucky. This would allow those making A's to help C students so that everyone evens out with a B average. There would be more equality and the best opportunities would not be limited to the top 1-2 percent smartest students."

From the special politics section:

"When a McCain supporter asked 'Joe the Plumber' if he believed 'a vote for Obama is a vote for the death of Israel,' Wurzelbacher(J.T.P) replied, 'I'll go ahead and agree with you on that.' He didn't elaborate on how Obama, who has said his commitment to Israeli security is 'nonnegotiable,' would be caustic for the Jewish state."

From the Voter's Voice section:

"The attitude that the vote doesn't count is a dangerous thing to be widespread, because, ultimately, some of all of our votes do count."

From the BYU police beat:

"BYUPD received a phone call at 7:49 pm reporting loiterers at the gazebo at the Alumni House. Upon arrival, police discovered a group of students composing poetry."

Dear Mrs. Paxton:

The first floor of the library smells like your classroom--at least today it does. It smells like reading Island of the Blue Dolphins, Z for Zacharias, Call it Courage, and that one book about Julie and the wolves. It smells like my green spiral bound response journal with my belabored cursive prose, and your letters to me which you marked with fluorescent tabs. It smells like staying in during recess on snow days and playing the pig game, and sitting around your feet while you read to us the book about avalanches.

It's a good smell.

p.s.

I just purchased my first pop-tart. and to be honest, i'm stumped. what am i eating, and why?

schmindividuality

1. In my personal opinion (see Jimmy Kimmel's discussion of Miss Teen USA), there are a few things that really can only be done once or twice with total umph. After that, everyone else who does it looks silly. For example: writing your name in all lower case all the time. e.e. cummings, bell hooks...sure, whatever. but for most others, it is a little pretentious. kind of like if a bunch of random people started going by symbols after the whole artist formerly known as Prince bit. L-ame.

2. In my professional opinion, individuality for individuality's sake is annoying and boring. Maybe these people should knock being an individual from their top hobby spot and take up something interesting--modgepodge or a bug collection. just a few ideas.

3. In my objective opinion, people who have blogs are particularly hungry for individualism...a whole page of memememeeeeeeeeee (that last part should go kind of like a rollercoaster yell, cause the thought is so thrilling.)

You're not weird--you're quirky.

Creme brulee can never be jello.

1. I like having music on in my bedroom whether or not I'm in my room so that if I leave I don't have to walk back into silence. (learned this from Jane.)
2. I hate frog eggs, mountainsides of burned tree remains, and hundreds of birds on a telephone wire. Hate as in it makes my stomach queasy.
3. I wish I wanted to be as good as Jane in Pride and Prejudice, but I simply don't want to be that good.
4. I don't like turning on the lights in the bathroom if I can help it--too much bright light, making my face too vulnerable in over-sized mirrors.
5. That said, I love looking at my face from a distance.
6. Sometimes I sit on public restroom toilet seats and sometimes I don't. No consistency of criteria for when I do or when I don't.
7. I continue to wear my ring on my left ring finger because four years ago someone told me I shouldn't because it hurts my chance of getting married at BYU.
8. I like having my window open all day and night, through sun or snow.
9. I like forbidden sleep so much more than regular sleep that I will sometimes set an alarm just to be able to sleep through snoozes.
10.If people around me are laughing, even if they are people I don't know, I'm pretty sure they are laughing at me. (Like the one time I fell UP the stairs at east high and several of the Bosnian exchange students were right there, witnesses of my shame, and they really were laughing at me, in Bosnian no less.)

I tag Steph, Liz, Lauren, Amy, Lindsay, Jana, Jenny, and Kate...the quirkiest cookies I know.

Winning

I just won in an elevator. I NEVER win. Normally, I hit the up button and the elevator comes as it should. The doors open, a group of grumpy people stare out, and I look up hopefully at the arrows above the door.... The darn elevator is going down. Usually I get in for the ride and to participate in the grumpy community and to save my heel-clad feet. Today, I hit the up button, the elevator came, the doors opened, a grumpy face looked at me, and without even looking I got in. (I had been running all over tarnation and there was not no way I was going to walk those stairs.) The anonymous elevator voice thing said, "Going up," and the grumpy girl squeaked in frustration as she looked at the "B" button illuminated, all in vain. Ha! She got out and I went up. Amazing.

I have lost in many other ways today to compensate for this small win. Most notably, I finally realized why I don't get as much done as the people around me...I'm way too busy being unproductive to think about being productive. I blog, I listen to my iPod, I surf the web, I look out the window, I daydream, I write in my journal. Jane, who hates on "staying on task" now?

"The world is everywhere whispering essays..."

I walk into the Maeser (why have I stayed away so long?) and sneeze as I'm coming down the stairs. I hear a faint "Bless You" but see no one--blessings falling on my head from the air, from the walls of BYU's oldest (established permanent floating) building; I move across the basement floor, sneeze again,and I am blessed again. Who is this person, so eager and anxious to bless that she sends petition in my behalf from her hiding place not once, but twice! She cannot see me, I cannot see her, and it doesn't seem to matter. Someone has sneezed and needs blessing. Have you ever had a conversation with someone who you can't see, and have never seen? Have you ever had a conversation where all you contribute is a sneeze (I didn't say thank you! for shame.)? Do you wander in pursuit or let her stay concealed, accepting your blessing and going on your way?

Later, I had arrived at my destination, set down my bag (which is a story in itself these days), and felt inside for my loveliest of lovely peaches. Suspicion confirmed--a traveling casualty. I pulled back the paper towel carefully, like pulling up denim over a skinned knee. The sight was about the same--a surface abrasion, vibrant orange flesh surrounded by ragged edges and a chunk of wrinkled skin on one side. Small bits of skin, more resilient, floated on the orange, looking like a revised world map. Europe is looking bigger these days.
I bite, juice dribbles, my third blessing today, and it's hardly 10:00.

ps. fourth blessing--rewatching the movie link jim sent me...please watch it! hilarious.

Dreams do come true!

Scroll down to the bottom of my blog to see my latest feature, courtesy of my bro-in-law Jim. My very own "Make a wish foundation...."

I am a team player

When they announce free food in the quad because it is Homecoming, I do my part to make the line shorter for everyone else and walk right past into the library. (Where I feast on words. Mostly I'm just hungry in the library.)

hmm

I was planning on giving multiple examples, but that is the only one I can think of. Hunger does that to me...causes my brain to slowly slow slower down.

In such a circumstance, I must fall back on my stump speech, which is an uniformed soapbox on the latest election haps (DEBATE TONIGHT! woo-woo). My blogo tries so hard to not be political or partisan, such an earnest little blogo. So I will say no more ("please, say no more") except that I have replaced CNN and the NYTimes with The Onion and SNL. Same news, and so much funnier.

I will leave you with a question, and then I can say no more ("please, say no more"). Which of the three candidates wants common Americans to be team players in the political process? Truly?

Snow in the mountains

In honor of winter...I can feel it coming!

Attitude of Gratitude

Things I'm grateful for this morning:

1. Wonderful sisters who, when I was marrying someone I didn't love in my dream last night, told me, "It's okay to not marry him." Those are good sisters.

2. Wonderful dreams that let me experience the sensation of giving someone the shaft at the altar. (For those of you who don't know how this feels--it's terrible. And liberating.)

3. The HFAC (music/arts building), where people sing shamelessly in public spaces. I feel more dramatic just by walking into that building.

4. Jazz music, and how it makes it socially acceptable to twitch noticeably throughout a whole concert.

5. THE WEEKEND. sigh of relief.

Labrynthine Sentence

I'm on an embarrassing/awkward story kick. Here is one of my best.

I often chuckle when the phrase "most embarrassing moment" is brought up in conversation; not because I find my own experience particularly humorous (though it is), and not because I find the experiences of others humorous either (thought they usually are too)--no, I chuckle because I know that my story is top-notch when it comes to embarrassment factor (my past story-sharing experience showing me that my story blows most competition out of the water); top-notch from my ridiculous green spandex shorts to the too-good-to-not-be-out-of-a-movie situation of school-wide toilet out-age, hence the four portapotties out back, one of which I peed behind; from my bashful approach of the secretary's desk (for how, exactly, do you, a fourth-grader, let a seemingly ancient woman know that you have peed your green spandex shorts?) to the unbearable drive home in the principal's car--all embarrassment culminating in the final question: should I take the paper towels I've been sitting on or leave them with Principal (not to be confused with principle; remember, your principal is your pal) LaMalfa?

The above is all one sentence. That should explain why it was hard to read. I had to do this exercise in class today--I recommend it for a good time. 192 words. One sentence.

crowdthink

In a Station of the Metro

The apparition of these faces in the crowd;
Petals on a wet, black bough.
-Ezra Pound

Two things must be noted about today before I continue. I am wearing day-old make-up (saves supplies, time, and money), and the first song to come on my iPod shuffle was Faith Hill "There You'll Be" from Pearl Harbor. Wow. This song used to make me cry; today it sent me out the door and on my way with a quarter for lunch and a pat on the bum.
Also, I picked up the newspaper on my way up the stairs to campus, and read the blackness that keeps spilling out of Wall Street. (This detail becomes key later on, I think--no promises as I haven't gotten there either.)

So I'm reading the news, listening to Faith Hill, and trying not to rub my eyes as I make my leisurely way past the Maeser building. Right when I hit the JSB, the clock strikes ten to and rush hour begins. I suddenly find myself in a huge crowd of students, and with survival fresh on my mind (aha! from reading the newspaper) I stick out my elbows and determine to be faster than them all.

Some of you know I am very good at speedwalking. Speedwalking is a talent I nurture for occasions such as this. I had no deadline or destination, but I started booking it. It felt very important to walk very fast in this situation, and it had something to do with winning.

I just thought of another time I had a similar experience, but on a scooter. Freshman year, my roommate Steph had a little razor scooter--in fact, razor scooters were all the rage at BYU my freshman year. Steph let me borrow her scooter to go take a test on the other end of campus, which I did successfully (unless it was HEPE--worst test score of all college.) The trouble happened on my way back to the dorms. Just between the Kennedy Center and that one science building, I came upon a crowd of people, and rather than slow down my scootin', I very obviously rushed past all the people. They noticed. Scooters amplify the noise of every rise and fall between sidewalk slabs. I made it out in front of the pack, and as I was breaking to walk up the stairs southwest of the twilight zone, I hit an especially big rise in the sidewalk and spilled out across the pavement. Scooter one way, me the other. No one stopped, no one said a thing--no one laughed! I could have been invisible. The people I had passed so earnestly now filled in around me, acknowledging my presence only in their care to not step on my head. That was a sad day. But it is proof--I become quite dangerous in a crowd.

A coolie cool ad

Awkwardness--variations on a theme

As I walked down the stairs in the JFSB (four flights, to be precise), the air smelled increasingly like dirty feet. Explain this.
*
My professor mentioned today that he likes to compliment the parents of every baby he sees..."my, what a lovely baby you have." Why babies? Why do the requirements for loveliness get so demanding as we grow? Cause we all know there are some ugly babies out there (none of yours, of course), and yet, being a baby is enough for us to overlook the way they look.
*
The Harold B. Lee library is out to get me. Or at least reveal to me my social-ineptitude. I roll up to the fifth floor, hoping to get my study on, and find my first obstacle: choosing a table. Do I sit at a table with only one empty seat--cozy, but presumptuous? Do I sit at a table with two seats taken on one side, and two seats open on the other, throwing off the balance of the universe? Do I sit at a table with one person on each side, forcing me to choose which party I sit by? Do I sit at a table with one other person, and do I sit next to, across from, or diagonal from this person, and what does each choice imply? And if I am choosing to sit at a table with people already there, do I pick the one with the most attractive boys (also presumptuous) or the least threatening girls?
(If you're curious, I chose the completely empty table.)
But upon choosing, my trouble is not over.
My social conscience cannot rest, because now I have to wonder what to make of who does or doesn't sit by me. "I've been sitting here alone now for 20 minutes. People continue to walk past, finding seats, and yet, not at my table. Do I smell? Am I scary-looking? Are they trying to tell me something?" Finally a boy approaches my table, pulls out the chair next to me, and asks if he can borrow it to sit at another full table. Awesome. Not only do you not want to sit by me, you want to anti-sit by me--and prevent others from sitting by me. Then, insult to injury, a couple sits across from me, snoggling over their computers and playing footsie with me by mistake. Sweet.

Loyalties

Dear earth,

I'm sorry I have forgotten you so quickly. It used to be all you all the time, and you've probably wondered where I've gone. Inside, for starters. It hurts me just as much as it hurts you...the fluorescent lights, the manufactured air, the unnatural white/beige color scheme, the hushed voices and subdued movements. There will never be enough windows to remind me how it FEELS to be outside.

You've been trying to catch my attention, I know. Last night, as I walked from class to class, I saw the sky, startled into seeing by its boldness, and I remembered how I used to say good morning to the sky and eat my lunch under its watch. And walking to a meeting in the dark, you made the crickets shout...how long had they been going before I noticed, because when I did--what a din!

I'd like to promise that I will be more faithful. I cannot.

For now,

cath

George Banks is saying NO!

My iPod was acting up today (this is nothing new) so I restarted it. It's how we bond. We bond a lot. Pretty much every day. After restarting it, I was heading into a luncheon so I put it my pink bag and forgot about it. Later, while catching the end of the slightly off pitch live version of "Hey Jude" in Brigham Square, I thought, "hmm. John Lennon (or was it Paul McCartney) sure did a nice job of singing this song. Maybe I'll listen to it." I pull out my iPod, turn it on and find that it is EMPTY. I'm in playlists, hoping it's a mistake, so I scroll back to artists. EMPTY. Apparently, she shall not have music wherever she goes. This is dire.

Today also happens to be one of those days where no one looks me in the eyes. They are all too focused on my feet, and yes, I am wearing boots with fringe that sways while I walk. Would you like to talk about it?

Finally, having concluded that I would skip the devotional to do my homework, I headed into the library and made it to a computer when...the fire alarm went off. Suspicious. Very suspicious. I know BYU and it's subtle ways of encouraging us to go to devotional--closing all services, playing weird bell music, and the like--but a fire alarm in the library is just taking things too far.

Who's George Banks?

ME!!!

It is lovely indeed!

The thoughts of the earth are my thoughts.
The voice of the earth is my voice.
All that belongs to the earth belongs to me.
All that surrounds the earth surrounds me.
It is lovely indeed, it is lovely indeed.

Navajo Song

Fall--I'm ready for you.

Isn't it nice to know?

Depending on the day, I'm in a Yahoo! or a Google mood. Google's home page is so refreshingly sparse and unimposing, allowing me to take the initiative in what I see or read. I love that little text box of wonder which brings up fascinating results if you know what to put in. Yahoo!, on the other hand, is a barrage of advertisements, news stories, pop culture plugs, etc.; and the page is so distracting that I've forgotten what I wanted to search for if I had something in the first place. Who cares about contemporary literary theory, for example, a woman just grew a six foot zucchini! I thought that that kind of freak garden incident only happened in The Bernstein Bears (when Papa and Farmer Brown are competing in the pumpkin contest and they pull all kinds of tricks out for beefing up their produce), but no. Some of us are living normal lives and some of us are living in the shadow of our own squash. Literally. (Although the article did note that the zucchini was a 'shock'. Good to know.)

Seeing this kind of news make the front page of Yahoo! search engine brightens my day. Isn't it nice to know that in times of controversial war and political division, we can all come together over giant veggies? This story can brighten your day too, just don't get distracted by the top 5 celeb moms on your way to the link.

Looking back

By the time I get my pictures on, I'm so sick of Blogger that I want to say nothing else. I hope you enjoy these pics as much as I enjoyed my summer.

p.s.

I don't really look down on people who shop at the bookstore. I have been worried that some readers might take me seriously.

The BYU Bookstore

I've never felt okay about purchasing clothes at the bookstore. Yes, it is a matter of pride. Yes, I look down on people who do buy clothes at the bookstore. (Don't worry if you are one of them because I will never know, and thus only look down on you generally and not specifically. This has interesting ramifications, since you now know that I look down on you and I don't. Strange.) Even though I have forbidden myself from buying clothes there, I sometimes walk through the clothes section wistfully fingering shirts and scanning the shoe collection*. On these occasions, I find myself wondering if the other shoppers think I'm actually shopping there, instead of just checking things out. Kind of like scoping the competition.

Why? Why do I feel this way? Even as a freshman, I instictively felt that buying clothes at the bookstore was something one did not do if one wanted to maintain one's oh-tres-cool role in the BYU cosmos. (Fun fact: did you know that the definition of cosmos is not simply a universe, but an ordered or harmonious universe? Making it the perfect word to describe BYU, Thank you dictionary.com for making me smarter one word at a time.) It has nothing to do with the styles of the clothes--ah! Suddenly I know why, and as a reader you should know that this is breaking news type of personal discovery, not some manufactured artificial realization. So here goes: 1. deep down I always pictured the buyers for the bookstore as older, out of touch mormon women who were making purchases based on what their daughters were into; 2. I didn't want to conform to the BYU sanctioned look, thinking that what they buy to sell must be what they hope we will wear....

At least my irrationality is never a surprise to me, having been diagnosed with irrational fears by complete strangers in the past.

*Here I reveal my hypocrisy. Once I bought a pair of magenta slip-ons from the bookstore because they were $15 and I'm a sucker for deals and I was going far away from BYU for the summer...incidentally I mixed up which hand was which and threw my shoes away promptly upon purchase because I thought they were the empty shoebox. Which act put me in the hilarious position of having to fetch my bookstore apparel out of a metal-lidded garbage can. Yuck.

what to do when people just don't like you

i have no idea. do you?

Reunited and it feels so good, ooh

I'm back at the BY and not a big fan of the pastelly "Charlie goes to Candy Mountain" background on the computer screens. There is a little pamphlet next to my computer entitled, "Answers to Common Questions." I would love to flip the page and find:
1. Yes
2. No
3. About an hour
4. The restroom is right around the corner

So the pamphlet I am envisioning slightly resembles a magic eight ball. Weird.

Do you ever wonder if you are boring? Like not on occasion, not when you haven't had enough sleep, not when you aren't reading enough books--but in your core, in your personality line-up, coming before bossy and after boastful. Perhaps being boring could count as a legitimate personal disadvantage, for which you could get a life handicap like in golf. I often wonder if I am boring (this is not a solicitation for comments on how non-boring I am, (Marie being most likely to respond with such), and in fact such comments are not allowed (note the bossiness)), and the thought doesn't really make me upset which is proof that it might be true.

I have always believed that boredom is a lens people put over their eyes--not a quality inherent in a subject or lesson, but since this belief doesn't allow me to be a boring person, I'm forced to give it up. Boredom is back on the menu.

When I was wondering about the me being boring thing, I remembered a recent dinner where I won the last portion of Kobe beef for having the best embarrassing moment. So maybe I'm not a boring person, just an embarrassing person.

Cheers.

ps I'm on an unexpected break right now in my job training, and I have the sneaking suspicion that my comrades are all using their break time to be productive and create brilliant lesson plans (things that boring people are happily excused from just by nature of incapability) while I piddle around on my blog.

on age

"You can't teach an old dog new tricks--because it's illegal." --Michael Scott

I know I've already posted this quotation on my blog, but given today's subject I thought you'd forgive me a repeat. Plus, when is Michael Scott a bad idea?

What is age anyway but the day you get sent to earth, and yet it rules so many things: who gets to tell whom what is right and wrong, who gets to sit on public buses and who ought to stand...it's just a succession of numbers with maturity levels attached. At 8 you're accountable, at 18 you can vote, at 24-- you can work at scout camp.
We categorize ourselves in many ways (the old and young or the smart and dumb or the man and woman) so that we are each a string of adjectives, depending on which side of the binary we fall. We love distinguishing ourselves and establishing social rank however we can. If we didn't have numbers we'd come up with another way to name age, I'm sure.

Birthdays get me thinking this way. And funerals. And spending afternoons with my sister's children who are so small against the earth, with hearts bigger than mouths to express it. ! I have to go of a sudden. Finish the rest on your own.

Not you! I don't even know you people!

Does anyone read this any more? You who do, you faithful, I salute you. It's another one of those disparate thought days, so prepare to do do some jumping.

There are many things I am sure I could find (camelback, nail polish remover, headband, bike stand, checkbook, etc. etc. etc.) if I was willing to look hard, and by hard I mean at all. As a friend once told me, "I am not a digger." Show yourself or be forgotten. This means I can never store things deep--just one layer--which means I will need a ridiculous amount of storage space. That will be quite costly.

I forgot how distracting home is, where the bathroom is right next to the kitchen is right next to the laundry all in one nice building. I put some toast in today and decided to shave my legs, just for the convenience of it. My toast burned, which reminds me, my straightener is plugged in upstairs.... At camp, going to the bathroom takes foresight and planning. I most likely need to take my water bottle because I will want to go straight to the dining hall after and it would be silly to backtrack to my tent.

About what I am doing: taking "boy scouts" on mountain bike rides. Video games have destroyed the young generation. Working up a sweat on the Wi does not count as exercise. It's all very sad.

Pictured below is the number one threat to my summer paycheck, which at the Hoback Market costs a hefty $4.50. This is what I use to chase down the mounds of processed food I consume each day(hotdogschickennuggetstetonmcmuffinssteakpotatopearlschipscookiescookiescookieschipscinnamontoastersyumyumyumbelievable).
.

Do you know how lovely Jackson is in the summertime? A choice moment: coming up over the ridge on the Munger Mountain trail into a field of balsam root right at sunset with the Tetons at my back.

Outside is the new in, people.

Going Going Gone

I'm leaving tomorrow for an extended trip (and by trip I mean job) and I don't know if I'll be able to blof the summer away. I might be on hiatus for some time, so don't hate on me if not much happens here.

I don't have much to say, mostly because I'm not sure how I feel. Fun fact: I think one of my extraction sites (remember those pesky wise teeth) is infected. I have known to be slightly hyperchondriac-ish in the past, so don't take this too seriously...yet.

Loves.

Past, Present, and Future

Kathy's Song
I hear the drizzle of the rain
Like a memory it falls
Soft and warm continuing
Tapping on my roof and walls.

And from the shelter of my mind
Through the window of my eyes
I gaze beyond the rain-drenched streets
To _______ where my heart lies.

My mind's distracted and diffused
My thoughts are many miles away
They lie with you when you're asleep
And kiss you when you start your day.

And a song I was writing is left undone
I don't know why I spend my time
Writing songs I can't believe
With words that tear and strain to rhyme.

And so you see I have come to doubt
All that I once held as true
I stand alone without beliefs
The only truth I know is you.

And as I watch the drops of rain
Weave their weary paths and die
I know that I am like the rain
There but for the grace of you go I.

-Paul Simon

*****************************************************
It's raining today. Which means I'm listening to Johnny Cash, Bob Dylan, Joan Baez and the rest of the 60s. Which means I'm feeling...well, the way I feel when I see myself in puddles and hear my history in someone else's song. This probably means confusion to most of you so I'll translate: I'm feeling happy, in a subtle way.

I once thought my life ambition (and my way to fame) was to write an epic poem about time. Then I remembered I was not a poet and moved on to my next life's ambition, which involved dropping everything to study relativity. Then I rememberd I'm not so big on science...and long story short, I'm working at a boy scout camp for the summer. We all must find our place.

But back to the epic on time--I don't know if it's because of changes in the weather, but I've had moments where I experience a temporal eclipse; past, present, and future making one circle around me in a brilliance of clarity. One such moment: watching mom play the guitar, 'Kathy's Song' maybe, on the back porch of the Weber. The present was the past was the future, in the dust suspended on light, in the tired and worn wood walls, in the unpredictablity of our flesh versus the permanence of the music...and I saw my mom as the child she was and me as the child I am and my own children laughing too...

You see now why abandoning the epic was prudence.


In the past, I was in New York City. In the future, I will be in Jackson Hole. And today, it's raining.

I'm sorry Mr. Friedman...

But everyone knows the world is round!

So remember how I loved old John from HP who helped me take apart my computer? Before I could talk to John, I had to give all my data (love that word, I pronounce it differently every time) to some other guy who never told me his name. I had my suspicions at the time that this HP rep was looking out his window at an Indian scene, but my suspicions were most definately confirmed when I received an email headed, "Katreen, enjoy the benefits of HP." Funny.

On another note, but slightly related, if someone offered me a time machine, I would only take it IF I could erase my memory at each destination. The way I see it (the way things go, you might get bit by the old Fido), I can get an okay sense of history from history books once you get over the whole subjectivity problem. One thing I will never get from a history book is how I would have handled situations or what side I would have taken. Example: would I have been outraged by Copernicus' claim that the sun, not the earth, was the center of the world? Would I have marched for womems rights or shook my head at the hippies over my mending? Would I have been a progressive or a conservative fraidy-cat? I think I have both tendencies in me.

There have been some seriously brave people in the history of this world. Props to them, those who know injustice and are unwilling to stand with their mouths shut as it continues. People like William Willberforce, hero of Amazing Grace (top notch film), the man who dedicated his life to the abolition of slavery in England. I'm not trying to get preachy here, but this seems a fitting place to end on Memorial Day. My Memorial Day resolution is to be more resolved, more committed to the truths I value and more committed to preserving them for those to come.

Blogland of Milk and Honey

There are days when coming up with something to blog about is as difficult as pulling teeth. Four of them, large ones, very painful, face-distortingly difficult. (I love when cliches finally have personal anecdotes to back up their truthiness.)

There are days when blog topics drip off my fingers. Today is one of those days. So here goes.
Disclaimer: lots of things to post about does not equal interesting post. Probably the opposite, in fact.

1. The hostile takeover of The Shrubbery (my abode) by hostile ants.
We've always had ants, and when I was a child by age, I thought we were the only ones who had ants and it was very embarrassing. Anyone who knows me well knows that I have a BIG problem with FECUNDITY. The size of the problem should match the size of the subject of the problem, n'est-ce pas? And fecundity is big. Lest you think I'm a snob, I did not discover this word on my own--I got it from Annie Dillard, who has a whole chapter on it in her book Pilgrim at Tinker Creek.

Fecundity:
1. the quality of being fecund; capacity, esp. in female animals, of producing young in great numbers.
2. fruitfulness or fertility, as of the earth.
3. the capacity of abundant production

In other words, fecundity means there are more of them than there are of us. Way more. Remember the movies ANTZ and A Bug's Life? Sweet little children's tales whose poignancy was masked by animation.

Anyway, a couple of weeks ago I took my first action against the ants and gathered many on a napkin which I burned in the sink. (Don't tell Marv.) I didn't know what else to do with it! Today, I opened the dishwasher to unload/load etc and found a swarm of ants on the inside. yuckyuckyuckyuckyuck. I drowned them all with an easy push of a button. Brutal? Yes. But as my dad would say, it's their own dumb fault. Let that be a lesson to ants: never convene inside a dishwasher.

2. The Mason Jennings concert and the Categorical Imperative

At this point in the post, I'm getting tired of writing (an attention span that doesn't bode well for a wannabe writer) so a picture is apropos. Plus, the consensus of my group at the concert was that Mason is one attractive man. I'm wary of musicians though--I've fallen in love with a geriatric concert pianist in one short prelude. The music starts, the genius emerges, and I lose my mind.
I digress. The question is: when do you act politely, and when do you fight, dropping elbows, for the best seat in the house?

3. The social importance of having a T.V. show to follow.
I must stop here. Perhaps I will come back to this. So much for milk and honey.

groceries, food storage, daisy dukes, and the end of the world

Grocery shopping always puts me in the best of moods. It's like clothes shopping with less guilt, and you don't have to wait as long to use your purchases. I like to come home and immediately sample some of everything I bought, and sometimes I start this phase in the checkout line or on the walk to the car (especially if I have purchased chips or a fresh baguette.) Today being food storage shopping day, I have broken tradition and will only sample the dried mango, the pita chips, the strawberries, and the HSM2. Save the beans, rice, and soy milk for another, darker day.

Today, my celeb look alike is Daisy Dukes. I have put my curly hair into ridiculous pig-tails and I will not try to justify it. Without intending, I also wore my tattered jeans with a big hole in the knee which "asealed the deal" as Strong Bad would say. At times like these, I realize how wise it is not to own certain articles of clothing (short cut-off jean shorts or mini skirt) because you never know in a moment of weakness what you might leave the house wearing.

Do you ever have that thought as you are getting dressed, the one where you wonder if "perhaps today I will be kidnapped or stranded on an island or interviewed on TV or spotted by model scouts etc etc and THIS is what I'm wearing?" I don't think I would like to be dressed like Daisy Dukes in any of those circumstances, and certainly not when the world ends (which, not to be flippant, if marked by availability of rice in the supermarkets seems sooner rather than later).

My preparations for the future have me looking in my closet and in our kitchen cupboards, which are burdened with expired food. Below is a picture of SOME of the food I'm throwing out because it was best by three years ago. We've got to make room for the new.



I threw the diaper in to give size perspective. That is a diaper for a three-year-old hunk of boy! Those are very large bags of rices and beans...doesn't mean I'll share.

Under the knife

It's true--I'm four teeth stupider now, and I can feel the difference. When I try to compute regular problems that would have been a breeze before, I falter and fail. To ease myself into this new phase of mental capacity as painlessly as possible, I have watched movie after movie in the past two days. I will rank them as follows:

1. The Great Debaters
2. Pride and Prejudice (new version)
3. Gilmore Girls (multiple episodes of season 5)
4. Iron Man
5. P.S. I Love You
6. 27 dresses
7. Flicka
8. Christy
9. Intolerable Cruelty

Feel free to dispute my rankings, and please remember: I'm on drugs.

I was going to post pictures of my fatface as a nod to all those wisdom teeth victims I laughed at in my past (mostly Rachel R.) but I don't think any of them do my cheeks justice. Maybe I will go ahead and throw one on here, just for fun. Go ahead and laugh. Now I'm stupider and I have a fat face!

Facebook: Opposing Viewpoints

Pro:
I looove facebook. It is so nice to belong to something--to be part of something big, you know? And I've always wondered how many friends I have. Now I know. If I ever need a little reminder, I need simply log-in and check that number on the left side of my profile. "Ah, yes. I DO have friends!" (At these moments, it is key to ignore the fact that I don't hardly know half of them, and that I actually face-to-face interact with less than 10 of them...) Facebook gets me using the computer more often, which must increase my skillz, which must make me more marketable in some way. Still working on being marketable. Facebook keeps me in touch with my generation and the real life issues we face with cyber-groups such as: "Help! Lost cellphone--Need numberz!" "Supporters of Voldemort" or "Kyle Korver is a major hottie." Most importantly, Facebook lets me keep an eye on ex-boyfs, current boyfs, and potential boyfs. I owe you big time Facebook. BFF.

Con:
Facebook is L A M E. enough said.

The play-by-play of a non-workin girl's day

The title rhymes. Did you catch that? If not, go back. Read it again. If it still doesn't rhyme, go watch the Flight of the Conchords video where they rollerskate...that's the beat I was rocking when I came up with the gem you find above.

Sorry if this post is lame-o. I just woke up from a mid-day nap, which usually means I'm any two of the following threesome (can't be all three at once): grumpy, groggy, or gorgeous. Think about it, think think about it.

Reviewing what I've written so far, I don't think I actually need to give the play-by-play of the non-workin girl's day--I've pretty much covered it all without trying.

Not working is the best.

For Marie

In Just-

in Just-
spring when the world is mud-
luscious the little
lame balloonman

whistles far and wee

and eddieandbill come
running from marbles and
piracies and it's
spring

when the world is puddle-wonderful

the queer
old baloonman whistles
far and wee
and bettyandisbel come dancing

from hop-scotch and jump-rope and

it's
spring
and
the

goat-footed

balloonMan whistles
far
and
wee

-e.e. cummings

Outside

Tonight I drove around the city with my windows open. Wisps of a hundred blossoms rushed in and out my windows, on and off my tongue, over and around my lungs. I am ready to move outside again.


I have a taste for air, somewhere in my subconscious; and I guess we all do, being life-linked to it as we are. There is steak-and-potatoes air, like the thick heavy stuff you breathe in Ghana. There is healthy eatyourveggies air, just after rain or high in the mountains. There is dessert air--and that is the air of springtime.


'Outside: The world existing beyond where one is physically confined or obliged to be.' -Oxford English Dictionary

*****

All day and night, music,
a quiet, bright
reedsong. If it
fades, we fade.

Rumi

thoughts; separate, but equal.

I hate computers. All I have to do is touch one and it breaks. So don't let me near yours--just don't freak out when I call you to do my dirty work (aka browse facebook for me...thanks, you know who you are.) Tonight I took apart my computer with sweaty, shaking hands and recovered my monitor from its coma. Finally! A computer rep who knows what he is talking about and was patient enough to walk me through surgery. I'd give you a cookie, or an e-cookie, dear John from HP, if i knew where to find you.

There should be a required height for bathroom stall walls. Who wants to stand up and meet eyes with her neighbor? What social ettiquette is there for such a situation?!

What if we wore all our bad mistakes on our outsides (besides tatoos)--a public statement of track record, competency, etc...like every rude comment or humiliating moment was a pock mark or a scar on your skin. I thought about this as I recently paused to let the other car at the four-way go, even though it was my turn, and I was grateful as I watched one massive metal dent limp in front of my headlights. "Oooh, good thing I didn't mess with that guy!" I thought.
("Those could have been guests at my wedding!" "They were cones!")

Somedays my eyes see good and somedays my eyes see bad. Yesterday my eyes were seeing bad, no thanks to an hour long dinner conversation about pyschos who lock their kids in the basement for years, murder their significant other, etc., and taking public transportation home after dark didn't really help. I was sitting on Trax, surrounded by the usual grab bag of salt lake society, and I was embarassed by my body language--smashed into a corner, body crossed and contained, eyes out the window, fingers clutching purse--all intended to communicate separateness, non-communication, impenetrablity. And I thought about how Jesus lived among the people; the worst of the people, the outcasts, the smellers and the liars and the untrustworthy; and how I shamefully try to do my portion of His work with a very outstretched and latex-gloved hand.... So I justified myself by saying "but Jesus was powerful and could protect himself and didn't need to worry about danger or his safety." and yet and yet He died at the hands of proud and conspiring men, sparing himself no pain despite His power.

Something to think about.

Ignorance and Arrogance Is Bad Foreign Policy

I read these words on a bumper sticker today. Ironic, isn't it? I'd like to think the genius behind the phrase was double-dissing Bush*, both in content and bad grammar...but I doubt it. And if i'm being honest, I like better to think that the genius behind the phrase can't construct correct sentences. So I had a good laugh about it, until I realized the owner of the truck was watching me, scowling.

*The views expressed by bumper sticker guy are not those, necessarily, of the author of this blog.

For Stephanie, of course

It's her day. Let her eat cake.

snow what?

so I complain about the weather and how it goes split shady on me, but I'm kind of the same way I think. One minute sunshine and the next rain. Not moody, just well-rounded. A four-season type of girl.

If

If freckles were lovely, and day was night,
And measles were nice and a lie warn't a lie,
Life would be delight, --
But things couldn't go right
For in such a sad plight I wouldn't be I.

If earth was heaven and now was hence,
And past was present, and false was true,
There might be some sense
But I'd be in suspense
For on such a pretense
You wouldn't be you.

If fear was plucky, and globes were square,
And dirt was cleanly and tears were glee
Thing would seem fair, --
Yet they'd all despair,
For if here was there
We couldn't be we.

e.e. cummings


I sure do love this peom. I just found it in an ambitious Saturday move--cleaning not only my room but my file cabinet too! Bravo me....

interesting file cabinet finds: a typed and very anonymous french poem that I can't understand anymore, a stack of letters larger than I remembered from a missionary who really wasn't my missionary and who really didn't write very interesting letters (especially since I never even saw him post-mish; and isn't it interesting how the future colors the past because had he been in my life, the letters would be a keepsake instead of on their way to the dump), a bunch of discs containing work from my first two years of college that are now obsolete (luckily I don't think I wised up till later on in my career, if at all), several papers also dated first two years of college on which I didn't get very good grades (see previous parantheses, and who saves papers they didn't ace?! Burn the evidence!), playbills and ticket stubs and proof of entrance to every cultural event I have attended since purchasing said file cabinet six years ago.

Needless to say, my nordstrom rack bag backing up my full garbage can is sagging. I feel sorry for the "waste" I produce, and while I'm on the topic, how about garbage cans labeled "WASTE"? Is that an invitation? "THANKS" seems much more appropriate and motivating.

So why now? Why today was I finally able to toss these gems I've been preserving for years? I should have waited until after the Monday dump pickup to write this, since I'm currently persuading myself without much effort to reclaim all my junk from the trash, and while I'm on the topic, isn't it funny that we persuade ourselves to do things...very Gollum/Smeagolish of us.

One last observation. I have been accused of not being self-indulgent in the past, with reference to my childhood rationing of candy, or--well, that's really the only reference--but I have two very indulgent behaviors. When I find a song I like, I will listen to it non-stop until I am sick of it which is usually a week or so. Even knowing the song will be ruined ever more because of the habit, I go ahead and hit rewind. rewind. rewind. Current fave: "I want to hold your hand" from the Across the Universe soundtrack. It's probably played 10 times during this post. The second indulgent behavior is just a modification of the first. When I find a movie I like...and you know the rest. Example-- I saw Step Up 2:The Streets three times in the theater in the past week. I'm not that concerned about ruining that movie for life though, destined as it is to be a classic for our day.

who knew I was so wordy? well, i guess i did, but it still always surprises me.

the desert

i've been down south. i've been where the rock seems more alive than the brush, where the air smells like sweetness and sand and scorching, where man's history is young but earth's is wise and proud...

"If you're going to live in Utah, you've got to get over the color green."

--Wallace Stegner

If I were to sketch my soul it would look like the desert, paradoxically abundant and sparse.

Daddy says I'm a flibberty-gibbet...don't tell me anything

I'm back in the light of open-to-the-random-joe-down-the-street-or-in-kalamazoo blogging. or bloffing* as I now like to call it (*not a CC original).   I went private and I rather liked it; I just wanted to emerge for a moment to let you know that if you want to be invited to my blof, no prob.  Happy to have you.  Even if I don't know you.  I share the same spirit as a landmark socialite of our day: "And may I remind you--it does NOT say R.S.V.P. on the statue of liberty!"  

so just email me your gmail address at zanzi22@yahoo.com.  that's all it would take.  I think this is vain, inviting people to view my blof, as though its a privilege or something.  But I figure if you're reading this now...you might want to keep reading it.  Maybe.  

On to the news.  

new pet-peeve: people who come into work and say, "Hey I know you're closed but can I place an order?" or "Hey I know you don't take drop-ins, but can I drop-in?" or "Hey I know you can't do this, but will you? For me? Just this once?"  Basic formula= state policy, ask to be exception.  ANNOYING.  really ANNOYING.  Throw in a large dose of entitlement, some dinero, a degree of impatience and you've got a great situation.  Some people try to act clueless, thinking it will go over better: "So your sign said Closed.  All the lights were off, but I still tried the door and you're still sitting here.  Does that mean I can't pick up my pictures?" ARGGGH.

new fave brekky: banana wraps.  wheat tortilla, peanut butter, vanilla yogurt, kashi, bananas, honey. yums in the tums.

new realization: I cannot avoid growing up.  I can be immature for the rest of my life, never own a car, or a computer, or a dwelling place, never take responsibility for things like my taxes and my health care...and it still won't change the fact that minute by minute I'm aging.  What to do?

new pet-peeve (new since I typed the last one): telephone customer service reps.  there's a double meaning in that--both customer service reps for telephone companies and customer service reps for all other products working via phone.  Especially Comcast and D-Link. Are those guys even human? 

new fave old joke: hey 1989 called--it wants its skis back. (said by random ski-lift rider to my sister.  he was right, but DI got there first.)

new season: SPRING SPRING SPRING!

Tributin' in my sleep

Something weird is happening. Top Ramen keeps popping up in my dreams. This is not a joke. I can be dreaming about Africa or snow skiing or world war and it will find a way in. It's like a really bad commercial, over and over. Not that I'm necessarily aware of it during my dreams. No, it's during the light of day, when I'm thinking about what to eat, and I think, "hmm Top Ramen sounds tasty" that the dreams come back to me. Example. Here's the conversation I had with myself today:

Me: maybe I should go to the store to get some food for lunch and dinner.

Me: no, I'll just have Top Ramen.

Me: I don't have any Top Ramen. It's all gone. I'm trying to quit.

Me: Yes, I do. It's right behind the counter...

and then a look behind the counter confirms--NO TOP RAMEN. It was just a dream. who puts Top Ramen behind the counter anyway, except in dreams?

So, the concerning part is what does it all mean? I'm pretty sure even Carl Jung himself would be stumped to deconstruct this modern archetype. Advise me, oh blogreaders.

lessons from work

Be advised, these are not lessons from doing actual work...but lessons from being at work, aka at my workplace.

1. Every mother really does think she has the cutest baby. Really. True fact. I'm being serious here. Think about it: the implications of this are mind-boggling. To protect the innocent, I can say no more. ("Please, say no more.")

2. You can't make a chevy into a porsche. You can always dream. (or go to the gym.)

3. There's no accounting for taste.

4. No matter how often you forget, licking more than one envelope closed is always a bad idea. Gross.

5. Eating nothing but candy + Not drinking water = one heckofa headache

Ah, I have learned much, and much more than I can share here. These are just highlights.

aloaloaloaloha

I've been back from Hawaii long enought that my tan is gone, my chocolate toffee macademia nuts are gone, my love for snow and cold weather is gone...take me back.

Please note that finer than fine sandy beach (Hebgenites will particularly appreciate this).

Hanauma Bay will forever remind me that most people feel totally fine wearing unflattering swimsuits. There is something nice about that. Theoretically. Not visually.

This is really the only picture worth talking about because, yes, we are leg wrestling on the floor of the airport, and yes, I am losing, BUT look at Bendy's face and how hard he had to try to beat me. Boo yeah. Though I'm not sure I'd like to have bigger, stronger legs than Bendy.






Hooray for Ben and Dana--the reason for it all. Love them. Love them married. Love their clothes.







This was the view from our villa doors (including Rom who had some crazy draw to this wall). Sure beats a smoggy city.

"How bout a sail on the catamaran? We could tour the pineapple factory..."

"Now there's a bad idea."

This was our trusty vessel for the whale watching expedition, and my, was she yar. Saw many whale and shark.

What a trip. It was so choice.

tribute #--what number am I on?

I'd like to raise my bloggin' voice for processed food. not only is it cheap, (and not only is that sometimes reason enough to support something..."I sell cheap books. So sue me.") but it is tasty and bad for you! Here are my favorite runners up in the race to break down my internal systems:

Processed food: cheap. abundant. cheap.

I'm away from my desk...

chillaxing in HAWAII.

Peace.

I miss Dwight.

Congratulations universe. You win.

I'm sick today (cough cough)

Why doesn't rough rhyme with cough? Can't we all get together and make these sort of executive decisions?!

Brian Reagan said it best...
"i before e except after c and when sounding like hay as in neighbor and weigh and on birthdays in springtime soon after may and you'll always be wrong no matter what you say!"

I've never been one for accuracy, forgive me.

Despite having no pix (because its MY blog and I don't have to post pix of the sicky me if I don't want to!), something happened today that I couldn't resist posting about. I dreamt about fruit loops last night, joy of my heart, and woke up with their sweet taste on my lips. I knew that I would be rewarded if I peeked behind a certain cabinet door in my kitchen, which I did and I was, and I poured a big bowl all the while convincing myself that this only would soothe my (cough cough) throat.... I open the fridge and

no milk.

What sort of terrible cosmic alliance is that! Sure enough, on the top of the garbage heap was an empty carton, still cold, and no one around to fess up.

What a life (rough rough).

He's HOME!!!

Elder Dave is back and better than ever. It's a relief to have him home because now I can stop counting the days...my anticipation was getting exhausting. As you may be able to tell from other posts (most notably my christmas post) I am a nostalgic fool. I grieve the movement of the sun across the sky and can hardly step forward in time a minute for the loss of the moment I'm in. Someone in our house is having a hard time letting go of David's mission, and it's not necessarily David. (i haven't asked him though.) I'm glad he is home, I don't want him to leave again, I don't wish he was still gone, and I find myself just staring at him because I'm so happy and amazed that he's here in the flesh--BUT I don't want him to lose that missionary enthusiasm, the quirky accent, the frequent slip into portuguese, or the overall spirit he exudes. David has never really been one to be of the world, so I have high hopes even though I have watched many a glowing missionary slowly fade til they blend in with all of us regular joes more concerned with ourselves than others and eagar to please man before God. Obviously Dave's presence has been a dose of perspective which I am grateful for. I have always admired this bigger brother of mine, and I am so proud of him now at the end of an honorable mission.
ps. isn't he handsome?

You people and your demands!

Dress up in a purple suit and dance around. Send Trogdor to my house.
check this out and you'll know what i'm talking about.
www.homestarrunner.com/sbemail.html

I don't post if I don't have pictures. This post goes against everything I believe in. Forgive me.

anyone else depressed by my black blog?  

may the richest blessings ever on you fall

Dear Father,

The undramatic life is not worth living.

Go do something you hate. It builds character.

Ketchup me.

Be there in bout an hour.

It's your own dumb fault.

All matters of happiness in life can be solved by a correct balance of the following equation: mexican food and fishing.

Onceuponatimeyoudressedsofinemetabunchof...inyourprimedidn'tyou?

What?

Wish ya happyappyappyappyappyappyappyappyappyappyappyappyappy birthday.

Tight lines,

Catherine

I was hit by a deer!

Okay. It's getting out of hand. The first few were cute, quaint, picturesque, tres nature, etc etc... Now they poop all over the place and act like they own the joint. Every night when I walk up my stairs, I hear rustling in the bushes. My heart races, and then I remember: it's just the deer who have taken over my backyard. They startle when they hear me, as though a human being is the last thing you would expect to see walking up cement steps to her back door!!! This whole incident brings up many questions about deer intelligence. Can they not process their surroundings? Do cars and headlights mean nothing to them? Does a brick house that people--yes, humans!--walk in and out of seem normal in their world?

Back in my childhood years, we would put a salt lick in the backyard to attract these quaint picturesque beasts. That was years ago. Didn't the deer get the memo?