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.
Tuesday, May 27, 2008
Thursday, May 22, 2008
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.
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.
Tuesday, May 20, 2008
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.
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.
Sunday, May 18, 2008
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!
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!
Thursday, May 15, 2008
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.
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.
Wednesday, May 14, 2008
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.
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.
Monday, May 12, 2008
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
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
Sunday, May 11, 2008
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
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
Wednesday, May 7, 2008
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.
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.
Saturday, May 3, 2008
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.
*The views expressed by bumper sticker guy are not those, necessarily, of the author of this blog.
Friday, May 2, 2008
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