Realistic Fear

I won't take the time to explain why this is so other than I have watched both "30 Days of Night" and "The Strangers" recently, but, I am more realistically - that's right, really for realsies - afraid vampires chasing after me than I am afraid of people who come to my house and try to kill me.

Go figure.

Mormons & Semantics

A few weeks ago, I was sitting in SUU's food court talking with a few of my favorite people. Of course, the reason they are some of my favorites is because they are geeks who think about language as much as I do. I don't remember the exact flow and meanderings of the conversation, but I said/thought, "Oh. Wow. The Church is actually worried about semantics."

A comforting thought to me personally, indeed. 

My mom has been attending church with me recently and as we were sitting through a mundane high councilor speak about flying or something, my mom leaned over and asked, "What do you think of this?"

She held in her had a ward directory and was pointing to the title of the column, which read "Head of House and Spouse."

My immediate response was, "Yeah. That's not the doctrine of the Church." My second reaction was indignation for three reasons. 

One. As I recalled at the time, "The Family: A Proclamation to the World" definitely sets forth criteria for equality in marriage - in my mind, this includes labels. 

Two. There are many single parent families in the Church where a mother or father may be a head of the house with no spouse. 

Three. My brother is listed by himself on that sheet. Who, oh who, would a ward member contact in our house if my brother is neither head of house or spouse? I can already feel the anxious confusion of literal-minded ward member needing to contact someone in our home.

(Here I shall digress for a moment, but hopefully, I will come full circle.) My habit, as much as I hate to admit it, is to let things I get worked up about go without much of a mention. If I'm really upset or annoyed, I try to calm down... and usually by the time I do, I decide not to say anything so that I can spare feelings. 

But with my mom by my side and my semester of feminist studies, I decided to say something. (Alas, I did have to say something to an old white guy, but a very kind one at that :D.) I used my sweetest voice possible and mustered as much Christlike love as I possibly could and spoke to a member of the bishopric. 

Though I know he didn't really see the problem, he took time to listen. Though the wording of ward lists may not change today, some day it will change as either people grow or members of a certain generation move on to the next adventure (morbid? Yes. But it's true.) I don't know if anything will change,  but I felt, for the first time in a while, like an effective member of the Church. Nothing has been accomplished in this particular denomination without asking questions or trying to move forward in understanding - and for that, I am grateful. 

Now. My last little semantic thought for the day/ridiculously early morning hour. I re-read "The Family" a few minutes ago and I AM struck by the extraordinarily thoughtful nature of the wording. I don't understand all of the contents and I am learning about others, but much thought was put into this document. 

Unlike scripture, women are actively referred to in this text. Every time man is mentioned, so is woman - and this makes my heart happy. The authors specifically state, "...fathers and mothers are obligated to help one another as equal partners."

There it is - equal. I know that not everything can be divided into clear cut groups, but men and women are meant to be equals in life because God's Plan identifies requirements for eternal life as such. 

Now. As much as I'd love to say I have no questions about the document, one thing remains and this is where I will leave you, dear reader. When setting forth the criteria for the roles men and women play, the authors state, "By divine design, fathers are to preside over their families in love and righteousness and are responsible to provide the necessities of life and protection for their families. Mothers are primarily responsible for the nurture of their children."

I understand that there are different responsibilities to be had in life and that personalities and genetic hard wiring play a vital role in that (and I am in no way advocating that mothers be "required" to stay home while fathers bring home the bacon - the authors later recommend prayerful consideration of such matters and decisions.) 

My question resides in the use of one word - preside. If we are supposed to be equals, what does "preside" mean?

Does it mean that a father needs to understand that the best way for a mother to nurture her children is not to be home all day? Does it mean that mothers are not equal in the presidency of the home? Or, is there something I'm missing?

Nothing Right

Do you ever have those times when you feel like a complete and utter loss as a human being? 

I thought I was done feeling this way in regards to teaching this past semester as I had turned in my grades on December 17th. Oh, nay nay. I checked my e-mail this morning, after a 6 and a 1/2 hour grueling campaign to beat the Germans and Japanese in Call of Duty 4, and found a message from one of my students questioning the grade received. 

I immediately had that not so fresh feeling and rifled through my grade book and found I had shorted all of my students 50 points, or 5% of their grades. Luckily, my mistake only changes a few grades, so I can save some face... but not all of it. 

This, of course, after I had to admit to 5 students I had lost their papers about a month ago. 

What shall I do, you may ask? Well, I shall not worry about it at 3 am and I shall deal with it in the morning, contacting the very same bosses to tell them I've made yet another boo-boo.

Why? Why am I an idiot? And why, for the love of everything good and pure, can I NOT do math?

The Economy Scares the Hell Outta Me

It's been a couple of weeks since the $700 billion dollar bailout fellow-Americans (I think, but I really don't want to go find the exact date right now.) When I get on MSN.com, which is pretty much everyday, I am chagrined, nervous, and disappointed when I see that the DOW and NASDAQ continue to appear in red numbers - a color that should not be associated with the economy everyday.

The purpose for this post... well, there are many purposes. For me, the economy is like politics is like a bad, awkward date - I close my eyes, continue to not acknowledge it's effects on me, and pray to God someone better will come along and fix it. The economy scares the hell outta me because I don't know anything about it, or how it will effect me. I've been content to not know and have foolishly believed that many people on Wall-Street were working for the greater good. I don't have much money in savings accounts and money market mutual funds, so how could I really be affected? But, there comes a time when a woman must grow some ova and step up to understand her surroundings and how current events are shaping her future. (Grburbank reminded me of this in my comments a few posts back.)

If you want to become more well-versed in the current economic crisis AND know where to put your blame, here are a two links I found very, very helpful:

This American Life's "Another Frightening Show About the Economy"

This episode, about 58 minutes long (just click on the "full-episode" button), succinctly explains who is to blame (both Repbulicans and Democrats and all the people in-between), what these crazy "credit-default swaps" are, and other useful information, like what you can be doing for yourself. Listening to this podcast really, really helped make me aware and more educated - plus, you should just listen to TAL because it's amazing and free.

New York Times "Wall Street Bailout Plan Q and A"

This is a pretty short article, and doesn't have all the snazz that TAL does, but it explains some pretty big concepts.

Now. Can I rant? Yes. Yes I can. Although I still don't understand all the problems in the economy and have surely forgotten some things since I listened to TAL's podcast, I do get some things - like why John McCain and Barack Obama should shut up and stop pointing fingers and provide solutions because BOTH of their parties are to blame. On top of that, we, as contributors to the economy, need to step up and take some blame too. For far too long, Americans have lived on credit, lived beyond their means, - like buying houses that are too big, too expensive, and take up too many natural resources - and gambled with money on what has to be a "sure thing." There ain't no thang as a sure thang and this current crisis is a wake up call to that.

Who else is upset that this bailout is based on our tax money? That's right, the government, who does not get involved with public entities and private corporations, is using our money to save CEO's and fat cats who used too much credit - a basically non-existent form of exchange - to buy more and more and then crashed and burned? I'm pissed. Then to top that off, everyone says it's going to get worse before it gets better and if we, as "the small American", haven't really felt the effects yet, what's going to happen in a few months or years? I really don't want to think about it.

(Other things that bother me right now - why does the government have to buy stocks in companies? Socialism anyone? Why do we only have TWO options for president? Shouldn't we have more, well-backed party supported candidates? Silly anyone? Why do I keep getting fever blisters? Am I that stressed? Bah!)

So, if you've read this far, please take time to educate yourself - the act of doing so is empowering, even though it can feel like a risk. If you're an economist or smart business person or smarter or more educated than I am person who's read this far, please give feedback.

Backstage Passes

Tonight I went to my first ska concert. Ever. This is weird because I'm quite the concert goin' fool and I've loved ska since high school. Oh, the days when all the kids would dance to "Dopeman" by Less Than Jake seem so long ago. 

Anyways, that is not the point of this little post. The point is - I got to be backstage and I've never been backstage before either.

I've always envied those backstage people who are coyly hanging out on the wings of the stage waiting for the band to end. I assumed that those lucky people are kickin' it with the band and having far more romantic and adventurous lives than I will ever lead. 

I have to tell you, as I stood on the wings of the stage tonight, half hidden by the lights and and curtains, I felt so freaking cool. That's right. Cool. Perhaps I understand the appeal of being the guard at the panopticon, or perhaps I've just paid my concert dues and made it to where the cool kids hang out, but I'd definitely love to be backstage again... especially at the Bouncing Souls concert I'm going to in a few weeks.

The Mad Caddies surely know how to rock the house and be attractive at the same time. Thanks, Cynthia! for my first ska/backstage experience all in one.

Here's a video from the Mad Caddies if you like ska or just want to know what you've been missing out on; the next video is from my most favorite ska band, The Killing Moon. If you have any suggestions on sweet trumpeting bands I'm missing out on, please let me know!

Breast Cancer Capitolism

As most of you good citizens know, October is Breast Cancer Awareness month - yes the month of pink ribbons, pink bracelets, and sometimes, pink t-shirts. Now, as a disclaimer for what follows, I in no way mean to disrespect cancer victims, survivors, or research, nor do I mean to implicate my criticisms in conjunction with the loss or heartache someone experiences when they, or a loved one, deals with cancer. However, this month, I am upset, irritated, and tired of seeing pink whenever I walk into Target.

Let me start from the beginning. My family has a long history of cancer. Two of my uncles have died from skin cancer and numerous other family members, including my mom and grandpa, have dealt with benign to malignant types of cancer. Cancer has been a big part of my life, and it is something that I worry about anytime one of us gets a terrible sunburn.

A few weeks ago, an officemate, whom I love and adore, brought a pink Breast Cancer awareness oven timer to work. My other officemate and I remarked on how neat it was, and remembered that it was time to kick off our own cancer awareness. (The oven timer was eventually going to be used in class for timing activities.) 

When I went to Target later that same day, I was struck by the vastness of Target's Breast Cancer awareness, even though it was only late September. There were pink brooms and cleaning supplies, pink pots and oven mitts, pink purses, totes, and manicure sets, pink egg beaters, even pink Brita water filters.

This is when my agitation surfaced. Now. I am all for cancer research and raising money, and if this is the only research can get funds, then so be it. But the fine makers of the Brita water filter are most likely not concerned with how many women OR men are helped with their oh-so-altruistic efforts, they are most likely concerned with how many people are paying $24.99 for  a Brita water filter... and the profits reaped therein. Are we really to the point in this country that we believe a company marketing a pink broom really cares about research, or do we understand that a company has decided to tap into a very lucrative market?

I am infuriated to think that just because something pink appears on shelves in October we should buy it because we are "socially aware." (I am equally irritated at the marginalization of all things "going green" because it's good business.)

I will conceit, though, that some of these companies must have a good motive because I know there are many, many good people in the world, but when was the last time a ginormous corporation cared about one person, let alone a minority of people suffering from a disease. Doesn't the recent $700 billion dollar bailout speak volumes about the actual concerns of fat cats?

And let me get back to this broom business, because like hell I'm done ranting. A quick search on Target.com for "breast cancer" yielded 115 results. After the fifth page of results, I ran across what I would define as five - 5 - "male gendered" products, including pink gardening shears, a pink tool set, and a Madden Football game with pink packaging compared to the 15 other results per page dealing with womanly products. How does a "Fox Run Breast Cancer Awareness Baking Set" for $14.99 help people become aware of the fact that breast cancer is an unyielding beast?! Why are most of the products geared towards stereotypical, archaic women's roles? Men have mothers, sisters, girlfriends, and women in their lives. Can they not be aware? Why do we even have to have pink as the color? Because only girls like pink? Men can get breast cancer. Should they have to identify with a pink ribbon? On that note, why don't we have a Testicular Cancer awareness month? Cancer is not indicative to the female species. Bah!

What I'm really getting at here is that consumers should not feel morally obligated to buy pink products in October OR feel P.C. because they have done so. If people want to contribute to cancer awareness, why not do so directly on web-sites and bypass companies whose main goal is more money in already bulging pockets?

Are we more worried with having a pink broom so that when neighbors come over they see we are "aware," or are we worried about the disease? (I ask myself this question because I really, really wanted the pink pots.) I think that most of us consumers really want to help with cancer research and this may be the only way we know how; these are just recent thoughts on motives for doing so. If you are the person who purchases pink products because you are a good person and know you ARE helping someone, please continue to do so because the world really needs people like you, especially right now.

Any thoughts on this are more than welcome. I would love some feedback... because, really, I could be wrong.

No Longer on the Cusp of an Anxiety Attack

I know. Yay me!!! Right? Life is beginning to even out and I know longer have t

he feeling that suddenly life will implode.

Okay. Long time since my last post. But now I know why C.

 Joe was flustered for much of the past two years. Grad school is tough. I want to cry a lot. I want my mommy and a blankie and the amount of coke slurpees I ingest on a weekly basis has increased since that fateful day I found the Maverick in West Flag.

Here's a quick update on life, as I'm sure in future posts I'll return to those rants you all know and love so well.

Since being in Flagstaff, I've turned into quite the party trick. And no, not that way. I'm quite the Mormon enigma in the English department. Here's a list of things that have been said to me:

"You're Mormon?! But... you seem so sane."

"You're Mormon?! But you dress normal... and you're cute."

"I knew this Mormon once. Yeah... he/she was awful/terrible/judgmental." (To which I responded, "Yeah. Me too.")

"Are you Irish? Oh no. You can't be Irish. You're Mormon."

"Yeah. One time, on Wikipedia, my brother changed all the L.D.S. entries to read L.S.D." (Admittedly, I chuckled at this one, and then used it to show that Wikipedia is NOT a credible source.)

"So how many sister wives do you have?"

"All Mormons do is spawn, Spawn, SPAWN!" (This last one being said in front of my entire Sex, Politics, and Reproduction class. Everyone, including my professor, started laughing. Then it was pointed out that I was Mormon. It was worse than the time I was asked if Mormons have horns.)

Besides all of these comments, and the others like it, stem from ignorance, they have been opportunities for me to stand up for myself and reaffirm my faith. I've been struggling with my membership in the church for about the past year, and it's nice to finally know that I do believe, otherwise, I wouldn't say anything at all. 

I would also like to point out that these thoughtless, unlearned comments are of the minority. Most of my friends, which is why they are labeled thus, are curious and supportive and wonderful. I go out to the bars to socialize and dance, and they buy me drinks in the form of cranberry juice. They understand my informed decisions just like I understand theirs. 

So, here's the part where I break the flow and do a quick rapid fire. 

I haven't liked living in Flag. I have not liked going to school. I miss home and my family. 

I went home this past weekend for the first time in two months. I almost cried when I got to Cedar. Through conversations with wonderful people, I realized that I could either wallow in my pity, or I could do something about it. 

I got back to Flag on Monday, which was my 23rd birthday. I felt refreshed and recharged and ready to apply myself with a new fervor. I only have three semesters left after this one, so I might as well make them worth it. 

When I went out with some friends Monday night to celebrate my exit from my mother's womb, for the first real time since moving here, I felt loved. There's a lovely group of ladies in my program and we lunch every Friday after class. A few of them came out to dinner and it was great. Since I returned, I realized I have not made a wrong decision. I made a decision that put me in a challenging, new position and I must act and adapt instead of react and whine.

The point is this: we may not be in the best of circumstances, but this is it, so why not smile and decide to be happy?

Anyways. Parting shots:

Listen to Explosions in the Sky. The song "Your Hand in Mine" might just change your life.

Spending a birthday at the Dinosaur Museum in Lehi is a fantastic way to celebrate life.

Being a teacher is the best job EVER! Especially when a student tells you you're kick-ass.

I think I like being Mormon.

Kissing is awesome!

Frisco Street Grill is my new, favorite restaurant. Come visit! I'll take you there.

Raft down the Grand Canyon. It's phenomenal. 

Oh, Back to School! Back to School!

With my first day of school outfit hanging on my closet door and my backpack packed, I was far from springing out of bed this morning. A knot in my stomach grew and grew as I willed myself out of bed to be to my office on time. 

I love first days of school. Fall always brings a certain kind of zest and magic into my life that few other seasons do, except for Christmas. Christmas is the bomb dot com. Today was a very different first day of school for me. I don't actually start my student-y classes until tomorrow - Native American Lit - and today, well today was my first day teaching my very own class - ever. 

When I got to my office, I got that not so fresh feeling, you know, like the feeling one gets when missing the last step and crashing into the wall at the bottom of the stairs like an idiot. But the thing was, I had everything done. Syllabus, check. Copies of policies and homework, check. Note cards, check. I was all ready, but I was really not ready.

As the first few students trickled into LA 216, they looked more trepidatious than I felt, and after about two and a half long minutes of them staring expectantly at me, I started my first class - and it was amazing!

I don't know how many details I can share without infringing on the law or something, but I really like this whole teaching bit. I think it's really going to work out for me! Woot Woot!

Who's Long Tim?

Well, I've been gone for a while; it's true, check the dates. The past month or so, I haven't been able to articulate my thoughts on my experiences well enough to merit a post, but I'm feelin' some clarity tonight. First, the Top Ten Things I Did Whilst in Europe:

10. Met Alan Moore

9. Rode the Tube around London

8. Saw Avenue Q - quite literally the funniest musical EVER!

7. Stumbled upon my first Da Vinci painting

6. Got my very own hotel room in Paris three blocks from Notre Dame

5. Tried every new food I possibly could

4. Found out about standardized health care

3. Learned that taking days for myself and sightseeing without anyone else is a great thing to do

2. Went to Evensong at Westminster Abbey

1. I freaking went to Europe, and that is awesome!

Second. I live in Flagstaff now. Crazy, right? Oh, nay nay. Crazy, my friend, is having keys to my office and having a weekly schedule that includes teaching English 1050 Monday through Thursday at 10:20 in Room 216. Crazy is paying $600 dollars a semester for my Master's degree.

The point is, I love being here. I'm totally out of my comfort zone, but I have found my people who do not take the place of my other people, but help me to deal with living in a new state. I'm in the right spot in my life - geographically, chronologically, emotionally, intellectually, and academically - but that's not saying I won't continue to try to improve.

The one thing, dear analytical reader, that is missing from my list is spirituality. This past year has been a difficult for my membership in the church, but I haven't ever doubted that my membership is right and a good thing; I've just had questions, and frankly, I've gotten lazy.

I've come to the realization, once again, that life is totally about balance and I've let certain aspects of my life get out balance, most of which has been my connection with God and spirituality. I was trying to distance myself from the things I don't like about going to church or interacting with members of the church, and I began to turn my back on God.

But, my relationship with God, Jesus Christ, and the Spirit, and my membership in the church has nothing to do with nuisances of church culture or other members. I've learned, through many sources, that I must be Sarah La Rue and that my religious affiliations are through The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints, that my intellectual pursuits help me understand the world and humanity better and more compassionately, that I am an English teacher who loves comic books, Batman, and graphic novels, that I am, always have been, and always been an intellectual and a feminist, and that how I must live is through a balanced existence of all that I am.

Irish Hospitals

Ireland - not entirely sketchy... just the bits in Dublin.

We left to Ireland on Saturday afternoon and flew via Ryanair - a very good, cheap option for flying throughout Europe if you don't mind flight delays on every flight you're on. Anyhoo, since there are lots of people who want to fly cheap, the flights are almost always full. On our flight, I met two very nice English ladies, and one not so nice English lady who didn't cover her mouth when she coughed (I promise this will make sense and tie in.... but I'm kind of hopped up on cold pills...).

Anyways, when we got to Dublin, we took a taxi into town because we didn't really know where our Hostel was located. 27 Euros later we we relieved to find that our Hostel wasn't in the section of Dublin that looked like Compton - instead, we were in the section that looked like regular L.A. The hostel itself though, was very nice. Very attractive Irish blokes at the front - check. 16 bed mixed-sex room - check. Token American girls who made me embarrassed to be American - check.

We walked around the city for about an hour and quickly realized that EVERYBODY bloody smokes there. We even saw 4 12 year-olds craned over a bridge sneaking puffs from a cigarette - gross. Then we went to a traditional Irish pub and I had Shepard's Pie, which was magnificent and got hit on by 3 drunk Irishmen - so neat! Then, to top things off, I saw a crack whore in the bathroom. No. For real. There was a scantly clad woman stuffing small ziploc bags containing white pills into another ziploc bag - sketchy. Then we walked the streets of Dublin and took in the live bands, leprechauns, and more drunk Irishmen.

The next day was wonderful though - we went on a tour to Wicklow, which is in the country. Basically we saw incredible lakes, churches, cemeteries, monasteries, more lakes, and sheep, lots of sheep. While we were hiking around, I noticed a complete lack of energy on my behalf - note the story starting to tie in and the real purpose behind this post :D - and a sore throat coming on.

I am very, very susceptible to strep throat/tonsillitis, hence the woman coughing on the plane would have done well to cover her f****ng mouth. Suffice it to say that by the time we got back at midnight, I could barely speak/breathe. At about 12:30, I had a full-on asthma attack and had to be transported to a hospital in an ambulance - which took longer than a cab to get to our hostel; standardized health care - strike one.

They rushed me right in to see a nurse, but no doctor. My nurse/ the only nurse on staff for the night was a freaking bitch and told me I was having trouble breathing because I forgot my inhaler - yeah. People who forget inhalers regularly throw up when struggling to breathe. She also repeatedly told me to calm down, which I was trying to do, but you know, not breathing for almost a minute is somewhat scary... crazy, right? Anyways, after a breathing treatment, I was told to go wait to see the doctor. It took FIVE FREAKING HOURS!!! Standardized health care - strikes two and three.

When I finally saw a doctor, she basically told the nurse to be nicer to me because I was obviously in respiratory distress and also had tonsillitis. Lame. After another breathing treatment, blood tests, and chest x-rays, I was finally released at about 6:30 in the morning.

There were many more exciting details, but suffice it to say, the last third of my time spent in Ireland was not fun - at all. I've been down and out for the past few days, but am finally feeling a little better today. We're going to Stratford Upon-Avon tomorrow and I'll be seeing Avenue Q tomorrow night, but I missed Stonehenge and am super sad about having to "rest" whilst in Europe. Friday we're headed to Paris and Barcelona, so hopefully this cold won't be any more of a nuisance.

Sorry about the rant/extended blog, but I'm kind of whiny right now. Overall, Ireland = fun; Irish hospitals = shame on you.

2 Days of Update

These are the e-mails to my parents from the last few days - sorry, I'm just so flippin' worn out!

July 14 -15

Yesterday - I went on walking tour of Shakespeare's London - amazing! We took a boat ride, saw the Globe, saw the place of the original Globe and other neat theatres, learned amazing facts - about roles, box offices, and the word "addiction" - strolled about a quaint street in London, and ate at the oldest pub in London - fish and chips, woot woo! - with some ginger ale. Note: do not go into a bar in London and ask for something non-alcoholic - the people will shame you. We also ate gelatto along the river Thames. Next we toured Westminister Abbey - PHENOMINAL!!!!!!! The energy was so strong from the hundreds of years of people and events. The paintings and architecture were fabulous. I teared up a time or two. Then, we went to a swanky little place and had tea, and I tried duck rolls, yum!, and then went back to the abbey to attend an evening service. It was, again, phenominal. They read from St. James and a choir sang. They sounded like angels and their voices filled the entire abbey. It was so moving. The last bit of the day was spent at the Globe - we saw "A Mid-Summer Night's Dream." We were "groundlings" which consisted of standing and watching the play. The play was the best production of that particular play I've ever seen, hiliarious! and dirty, but I was nearly in tears by the end because my feet hurt soooooooo badly. Yesterday was a really big day.


Today, I slept in because my knee hurt so bad, but I left about noon and walked around. I went down past this church and found a neat little street. We found a market and it's so much better than Wal-Mart. The food is soooo much better here! I can't get over it. It's healthy and filling and full of life and flavors - I will miss it. Plan on getting some chocolate as a souvenir - it's also much better here. Then we went to the National Gallery. I could have spent all day there. It's a free museum and they have hundreds of paintings. Picasso, Renoir, Cezanne, Rembrant, and Da Vinci! I saw my first Da Vinci today and then stayed and just looked for 20 minutes. It was brilliant. I don't think I've ever seen something that I connected with so quickly. This evening, we had tea and treats in a quaint garden cafe before watching "Twelfth Night" in a garden theatre - also great, although I liked last night's production more.

There's so much more, but I have to be up in a few hours. Tomorrow, we're going to the Tower of London, and we're hosting a fancy tea and crumpets party in our bedroom :D

Also, good thing I saved. Everything is freaking expensive here!

July 16

Well, I'm pretty much spent today. We do at least two things everyday, but it's starting to wear on me. I love being out in the city, and I don't want to waste any minute of being here, but it's hard to go go go all the time.
Today we woke up early and went to the Tower of London. It was so neat! There are so many figures in history that have been in that place that I'm really interested in. Sir Walter Raleigh was there for 13 years - I think that may have been the cruelest punishment; the man helped establish the new world for god's sakes - "hey! let's lock him up!" RUDE/very ironic. The towers were amazing and there were so many neat artifacts - carvings on walls from prisoners, an armory, suits of armor, chapels, and one very roomy/generous medieval jock strap that I got a close up picture of :D What was really interesting were the tiny suits of armor made for children - it's sad to think a six year old would have had to don those suits for any reason at all. (Oh, I got you a spoon from the Tower mom :D and, Dad, what the crap do you want? you're a difficult person to shop for - I was thinking a stein from Dublin???)

Anyways, after that we went to another art museum called the Tate Britain. They had a lot of modern art, and it wasn't that exciting - there were a few pieces like Lady Macbeth and Flaming June that were interesting, but I was kind of pooped on art museums. Later, we ate lunch at a nice little Italian restaurant run by actual Italians - one of whom was liking the tall American with pink hair :D - we also had this amazing chocolate cake! I can't get over the food here, and somehow, I'm losing weight - woot!

The last place we went today was the Tate Modern. We weren't expecting much, but it was great. They had Picasso's from all throughout his life and lots of artists I'd never heard of before. The ones I liked the most were the Lichtenstein's and the Warhol's. They both had a very comic booky feel to them, and it's probably what I liked the most about them. What I think is so neat is that all of the art museums are free.... well, they do ask for a donation though. It's nice to be somewhere where art is so privileged that they feel everyone should have access to great works.

Every time we wander into the heart of London, I'm struck by how romantic the city is. People are very willing to show affection here, and it makes me want to have someone's hand to hold, but, c'est la vie! One day I'll come back - start planning for the honeymoon "gift" now... or should I say "donation"?....

Anyhoo, I think I'm going to go wander off to a rose garden before I head to bed! Love you both lots!

Sars

My First Consumption of Alcohol

I'm too tired to blog a new post, so this is an e-mail I sent to my parents. Don't jugde :D Oh, and I'm not coming home. I like it way too much here!

*****

Today was FANTASTIC! I slept in, went to Oxford street and bought a sweater and Italian ice cream (and I also caved and bought some Tevas because my feet are freaking killing me and we've only been here for three days - hundred dollars well spent). Then we saw the Lion King - phenomenal! I got all vaclemped during the first song - "The Circle of Life" - and the elephant was my favorite animal to appear; it took four people to operate her! After that, my friend Anne and I did a little more shopping and I got a pashmina and am very European now. We then stopped at a delightful little cafe and had dinner al fresco amongst some shubbery (very appealing ;D). Next to us in the window seat was this party of old English people. They were dressed in tweed and ate so properly. It just fit because everything here is just so darn quaint it's adorable! I tried all new things too! First, we started out with a chicken something and foie gras which was surprisingly delectable, then I had lamb! (you were right dad! awesome), and then we shared Tiramisu. Although we had told the waiter we didn't drink, he was a douche let us order the dessert. We ate about half before we realized that European Tiramisu isn't made with espresso, it's made with Mariscapone - hence, my first taste of alcohol. I did NOT like it.

I love it here. I can't believe I'm so lucky to have so much time to spend in such a wonderful city. Everywhere we go is exciting. There are so many different languages being spoken on the same block - it's a wonderful cultural experience. The city is quite clean and there's really no pollution. I love love love riding the tube. I did it all by myself last night, and felt like such a big girl, when I went to see Alan Moore - who is AMAZING! I was really afraid to meet him because he seems very intimidating and, well, crazy psycho-murderer looking, but he was really one of the most genuine and kind authors I've ever met before. Also, last night, my womanly wiles charmed two comic book geeks at the reading and they helped me find the tube (read one was trying to help the other get laid in a geeky, charming, but oh so inept way). OOOOhhh, and I lost my Oyster Card last night at the reading too. I was really upset because they are very expensive, 50 dollars for one week of riding the tube, and I thought it was forever lost after I'd only gotten 2 days use out of it. Well, I checked at the reception desk and someone had turned it in - karma was finally good to me after all the wallets I've turned in.

The people aren't as nice as I expected; everyone is kind of in a hurry and they sure don't mind pushing you out of the way to get what they want, but that doesn't matter - I love it. The city is so dynamic and there's so much history here. I'm trying to soak it all up. I think that this may be the first real thing I've ever done for just myself and I don't think I could have ever picked a better way to spend these three weeks :D Miss you guys (okay... not really) but I do love you!

A Question of Polygamy

I must apologize if you are not familiar with the L.D.S church and are reading this post. If you would like to know about any of the jargon I use and do not explain, visit www.lds.org. I'm not trying to convert you, merely give you a place that will better explain Mormon vocabulary.

Are you prepared for a lengthy blog containing personal information, religious questions, and lots of talk about polygamy? Really? Okay.

I have questions. Lots of questions. In fact, one of the facets of my personality is my puppy-like curiosity pertaining to all things. Lately, I've had lots of questions about The Church. The Mormon Church. The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints. My questions are either stemming from or coinciding with a time in my life where it was been very difficult for me to attend church and church functions. Many of my questions are definitely stemming from my feminism and my intellect. I've reached the point where I know that Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ like my feminism, my intellect, and my curiosity - no one will ever convince me of anything different.

That said, knowing that I am loved and appreciated from on high does not answer the questions that I have. Instead, I have more confidence in asking them. Of all my questions, which I will not go into here because this will be long already, I want to know about polygamy (the practice of one spouse having more than one spouse, but for Mormons, the male having multiple wives), and here's what I already know (feel free to correct me if I am wrong, which I might be... because, hey, I'm human - that whole perfection thing that's promised is coming, I'm sure).

• Polygamy was a practice used both in the Old and New Testaments, and is still used in some religions in the world today.
• Polygamy was practiced in the L.D.S. church from about 1880 to 1910 and was instituted, via revelation from God, by Joseph Smith the Prophet.
• Polygamy in the L.D.S. church was a calling. Not every member practiced polygamy.
• One of the "reasons" for polygamy is said to be that there were more women than men at the time it was instituted. I have been told, by an Institute teacher, that this is absolutely false and that Church records show that there were actually more men than women at the time.
• The practice of polygamy was stopped because it was revealed so, but also because Utah needed to become a state and the government would not allow that event to occur until Mormons no longer practiced polygamy.
• The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints no longer practices polygamy.

Now. With all of that, I have many questions, most of which will not ever be answered in this lifetime - shaking fist for eternal perspective. Here are a few of my questions.

• If Joseph Smith was in turmoil because of this principle, why was the succeeding prophet, Brigham Young, so eager to practice it?
• Will polygamy once again become a practice on this earth for members of The Church? In the millennium maybe?
• Will there be polygamy in heaven, specifically, the Celestial Kingdom?
• How can people practice this? And I mean ever.
  
• Could I ever practice this?

Okay. So, I'm not going to understand the Joseph vs. Brigham situation. They were people with unique personalities. I've been told that polygamy will never be a commandment on this earth again, but let's face it, a boy goes into the woods to ask a simple question and wabam! you've got the restored gospel.

So, where does my anxiety stem from? And believe me, I've been on the verge of an anxiety attack at the over-pondering of sharing my husband with another woman, even if she was Mary herself. My anxiety stems from having to share what is most sacred and trustworthy with another woman or multiple wives. And it's more than just the union of sex. It's that there are two of us and I want my husband to be for me. I don't want him to romantically love another woman, share his thoughts as he would with me, or be sealed for time and all eternity to two of us when there is one of him. That's it. I don't want to share. Sharing is caring, and in this arena, I am care free. Selfish? Eek. Maybe. Justifiable? I don't think you'll find many people who disagree with me.

Being sealed to both my husband and another one of his wives scares the ever-livin' out of me.

To make this more complicated - what if I die and my husband marries and is sealed to someone else? (In the L.D.S. church, men can be sealed to more than one woman while a woman can only be sealed to one man - a serious question for another blog.) Or, what if he dies first and is sealed to someone else? What then? Am I totally left out of that decision because the flippin' veil is in the friggin' way?

I've seriously wrestled with these questions for years. And my heart has NEVER felt an ounce of peace, even when I pray about it. The "it'll all work out beyond the veil" stock-answer does not suffice for me here and we Mormons avoid talking about polygamy at all costs, except when to make fun of the F.L.D.S. church and the polygamists at Wal-Mart. We talk about polygamy like we talk about the fact that black men could not hold the priesthood until the 70's.

But, I finally have an answer. After years of questioning, I got my answer. Agency. Agency can never be taken away from us, by God or man, unless we give it away ourselves. No matter if it's here or there, we will always have agency - God made sure of it. If I choose not to be in a polygamous marriage, I don't have to be. If my husband doesn't want to be sealed to anyone more than me, he doesn't have to be.

I cannot adequately explain how my soul feels relief at this moment, but I feel a renewed light in myself, a light that hasn't been there for a while and that makes all the difference for me today, and for my years of questioning.

If you would like to read the article I read, here is the link. Pages 151-52 are what I concentrated on.

I hope this helps. I hope it helps me more in the future and with how I am finding my path to heaven.

A Shot to the Heart

“Mormons should be glad Scientology came along and made them the second weirdest religion.” - Bill Maher

I came across this little gem when reading

Vindicated

Slip inside the eye of your mind
Don't you know you might find
A better place to play

You said that you've never been
But all the things that you've seen
They slowly fade away

So I'll start a revolution from my bed
cause you said the brains I had went to my head
Step outside, summertime's in bloom
Stand up beside the fireplace
Take that look from off your face
You ain't ever gonna burn my heart out

Please don't put your life in the hands
Of a rock and roll band
You'll throw it all away

I'm gonna start a revolution from my bed
cause you said the brains I had went to my head
Step outside, cause summertime's in bloom
Stand up beside the fireplace
Take that look from off your face
cause you ain't ever gonna burn my heart out

And so, Sally can wait
She knows its too late as she's walking on by
My soul slides away
But don't look back in anger
I heard you say

At least not today.

Thank you - for vindicating me. Or validating me. To myself and to everyone.

For clearing me of guilt and suspect and flaw and responsibility, for letting me be honest. You might think me angry since you rendered me so isolated after I asked you to let me slip away. But, I watch as hope dangles from a string like slow-spinning redemption and I pray for you because you'll never burn my heart out. There is hope and love, even though they are not always visible from the way we choose to see. Step outside, cause summertime's in bloom; stand up beside the fireplace and take that look from off your face. Slight hope may dangle from a string, but hope is there.

I'll love you always, my friend.

Thank you. I now know that I don't have to look back in anger, at least not today.

When Supervising a Class

I cannot attribute my break in blogging to anything but laziness. It seems that the less I have to do in life, the more I feel the need to be apathetic. 

I don't have any pearls of wisdom or comic book rage-engendering experiences to relate, but here are a few things.

• I get to meet Alan Moore on July 12th when I'm in London. Hurray!
• I really like soccer, coke slurpees, and driving past sage brush in the evening with my car windows down singing just as loud as I can.
• Father's Day was good. I love my daddy. And my mommy..... and my brother.
• Last week, a conversation went like this. 
  

I was eating mandarin oranges out of a small can. 

Enter boss-lady (and not Julie Simon). "Wow. You're going to lose so much weight when you stop working here."

Me: "Excuse me?" (And the kind of excuse me that left me with my mouth agape full of an orange slice and not the ghetto kind.)

Boss-lady, "You eat all the time."

One. No, actually, I don't eat all the time. I snack periodically through the day on pretzels, oranges, apples, and water. Two. Do I have that much weight to lose to constitute a "so" being used as an adjective to my weight? No. I don't. I'm fluffy. See "Kung Fu Panda" and you'll understand why I feel this way. Three. I still don't know why she said that. WTF?

• I really liked "Kung Fu Panda." I identified with a lot of the characters, but mostly Po.
• Crafty people are neat and I wish I could be one.
• I hate my job.
• I'm so excited to go to Europe, cut off all of my hair, and move to Flagstaff. I'm trying to find reasons to be excited about life today, but there's a lot of reasons to be excited about life in a few weeks. (I don't think that it will take me long to be excited about everyday :D)
• I love these women. I don't always agree with them, but they make me feel better about life and my church membership.  
• I want to marry a superhero, mostly Batman.
• Pushy, authority-seeking people bother me. Why don't they just pee on a fire hydrant? It'd be more effective.
• I'm addicted to Lost and I'm not ashamed.
• Read Watchmen. You'll understand The Incredibles on a whole new level. It's mind-blowing. Really.
• You're a neat person. Thanks for reading my blog.

Pffff.... It's a Comic Book

Over the past few months, my little brother and I have gotten a lot closer. It could be that we're going to be camp counselors together this weekend and the excitement is acting as a catalyst, or it could be that we've finally realized that the other is more interesting that previously thought, not to say that we haven't loved each other. But this weekend, we really bonded - over books.

As he was helping me move, Jimmy asked if I had any books he would like. I was somewhat shocked that he would ask because although he is beyond highly intelligent, Jimmy has never sought after recreational reading because he has a tough time reading quickly and teachers are constantly pressuring him to get it done faster. After not thinking long at all, I gave him a copy of Watership Down, Fraud, and Blankets. I was most excited to give him Blankets because it's my absolute favorite graphic novel, and he became very excited to read it as I told him about the premise.

To make a long story short, a kid who has been working for almost a year on a 700 page book and only gotten 200 pages in got done with a 580 page graphic novel in less than 24 hours, and he was ecstatic about it. Jimmy decided to use Blankets for his 11th grade Honors English class book report. He worked on an intensive plot summary and even called me to get some feedback about the ending and to ask if I had any other graphic novels he could read. Luckily, C. Joe was on hand and was able to explain the allegory of the cave and some other insightful tips for Jimmy's book report.

When I talked to Jimmy today, after school, he related this story:
So, I handed in my book report to my teacher. She was, like, surprised I gave it to her since I usually don't hand it in 'til close to the last hour on the day of the due date. I made the mistake of showing her the book. She took one look and said, "This is a comic book."

I got really mad and tried to explain to her that comic books are "graphic short stories" and that this really was a novel.

The only reason she didn't argue with me was because we only had to read 100 pages and I read 580.

When he told me this, I was livid! (Yes! I'm using exclamations! And I never use exclamations! or bold and italics together!) First of all, why is an 11th grade HONORS class only expected to read 100 pages for a final book report?! People wonder why students are, oh, what's the word?... oh yes, illiterate when they graduate from high school. Well, it could be that they don't read and that they are handing in plot summaries which are readily available on sites like Sparknotes.

Secondly, why would a teacher's first inclination be to dismiss a student's work instead of understand it? If a student who is usually late with his or her assignments is excited to hand in an early draft of a book report, wouldn't that be cause for investigation and enthusiasm?

And lastly, I told myself to calm down. This teacher, who was once my teacher, may not know and therefore cannot make an educated decision about the teaching of graphic novels. But even though I'm more calm, I am still upset because this instance isn't unique to Jimmy's class or his high school experience - it was a part of mine too.

Jimmy then went on to tell me that he and his friends, who are not fond of reading, were totally engaged in the graphic novel during their next class - where, by the way, they were supposed to be watching a movie/babysitter instead of having a lesson (and! if they don't know how to unlock the visual, then what the hell kind of good is it going to do to show a movie whose only purpose is to fill-in-the-blanks? Bah!). The two other boys and Jimmy read 150 pages in an hour! Amazing! They loved it and one of the boys was especially affected by the subtle hints of child molestation that occurred in a scene.

If kids who don't like reading are engaged in book where their brain is functioning in a visual and a literary way, then why aren't these books being read more often? Why aren't we teaching students skills that will give them tools for life, not just passing tests? How many of these students will have to learn to evaluate propaganda, billboards, commercials, T.V., film, and the like? Ummmm.... pretty much all of them.

Graphic novels are not a cop-out or an alternative. They are valid forms of literature that help readers perceive the visual.

I wish people could open up more to than what they've been taught or what they know and stop trying to be so damn safe. I wish that teachers would try to understand and connect with students and popular culture instead of shunning and handing out labels like "easy" or "not intelligent." I wish teachers could see how visual our world is becoming.

And, instead of wishing things were better, I am meeting with one of the teachers who I had as a student at my old high school on Wednesday because Jimmy informed me there wasn't a single graphic novel to be found in the high school library. Something is going to get done at South Sevier High School and it has to start somewhere.

Top Ten Things to Remember When Attending Punk Concerts in Very Small Venues

So, it's been a while since I've blogged it up. As such, and because I'm sick of writing about my life, I thought I'd provide some more helpful tips and hints for all of you veteran or aspiring concert goers.

Top Ten Things to Remember When Attending Punk Concerts in Very Small Venues

(*this entry does not aspire to be similar to David Letterman; it, in fact, aspires to be an extra helping of High Fidelity listings)

1. Hearing. There is less space for large sound to exist in small venues. Ear plugs - although one may be labeled a pansy before the concert begins and less than "fashion friendly" - are smart as all get out... unless you enjoy excessive ringing in the ear's for more than 24 hours.

2. Being Stoned. If you like to smoke a little reefer, you're an idiot, but don't let that get you down. Smoke it on up. However, getting so tweaked that you wave your hands about your head and repeatedly smack other people in the face because of your utter incoherence is never a good idea because a) people don't care that you're a girl - they'll hit you anyways; b) someone's definitely going to end up taking advantage of you; and c) you might end up like this.

3. Clothing. Being the person to finally construct a shirt out of a chamois is not only a way to stave off embarrassing sweat stains, but also an ingenious way to make some extra money. I'd buy one online. Really. PayPal's awesome.

4. Paying Attention. Not paying attention is a great way to get a hold of some type of band memorabilia. For instance, I was messing around with my camera and got hit in the face with a drumstick. Having catlike reflexes and an iron-clad grip is also helpful for this category.

5. Camera. Readers might remember a previous post where I stated that I liked to keep my camera on my person at all times during some concerts. This is true. The advice I have to give now is that you probably should purchase some sort of camera case if you are not fortunate enough to develop the aforementioned chamois shirt because cameras may experience water damage.... which is actually swoobie damage. What? I'm just saying...

6. Crowd Placement. In a small venue, the crowd can still seem big and therefore surge and crush and pulsate. Perchance, if you find yourself smashed up, bosom, sweaty camera, and all, against a person whom you vaguely know from a class a few semesters ago, but only really through blogger, then just go with it. You are probably very close to the stage. It's all about the closeness at concerts.

7. Other People's Sweat. You'll wear it. Deal with it.

8. Invitees. If you happen to ask someone to go to a moshy-type concert with you last minute, and they've never actually heard of the band or been to a moshy-type concert, for the love of God, warn them about what will happen, what to wear, etc., especially if this person is homosexual because they might end up being the only gay man in a crowd of 400. (Thanks for being a good sport buddy!)

9. Questions. Questioning is always good. Questions in concert settings like, "When the hell are the Bouncing Souls coming on?!" or "Hey. Can you not put your hand there?" are great. Some questions are not good to ask in certain settings when you're surrounded by die hard fans of a 20 year old band, i.e., "Wait. Is it Bouncing Soul or Soulzzzz?" are just not smart things to say. Be a good little patron and hold your questions 'til the end.

10. Hair. If you're a girl with hair past mid-neck and fitting said hair into one, two, or three pony-tail holders is at all is possible, the pull your f***ing hair up. You make me want to rip it out. No one likes sweaty, stringy hair stuck to them in the pit.

Now, go out and enjoy some concerts.

Also, sorry about all of the hyperlinks. I just learned how to do it today. It's amazing!

Here's a link to a neat new artist. I've heard his name dropped twice in the past week.

I like this too.

And this.

Hoookay. Bye!

A Random Spattering of Thought due to High Engery and Mountain Dew via My Work Computer

The past few days have been surreal and happy. Surreal in the way that I'd forgotten what it's like to have multiple, life changing incidents occur all at the same time and have all of the aforementioned incidents be positive. Happy in the way that people tell me I'm glowing again and I feel like it. I woke up with a smile on my face this morning and it was a good moment.

Shall I expound? Yes. Yes I shall.

Yesterday, I was informed by a professor at NAU that I got a Graduate Assistantship. This basically means that I will save $12,000 a year in tuition and fees, I get paid to go to school, I get to teach a section of 1050 (1010 elsewhere) with my very own syllabus, books, and assignments, and, get ready for this, I get to have office hours. I'm going to have office hours. I'm 22 and I have office hours. That means, in deconstructionist terms, that I am going to have an office. How cool is that?

A certain C. Joe Willis wanted to make sure of the details of my GA position with the lady over them (...us?....weird) at NAU. He told her my name and she said (via Joe), "Oh. Sarah? She had that position within ten minutes of the start of the meeting. We don't not hire people like that." I was floored. After three rejections (grad school, not otherwise - that's a higher number), it's really, really nice to be wanted. I thought on the dates of my acceptance letter as well. NAU got my application on the 6th, 7th, or 8th. My acceptance letter was dated the 25th. I felt special.

Next Sarah-happy-making event. I bought my ticket to London today. I will be in Europe from July 10 to the 29th. I even got a deal: $967.60. Although, this does mean I will be on a place for something like 16 hours. But still, London is London.

Last happy-making-event for this blog, for there will surely be more to come later today. My dad wants to help me buy a condo for when I live in Flagstaff so that I can basically live rent free and establish mortgage credit. I really hope it works out because I've been searching Realtor.com, but even if it doesn't, it'll be okay. It'll be okay because I have parents who are willing to help me with something like this. It'll be okay because I know that I have people who love me and support me in any way they can. I can't believe I am so lucky.

I suppose in some way, all these event should make me feel older and more mature. They don't. True, they make me very happy, but I feel like a little kid playing dress up in a grown up's life. I know that I will be able to handle teaching and syllabizing and grading and grad-studenting, but, I feel very young. I don't know why.

All of this got me thinking. I realized how cantankerous (such a great word) I've been over the past four months. I fully feel that my stress was legitimate, but the purpose is not to just endure, but to endure it well. I feel badly that I may have been as horrible as I think I've been lately - or for months. I see an area I need to grow in my life, so I am glad of the time to self-reflect. For those of you who have supported me, loved me, and put up with me, thank you. Really. Thank you.

Life is cyclical and a balancing act, but for now, I shall bask the euphoria that comes with the blessings that are specifically designed for us and our experience here.

I'd Rather be Dead in California Than Alive in Arizona

I got accepted to grad school today. I'm going to be a graduate student! I'm getting a Master's degree! Grad school! New books, new people, new teachers, new chapter in my life!

Awwwwwwwwwoooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

After three rejection letters - Mizzou, Washington State, U of Utah - I got my first acceptance letter today. I still need to hear from one more school, but, as of August 2008 I will be living in Flagstaff, Arizona attending Northern Arizona University getting my Master's Degree in Literature.

Words cannot explain how happy and relieved and thankful I am to have to have security for the next two years of my life. 

No, this is not an April Fool's joke. I'm really going to grad school.

The feeling is very surreal right now, even though I have access to the web site and can look at Fall 2008 classes; I really feel like someone is playing a joke on me. (I will stuck otter pops up their butts if they are *insert shaking fist*.)

The best part of today, besides getting accepted to grad school, a celebratory coke slurpee, or the hiding of my phone in the ceiling much like The Office, was telling my dad. He got emotional as he told me he was glad I wasn't going too far away.

It's nice to be loved so much.

Farewell, adios, and, as always, spooning leads to forking.

More Than Words

Many of you who know me know that I place much value in the visual aspect of our world. I just took part in presenting a panel with two friends about the importance of graphic novels, I am working with a professor on campus to establish a visual literacy program, and I hope to get a Master's degree with an emphasis in visual narratives.

The visual makes up much of our lives and our experience here.

As such, I feel that I have stumbled upon the crystallization of why I will never work in the food service industry again. Watch it all; I promise, it's worth the wait.

An Update... Kind Of

So, I wouldn't say this is the finished product, but this is the piece I presented at Sigma Tau Delta's National Convention in Louisville last week. I was privileged to be on a panel of amazing women who wrote incredible papers about their experience in life sans Y chromosome. The panel was a Creative Non-Fiction panel; I submitted this paper as CNF mostly because I don't think I was ready to admit that everything about it was true. But, it is true.

I Wasn’t A Feminist Until I Found Four-Inch Red Stilettos

A Wilder Side

When I was little girl, I had a pair of shoes that my parents and I affectionately referred to as my “wild shoes.” They were a type of Keds that were multi-colored, flowery, and bold. I felt invincible in my wild shoes. No puddle was too wide or muddy, nor was any rollie-pollie bug or spider safe from the crushing power of my small feet or my wild shoes. When my tiny toes started to press against the edge of my beloved shoes, I was reluctant to get another pair. Soon, I began walking like an arthritic, three-legged dog and new shoes were a must. I traded in my wild shoes for a pair of shiny, white, bland, popular Keds.

I Had Feet in Those Shoes

Whenever I think of reading as a child, I always picture a quaint scene in Barnes & Noble on a snowy day. A young, buff and surprisingly afro-ed version of my father walks up to the long haired, stick version of my mother. He says in his authoritative cop-tone, “Hey honey. When did you start reading children’s books?” A playful smile curls into his lips and somewhere beneath his busy mustache, his dimples indent slightly. As the snow continues to fall and create perfect, picturesque fog circles on the windows, my mother says, “You’ve got your head on your shoulders and your feet in your shoes…” She turns to him and quickly retorts, “Oh, I just wanted pick out your Christmas present early this year.” My mother, always sure to make a point, sets down the book she was reading to me and goes on to say why she’s perusing the kids’ books: she wants to make sure that I, her three-year old blonde and bashful pride and joy, have positive female role models to read about – she’ll have none of that manipulative-bitch-like behavior that is seen in sordid characters like that damn Tinkerbelle. My father shakes his head and walks back to the magazine section of Barnes and Noble where those people hang out and waits expectantly until he’s needed. The facts: Barnes & Noble couldn’t have been found in a hundred mile radius of where I lived in 1988; I grew up in Southern California and it snowed only once when I was six; my dad still may never have set foot in a bookstore in his adult life; and, my mother, well, the part about my mother is true. I grew up with positive, non-manipulative, non-bitchy, but vocal nonetheless, female role models.

Whose Shoes?

Basketball shoes remind me of sixth grade. I’ve been six feet tall since then. When shopping for basketball shoes, I had to buy boys’ shoes because the small-town shoe store we went to didn’t have any girls’ shoes big enough for me. Word got around in rural school about the six foot, boy-shoe wearin’ girl, and so began the three basic assumptions about me: one, I was the fat kid that weighed like a thousand pounds – how do those chairs hold her up again?; two, I was tall ergo I was good at basketball and volleyball and basically any other sport that required me to be athletic and my usefulness ended there; and three was that I did not like boys – at all. The facts: I weighed close to 140 pounds and was basically all muscle; I was a force to be reckoned with when playing basketball, but the mop the janitors used to clean with would have volleyed a ball better; and, I was so much in need of boys’ attention that I stunted my own dating growth well into my sophomore year of college. In my adolescence, I was not the girly-girl, the pretty girl, or the girl who got asked out; I was the move-in-from-Southern-California-where-surely-there-must-be-

something-wrong-with-the-water-girl that was completely mislabeled. I just wasn’t “normal.” Oh, I also wasn’t blonde anymore.

Ready, Fire, Aim

When I think about Tyson Brown, I see a grassy middle school football field on a rare sunny day in April. Eighth graders are abundant and ready to leave the dregs of society behind for something much cooler: high school. There are about ten of us and the boy that I loathe is in attendance. Intellectual exchanges are obviously important in middle school, so we begin to discuss the meaning in a name. For instance, Jordon – who is my beautiful, tiny, flirtatious best friend – her name means, “Hot,” because, well, all the boys think she’s sooo sexy. We go around the circle, expertly classifying each others’ names and the boy whom I’m not fond of, the one I mentioned before, he gets his profound observation ready for the kill. There is no mistaking the look in his eyes for anything but pleasure as he pronounces, “Sarah is a Fat-Ass name.” The usual awkward chuckles ensue, and cumbersome looks are cast in my general direction. I don’t even have to look up from my three-stripe Adidas soccer shoes before I whip out the secret, end-all-be-all trump card: “Yeah? Well, Tyson is a Limp Dick name.” Laughs are beyond being stifled because I have just handed out the biggest slam of any middle school career. Chubby/Tall girls are redeemed forever, and stupid boys will think twice before they cross a girl that can think. The facts: my mom told me to say that.

I Can’t Feel My Toes…

There was a time in my life when I would wear nothing but flip-flops. They, at the most, caused a half-inch change in stature. I wore flip-flops in the winter, and even when my toes would turn blue, I wore the flops. I wore drab colors and I didn’t know how to dress my awkward body. Girl’s clothes didn’t fit because I was too tall and I had started to mature, which meant I was getting stretch marks and cellulite in awkward places, like my arms and breasts. Wearing boy’s pants gave me an inner-tube that Goodyear would have been proud to support and a figure reminiscent of the Stay-Puft Marshmallow Man. I didn’t want to stand out so I walked with my hair in my eyes and my head down. The facts: I was popular by association; I incurred a devastating knee-injury that put me out of sports for the rest of my life during my freshman year and consequently gained 50 pounds due to inactivity; halfway through my first date ever, I was lied to, ditched, and left at a friend’s house to be the third-wheel wondering what I had done wrong; and, I was pity-dated to my Junior Prom and I couldn’t even find a dress to fit that I liked because I was too big.

Hitting the Road

There is a clear picture of black Vans shoes stomping down onto the black pavement in the visual narrative that exists in my mind. The shoes have a white stripe on either side of the foot. One shoe has a bright red shoelace, the other, a white lace. The text that accompanies the image reads, “The shoe sounded down onto the pavement catching her averted attention. He knew she hadn’t noticed him until then, walking down the sidewalk, but he knew he had to have her attention, even if for a moment; he needed her to know that he existed. She was startled and looked up, surprised that someone would interrupt her thoughts as the grim scene from the night before controlled her contemplative state. His grin was from ear to ear and in that moment, she knew he was something.” The facts: seeing those Vans with a red lace changed my life. I hadn’t noticed the shy boy that sat in the back of two of my classes until that day. It wasn’t long until we were together, and I grew to love him more than any other. I’d never felt close to someone, never felt like someone truly saw me despite my faults. A significant other hadn’t really loved me until then. But with all love comes the trial – and we were put in front of a grand jury. I was forced to realize that with the revealing of all the truth comes the unveiling of all the lies. I committed to a love that almost destroyed me; I almost lost myself in the act of trying to recover what was never really there. Because of that relationship I learned more about myself, humanity, love, and God than any other singular experience had ever taught me.

The Great Enlightenment

When I reflect on how I came to the realization that I’ve always been a Feminist, I picture a rainy afternoon during my senior year of college. I walk into a store where I insist on finding a good deal and therefore can justify picking out an outfit that will make me feel better about myself, life, and, basically, civilization in general. I peruse the racks looking for ways to spend money that I don’t have when I suddenly find myself staring at my very own altar to the gods – a shelf full of shiny, shiny pointy-toed stilettos. Now, ladies with skis for feet can understand – Size 11 does NOT exist to the fine shoemakers of the world. A pair of shoes that gargantuan is not only offensive to the fashion world and to women, but is probably abhorrent to humanity as a whole. Therefore, to find a pair of Size 11’s to strap on that one loves is cause for choruses of Hallelujah to ring through the halls. Hallelujah’s are blaring through the halls, perfectly timed glittering flakes have been released for a dramatic and celestial effect, and a spotlight from above shines down like a beacon of righteousness onto a pair of Size 11 shiny, pointy-toed red stilettos – my pair of Size 11 pointy-toed red stilettos. The facts: this passage is completely, 100%, swear on the Bible, The Virgin, and, even though he’s still alive, my father’s grave, accurate.

Sunny Day Sweeping the Clouds Away

When I picture my life as of now, I’m usually sitting in front of a computer. This is only because it’s my last semester of classes and I’m somewhat of a procrastinator. On late nights, my novelty Elmo slippers keep my feet warm because I’m too poor to turn up the heater past 70. Paper after paper weighs on my mind and I can’t wait to be done with my undergraduate degree because I can’t bear the thought of having to teach one more day of high school. The facts: I’m not giving up on teaching – quite the contrary, I’m applying to grad school so that I can teach what I want to teach where I want to teach it; tomorrow night I’m auditioning to be in the Vagina Monologues for a second time and I desperately want to be the “Angry Vagina”; I’m a six foot tall woman that on occasion becomes 6’4”, and I plan on spending the rest of my life finding ways to make choruses of Hallelujah materialize as if from nowhere.

A Bit Too Chilling

My heart goes out to the people effected by the shooting in Illinois today. The fact that people are sometimes very senseless and selfish still astounds me. A part of me hurts that to hear about shootings on the news every six months is almost commonplace; schools and universities have evacuation plans in for shooters  - it doesn't feel like people should have to live or prepare like that. 

The reoccurring nature of shootings got me thinking. I blog about music, and music listeners leave me comments. I write about poetry, and other poets read my writing.

I googled "how to be a columbine shooter" tonight. The fifth, 5th, hit on the first, 1st, page was called "Super Columbine Massacre RPG!" (Take special care to notice the exclamation point.) Curiosity got the best of me and I clicked the link. The page contains normal data links for downloads and directions for players of the "game." What is most chilling is the game description: "This game delves into the morning of April 20th, 1999 and asks players to relive that day through the eyes of Eric Harris and Dylan Kleblod, those responsible for the deadliest school shooting in American history."

How humanity can come to this is beyond my comprehension. The producer of this savage site is obviously intelligent. Only someone truly atrocious and intelligent could matter of factly state that he or she wants users to "delve" into the eyes of monsters. The unremorseful nature of the description, although sickening, makes the nature of these copy-cat shooters more clear - but never acceptable.

I was raised to respect guns because I was also taught to respect the sanctity of life. I understood that guns were not bad, that guns were a good thing in the right hands. They were for protection and for the hunting of food. I still feel that way. I knew what guns were capable of because my mother and father took the time to teach me. I knew this mostly because I grew up in a family of police officers. My dad was a cop, my uncles were cops, and my cousins are cops. Had I not injured my knee, the police force would have been a heavyweight fighter in my career choices.

When I was fifteen, I learned that my father had killed a man in the line of duty while the man was holding an apartment complex hostage. In doing so, my father saved the life of another officer. I am, always have been and and always will be proud of my father for this. Taking such action takes courage. My father knows he did the right thing, so do I. But, my father made sure to teach me that people deserve to live, and that life is precious.

Events like today do not want to make me ban guns. Events such as today make me want to help legislate access to guns and who gets them. I do not have a gun right now, but that's because of where I live. I will have a gun in my home though. I am not afraid of them. I am afraid of what would happen if someone tried to take my life, or the lives of those I love, and I was not properly equipped. People in Australia learned what would happen; when the right to bear arms is removed and people are forced to turn over their guns only one thing happens - the good, law abiding citizens turn over their arms and the bad people keep theirs.

Stupid, angry people make stupid, angry decisions with guns, true, but they would have made a stupid, angry decision no matter the access to materials.

I pray for humanity tonight. I pray that those who suffer, not just in Illinois, might be comforted. I pray that people will be smart and aware of the inherent value of life.

Find a Happy Place

Sometimes, being happy is a battle for me. I imagine myself as a stanch fighter in some kind of war, like the war at the beginning of "The Lord of the Rings" movie, fighting against the powers that would make me unhappy, because the key to happiness lies just on the other side of the opposing army. A weird picture to be sure, but that's what happens when you're a dork with an overactive, visual imagination.

Last February 14th, I was realized I had depression. Two days later, I was diagnosed with severe depression and severe anxiety. Writing, or saying, this on paper or out loud is not difficult when I share my experience with a trusted few. I knew that I would inevitably share this particular trial with many. And for some reason, I feel the need to share tonight.

The two months prior to that fateful day, and the three months after, were the hardest in my life. I have never known despair to that extent. I felt hopeless, helpless, miserable, and empty. I had nothing to give; I could only take.

But, and this is a big but, because I knew sadness to that depth, I knew that I could also experience happiness to that degree, and more. 

There is a stigma in many cultures, particularly in the Utah culture, that the word depression is a synonym for crazy. I think this is why I don't share my experience with many. I am not ashamed of myself, but leaving the sacred parts of my life open to the judgements and sneers of those who choose not to understand is difficult.

I heard once that we should not share sacred experiences with many, because they lose their sanctity, much like I shouldn't tell someone I'm in love with them when I really am unsure of my feelings. And although my trial with depression is sacred, I refuse to let an unhappy memory have power of my life. Instead, I choose to let it be a secure foothold in my life. A place where I know I have strength, courage, and experience so that it cannot be an unhappy memory anymore. Depression has been replaced with wisdom and love.

There are many things that help me now. I don't feel the need to share them. I just want to illustrate that sometimes my happiness is a choice and a battle. Today was a difficult day to keep fighting though.

The past few days have been really tough. I missed an extremely important grad school deadline and almost forgot another. I still have no idea what to do with my life after August, I feel like I'm in limbo, I feel like I can't do anything right, that people have no faith in me, and that if they do have faith in me that it's a wasted effort, and that all things that I have been trying to do "better" lately have been for naught. I feel depressed.

Maybe it's the time of year or the fact that the sun hasn't been out in a really long time, maybe I'm fighting what I'm supposed to really be doing instead of what God needs me to be doing, maybe I don't know what I really want. Maybe it's P.M.S.

I don't know. 

What I do know is that writing about this helps me. Sharing my experience does too. Maybe that's all I need to know right now.