Dance With Me.

Bowie's Best

2011-11-22T10:29:00.000-05:00

Everyone has their FBM (Favorite Bowie Moments), and today I have been treating myself to, well, all of them, back-to-back. And, because it's approaching that time of year of goodwill, I decided to share them all with you. Get ready for your day to get infinitely more awesome.

4. Singing The Little Drummer Boy/Peace on Earth with Bing Crosby. I love the casual conversation between stars of two passing generations.

3. Singing Wake-Up with the Arcade Fire. I mean, it just makes so much sense. And you got to love his fake tan.

2. Singing Under Pressure with Queen. This song is classic, and not just because Vanilla Ice stole that awesome rift.

1. Obviously: "You remind me of the babe." Just for the record, as much as I love Bowie, I would never allow him to toss my child up in the air.

Stay Primal.

2011-11-05T19:17:00.000-04:00

Back in July, when it was warm to the point of ridiculousness, my friend sent me an invitation to do a mud run. You know, those really fun races where you have to jump over walls, crawl under chicken wire in mud, and run through streams. What can I say? It was many months away, and the thought of running through really cold water sounded delightful. Fast forward to a week ago, when it started snowing and I remembered this life-long aversion to climbing walls. But I was financially and socially committed. My word in my ~~death wish~~ bond.

I can't tell you how cold it was in Warrenton, VA this morning at 9.30 am, but I can tell you how cold it will be tomorrow morning: 48 degrees. I don't know if that sounds really cold to you, but it was. It was seriously, monstrously, terrifying cold. And just imagine swimming across a river. And being forced to swim under barricades.

Here are we are before and after:

All in all, it was fun (although I'm still not quite sure if that's the right word to use). At one point I had to fish my shoe out of a muddy bog, we had to slide down a giant, mud slip-n-slide, and we had to climb so many walls. I don't know what I would have done to get over those giant hay bales if our team hadn't stuck together.

The good news is, I came home and slept for two hours in a warm bed. The bad news is, I was too cold to realize that I was doing some serious damage to my shins.

Patricia Does Music: Bon Iver and Fruit Bats

2011-09-21T23:15:00.001-04:00

I love music, but I typically am not a show-goer. Especially when the sound quality would be better at home, where I can sit down on my bed while I listen rather than stand up for hours in a crowded room. But there are certain shows that just demand I see in person, and recently I experienced two of those: Bon Iver and the Fruit Bats.

I went to see Bon Iver a couple years back in Orlando, and it was almost a spiritual experience. So I was pretty pumped for this one at the 9.30. His whole set was pretty awesome. A favorite moment included when he played "re:Stacks" on a bare stage. Just his voice and his guitar. He has this ability to make a large space feel incredibly intimate. His voice filled the immensity of that space. And he sings in a register not many can access, let alone bask in. The last song of the set (not including the inevitable encore) was the last track on his new album, "Beth/Rest." It was, in two words, incredibly epic. It has this pounding 80's love-ballad feel to it with a dramatic saxophone solo straight from a Michael Bolton special and then smooths into this beautiful number, like a slow descent in Bon Iver. It felt like he let us into an inner circle. Almost like he was doing us a personal favor to play. NPR was actually there recording. So if you feel like you want to (re)live the magic, go here.

The Fruit Bats have been a favorite of mine since 2004 when their song, "When U Love Somebody," saved my life. I had seen them once at Kilby Court in Salt Lake, and Eric Johnson, the lead singer, was just lovely. Seeing him again at the Black Cat (with Vetvier) was a real treat. We got there super early (thanks to the fact that both Danielle Mathis and I are pathologically on time), so we had plenty of time to make sure that we were front row and center.

Danielle's cousin (the delightful Shelby) made me go up to talk to him. I blubbered out something unrecognizable and then asked a band member to take our picture (I tried to get a picture with that guy to make him feel better, but it ended awkwardly when he didn't know what I was saying).

A little pre-show, we're-here-way-too-early pizza. They got offended when we dabbed the slices with napkins, but there was enough grease on those things to start a forrest fire.

I grabbed a set list when they were done. This wasn't the order they played for our show, but they covered basically the same terrain. Favorites were "Singing Joy the World" (which he sang by himself), "Dolly," and "You're too Weird" (listed as YTW in the playlist). His music can be fun and danceable (i.e. "Ruminant Band" and "When U Love Somebody") but also slower and melancholic (i.e. "Seaweed" and "Lazy Eye" both off of Mouthfuls).

Okay so this member of Vetvier TOTALLY looks like the annoying but endearing Brian Krakow from My So-Called Life! You can't really tell in this pictures. But believe me. It made me feel like we were already best friends. You know, the kind of best friendship that you develop with fictional characters.

And then there was the drummer for the Fruit Bats who looks exactly like Johnny Depp in Secret Window. But apparently, if you tell him so, he just rolls his eyes (as Shelby found out). Hey buddy, if you don't want to look like Johnny Depp then don't stop showering, grow your hair out, have a scraggly beard, and look exactly Johnny Depp.

It Seemed Like a Good Idea at the Time.

2011-09-15T09:44:00.001-04:00

Yesterday I went to pick up my car from the auto shop (where my repairs cost more than the car is worth, no big deal). When I got in the car, it smelled like 500 burly men had been eating, sleeping, and defecating inside it for three days. I rolled down the windows, starting breathing through my mouth, and crossed the street to Target to get an air freshener.

I ended up with this.

When I got in my car this morning, it smelled like someone had poured strawberry lemonade over 500 burly men who had been eating, sleeping, and defecating inside my car for three days. For this record, this is NOT an improvement.

Oh No, You Didn't.

2011-08-05T14:01:00.000-04:00

On my way to work, true to DC fashion, there are several roads that converge with little time to change lanes before they turn into exits, so it can get a little chaotic during rush hour. I know this, and although the people who know me best know that I am not the most patient driver (I try! Really I do!), I realize that they have to merge. So when they signal and wait patiently, I generally have no problem letting them in.

Yesterday, however, the car did neither as he accelerated into a very small space without using his turn signal. And as he was cutting me off, I honked my horn to let him no that that was NOT cool. At the same moment that I was honking, I realized it was an unmarked police car. He then slowed way down, turned on his lights, and through the highly tinted rear window I could faintly make out his hand signalling me to pull over. Not going to happen. We drove for about 30 seconds to a full minute like that, going about 25 in a 55. Then he gave up. I think that, at some level, he must have weighed his hurt pride against the fact that he cut me off and didn't use a signal while changing lanes. I would have loved how that conversation would have gone. But, in any case, I'm glad I didn't have to have it at all. Sometimes, it's just easier to feign ignorance than prove innocence.

A Long, Slow Death OR A Shoe Past Its Prime

2011-07-28T22:58:00.002-04:00

So I have an obsession with Forever 21. Sue me. (But don't. I don't have any money.) That store makes me feel like a prospector during the gold rush. True, sometimes you strike out. But sometimes you strike GOLD.

I bought these shoes about five years ago, and, as you can tell, I have loved them to pieces. I think I wore them every day for three summers in a row. They have been unwearable for over two years now, which means that they sit in my closet until every so often I delude myself into thinking that maybe, just maybe, they can pass as acceptable.

But no. They can't. They are way past professional. And the flappiness of the soul makes it super annoying, snagging on everything and making me trip.

But somehow, I can never quite get myself to throw them away. I just don't have it in me.

The Early Bird Gets Cranky

2011-07-19T13:29:00.000-04:00

I have heard of those lovely engagement stories where the guy wakes up the girl in the middle of the night, puts her in the car, and then drives to beach for the sunset. And they truly sound nice and wonderful. But I'm going to be honest: IT'S MY WORST NIGHTMARE. I need my sleep.

There are few things that I will willingly wake up early for. So it's a minor miracle that I play soccer every Tuesday and Thursday at 6:00 am. And like it. What that means, though, is that I have to force myself to go to sleep at 10.00 pm the night before. And though I can generally fall asleep anywhere, anytime, my body interprets going to sleep at 10.00 as "nap" not "sleeping for eight hours." So after I have fallen asleep, the slightest disturbance means that I will wake up and not be able to sleep for several more hours. Which means, in turn, that everyone that ever wants to talk to me calls on Monday or Wednesday night after 10.00. Or texts. Or plays their turn on Words with Friends.

Needless to say: no soccer this morning.

And then there were two.

2011-07-13T14:54:00.000-04:00

Over the past year or so, I have worked a lot of jobs. Besides the perpetual anxiety that I would break my arm and not have a way to pay the emergency room doctors (beyond bartering) or the little detail of having rent money, it was pretty nice. I determined my own schedule and always had something different to think about. Basically, I had a small taste of what it would be like to be independently wealthy, minus the wealthy part.

Recently, though, I was offered a full-time editing job, and although it pained me to give up mid-day grocery runs and waking up without an alarm clock, it's nice to have a paycheck and a reason to shower everyday. The pace is a bit faster and days are much longer (I worked a total of 26 hours last Thursday and Friday). But at least it gives me an excuse and the means to get new work clothes. There's always that.

Don't worry, I am still teaching online, so I'm not lazy enough to have only one job.

A Fun Time.

2011-04-29T00:15:00.000-04:00

Today I got letters from three of my nieces in Arizona. I like to send them letters so that instead of being that person they never see, I'm the cool aunt that lives in the big city. I think this portrait of me (presumably having a fun time) says just how wildly successful this plan has been. Because let's face it, that dress is cool.

I could only be so lucky to have such a pretty dress with puffed sleeves and blue heels. Total babe alert.

And yes, Renee, I am having a very fun time.

What the?

2011-04-13T18:44:00.000-04:00

So I was looking at an old blog post, one where Amy and I are singing about the lovely Blue Ridge Mountains, and I noticed a comment that I either a) never saw or b) just completely forgot about. Either way, it's a tragedy. Because this comment is a gem. It has the just the right amount of makes-no-sense-ness.

I wonder if I should feel bad because apparently this guy has been waiting for my event for a really long time. I should just give the people what they want. So selfish of me.

Wordle is my new best friend. (Sorry Amy and Jenny)

2011-04-10T22:35:00.001-04:00

Probably like many of you, I have seen these word clouds being passed around the ol' Internet, and tonight I discovered that I could make one for myself on Wordle. So obviously I just spent the past half hour ignoring phone calls and refusing to sleep even though I'm really tired so that I could make word art out of my master's thesis. (I try to get actual use out of my thesis when at all possible, which means almost never.)

It's kinda cool to see all 66 pages (and two years of my life) summed up in an image. And especially appropriate since it was about the use of images in text. So meta right now.

All Fools' Day.

2011-04-04T23:22:00.000-04:00

In my house, we were taught to take April Fools' Day seriously. Very seriously. Beyond the traditional gags (setting our clocks back, putting cardboard in our pancakes, adding rocks to our backpacks), my dad would scheme weeks in advance, laying traps for unsuspecting and suspecting souls alike.

So every April Fools' Day, I drop whatever I'm doing and dedicate it to practical jokery. It's an art form, really. You have to get the right amount of prankishness without either a) causing emotional damage, b) permanently damaging friendships, or c) getting arrested/publicly shunned. This year involved a lot of fake spiders in showers, changing people's birthdays to April 1st on FB, switching a mattress and boxspring, sending emails from other peoples' email addresses, and an alarm clock under a bed (which, alas, did not go off!).

It was a great day. Can't wait till next year.

Workin the Corner.

2011-03-23T00:34:00.001-04:00

It's been almost a year since I finished grad school (yikes), and I was talking to a friend the other day about how many weird jobs I've had since. I started out pretty normal, teaching junior high kids how to write personal essays and about video production. Then I started researching British and American poetry, graded sample SAT essays, edited resumes/cover letters, and babysat. Recently I have been developing a minor lung disorder while sanding and waxing woodwork at a law office in the city (SO. MUCH. DUST.).

My favorite, though, has to be working with Dave at his food truck, The Top Dog (so clever). Food trucks are pretty awesome (if you haven't heard of them, they are basically a way-more-awesome ice cream truck that stays in one location and has really awesome food). Today a customer scoffed at my wasted education ("Wait, you have a Master's Degree?!"), but working at the truck is a lot of fun--and I don't have to carry any of the risk. It's the ideal scenario. Basically, I am getting paid to wave, talk to people, and eat some really good hot dogs. Did I mention the Sonoran is wrapped in bacon? BACON. Today I blasted some music and had a sing-along to "Ring of Fire." And I got $2.00 in tips, so I'm basically rich.

Sure, there's no insurance. Sure, I don't get a steady paycheck. But I got some hot dogs and Johnny Cash. And what more could a girl want?

(If you work in the Tyson's Corner area in N. Va, come and visit me during lunch! We post our location on the twitter feed @topdogtruck.)

How the South Was Won.

2011-03-20T17:33:00.001-04:00

With food. It was won with food. And a couple llamas thrown in there.

Last weekend, Jenny met Amy and me in Buena Vista (they insist on pronouncing it BOON-a Vista), and we made our own honey butter (which is probably the most fun thing I've ever made), pork ribs, pizza, and buttermilk biscuits.

Making butter. I look angry. But I think I was supposed to be excited.

The butter after we pressed the buttermilk out.

And at 6 tbls of butter, they should be delicious.

RIBS.

The Llama show awesomeness.

Oh yeah, don't forget Foamhenge. Never forget Foamhenge.

And then there was the Saturday night sing along:

Out With the Whale, In With the Eden

2011-03-11T00:04:00.001-05:00

I couldn't do it. I couldn't read Moby Dick. I tried (kinda of), but after about 50 pages I realized that my heart wasn't in it. I didn't even make it to the actual ocean; Ishmael was, I think, praying at some type of church.

So to prove to myself that I still could read something longer than a Wikipedia entry or McSweeny's article (and let's be honest, even some of those are way too long), I marched over to the lovely Aurora Hills Public Library and checked out a different tome: Steinbeck's East of Eden. It only has 602 pages to Moby Dick's 822, but hey, cut me some slack, it's still super long. The difference is that I have actually wanted to read this one for a while now.

I am now about 2/3 through, and I am enjoying myself quite thoroughly. I wouldn't say it's a book that everyone would enjoy, but I love it. Some of the characters work there way under my skin until I love them, and I feel a real loss when they die. Like Samuel and Tom. And there is so much loneliness and sadness. It makes me want to gather people up in my arms and love them.

I just came across one of Steinbeck's famous moralizing sections, and, I admit it, I cried. So I'm sharing it with you:

In uncertainty I am certain that underneath their topmost layers of frailty men want to be good and want to be loved. Indeed, most of their vices are attempted short cuts to love. When a man comes to die, no matter what his talents and influence and genius, if he dies unloved his life must be a failure to him and his dying a cold horror. It seems to me that if you or I must choose between two courses of thought or action, we should remember our dying and try so to live that our death brings no pleasure to the world.

Patricia Auxier. Or Google Wars.

2011-03-09T00:23:00.002-05:00

She may not know it, but I have been battling with Patricia Auxier, MD for years. It all started that first incredibly meta, self-aware moment a few years ago when I realized that I had never googled my own name. Being somewhat narcissistic as most twenty-somethings are, I immediately checked myself out. At that time, I was the numbero uno Patricia Auxier on the Internet. And even though the first hit was this embarrassing article published in my college newspaper in which I sounded like a socially reclusive idiot (sarcasm does not carry well to print), I was pleased. It's just one of the many great things about having a unique last name: I don't have to share.

I did see one other Patricia Auxier on the second page of search results, a doctor of internal medicine practicing in Florence, AL. It must have been the beginning of Dr. Auxier's career because she was hardly anywhere. Over the past few years, though, she, my arch e-nemesis, has been gaining ground at a disturbing rate.

Fast forward to today. I was talking to someone about googling our names and so I looked it up again. SHE IS PLASTERED ALL OVER THE PLACE. I am buried deep in the archives where once I was king, making appearances here and there. I mean, I try not to be prideful and I know I don't technically own the name. But come on. It's mine. It makes me feel like she's being a better Patricia Auxier, taking more risks, showing more for her name. All I have is a LinkedIn profile and audio from when I wrote for the New Era. I'm usually pretty good at not comparing myself to other people in order to measure my success, but it's pretty hard for me, Patricia Auxier, not to compare myself to, um, Patricia Auxier. Sigh.

That being said, if I'm ever in Alabama, I'm looking her up. I'm not sure what an Internist does exactly, but I'm definitely going to ask for a free consultation. Refusing me would be like refusing herself. And that just seems wrong.

(I may or may not have clicked on this link to up my ratings. Is that cheating?)

Apple has a crush on me.

2011-03-03T00:05:00.001-05:00

At least, that's the only thing that can explain why they keep on fixing my computer for free. I swear, I don't flirt with every Apple Genius I meet, but I feel like my account is tagged with some incredible label reading: "Give her whatever she wants."

I bought my computer 3 1/2 years ago with my tax refund money (I know it was mine to begin with, but the refund makes it feel like it's free), and I didn't buy Apple Care because I didn't have enough money. Before the warranty was up, I had a few issues and they fixed it no problem. But then the warranty wore out and I had issues with the battery life. This was the beginning of the gravy train: the person took pity on my and gave me a new battery, gratis.

Then, two summers ago I left my computer at my friend's farm in New York, and even though she took great care in packaging, it arrived bent and eventually it was unable to read CD's (and I might have dropped in onto the floor a couple times as well--oops). Since there was no close Mac store in Florida, I had to wait until I was visiting home in Arizona. The guy said he could fix it onsite in a week for $300 or ship it to their warehouse for $600. When I told him that I had to leave for Florida in two days, he dropped his voice low and offered me this: he would ship it to their warehouse, fix all my problems, and he would have them do it for free. No idea why. (I'm telling you this, I was not looking my best at the time. And I'm not being modest. Trust me.)

About seven months ago they gave me a new optical drive, and when I was having issues with it last week, they replaced it again--for free. Not that I'm complaining; I just didn't get it. I mean, I was getting over a cold, so my voice was a little sultry. But I swear, it wasn't that. I didn't even batt an eyelash.

Or was it? Does Apple, collectively, have a fatty-fat crush on me? I hope so. Because now that Verizon has gotten on board, I really want an iPhone, and it would be great if it came for free. I'm just saying.

Hearts! Eggs!

2011-02-23T09:40:00.000-05:00

Hey so this clocks in at ADORABLE BEYOND BELIEF. Well, I believe it, but only because I see it. I will not rest today until I have heart-shaped eggs.

AnnaTheRed explains how to do it here.

Love: Two Songs and a Poem.

2011-02-15T01:18:00.001-05:00

Love is not always simple, but sometimes it is. And I am appreciating those moments right now. I remember the first boy I had a crush on. It was in Kindergarten, and his name was Brett. He was chubby and the nicest boy in my class. The only picture I have with him is during music class and we are sitting on the ground, a girl between us, playing with musical sticks.

So here, in honor of love everywhere, are two songs and a poem. (And please, I am dying to know who your first crush is or what song about love you are loving.)

"The Earthquake of '73" by The Fruit Bats (the delightful band that sang Keep Your Head Up High).

So I’ll do my part not to break your heart
And baby don’t break mine
Cause I adore you and I know for sure
You’re the spark on the sun

I am Aglow by Sarah Harmer

And here, a wonderful poem by Frank O'Hara. I love the love of mundane moments with someone. It reminds me of those wonderful afternoons with friends spent laughing about Bedazzlers or cooking dinner with someone's arm around my waist. I love how O'Hara compares these boring and prosaic moments to these incredible pieces of art. Because I am convinced that love--especially a kind of love that you can wear comfortably--is a miracle.

Having a Coke with You

is even more fun than going to San Sebastian, Irún, Hendaye, Biarritz, Bayonne
or being sick to my stomach on the Travesera de Gracia in Barcelona
partly because in your orange shirt you look like a better happier St. Sebastian
partly because of my love for you, partly because of your love for yoghurt
partly because of the fluorescent orange tulips around the birches
partly because of the secrecy our smiles take on before people and statuary
it is hard to believe when I’m with you that there can be anything as still
as solemn as unpleasantly definitive as statuary when right in front of it
in the warm New York 4 o’clock light we are drifting back and forth
between each other like a tree breathing through its spectacles

and the portrait show seems to have no faces in it at all, just paint
you suddenly wonder why in the world anyone ever did them
I look
at you and I would rather look at you than all the portraits in the world
except possibly for the Polish Rider occasionally and anyway it’s in the Frick
which thank heavens you haven’t gone to yet so we can go together the first time
and the fact that you move so beautifully more or less takes care of Futurism
just as at home I never think of the Nude Descending a Staircase or
at a rehearsal a single drawing of Leonardo or Michelangelo that used to wow me
and what good does all the research of the Impressionists do them
when they never got the right person to stand near the tree when the sun sank
or for that matter Marino Marini when he didn’t pick the rider as carefully
as the horse
it seems they were all cheated of some marvellous experience
which is not going to go wasted on me which is why I’m telling you about it

Dripped Paint=Beautiful. And also baller.

2011-02-11T14:17:00.000-05:00

Okay, so Holton Rower is pretty baller (and for those of you who haven't been living in Southern California or Florida for the past couple years, baller=really awesome). It makes me want to drip paint on everything I own.

International Aid

2011-02-08T11:27:00.001-05:00

I have good news and I have bad news.

The bad news is that Comfort in a Liberia camp won't be able to move her inheritance to my country because I won't send her my account information.

The good news is that I have an excellent credit score.

This morning I received a call from an international number, which I didn't answer. They then texted me saying they needed my immediate help. Figuring that it was probably a close friend who, while visiting Scotland, was mugged and needed me to wire money right away, I texted back, asking who it was. That is when I met Comfort, who graciously informed me that she would give me part of her inheritance if I only provided some basic information. You know, probably just my bank account number, routing information, and my mother's maiden name. Seeing as how she addressed me by name, I felt somewhat enticed to oblige. But it wouldn't feel right to steal a portion of someone's inheritance, especially one trapped in a Liberian camp.

For some reason, I felt the need to call my phone provider, change my password(s), report the incident to the FCC (who then referred me to the Secret Service, which made me feel pretty cool), place my number on the Do Not Call list (888-382-1222 or www.donotcall.gov), and then check my credit score.

I was planning on going running and cleaning my room, but I'd say that's a morning well spent. So thank you, Comfort. And thank you, Liberia.

Girls of Rock and Roll

2011-02-02T11:07:00.001-05:00

I don't know quite when my sisters and I became obsessed with The Great Chipmunk Adventure, but when we fell, we fell hard. I mean, what is not to love about a story of the chipmunks and the chipettes racing around the world unknowingly smuggling diamonds and money for evil masterminds, Klaus and Claudia Vorstein? And the songs are just delightful.

And I am glad to see that we are passing on this love to future generations. Here's my niece, Anna, doing one of the signature pieces. My favorite is the truly rockin' finish.

And here is the original, if you want to relive your/my childhood (It starts getting really good at 0:48):

Everything is going to be just fine.

2011-01-29T14:16:00.000-05:00

You know, the world is okay.

Yesterday I had Neapolitan pizza and today I heard these birds singing outside my window. I'm not one of those people who hate winter and can't wait for summer (in fact, I'm known to say when I'm really, really cold: "At least it's not July and humid"), but this scene from a lake with the Fruit Bats makes me want to sit outside somewhere wearing sunglasses.

Either way, though, sun or not, today is pretty great. At least fine, and sometimes that's all I need.

Doe Bay Fest 2010 - The Fruit Bats from More Dust Than Digital on Vimeo.

Please, Don't Call Me Ishmael.

2011-01-20T23:25:00.002-05:00

Here's the deal: Moby Dick is long. Like, really long. It's one of those things that you have to suffer through, and then pretend to enjoy so that you seem cultured. To be fair to Melville, it's probably not that bad. But I have refused to read it for such a long time that it's intolerableness has reached epic proportions in my mind. I have equated it with every patriarchal snobbery that the canon embodies, a collection which demands the author must be at least two (preferably three) of the following: a) male, b) white, and c) dead.

My dad thinks it's funny that I studied American literature and have never read what he posits as the greatest piece of American literature (though he's never read it, but he's a doctor, so he argues he shouldn't have to read it). To tell the truth, I mostly like the transcendentalists in theory. There are bits of Walden that I love. And I love to talk about The Scarlet Letter. But man, those 19th century folks really knew how to write for a long time. Skill, they seemed to think, was in the details. And lots of them. 822 pages of them.

I'm reading The Modern Library Collection version which, mercifully, gives me some pictures, and a friendship with Amy Scott has instilled in me a love of whale paraphernalia. So I think that maybe, in order to keep me entertained, I should be able to purchase something whale related for every, say, 100 pages. Behold a list of options:

1. Adorable whale slickers from Target.

2. Another amazing whale set from Target. (I know it's targeted towards children, but come on, it's sooooo cute.)

3. I know this looks small, but it's actually a GIANT WHALE CHALKBOARD!!! from Kif and Katast.4. A whale desk organizer designed by Eric Pfeiffer. Almost inspires me to organize my desk. And buy pencils.

5. A print from the Story People, which I love.

(Transcription: I remember when the whales had wings, she said. Whatever happened? I said. It got to be too noisy with all the airplanes & other stuff, so they flew into the ocean & never came back. Some days, she added, I think about going too.)

So that is 5, which means that I have 3 more whale themed things to find and promise myself!

Moby Dick is looking better and better. I love being able to buy what it takes that guy an entire book to chase and never ultimately obtain.

A very bad decision.

2011-01-06T12:04:00.001-05:00

At about 11.30 on Tuesday night, Arizona time, I made a very bad decision. I chose not to put Motsenbocker's Lift Off (which, by the way, does not effectively "lift off" the remains of water-proof adhesives) into my suitcase without first placing it in a bag.

I know I easily could have. And now, two days later, I know that walking the 20 yards down the hallway to the kitchen would have been the better decision.

But instead, here I am, with a load of laundry that has gone through the wash 3 times and has soaked overnight in soapy water, still reeking of what was marketed as "the ultimate remover!" but does not, no matter how hard you scrub, remove much. On the package, they are advertising a "fresh new scent." Don't believe them. While it may be new, it ain't fresh. If you don't believe me, just sniff my shirt next time you see me.

Don't stop.

2010-12-15T00:46:00.000-05:00

So, for all of you out there that have wondered what Spock, of the future, will think of the hit pop-artist Ke$ha: you no longer have to wonder.

Just the fact that he would craft his entire universe-saving career based on her inspirational lyrics is kinda the ultimate when it comes to shout-outs. Let's just say they are pretty much ideological bosom buddies.

HOME.

2010-11-06T22:18:00.000-04:00

So going home is already awesome, and then to top it all off: I SURPRISED EVERYONE. The day I bought the ticket I was awake all night, dreaming of surprising different members of my family. Usually that much anticipation causes a bit of a let down, but NOT SO. I surprised each member of my family individually, and they were all sufficiently flabbergasted. One of the best ones was picking up the nieces from school. This might count as one those things where the only people who think it's cute are related to them, but hey, I'm related to them so it's cute.

And then there was soccer, aka "clump ball." The kids on the sideline were talking about baby slobber and grass, but Ellee managed to stay focussed enough to score a hatrick. I'd like to say she takes after me, but I can't shoot to save my life.

Who doesn't love a good dance recital? Katelyn giggled throughout the entire thing because she was having such a good time. And my sister, Laura, got to live out her life-long dream of becoming a tap-dancing star.

Here's Handsome Anson who, I am happy to report, decided that he did not hate me. He actually reached for me several times.

Even more awesomeness is going to come. Our traditional all-you-can-eat Indian buffet on Monday and, in about a half hour, a movie with the siblings.

And because I have been singing this in my head the entire time I've been home, I leave it for you:

Non-Apple Picking

2010-10-30T00:08:00.000-04:00

I think I have demonstrated, over time, a deep commitment to loving Fall, and this year I decided to make it official by going apple picking! The farm that we went to promised to be 45 minutes away from Arlington (took an hour and twenty), have hayrides (no such thing), and the ability to pick our own apples (we got the "pick" them out of a wooden box), but it was still awesome. And we did get to for real pick our own assortment of gourds, and MAN were they adorable.

It also gave me the opportunity to use my family's ancient polaroid camera that my parents almost threw away last time I went home. The film is easily 10 years old and, as you can see, it's a bit damaged. But I still love corn fields and sky and all that fallishness.

And we did manage to find an apple orchard to a) buy tasty apple treats and b) take pictures with apple pickers (which is almost as good as actually using them).

Those gourds really were adorable.

So meta right now.

Oh, Virginia.

2010-09-26T23:06:00.000-04:00

This weekend, besides being the first official weekend of fall, was the 10th Annual Nothin' Fancy Bluegrass festival in Buena Vista, VA which means that Amy and I dragged Warren to 3 hours of bluegrass's finest. It also means that Amy and I got the chance to sing about the Blue Ridge Mountains while in the Blue Ridge Mountains.

Amy and I have a goal to write a song about every state that we've been in while with each other. This is Virginia.

Boxing for Tears

2010-09-22T23:22:00.000-04:00

I am a sucker for motivational sports films. Here's a short for HBO's Boxing After Dark about a homeless man who works to become a prizefighter. Um, I gotta watch this.

Found via The Daily Wh.at.

2010-09-07T17:09:00.000-04:00

Just now--literally, 20 seconds ago--I applied to my 67th job. I have written so many cover letters that my mind is numb. And the worst part is that I feel like no one is going to read those cover letters. Never know that I, someone that is fun to work with and thorough in my craft, is on the other end. They will never know that I could have taken their office/school/agency/restaurant to the next level of excellence. I COULD HAVE BEEN THEIR SAVING GRACE.

Instead, they will probably get some other schmoe who doesn't even bring in bagels on Fridays or who doesn't embarrass herself on behalf of making others feel good on a crappy day. And I will continue to sit on this bed for a majority of the day applying for jobs, taking only a small break to eat lunch at Costco.

My only consolation is watching Freaks and Geeks. Falling in love with Sam Weir over again is so cathartic.

Why Running Stinks (literally)

2010-09-02T15:28:00.000-04:00

I do this thing where I pick a running route the first time and then stick to it no matter what. This wouldn't be so bad if I put more thought or foresight into choosing where I did and didn't go, but I don't do either. Instead I end up running by or through things that I probably shouldn't go by or through for the simple reason that that is where I happened to run the first day.

Consequently, my current running loop goes by perhaps the most foul corner in Arlington, right next to some kind of plant that, for at least 1/3 of a mile, smells like a mixture of sewage and rotten eggs (this smell begins somewhere around #1 on the map). Next, the Hill of Death (which picks up in elevation around #2). I don't know why I choose to run here on the later part of my run seeing as how I would have a hard time facing this hill at the beginning--let alone the end--of the ordeal.

#3 on the map is when I get so sick of running that I try to sprint, thinking that going faster will help put me out of my misery. After about five feet, I return to jogging and force myself to believe that no, I am not going to die, and yes, I will one day not be thirsty.

Talents and Not Hiding Them.

2010-08-16T23:46:00.001-04:00

I have always considered myself to have 3 talents. 1) I can drink water really fast. My friend timed me the other day and it was 8 oz in just over 3 seconds. 2) I'm really good at parallel parking. and 3) I have really good form for throwing a football. But I think it's time that I admitted to my 4th talent: hemorrhaging money. I'm just really good at spending cash. Too good.

I've noticed the past week or so that my car has been shaking and pulling to the right, and yesterday it got to the point that I was willing to face a mechanic. So I spent my lunch hour calling places that did alignments, trying to sound like I knew what I was doing even though I didn't even have the decency to look "realignments" up on Wikipedia beforehand. When I got to the place, the guy took one glance at my car and said, "Well before we can take care of the alignment, we should probably get something done with that tire." When he took me out to show me my own passenger front tire I knew I had somehow made a very expensive oversight. My tire threads were bursting, literally, and I was suddenly and retroactively scared for my life. So not only did I walk away with an alignment, but also two new tires, insurance, and a bunch of other things that were on the invoice (I asked him about it, tried to sound knowledgeable when he explained, and then just ended up nodding my head). All in all, though, I'm pretty sure all those things were necessary. I think. At least it was an opportunity to share my talent.

(Don't worry, I drove as much of the way home as possible without my hands on the wheel just to really take advantage of my newly aligned car. Smooth as cream.)

2010-08-01T09:24:00.000-04:00

My almost-six niece is on a weekend trip with my parents, and she came down wearing this:

When my mom asked her who taught her to dress like that, she said, "Aunt Patricia."

Such an honor.

Eating My Words.

2010-07-15T11:23:00.000-04:00

I have spent my entire adult life insisting that I don't care about wedding rings and that I don't want a diamond and would not like a guy I'm dating to spend more than $50.

I WAS SO WRONG.

These rings are beautiful. I want one so bad. Unfortunate, because they are definitely over $50.

Stunning rings from Cathy Waterman

{from Twist}

Change: Does the Body Good

2010-06-22T18:59:00.001-04:00

If we weren't allowed to change--to do things I swore I would never do--I'd be a very different person.

To be clear, I did not start out as the kind of person who would want and then need a remote control for her car radio. When requesting a new car system for my birthday, I specifically told my mom to get one that had blue buttons (I thought they looked futuristic and oddly calming) and absolutely no remote control. I felt like it would up the price, and I didn't want to waste my mother's money on something my fingers could do quite easily. Which is probably what some young, naive person thought about the remote control for the TV.

Now, when I drive I have to keep two things in my lap: my phone and the radio remote. That extra six inches of leaning over to manually control the radio has become too arduous to attempt, not to mention all that fiddling with buttons nonsense. Today, while driving to the metro to pick up my roommate, I almost got in an accident because I was frantically searching for it. I eventually made myself stop and just listen to whatever CD and track I was listening to.

It reminds me of the first ad for text messaging that I ever saw. There was a man and a woman on a bus that had, we were to assume, been prevented by sitting by each other. He began a game of "I spy." (I believe the answer was the buffalo). I distinctly remember saying to myself, "Why would anyone ever put that much effort into typing these small messages when you could just call the person?"

Add text messaging and radio remote control to the list of ankle socks (tube socks were SO much better in 1993), growing out my bangs (I thought only boys didn't have them), and peep-toed shoes.

2010-06-04T01:54:00.000-04:00

It turns out that being home for three weeks doesn't help you find a job or housing across the country, but it does help with your self-esteem. For those of you questioning who you are or why life is they way it is, get yourself a couple nieces. Preferably ones who are graduating from preschool and are going to sing adorable songs on stage.

My nieces are obsessed with the way I dress. Some days I let them pick out my outfit from the 5 things I packed in my suitcase. It inevitably includes leggings, even if I'm wearing shorts as well. In the picture below, Ellee is explaining to her friend, Dolores, who her cool aunt is with the cool clothes. Right after that she says, "And do you see the old lady next to her? That's my grandma." My mom didn't think it was too funny, but I definitely repeated it to everyone we saw that day.

Show and Tell

2010-04-27T11:14:00.000-04:00

This semester I was in a video production class. It ended up being SO dramatic, including a panic attack right after one of my in-class critiques. But it was great, and it also meant that instead of writing a 25-page seminar paper, I only had a final project. Still incredibly time consuming (especially since I scratched my first final project 4 days before the final screening because on the first viewing my professor refused to watch it ever again), but so much better than a research paper.

So I thought I'd post my projects here for you. Whatever you do, don't call them films. Roger (my professor) gets totally mad about it.

Can I Help You? from Patricia Auxier on Vimeo. In our attempts to consume ethically, I think it's important to remember the face-to-face exchange we have with people in the service industry. Here I try to dramatize the relationship we have with these workers by offering to return a service.

Lost and Found from Patricia Auxier on Vimeo. When I began looking at this footage—and the audio coming from an interview with my grandmother in Los Angeles in 2003—I realized that I couldn’t use it in the same way I could have used other found footage. When I tried to use it as part of an independent narrative, it felt oddly false. Because to me, these images were about the mediation and transferring of memory. I was fascinated by the cuts in the original footage and the mundane moments they chose to capture.

Nostalgia refers to my desire from Patricia Auxier on Vimeo. The title of this video comes from an "censored" page of my master's thesis turned into a visual poem. Realizing that no one would read 70 pages of critical interpretation of nostalgia in contemporary fiction, I was struck with how insular research can become. Censorship, here, refers not to the top-down suppression of expression, but how overly specialized speech limits what we we communicate to others.

Moving.

2010-04-22T18:59:00.000-04:00

I do a couple of super irrational things when I'm moving. Okay, way more than a couple. I'm sure everyone has experienced the point where anything gets thrown away. Really cute wedding announcements, coins with value less than a quarter, buttons that haven't gotten sewn back on yet. I reached that point and beyond. Earlier today I thought, "Do I really need books these days?" That was right before I spent over $100 shipping my books media mail. Boxes of books=really, really heavy.

Usually I spend several weeks being anxious about packing and then start the process late at night way before I'm actually leaving and without cleaning up first. The result is that things that need packing get mixed in with things that I need for living, and I can't really keep anything straight. So everything ends up having a very messy party on my floor. Every time I swear I am going to clean first. But I know I won't.

Also, about three weeks before I make the move I think about how I don't want to waste any food by leaving it behind. So my genius plan is to stop buying it. See I don't think about what I will eat for the next three weeks. Because if I thought about the answer--canned green beans, rice, and frozen corndogs--I might buy food like a normal human being. I just have to stretch out the nutritional value of this red bell pepper remains. It has to count as a my vegetable for the next 8 days.

Top 3 Things to Happen Today.

2010-04-05T17:32:00.001-04:00

1. Finding out that my bread wasn't, in fact, moldy and making a peanut butter and honey sandwich.

2. Remembering that the museum is closed on Mondays so I didn't have to ride my bike out there to look at the exhibit even though I promised my professor that I would.

3. This 5 times in a row.

Cause and Effect.

2010-03-26T02:20:00.000-04:00

I think it's appropriate that in today's composition class I taught my students causal arguments, and we discussed the intricate patterns of cause and effect. So I should have seen this moment coming.

Yesterday was called "spend all day in a little room doing a project and not drinking any water." That means that today, when I didn't drink anything either, really, and ran bases while the softball team that I help coach practiced defense situations, my body was getting a little bugged. Which means that in the middle of the movie that I went to right after practice, I started seeing large spots and began losing feeling in my right hand. Hello migraine. I immediately got the largest cup of diet coke I could find and guzzled it as fast as I could. And since I have to go to the bathroom within five minutes of drinking anything (hence, I hate drinking water), I had to get up several times to relieve myself. That combined with the reduced mental capacity associated with migraines meant that my friend had to explain everything to me. Several times. And though caffeine is supposed to help with migraines, it also keeps me up.

So here I am, awake at 2.30 in the morning. And there's nothing I can do about it.

At least, nothing that I can do right now. There were plenty of things I could have done about it yesterday. All it would have taken was a little hydration. When will I learn, the secrets to life's success is in understanding the relationship between cause and effect.

Exposure Therapy

2010-03-09T11:35:00.001-05:00

I have an unnatural and irrational fear of both needles and cockroaches. In order to overcome my fears, my neuro-psychologist friend recommended that I retrain my brain by exposure therapy. So for the past 5 months I have kept a plastic cockroach from a Halloween dance lying in varying places around my apartment. Sometimes I keep it on my desk, sometimes on my floor, sometimes its inconspicuously lying in a pile of my clothes. Just like a real cockroach. I'll forget about it for a while, and then I'll come across it again. Mostly, I can keep calm. But sometimes when it accidentally catches onto a sweater and I both shriek and run across the room, I realize that my training is not going too well.

My experience with shots hasn't been any better. I went home a couple weeks ago and I had to get the 3rd shot in a series. I have had to get this last one for months because I can never get myself to do it. My dad even brought home first a play shot and then a real shot for me to keep by my plate while I was eating. I held it in my hands, touched the needle, and I eventually could calm down. But when my dad came towards me after work the next day and wouldn't show me what was in his hands, I started to get faint and woozy. Whimpering like a small child, I let my dad push that disgusting little piece of metal into my upper arm. I didn't faint this time, but I still don't think I'm getting any better.

All Grown Up.

2010-02-19T02:01:00.000-05:00

So up until tonight, I have only been masquerading as an adult. Sure, I list to Phil Collins and tell cars to slow down and occasionally talk about politics. But I was just one cardigan-wearing impostor. I had never done my taxes by myself. I had an accountant do them because they terrified me and because it was so much easier. But this year I vowed that I would face the real world with my W-2 and 1099 forms in hand. And I have come off conqueror.

Sure, I was on a website that guides poor people through the process step by step. But I felt a huge sense of accomplishment when I entered different numbers on different lines. And that's something that an accountant can't give me.

2010-02-02T21:20:00.000-05:00

Fran & Marlo Cowan (married 62 years) playing impromptu recital together in the atrium of the Mayo Clinic. This makes me really really happy.

Public Announcement

2010-01-26T01:40:00.000-05:00

I just have to tell the world how much I love Wilson Phillips. Hold On has changed so many lives, including mine. Yesterday my friend and I belted it in the car on the way home from the airport and it felt SO GOOD.

And in looking up the music video, I could not help posting this one. It is quite possibly the most awesome thing I have seen in a really long time. I love how these girls have taken this song into their hearts.

Time Difference + Bad Sleeping Habits

2010-01-03T03:05:00.000-05:00

=when you go back to Florida after spending two weeks staying up late in Arizona, you can't fall asleep before 5.00 am even if you have to wake up at 8.30. And then tossing so much that your phone, and consequently your alarm, gets too smothered under a pillow to emit noise which means that you wake up an hour and a half late.

But before the phone smothering fiasco, it was 3 am and I made Pi Day cards. Sure, it's 2 1/2 months away. But something had to be done. And it sure wasn't going to be the dishes.

Here's a highlight from the holiday. It's Christmas morning and I insisted on making my nieces work for their presents, i.e. go on a treasure hunt. I keep on secretly hoping they ditch their dreams of becoming princesses and start wishing they were pirates.

It's Official.

2009-12-10T19:09:00.000-05:00

I have this really loose policy when it comes to getting ride to the airports. It's called: it will work out somehow. I seem to never really arrange a ride until the last minute. Sometimes I'm arranging it on my lay-over, and I can never really get myself to worry about it enough to do something about it earlier. This year, in honor of Christmas miracles everywhere, I not only arranged my ride to the airport next Tuesday, I already found a ride back on Jan 1st. I'm feeling pretty awesome about it right now. So, happy holidays.

ZOMBIE. PROM.

2009-11-18T23:43:00.001-05:00

Oh yeah, Halloween was 1/2 a month ago. Oh yeah, I'm still going to post these pictures. This is what happens when they make me in charge of a dance, I go a little bit psycho with some elaborate theme. I kinda think that I would have more enthusiasm for life if every day had a theme, like spirit week in high school. Except it was spirit life and there were community committees dedicated to coordinating twin day and wacky day. I know it's not going to happen, but it can happen in small ways. And so here is my attempt at revolution. One day, one day.

That's right, a jellyfish! There's something delightful about having a zombie being stung by a giant jellyfish.

I stayed in character all night. Being 1/2 dead takes only 1/2 the energy.

Family Folklore and Sesame Street

2009-11-05T18:37:00.000-05:00

A few years ago my family went to see my mom's dad and her stepmother. They had gotten married a couple years after my mom and dad did, so even though we grew up called her grandma, my mom called her Jody. And I remember that confusing me.

Both of them had been falling apart since I could remember them. My grandma Jody, who died about 2 years ago, had been in a wheelchair for years, and my grandpa doesn't have an eye (no, he doesn't wear an eye patch and yes, the state of Arizona reissued his drivers' license, which my mom talked him into surrendering).

So while we were sitting around, Grandma Jody got to telling stories about growing up and her first husband and teaching. She had been a kindergarten teacher for 30 years, and she had centered her instruction around letters instead of concepts. So she would teach them about Fish and to count to Four and Five and learn how to play Football. She was explaining this concept to her summer professional development class, when a girl in the corner picked up the stapler and said, "This lesson was brought to you by the letter F." And everyone laughed.

Later Grandma Jody was visiting with the teacher, asking her about what all the students were up to, and the teacher referenced that girl with the stapler. Apparently, she had gone to New York to start and educational television program using my grandma's teaching style. Yeah, Sesame Street.

I felt like I had never met her before. How could I have possibly not known that my grandmother partly inspired Big Bird?

Part of me doesn't really believe it. Short of calling my own grandmother a liar, I can imagine that she was just confused or was exaggerating in some weird, extreme way. But Joan Ganz Cooney did graduate from U of A in education, and she did work in Phoenix for a few years before going to New York. And sometimes I think it's okay to just believe her. It makes me, in some way, feel like somewhat of a cousin to Oscar the Grouch. And come on, who wouldn't want to be related to a puppet?

I Can Really Get Into This

2009-10-30T00:51:00.001-04:00

I wonder how many things I could get tricked into if it were made more fun. Like abstaining from Diet Coke. Or not procrastinating. Someone really needs to get on that.

Espanol Por Favor

2009-10-25T21:07:00.000-04:00

I wish that by my sister marrying a Mexican it somehow entitled me to just knowing Spanish. I also wish that going to Puerto Rico for a week for spring break or working at a mid-level Mexican restaurant for 9 months would have counted as immersion. But as it is, I have to take a Spanish translation test tomorrow armed with a freshman and sophomore of high school level knowledge and only really thorough knowledge of nouns related to serving food.

My program requires a working translation ability of a written language. I knew this from the beginning. Part of me was hoping that somehow I could use Sign Language, but because the written language of ASL is English I knew in my heart it wouldn't count. I also had assumed that at some point before the test my stress level would inspire me to poor over verbs charts and conversational exercises. I was wrong on both accounts. And now I'm scrawling verbs endings on blue notecards, cramming in a way that I haven't done since my calculus final my senior year at Chandler High.

I did try to try. I thought that finding a 501 Spanish Verb book by the library dumpster was a great start. I even turned my phone to Spanish setting for 3 weeks, which only resulted in erasing too many messages and never knowing exactly what was going on. I have decided to turn to the Soaps, and I'm pretty sure this is what my translation will look like:

Necesito un milagro.

Love and Fall and Singing

2009-10-19T14:09:00.000-04:00

There's something therapeutic for me about singing in the car.

One of the things I remember most about my childhood, besides having incessantly tangled hair, is singing. Packed in a van--first red and then later forrest green--my family primarily did two things on road trips: fight and sing. The folk songs that my dad taught us are basically how I learned all of my US history and geography.

This past Saturday, Amy and I spent the entire 2 hour car ride from Orlando (after gorging ourselves on the trappings of suburban entertainment: JcPenny's and the Oliver Garden) singing a mixture of folk, 90's, country, showtunes, and a healthy portion of Tom Jones. And as I was belting some odd medley of Fiddler on the Roof classics, I felt as if the spirit of Tevye was filling my soul with the dulcet tones of happiness.

So to celebrate a visit from the reputable Ms. Scott, on Sunday we made strata and roasted potatoes and ate it with a group of girls. And then I tricked them into singing Ingrid Michaelson's You and I on the stoop. Not a car, but a beautiful moment nonetheless. If you don't feel your heart warming over, you might want to get your soul checked out.

(For some reason I can't get Safari to show the entire width of the file, thus cutting off Sarah and Laura.)

Ode to Autumn

2009-10-13T00:33:00.000-04:00

I don't think it's lame that my love for fall began with You've Got Mail, because it would have happened at some point. I just would have taken me a bit longer to figure out that the Arizona switch between the brown, dry, and hot of summer and the brown, dry, and cold of winter was what other people of the world call Autumn.

So after a couple years in Utah (which for the record has much more of a fall that AZ) and a glorious year in Washington DC (Mt. Vernon!), I'm back in Florida where fall is almost the opposite of Arizona--being green, humid, and hot--but still non existent.

So instead, Aleksi and I threw an Ode to Autumn dinner party on my back porch. I don't have any pictures of the food, but we had butternut squash-apple soup, pecan-peach cornbread, strawberry-heath salad, homemade chicken potpie, and wassail. It was deLIcious.

I knew that last year when I bought 14 plates from the dollar store I would use them all at the same time one day. There were people (Aleksi, Cynthia) who mocked me. No longer.

I loved seeing everyone eating together! Even though I was still very bitter that it refused to cool down (Come on, weather! Throw me a bone!), it was lovely.

I don't know why Sarah is sad; she was actually very happy.

2009-10-03T01:19:00.000-04:00

Just now, after watching exactly 5 minutes of Kevin Costner in For the Love of the Game, I cried when a fictional character threw a fictional perfect game.

I can't really explain it.

I like seeing people do things that mean a lot to them. It makes me feel. Good. And proud in this maternal way.

I should have been a professional mourner. You know, putting my crying to use.

A Proud Mama Bear

2009-09-12T17:10:00.000-04:00

Congrats Ms. Amy Scott! She has recently been published in Brevity here. Also her essay "When the World Explodes" was picked as a notable essay in this year's Best American Essays. So great!!

Amy has a knack for describing things that involved so many tactile and emotional nuances you thought they could never be expressed.

See what I mean here, where her Revisionist History of How was published last fall.

Two Things I Don't Get.

2009-09-07T15:54:00.000-04:00

We're supposed to be this paragon of technological progression. Someone tell that to the people who make non-stick cooking spray. They continue to use those caps made of some material that resembles the slickness of a baby seal, even though it's a product made for people that generally have oil/water/gook on their hands when they are trying to use it.

Also, I get it. I know that if I want to end a phone call after leaving a voicemail, I should hang up. I think I even understand, after the millionth time, that I can dial 9 for more options. I think we have generally become acclimated to cell-phone etiquette. And I know this means that I'm being unreasonably impatient, but dang it, sometimes I just want to leave a message withOUT wading through all of those stupid options that I will probably never use anyway. Pressing 1 on certain carriers is the one beacon of hope where sometimes they let you cut to the chase, leave a message, and then hang up. But not everyone has clued in. And it's time to abolish those 30 seconds of wasted time.

Upon Arriving Home and Discovering a Knife in Front of Your Door.

2009-08-30T20:06:00.000-04:00

So today after church I came home things were pretty normal. Until I realized that there was a knife stuck in the ground.

I'm just trying not to think about it. And for some reason I can't get myself to pull it out. Like it's a trap or something. Set by spiders. Or cockroaches.

Legends Never Die.

2009-08-29T11:09:00.001-04:00

Just when I thought Arizona couldn't get any better, I got a visit from a bestie! And Jenny and I definitely had to celebrate with a trip to Elmer's Taco Shop where I spent many a lunch during high school. We got there a bit before the lunch rush, but we did get to experience about 5 minutes of the high school madness.

It tasted like a bit of heaven.

The Trifecta of Awesome

2009-08-23T22:36:00.000-04:00

I was hoping to get to sleep early tonight, something about turning a new academic leaf (i.e. actually caring). I am in graduate school, after all, and I have an image to maintain.

That's until I took a 2 hour nap (mostly because I could), and now it's almost 11 and I don't see myself sleeping for hours. I really wanted to get to Library West at 8.00 am when it opens so that I can find all of the books for my classes before all my poor, miserable grad-peers get to them.

But instead, I'll take this time to reflect upon the two-month (unpaid) vacation funded by this year's tax refund. (Thank you, Uncle Sam, for taking my money and then giving it back to me all at once.)

This two-week beauty was a great treat, sandwiched right in between a few weeks of DC. Amy and I learned a lot about ourselves, each other, and the great rolling plains of the Midwest. Mostly that we do best when we're singing with Celine Dion and know way more lyrics to early 90's country western than we ever dreamed. We also developed what we call the Trifecta of Awesome.

Exhibit A:

Exhibit B:

Exhibit C:

That's right, a year's supply of gummy worms and pistachios, a remote control to the CD player, and matching dream catchers, purchased somewhere between South Bend and Iowa City for $0.99 a piece. What a steal. I really felt, after we bought them, that things were falling into place. I don't know what a dream catcher is supposed to do, only that I felt as if a thin layer of fairy dust had descended upon our lives. I could even, just after purchasing them, feel their influence over the previous destinations. They were the only things that could explain the magic.

First stop: Cropseyville, NY. And what a stop it was. It turns out that farming is really hard. And they keep on going when it rains. Our hands got really dirty, which made us feel like we were real workers, and we drank from a hose.

Next up: Rochester, we not only stayed with the awesomest girls ever with whom we had a raging dance party, but we stopped by Steve Tahous to try the legendary Garbage Plate, which is just as great as it sounds. Just think of a macaroni salad, home fries, two beef patties, and meat gravy sauce.

We had to stop in South Bend where our amazing friends Anna and Erik made us a Fouth of July feast fit for George Washington. Including my first ever rhubarb pie.

Iowa does a really great job at celebrating everything it can possibly think of, including being the future birthplace of Captain James T. Kirk and having the black angel of death.

All in all, it was a trip worth working 8 months for.

Customer is King.

2009-07-29T22:45:00.000-04:00

There are those jobs that inspire crankiness. And not in the worker, but in the customer. Case in point, the guys who run the yards where cars are towed. They can be great guys--volunteer their time to needy children, play with baby kittens, love their mothers dearly--but their clientele necessarily hates them. And wishes them ill.

So when I was dealing with the woman in charge of checking me out of my apartment this morning, I tried to be civil. But after 18 hours of scouring, with a toothbrush and bleach, mildewed window frames and a dirt-encrusted floor of vacated roommate's bathroom, I wasn't in the mood to be told that it was not "move-in ready" and would consequently have to pay for a maid service. It was either the tears or the distinct crazy-person look I was sporting that convinced her to forego the company policy of never relinquishing a deposit from their grubby hands after an additional hour and a half of scrubbing.

Other jobs, however, are quite the opposite. Like the delivery man who brought me housewarming flowers from the parents. I loved him instantly. Sure, I'll sign on the line! Sure, I'll have a great day! You too!

I should have asked him if they were hiring so I could have let Christy from Tivoli management know about potential employment opportunities that don't involve people cursing and yelling at you. Just a thought.

Top That.

2009-07-15T15:59:00.000-04:00

Admit it, you wish your state was as hardcore as mine. We catch pythons with our bare hands.

The Horror.

2009-07-14T09:43:00.001-04:00

This is the most disturbing thing I have seen in a long time. I'm glad I didn't watch this before bed because I'm pretty sure it would have given me nightmares. Megan's husband Luke innocently shared it at the end of his technology wiz blog, and I couldn't stop myself from staring at it even though I wanted to gag.

Iowa, We Shout Thy Praises

2009-07-05T22:38:00.000-04:00

To inaugurate our stay in Iowa, Amy and I went for a walk to the local bark park. She brought along a ukulele and we made the most adorable song we could possibly think of. Posting this video almost reaches our technological capacities combined, so please enjoy our blood, sweat, and tears.

We place our weary hands
In the fields that we work
And toss heaps of earth
To protect our fragile hearts
And we dig, we dig, and we dig
Downn Iowa.

We drove from Cropseyville down to Rochester,
Just to see you my dear.
Will you harvest my heart,
My sad and lonely heart,
My little Iowa sweet.

We may act a little shy
When we look in your eyes
But don't be confused
We were once made out of straw
And we swayed, we swayed, and we swayed
Down in Iowa.

We drove from Cropseyville down to Rochester,
Just to see you my dear.
Will you harvest my heart,
My sad and lonely heart,
My little Iowa sweet.

In the place where we meet
We let the corn grow in heaps
We walk through the fields
And let the dew stick to our knees,
And we sing, we sing, and we sing,
Down in Iowa.

Who'd think that all that love
Would come from one little seed
My lovely Iowa sweet.

Who'd think that all that love
Would come from one little seed
My lovely Iowa sweet.

Party Like Roch Stars

2009-06-19T02:09:00.000-04:00

We, Cynthia and I, met a lot of gems last weekend in Rochester that I'm pretty excited about. Through my extensive research which involved clicking on most of the hyperlinks in the Wikipedia entr,y I knew there was a lot to experience: white hots (the local style of hot dog), garbage plates (don't ask unless you really want to know), Mt. Hope Cemetery, Eerie Canal. Rochester, or the "Roch" as the locals call it, has it all.

And then it got better.

This is just one of the travel brochures I found at the airport, and my one regret is that I didn't bring my sick dolls with me from Gainesville. I thought it would be better because hey, who likes flying when they're sick? But if I had known that there was a specialist in the area, I would have risked it.

Another gem at the airport wasn't in a brochure, she was behind the counter at Alamo. Her name was Mazie. And I know that sometimes my enthusiasm can be mistaken for sarcasm so I'm just going tell you that I am serious when I say that I love Mazie. It's surprising how much information you can learn about a person while renting a car (or not really all that surprising when you consider how long it actually took). It's hard to really rank the things I love most about her. Maybe it's that she asked us in all seriousness if were in show business. Or that she told me she likes to teach children to reach for their dreams. But it's probably because when she gave us the Alamo's number and told us to call if we had any problems and I asked her even if they were relationship problems, she threw back her head and took that short pause when you wonder whether the person is about to die or laugh, and let out the longest, most pure howl of delight I have heard in a long time. "Girl!" she said, "That is my favorite! That is my thang! You just call me any time, girl," and for emphasis there was a slight pause between each word because she meant it so much: "That--is--my--thang!" And when we called her a few hours later to ask her what we should have said to the elevator operator at Niagara Falls who was hitting on Cynthia, I love that she gave me real advice. And that it kind of honored her to give it. She said that when a boy compliments you, you should always, always say, "I'm honored. Thank you very much." And I like that.

I also liked, in that man-this-is-so-creepy kind of way, the not-so-welcoming center at Niagara Falls. It had lots of things that in no way were actually related to the Falls, but were just left there in the spirit of the carnivalesque.

Notice the woman's detached arm and fingerless hand and the clown's smashed in face. (At least she took a piece of him with her.)

And I'm just trying to learn the Niagra ropes, which this guy knows because I'm pretty sure he's from the future.

We dutifully took lots of pictures in front of the Falls, which, as it turns out, is kind of the only thing to do on the American side unless you want to pay the $30.00 for a voyage on the Maiden Mist (which is obviously very tempting). I still can't get over the irony that on the American side of the Falls is a national park, and on the Canadian is a mini-Las Vegas with casinos and, I swear, a roller-coaster.

And then there were the blessed girls who let us stay at their house last minute when our housing fell through and even let us drive a car to Palmyra where we definitely posed in every recreated farmhouse we could find. And I'm going to go on the record that I loved the Grandin Press, where the Book of Mormon was first published.

Rochester=Total Success.

Gator Danger

2009-06-14T23:04:00.000-04:00

I hesitate to write this post because I've written a couple times about running, and I'm really sensitive towards false advertising. But I can't help it! I just need to let you know how hard core Florida is.

The other day when I was doing the aforementioned Williston-Main running route, laying right on the edge of the sidewalk was an adolescent gator! I wish that I could say that I stopped to give it a high five, but in reality as soon as I realized what it was I screamed and jumped onto the street. But regardless now I get to tell people that I almost stepped on a gator when I was running, which makes me sound really awesome.

Because I was running, there are no pictures, but here's a few from when Amy visited the good ole Swamp. She's amazed at this modern-day dinosaur--wouldn't you be?!

This one is awesome because, duh. I just really like it when signs don't mess around. They tell you what's up. And apparently, gators are equal opportunity eaters. I like that. Hard core and unbiased.

Studying and Exercising

2009-06-06T22:52:00.000-04:00

I don't run on a treadmill and I can't study at school for the same reason. Well, actually the opposite reason, but the same characteristic. You see, the second I sit down to study at the library I start to think about all the reasons I'd rather be at home. "My pants are too tight; I can't sit in a chair!" and then five minutes later after I have dreamed about wearing my brown cotton dress I think about how the circulation in my feet is off and I wish that I could just be sitting on my couch with my feet on the coffee table. And then I have to get up for some water and scrape through my bag for old bags of peanuts. Then I realize I forgot to bring the cord for my computer. So I haven't gotten any studying done, and I go home. Where I can change into my pajamas, snug into my couch with some brie and crackers, and finally get something read (after playing a couple round of WordTwist).

I know this may surprise you, but I enjoy running even less than studying. And when I'm on a treadmill the reasons come faster and are more convincing. My shoes are giving me blisters. I have to go to the bathroom. I'm dehydrated. I'm out of shape. So on and so forth. And since it's so close to my apartment, I can stop. Anytime. But when I go out running down to Williston and then up to Main and I start coming up with reasons why I would rather be at home not running, it only means there are more reasons to go faster. Including the fact that Gainesville is super smelly, and my breathing pattern includes inhaling in through my nose. Puts a little spring in my step.

Where Dreams Come True.

2009-05-27T22:11:00.000-04:00

So, you might think I'd be talking about the Magic Kingdom. You know: Mickey, Minnie, the objectification of childhood and mass consumption of low-quality-high-price kitsch, but no. My dreams are much larger. I'm talking mass consumption of high-quality-medium-priced wonders of the world. Still Orlando, just a couple miles away. That's right: COSTCO.

My roommate Cynthia and I took our friend to the airport, and as a treat we went to do some bulk-shopping. And since it was Saturday we had all kinds of samples: three-bean salad, humus, brownies, some other stuff that I didn't recognize (but oh was it tasty). I just roamed the aisles with a big grin on my face; it was just like coming home.

Let's just say I came away with some GREAT finds: edamame, spiced pecan cereal, a brie wheel, blackberries, strawberries, and a flat of mangoes. Oh, and the most adorable "See you later, Alligator!" outfit for my future nephew. I have been the happiest Gator in all of Gainesville.

The Ultimate Fake-Out

2009-05-21T19:30:00.000-04:00

I don't know if you need to be Mormon to experience this ultimate fake-out moment, but it helps.

It happens after you've already been dancing for 4 minutes and 6 seconds to Bryan Adam's hit song "(Everything I Do) I Do It For You" and there is this natural ending. He even whispers the song title while slowing it way down, and anyone who has to ration conversation topics knows that this is the ultimate sign to wrap things up. And then there's a pause just long enough for an awkward teenage couple to acknowledge the end of the song, mutter some thanks to their partner, and almost part ways. It's the almost that makes this the ultimate fake-out. Because just as they are about to turn their backs to each other, the music starts up again like a corpse reviving on the cold table at the morgue. It's horrifying. The song is supposed to be over, but it still has over two minutes left. And you don't really know what you're supposed to do. Keep on walking? Awkwardly reassume the dancing even though you have nothing more to talk about? Ask someone else?

Mostly, I'd walk away. Vowing next time I wouldn't be so fooled. If only I had a comparable sign to the one Amy and I saw on the way from Utah to DC somewhere on the I-70 in Colorado. You'd think after years, I would learn my lesson. Never did. Never will.

And the Thunder Rolls.

2009-05-14T16:50:00.000-04:00

Sadness, Disappointment, and Danny Tanner

2009-05-09T02:38:00.001-04:00

I once had this boy compare me to wood floors. Or say that the wood floors in his new house reminded him of me. Something about being vast, he said. And warm.

I still don't really know what he meant.

I also had this guy gush about how he adored the down that covers my face, a facial feature that has always been somewhat of an embarrassment to me. When we broke up, and still now, I thought: do I miss him? Or do I miss someone loving something that I don't like about myself? And: are those two questions necessarily different?

Just over four years ago, Amy sent me a text message that I kept for a long time and then wrote down, probably as some testament to the fact that I am part of a new generation in which new media can affect our lives. Like how Facebook can alter the way I index my friendships. She quoted Oscar Wilde, probably in response to the tragedy of my 20 year-old self: "We are clowns whose hearts are broken. We are specially designed to appeal to the sense of humor." It wasn't until tonight that I looked up where it came from: a letter that Wilde wrote to a friend--some argue a lover--while in jail at the end of his life. He titled the letter "De Profundis" after the 130th Psalm which is a prayer to God for forgiveness and a plea to grant redemption. In this letter it feels to me that Wilde felt the need to justify his justification to the world. For his life. For his sexuality. For his ability and inability to love correctly. A broken heart was the closest thing he could think of to describe the empty betrayal he felt at the end of his life. His answer to what it means to die alone. Or feel alone. Even when you're not.

I was explaining to a friend a couple days ago the difference between feeling sad and feeling disappointed, and how I was not sad about loneliness. I had to give that up when I realized that everyone feels lonely, and somehow I don't feel justified in being sad about something so universal. But disappointed seems to work. For me it holds the hope that the world would be better and then realizing that it couldn't be. Somehow that original hope means something to me. It's tragic. And painful. And insists on possibility.

Which is beautiful.

And even though it sounds like I'm sad, I love that the only thing I can think of is this:

What ever happened to predictability?

The milkman, the paperboy, evening TV.

It's your old familiar friends waiting just around the bend,

Everywhere you look, everywhere you go (there’s a heart).

There’s a heart. A hand to hold onto.

Everywhere you look, everywhere you go.

There’s a face of somebody who needs you.

When you’re lost out there and you’re all alone,

A light is waiting to carry you home,

Everywhere you look. Everywhere you look.

And still, even after the Olsen Twins have made millions on cheap nail polish and Bob Saget ended up being a little creepy in an (unsuccessful) attempt to break from his Danny Tanner persona, it makes me feel, well, oddly hopeful.

Three Hours Later

2009-04-17T22:55:00.000-04:00

And I still haven't done any work. But I am caught up on both Google Reader and The Office.

I Have So Much To Do.

2009-04-17T20:53:00.000-04:00

Therefore I made an extremely intricate dinner with lots ingredients that require lots of chopping. I feel good about how I spent my evening.

Ramen Noodles with Peanut Sambal
4-6 servings

2 packages instant ramen noodles
1 tablespoon peanut oil
2 garlic cloves, minced
1 cup sweet corn
1 jalapeno, chopped with seeds and ribs removed
2 bok choy or 1 cup cabbage, cut into thin slices lengthwise
4 scallions, chopped
1/2 cup soy sauce
1/2 head of iceberg lettuce, thinly sliced

1. Bring water to a boil in a large pot. Add the noodles and boil until al dente, about three minutes. Drain, reserving the liquid.

2. Heat the oil in a sauté pan. Add the garlic, corn, and jalapeno and sauté until the garlic is golden, about 2 minutes, then add the bok choy and scallions and sauté another 2 minutes. Add the cooked noodles, soy sauce, and half of the reserved cooking liquid. Toss well.

3. Transfer the noodles to a large bowl. Top with iceberg lettuce and peanut sambal and serve.

Peanut Sambal
Makes 2 cups

3 tablespoons olive oil
2 garlic cloves, minced
Grated zest and juice of 1 lime
Grated zest and juice of 1 lemon
1 tablespoon soy sauce
1 cup roughly chopped peanuts
1 small red onion, chopped
1 large tomato, cut into 1/2-inch dice, or 1 cup canned diced tomatoes
1 chili pepper, ribs and seeds removed, finely chopped
4 basil leaves, finely chopped
1 tablespoon chopped parsley

1. Heat the olive oil in a small sauté pan over medium heat. Add the garlic, lime zest, and lemon zest and sauté until the garlic is golden, about 2 minutes.

2. Add the soy sauce and stir well to combine. Transfer to a large bowl and stir in the peanuts, onion, tomato, chili, basil, lime juice, lemon juice, and parsley. Serve warm, or store in a tightly covered container in the refrigerator for up to 1 week.

Transparency.

2009-02-27T01:03:00.000-05:00

I have just changed the animal hero from this to the Macropinna microstoma. Just in case you didn't know: IT CAN SEE THROUGH ITS OWN HEAD. Maybe we should give the Bald Eagle a break and make it our mascot for a while. It's something I can really rally behind.

Thank you, Zooillogix for posting. And thank you, Amy, for having the good sense to share it.

Mistakes Were Made

2009-02-21T00:05:00.000-05:00

It's all about the paradigm shifts, which, as I taught my freshman composition students, completely determines our perception of the world. It's like we have this box and when we learn something, we stack it neatly in that box. And when we learn that the box itself was faulty, it's earth-shattering. Or at least mind-blowing. Because what do you do with all that stuff put so nicely in that box, now in pieces, and is now flopping on your epistemological floor like a fish flopping out of water?

I know. Mind blown.

So just imagine my predicament when, sitting in my car after listening to the news, a very vital piece of information clicked in my mind.

See, I had heard for weeks about Rod Blagojevich's bad decision to sell Obama's now-vacant Senate seat. And though I was dismayed with the rest of the country at his audacity, I couldn't understand why everyone was so intent on such a severe punishment. To me, the crime was stupid, but not so extreme. I mean, how was he planning on getting the seat out of the building anyway? At night? Was he seriously thinking he could do it without being caught?

You see, for a moment I had forgotten the metaphorical nature of language. Not the seat; the seat. There were bombs going off in my mind like they were set to go off in a row, triggered to go off at that mment.

So many more things started making sense. I mean, look at that hair; I should have known. That's not the hair of a furniture smuggler. No, with that shape and mauxy, it has to be a bribing conspirator. Think of all the things he could hide in that kind of body.

For more mistakes, visit my dear friends at This American Life.

Glory of Love

2009-02-13T04:46:00.000-05:00

This one is in honor of Valentine's Day, a holiday which has increasingly made less and less sense as I have grown older.

When I was in elementary school, Valentine's Day fit the main characteristic of a kid-approved, really awesome holiday: candy. Those conversation hearts (kinda taste what I imagine flavored chalk to taste like), the chocolate hearts, the red and pink M&Ms, the heart-shaped suckers.

But somewhere along the line it turned into something like the Tough Guy Challenge they hold annually February 1st, on South Perton Farm, near Wolverhampton, England. I mean, these guys have to run through fire. They have to swim in a freezing cold stream, under barges, and through mud. They have to climb walls. And I don't think it's a coincidence that it's on the first of February. They had to prepare somehow.

And for a while I had adopted all the reasons why people hate Valentine's Day: it's designed make single people feel inadequate; it puts unrealistic expectations for people who are in a relationships; it's an exploitation of love; etc.

But you know what *cue any orchestral music if you want* the truth is that I love love. And though I'd rather not have my love sold to the highest heart-shaped-chocolate bidder, I love that my mother just sent a bouquet of flowers. And I love that my sister got my heart themed underwear for V-Day when I was 22. And I love that when I was in 5th grade I made a Valentine's mailbox out of a cardboard cut in the shape of a gorilla.

There are lots of reasons to feel cynical. We beat each other up out there. We feel lonely and unloved and unwanted. But I guess I think the answer is more love, not less. I think that we could all do with a day in which we pass around notes letting each other know that we care. And give out hearts that say Fax Me, and mean it. And buy flowers for people that matter to us and spend too much time making cupcakes with pink frosting and brownies on top. Because if I learned one thing from the hit movie Radio, it's that it's never a mistake to care.

Love and Dots

2009-02-06T10:45:00.000-05:00

When I left my house this morning I never thought that I would come home to June the Dog. How could I have known? And yet, there she was! So cute and so loving this Red Dot that her owner, Brittany, bought a couple months ago that lets her run down June's energy without the 2 hour walks that they used to take.

I just hope that one day, some how, I end up loving something as much as she loves this dot.

Learning to Love You.

2009-01-29T17:48:00.000-05:00

Or not you. But things. Learning to love things. About life, yes, but mostly about food.

Like these delicious animal crackers I buy at Ward's on 23rd in the bulk bins. They are the most amazing combination of sweet and not-too-sweet. And the consistency! Oh, the consistency! They crunch so perfectly; not too soft, but not stale or hard. Like Goldilock's dream world.

That right there is an elephant, I'm pretty sure. And I know you can't see it, but surely you can see the joy and love on my face, and that should be enough.

I have also returned to a former love of mine: fizzy water. It's that stuff you buy in the big bottles for, like, 94 cents and has all that artificial sugar in it. But it's sooo good. I mean, no calories, no fat, no sodium, nothing to worry about (except for possible cancer from all of those oddly named chemicals). Because sometimes I just need some bang! crack! pow! against the back of my throat without buying actual soda. My favorite kind right now is raspberry blackberry. You know, I gotta get my daily servings of fruit. And my fizzy water is, after all, naturally flavored.

How I Made a Great Decision

2009-01-28T01:32:00.001-05:00

Today I was caught between several competing and unbearable truths. I knew that, one, I was more thirsty that I have ever been in my life. Like, head pounding, eyes bulging, my tongue swelling and scratching my coarse lips. I also knew, however, that I was in the middle of a three hour lecture and pinned on the far side of the lecture table with confining wooden seats and 6 people standing in the way between me and the door.

Everyone else had water bottles in front of them, glinting in the fluorescent light as if the mist surrounding a unicorn drinking from the Fountain of Youth. Someone would occasionally take a sip and let a drop or two slip out the sides of their mouths and casually wipe it off with the back of their hands. Wasting such a precious gift. Those fools.

I also knew this: drinking water from a bottle of unknown origin is generally considered both socially improper and mostly disgusting. But also this: the Aquafina

bottle sitting behind me under a chair looked too pure and loving to ever do me harm. It was 32 ounces of enticing life-giving liquid, seemingly placed there by the gods.

I couldn't say no.

And I didn't.

Regrets=0.

Chance of a contagious disease=2-3.

When I Remember that America is So Awesome

2009-01-26T00:57:00.000-05:00

I think the pinnacle of any musician's career has to be entering into the mainstream enough to be covered by Chuck E. Cheese. I mean, this is just gold. Now if only I could get Mitzi to do Dolly Parton's "Here I Go Again."

Thank you, Amy, for the creative direction.

Thing You Should Know Before You Go to a Judas Maccabees Oratorio OR Things I Did Not Know Before Going to a Judas Maccabees Oratorio

2009-01-24T10:18:00.000-05:00

1. When the conductor makes a joke about being less nervous in 3 hours, he's joking about being nervous but not about the 3 hours.

2. The fact that there are two intermissions should clue you in to the fact that you should have brought more snacks. And you should also consider that the conductor might cancel the 2nd intermission, you know, the one you planned on sneaking out during, so you'll have to just leave while they are actually performing.

3. When they praise Handel for composing such a complex piece in such a short amount of time, they don't take into consideration the classic freshman composition strategy to fill a lot of space with little time: repeat yourself over and over. Just because the text in the program note is only 3 lines, doesn't mean the soloist won't sing it 30 times.

December 18th? Wha?

2008-12-18T17:13:00.000-05:00

In an attempt to get in a Christmasy mood even though I have been focussing on not doing final projects until the last possible moment, I have been listening to the Hotel Cafe's Christmas album, which is awesome. Ingrid Michaelson's Winter Song is especially delicious. Priscilla Ahn also does an amazing version of Silent Night.

Now I just need to find a Saved By the Bell or Fresh Prince of Bell Air Christmas special or something.

The Point At Which You've Had Enough

2008-12-08T18:20:00.000-05:00

I think we can all sympathize with Pinky. He clearly doesn't want to be where ever these people are making him be, he's sick of trying to look cute all the time, and sometimes wearing a leash just isn't an option. And his name is Pinky. So he goes crazy; sue him. Sometimes, enough is enough.

How My Life Just Got to Be Amazing OR Having Friends that Know Us Well.

2008-12-03T01:46:00.000-05:00

In order to understand the moment that I am having right now you have to also understand the position I put myself in every week. You see, my seminars are on Monday and Tuesday nights, respectively. And I also spend all day Tuesday teaching class. So you'd think that on Wednesday, Friday, or Saturday, when I don't have anything else to do, I would be ravenously reading the sometimes 600 pages that I have to read for the following week. But no. I don't.

Instead I sit on my bed with one of the readings in front of me taking two, maybe three naps. Or checking my email a million times. Sometimes I even do productive things like call my car insurance company in tears because they are trying to suck the life (read "money") out of me or write friends' personal statements to get into medical school. The list is really rather long. As long as it has to do absolutely nothing with school, I'm game.

So when Monday morning comes and I realize that I have to read and respond to a thick, boring, dense book by 7.00 that night and then both teach on Tuesday and read whatever text on Caribbean culture I have put off to the last minute, I get this little buzzing in the back of my head that grows and grows while I dedicate the next 48 hours to insane, and probably illegal, amounts of productivity and efficiency. Which means that Tuesday night, after I get out of class at 10.00, I generally want to scream very angry things at basically anyone I happen to meet.

And because I told a dear friend about this predicament and even though he should probably just lecture me on time management and rational work patterns, he sent me what

he called the "Tuesday Evening Rejuvenation Project." It included two Twix bars, two Ghirardelli chocolate bars, pizza money, and not only Step Up, but Step Up to the Streets. And if that isn't a recipe for the most amazing night in the entire world, I don't like your cookbook.

So, yes, I have already brushed my teeth. And yes, it's 1.30 in the morning. But I am stuffing my face with rich and creamy milk chocolate packed with natural, deep-roasted hazlenuts and will fall asleep to two dancers from two worlds following one dream.

Bless this dear world. Bless it.

Life Lessons I Learned From a (Terrifying) Green Monster

2008-11-24T14:45:00.000-05:00

Just a friendly reminder that vegetables like to party too. Don't leave them out on Thanksgiving; it's just plain rude.

Amore.

2008-11-19T22:25:00.000-05:00

Thanks to a friend, I have fallen in love with Timothy Rabbit. I recommend Science Fiction Demo.

a little sunday evening perspective

2008-11-16T21:58:00.000-05:00

this is what occurred to me tonight when i was trying desperately to focus on reading.

bless the world for producing david bowie.

Bike rides and rain.

2008-11-15T15:09:00.000-05:00

Today I rode my bike to the library even though I had checked the weather report which predicted rain and even though I didn't even need the weather report's opinion because the clouds were swollen and dark. But there two things about Gainesville on game day that you should know: 1) there is a certain contract that all Gators must sign that says you will act like an idiot in the name of Florida football in exchange for the ability to get drunk without any societal repercussions and 2) driving a car is nearly impossible, and finding parking is infinitely more so.

But I guess it didn't matter all that much. Because I wanted to bike. I wanted that kind of simplicity of wheels and chains and sweating from an up-the-hill incline. As I left the library there was that mist-rain, which will always remind me of San Antonio, and instead of waiting for it to blow over I just rode and rode, weaving through Gators tailgating on every inch of campus while listening to the episode on Break-Ups from This American Life. I got home wet and, in the case of my hair, quite wild. Rain was dripping into my mouth mingled with make-up and a little bit of salty perspiration and my bangs were plastered to my forehead.

It was lovely.

Puppies and Love and Large Amount of Time.

2008-11-07T15:29:00.000-05:00

For a while I thought I had lost my soul. Or I think I might have possibly, in fact, lost it. Either way: I found it again here. I can't think of either a bigger waste of time or a way that I could spend it more effectively. And plus, I think I just died from a cute-attack.

Presidential Haikus

2008-11-06T09:39:00.000-05:00

For class we had to write a poem using the voice of a dead person to address a current social situation. I, obviously, would choose Napoleon writing to Barrack O'Bama about the dangers of revolutionary leadership. Bon apetetite.

A Friendly Haiku From Me to You

“Barrack O’bama,”
I can’t help admire your name,
Almost like “Napoleon”

True, it’s like Leon,
As if a gas attendant,
Or a janitor,

But still.

I was defeated
By my favorite tactic
The surprise attack
Of military reserves

Engulfing in fire
Was Russia’s only defense:
Ruin turned Savior.

So watch out for “Hope”
Not to mention your mantra:
“Change.”

You can believe in
Power and deceit and greed.
But not: rev’lution.

Cause I died slowly,
Gradually by poison

Thinking:
Shouldn’t this go the
other way
around?

When the Clouds are Just So.

2008-10-26T00:41:00.000-04:00

The past couple days the clouds have just hung there, trying to sort out exactly how they feel. They don't seem foreboding. Thoughtful, maybe. With a touch of sad. There is this certain feeling that overcomes me when they get this way. It's almost anxiety, but more like nostalgia.

It makes me want to call up the last person whose arm I touched deliberately and make them come to wherever I am so I can place my hand on their elbow or wrist. Just a delicate acknowledgement that there are some distances that can be overcome.

This moment comes from my reunion from my fellow transpacificist, Lia. It was so necessary to just be with someone.

There are a few things about me that you don't know.

2008-10-20T20:50:00.000-04:00

Warning: The following may make me sound really self-centered. If you are judgmental, stop reading. If you aren't sure, ask yourself, "If I saw someone dancing in the middle of the supermarket would I roll my eyes?" If the answer is yes, please think of your five favorite things about me and exit out of my blog (feel free to make things up). If the answer is no, read on.

The other day I was trying to think of a secret that no one knew about me. And I kept on coming up with really good ones only to realize that at least 1 person knew it. So I kept on trying. But no. There is nothing about me that no one knows. It's just that I love to talk about me. Which makes me sound like something awful and narcissistic except that I love to talk about anyone, but since I know myself best, that's just who I talk about. I feel like I should be quoting a teeny-bopper movie right now. But I'm not. It's just me.

For instance, I LOVE surveys. Like those annoying calls about favorite radio station and people just say "I'm not interested." To which the interviewer pleads: "But I will get you a free mug with Tim and Willy's faces on it!" *Click*. But no, I do not need inducement. They probably think I'm being super sarcastic and ironic in my whole-heartedness. But I love the questions! So probing! I feel like answering these questions adds to this self-knowledge that I hadn't considered. "I don't know what candy bar I identify with, but what a great existential question! Let me think about that..." It's like a check to make sure that I am still me. And I love reading them about other people and seeing what they say. Even if I don't know these people, I feel this strange glow of joy to realize that they prefer Ethel to Lucy. No, you can't possibly prefer cats over dogs! Your favorite color is ORANGE?! I just love it.

Also, I would tell anything to just about anyone. Sometimes I need to force myself to remember that my version of what is "personal" is very different from other people's versions, and I need to stop myself from asking people I just meet things like "What is your biggest flaw?" or "What do you think keeps you from having healthy relationships?" Because if someone asked that of me, I would sit them down and analyze my life in detail. I just love it.

But here are 5 things that you may not know about me, but probably just because we haven't had the time to talk about it yet.

1. I swish liquids in my mouth before swallowing. My entire family does it, except for my mom and it drives her drazy.

2. I get irrationally angry when I drive. Especially when I'm lost. I will yell and scream, and tell people that I don't know that I hate them. And, at least for the time that I am in the car, actually mean it.

3. I like to cut my own bangs. I try to stop because I know that my cheap scissors will only bring split-ends and accompanying heart-ache. But I can't stop! I must chop! Which is also when I saw my dear friend Lia this weekend when she was touring Walt Disney World with her dear family, I made her cut my hair. She was weary about doing her first hair cut. But I insisted. This picture is in Sepia, which everyone knows make it more classy.

4. I like salty foods better than sweet foods. I mean, sure, I like me some good old fashioned chocolate every so often. But chips and dip, I can't resist. And cheese? I think it's single-handedly the reason why I could never be vegan. So sad.

5. I am in love with cardigans. Even when it was in the nineties with 150% humidity hear in Florida, I insisted on wearing them. Even when girls are wearing bikini tops to school, I will probably have a sweater on. Even if I just take it with me and put it on the moment I step inside.

So please, indulge me. I am desperate to know something about you that people may not know. (See, I like talking about other people too!)

Diet me right.

2008-10-15T23:01:00.000-04:00

I am going to tell you up front: right now I want to puke.

Let me paint this picture for you. This morning I ate an apple and a bowl of delicious Smart Start strawberry mini-wheats. Hours go by, I get busy, I don't eat. Fast forward until Will Watson and I are watching Labyrinth as a reward for him passing his qualifying exams for his PhD program without killing himself or someone else. And then imagine us devouring not one but TWO bags of popcorn and six fun-size candy bars. It reminded me of all the times that Amy and I would pretend that we were going to buy a medium-sized popcorn until we got the front of the concession stand of innumerable movie theatres across this great nation and shouted, almost in unison, "Maybe we should get the large!" And then we'd devour the entire bag and fill it back up again (I love free refills) before the movie starts.

Or maybe that one time that Amy, Marc, and I during our first week in DC pulled up to a McDonald's (I know, disgusting, right?) just to order some fries. Maybe a small sprite. After a flourish of shouts and employing several stock trading techniques involving finger signs, looks of desperation, and pleas, we pulled out with 3 large bags packed with fries, chicken nuggets, and burgers. Not to mention three large drinks. I think that week was Marc's first (of many) attempts of being a vegetarian.

Or maybe how last Saturday I survived on only baked pumpkin seeds (so good). Or yesterday night when, after spending 3 hours in class analyzing zombie films, gorging on chocolate that Amanda had sent me in a Always Remember the FBC package. Or the first three weeks in Gainesville when I ate nothing but triskets and cheese.

Sometimes, in fact, I do not know how my body is surviving. It's probably those generic Tums that my dad is making me take for calcium or the few moments when I see fresh fruit and devour it on the spot. Or maybe, this nutrition is harvesting on my insides. And one day, when it's least convenient, my body will rebel. I look wearily towards that day, with apprehension in one hand and a Hershey's candy bar in the other.

Sufjan! Banjo! Love!

2008-10-13T17:06:00.001-04:00

Walking down the street, unabashedly.

2008-10-10T00:34:00.000-04:00

I love that people can make doing something they love seem so easy. And so lovely.

What it Means that it is Cold Outside

2008-10-03T13:14:00.000-04:00

It might have something to do with the fact that my name in Chinese, my friend Tiger once told me, means "Fall Mist"--an extravagantly elegant name--or maybe somewhat to do with that You've Got Mail starts in New York's fall, but autumn is decidedly my favorite season.

My friend, Amanda, pointed me towards this essay on how the arrival of celery signals for the author the the death of summer and onset of fall. And it made me think of an email I sent to a friend about how I love fall. I said:

"This morning when I opened the door to my apt and I felt the cold air I could have cried it was so beautiful. The humidity had been so alienating and had been dragging out summer's oppressive heat on and on [...] because I love fall and I love that first moment of the year that I step out and see my breath. I love to see leaves dying but determined to be beautiful. I love to see the world turning sad and hopeful; melancholy, I call it. Fall is my favorite season because it isn't afraid to be sad. It can take tragedy under its expansive arms, gathering it up like leaves deep red and orange."

I said that I didn't know quite how to balance being sad with being okay, but I did know this: "Today was cold, and I put on my grey cardigan and thought of how the wind blew that smell of decaying leaves into my face. It like a prayer being answered."

It's so foreign to think that it was a year ago that I moved to DC, a period of my life that kinda seems now like it didn't happen because it was so magical and so monumental to only be a year. And it's weird to remember that a year ago I was driving down the GW Parkway gasping at the beauty of decay and then wandering around Central Park when Amy and I decided to take a late notice Chinatown bus from Philly to New York over Thanksgiving.

I love that even in it's small ways Fall is trying to reach me in Gainesville. Even if it's just a burst of cold wind or roadside stands selling pumpkins or Halloween decorations hanging in windows. Because, after all, I fall for fall.

Yeah. Oh yeah.

2008-10-02T20:22:00.001-04:00

I am so excited for the Palin vs. Biden debate. I know how that sounds. It makes it sound like I'm a political junkie and I like nerdy things like debates and rhetoric. You are 1/2 right. I love me some good anaphora; I still hate politics. But man, this is going to be SO GOOD.

And just to help me out while I'm waiting:

Thank you, Thelma.

V.I.C.T.O.R.Y.

2008-09-30T23:46:00.001-04:00

Tonight's theme was unheralded victories (soon to be heralded victories). The nature of these feats were that I couldn't share them with anyone at the time, which means that I didn't credit, and man, that just ain't gonna fly. So, here, for you to praise me, are my victories in chronological order.

1. I know, I know, I should bus to class. Even though that means that I have to walk a mile from and then to the bus stop, which means that I have to leave an hour early and then take an hour longer to get home. Because the environment is worth the sacrifice.

But I don't. I ride my neon and I spend the money on gas which I should be spending on citrus to avoid scurvy. And since there are other Gators who similarly disregard our duty to mother nature, it's hard to find a parking spot sometimes. So today I was driving along and spied a spot on the street that people kept on passing up because they thought they couldn't fit. But luckily for me, my one and only true talent is parallel parking. So I turned on my hazards and whipped into that baby like a hand slipping into a finely pressed glove. But I was by myself. No one to say, "Wow, you did a great job" or "They should really make this an Olympic sport or an exhibit at the Harn Museum of Modern Art."

2. Long story made short: I didn't do my reading for class. I mean, I did some. But only a token portion. I didn't even print off the 100 page excerpt. Didn't even pretend. Which wouldn't be so bad if there weren't 7 people in my class and I usually didn't assert my opinion so consistently. So my teacher kept on asking me what I thought and what I focussed on in the readings, and I had to resort to my best deceit. And it worked. True, I didn't understand what I or anyone else was saying, which means that this could be considered a non-victory, but stop focussing on the bad, Negative Nancy, it was a victory.

3. Due to the combined fact that Florida is humid and I don't usually drink water, I am always dehydrated. Which means that I have fainted numerous times in the past couple months. And not that I don't like to play the distressed damsel, but I have been trying to drink more water. Tonight during class, I started guzzling water and cranberry juice that my professor brought, and it shot through me faster than a racecar. So during the break, I went to the bathroom like an adult. Except that five minutes into the second half of class, I had to go again. I thought I could hold it; after all, I'm 24 years old, not two. But the last 1/2 hour of class when we broke into pairs to do presentations, I realized at a certain point, needing to pee has no age limit. Alas, it was too late. It was our turn to present and I had to focus on a) keeping myself together and b) sounding like I had read, processed, and analyzed the text. And then the other group started, and I couldn't leave! It would be rude! So I held it. And suffered. At 9.55 when my teacher started to ramble on about Haitian efforts of nationalism during US occupation, I thought I was going to pass out. Or die. My eyes started to well up and I engaged in so many psychological battles Freud would have had a heart-attack. When Dr. Rosenburg began to mouth the words "See you"--at which point I was already at the door--"next week," I felt like I had passed through some fiery furnace of grown-up-ness.

Budget killed the Cat. Or at least Morale.

2008-09-26T09:52:00.001-04:00

For the past 2 months during my return to graduate school, I have realized that while my spending habits have not decreased, my compensation has. And although I have known that I need to make a budget, I have also known that it would make me depressed and I would probably quit grad school to be a billing manager at good ole FBC. And no ones wants that. (Well, except maybe for Mark and Pablo, because they miss me soooooo much.)

But I figured I'm already too far into it that my moral conscience would keep me from bailing out so this morning I crunched some numbers. And, consequently, my soul.

After rent, utilities, and gas, I have $4.02 per day to live off of. And since that doesn't include food, I'm going to have relive that period of my life when I survived on rice and cabbage. A kind of budget-induced diet. So if you have extra protein, throw a girl a bone. No, literally. Throw me a bone with meat on it. That kind of nutrition has become out of my socio-economic ability.

This is the only thing that's keeping me alive. Let's hope the Beatles are right and I can survive on love.

Week of Rock.

2008-09-24T11:26:00.000-04:00

Yesterday, a hard-core beast was born. True, I usually listen to a cutesy stream of hand-clap and organ ridden love songs, but I yesterday I had a revelation. And that revelation was Rock. No, not The Rock, although I never say no to a little Dwayne Johnson. But electric guitar break-down, thudding base lines, and crashing drum-set rock. And the longer the hair and tighter the jeans the more awesome the band.

I think it really started last Friday night when my roommate, Cynthia, and I accidentally watched a 15 minute infomercial for a 9 CD of the greatest rock songs ever recorded. That's 153 songs for $119.96. If you're impressed now, imagine our excitement at 3.30 AM. I haven't been so excited about anything in a long time. And sure I was laughing at the gushing testimonials, but it planted in my heart a seed. And that seed has grown into a beautiful, hard-core Rock tree.

Last night while I was grading a series of letters for my technical writing class, I created a Pandora station based on Queen. Let's just say: Pink Floyd, The Police, Led Zepplin, Scorpions, Duran Duran, Rush, Van Halen, and more. And when Under the Bridge came on, I knew I had made a really, really good decision.

And in honor of the Week of Rock I have changed my ringtone to Back in Black, which basically means that when a wrong number called me at 5.30 this morning I couldn't be too angry. Waking up to the dulcet tones of AC/DC sure takes off the edge.

Not only is this song awesome, this slide presentation is so amazing I could cry. I especially like the black and while picture it uses to demonstrate a woman crying.

Google.Life

2008-09-12T13:48:00.000-04:00

Right now, I am incapable of making any other decision in my life besides listening to Nivea's Don't Mess With My Man over and again. But they keep on coming. What are you going to wear today? When are you getting out of bed? Are you going to be a good environmentalist and take the bus today even though it will take you an hour longer to get to school or are you going to be lazy and drive? Does your inability to cope with the humidity symbolize your inability to cope with graduate school and should you quit and follow your old plan to become a glass blower at Chihuly's factory?

I know that technically I'm supposed to be an adult, but I think I missed something along the way. Like a class entitled "How to Make Life Decisions Without Going Crazy." It's like that nightmare that I forgot to go to a class on American poetry all semester and when the final came around the only poem I could remember was the good ole The Star-Spangled Banner. I mean, I ended up winging it, probably talking about how imagery reinforces nationalism or something. But still.

I have been thinking about it, and I think it's time that Google respond to the market's response to Google.Maps. I know, personally, that Google.Maps revolutionized the way I travel, with crisp directions and loving clarity. It tells you when and where to turn, how long it will take, and puts it into perspective both in relation to the turns before and after and in context of the end goal. Like Jason Bourne leading me delicately and urgently through a crowded metro station. (I still insist that this (depend)ability is his sexiest feature.)

Now I just have to wait not-so patiently until Google adds another field at the top of the page: Life. Simply type in where you are and where you like to be, and voila!: decisions. Imagine the beauty of an e-Life Coach. Infallible. Clear. Precise. Un-messy. Turn here, wait there. And it would allow you to try out several different life goals, see where each would take you, so you could make an informed decision and never have to think "what if I had..."

Please, Google, I need you. I'm still in bed and I don't have a clue what to wear. Don't fail me now.