Summer Time... and the Reading's Easy

I hope you all enjoyed my Sublime reference/pun. So, my geeky intellectual friends and I have risen to the challenge of a former professor/kick-ass mentor and made summer reading lists. Here are mine: I hope you feel inspired... especially to read banned books!

1. "Animal Farm" by George Orwell

2. "Their Eyes Were Watching God" by Zora Neale Hurston
3. "A Tree Grows in Brooklyn" by Betty Smith
4. "Brave New World" by Aldous Huxley
5. "Fahrenheit 451" by Ray Bradbury
6. "The Road" by Cormac McCarthy
7. "High Fidelity" by Nick Hornby
8. "Lolita" by Vladimir Nabakov
9. "Reading Lolita in Tehran" by Azar Nafisi
10. "The Screwtape Letters" by C.S. Lewis
11. "Midnight's Children" by Salman Rushdie
12. "The Country Girls" by Edna O'Brien
13. "The Green Hills of Africa" by Ernest Hemingway
14. "The Infernal Desire Machines of Doctor Hoffman" by Angela Carter
15. "Selected Poems" by Eavan Boland
16. "The Foreskin's Lament" by Shalom Auslander

I feel a little like a cheater by making a summer reading list, because, right now, my summer looks to be indefinite - no more school, at least for a few years, and no job offers. But, in the grand tradition of Cedar City summers, I'll pick a 16 week summer to work with so that I can get some quality reading in. Thanks Todd, Rae, Joe, and Grburbank for the great idea! I think we should, at some point, compare and see if we are making our goals.

Side note - there are a lot of staples on here that I haven't had the time to read. I own many of the books on this list so rather than buy new ones, I shall peruse my own selection. Please don't judge me :)

There are some big names on here that I haven't read - which makes me kind of sad since I'm finishing my Master of Arts .... in LITERATURE. But, there's no time like the present to catch up!

Labels

I don't like them. At all.

I'm not going to be all "holier-than-thou" and say I never apply them, because I totally do. I'm working on it though.

One label I am constantly dodging, and admittedly omit until asked, is the fact that I'm Mormon. I don't like other Mormons to know I'm Mormon because frankly, they're disappointed when I don't meet their expectations of Mormon-ness. This is fine. Our church is about a personal relationship with God and I know that He loves me and my Mormon-ness.

I omit that I'm Mormon to those who are not because most of them have horror stories or super-creepy-all-too-personal questions that, frankly, are inappropriate and uncomfortable or loaded in nature. I'd rather people get to know me as the good person I'm trying to be and accept me for my values and how I practice those values as opposed to labeling me with a scarlet "M" that they are unwilling to see past. (And let me note, this is not everyone. My practice of omitting until asked began because of a choice few who were ass-hats.)

However, I have found peace in this practice, YEA, even joy :D No, really. I figure if someone really wants to know, they'll ask. And, it's usually the right kind of person, who already knows me, that asks and my Mormon-ness does not seem weird at that point. Allowing myself to live beyond a label - Mormon - has allowed me develop my life and path in a broader spectrum. I'm not confined to a certain attitude or word. I'm entitled to find useful purposes for doctrine and to think beyond the fact that "I'm Mormon so I can't." Doing this has also allowed me to question on a deeper and more meaningful level because in so many ways, Mormons can't or aren't allowed to question, but someone striving to live the doctrine of the L.D.S. church, or someone striving to live life to the fullest in any other context, can question and not be judged or condemned for doing so.

I felt the same relief from label-stress when I gave up on deciding to be Republican or Democrat.

That's one label I've been ditching.

However, in my particular case, I don't think labels would be completely useless. In light of a series of unfortunate incidents in the past six months, I think I SHOULD come with this label:

"Attention MOST men who are married or in serious/committed relationships and find themselves unhappy - you WlLL BE attracted to me. Don't worry, this is standard operating procedure. Just keep your thoughts and hands and phone numbers to yourselves. Single men who are looking for love - you WILL NOT be attracted to me. If you wish to be, get married or get serious and then wait to see if you find yourselves unhappy."

The Size of My Pants

I guess I can't play the "I never date" card or the "Opportunities never present themselves" card. I do have a fair amount of opportunities, but I really haven't had anyone I'd consider my boyfriend in over three years. There was one dude last April, but he turned out not to be so nice and even after a month of seeing each other almost everyday, I still did not give him the title of boyfriend - a very wise and empowering decision in retrospect since he turned out to be such a douchebag.

Last semester, there was one foray into dating and ended as badly as any could. It's taken me months to internalize and process one comment he said to me in October, so two nights ago, I think I was dealing with all the crap I haven't cried for.

This boy was actually a dear friend and one of my closest here in Flagstaff. We had awesome conversations about life and the Church, films, comic books, and Dexter. I could be myself with him. I trusted him. I thought he saw through the same social constructs I did, especially when it came to social Mormon ideologies. I thought, If this is not the man I'm meant to be with, I'm glad I know one can exist in the Church. So, most of all, he gave me an exponential amount of hope that if one day I do get married, I will not have to give up my creativity or my educational pursuits, that balancing motherhood, wifehood, and self would be a real possibility.

When I returned to Flag in August, we spent a lot of time together. I soon realized that the friend I had no feelings for and had always wanted to like.... well, I was beginning to deeply like him. After two months of trying to read between the lines, I was straight-up and honest - something he said he completely respected me for. He said he needed time to think.

After about a week, he came back and we had a lengthy conversation. There were many complications that I do not wish to discuss, but when it came to me, he said he had very much been entertaining the thought of being with me because he recognized the value or our type of friendship being the basis for a relationship. However, and I'm going to directly quote as far as my memory is reliable, he looked me in the eye and said, "You know, whenever I think about dating someone, she's a supermodel. And well, you're not a Size 2."

He said he ultimately didn't think he could date me for a few other reasons, but, I have dated someone who was emotionally abusive, and I think this may be one of the most hurtful things anybody has ever said to me. Ever.

Right then and there, I knew I had no more feelings for him, and upon further reflection, I no longer want to be friends with him. Because you know what buddy? Damn straight I'm not a size 2 (paradoxically, neither is he... surprising, I know). I will NEVER be a size 2 and how dare you place the value of my love and abilities to be an amazing partner in a relationship on the size of my pants.

That process took milliseconds to work out in my head - thankfully. But what I have struggled to regain is my faith. This person that I thought more highly of than many others, trusted, confided in, and appreciated for a year in one sentence undid everything I did have faith in. (This probably explains my recent foray into dating/being interested in only non-members.)

I lost my faith because, while yes, perhaps I should have not been so trusting or put all of my faith eggs in one big, unworthy basket, in my ways, I feel like I've lost the opportunity to find someone who will do for me the things I know I am deserving of. If it takes a whole year to find out the true heart of a person, specifically a person I'm interested in, then how can I have faith?

And that... that is something I am still working on reconciling.

Freshman Thought for the Day

I thought I'd share a thought from one of my ENG 105 students. Today was the second day of class. As it ended, I collected a questionnaire that had been handed out yesterday.

Student giving the paper to me, "I almost didn't do this because I was like, 'There's no way I could have homework on the first day.'"

Me, "........"

Silly freshman, no homework on the first day is for kids.

Dirty Laundry

Okay. I try not to air out too much dirty laundry in the way of my romantic relationships in the public arena. While there are many reasons for this, I feel that my reasoning for this is two-fold. One. If things are going well, I'm afraid I'll eventually have to eat my gloaty-shorts when things go the way of the proverbial creek. Two. If things are non-euphoric, I don't want to be passive aggressive or tacky by complaining about every little thing. (Out of many personality traits, the passive aggressive trait has the ability to annoy me like Billy Mays - RIP -, large crowds of loud, trashy people and unattended, whaling children at the Wal-Mart, and the emission of strange odors.) Anyways, since life has been pretty slow as of late and I'm seriously at a loss about what the mature and grown-up thing is to do, I'm airing out some unmentionables tonight.

About a month ago I ended a relationship because we wanted very different things from a relationship and from life. It was headed down the tube either way, but I tapped out first. (Admittedly, it was empowering to do so ;).) The end wasn't messy; very simple in fact - only a few awkward and WTF? parts.

Most of the ties have been cut. I'm no longer friends with his sisters on Facebook and he unfriended me on Netflix (Dear Techonology, Thanks for making breaking up more complicated. Love, Slarue). There's just this matter of a book (my favorite kid's book) and an iPod adapter that I lent him and whose possession my possessions are still in. About a week ago, he e-mailed me and asked me how I would like the items returned to me. I asked him to mail them to my house in Utah. He said, well... I think I'd rather give them to any of your friends in Flag.

I didn't immediately return a response. A. I was in Cali (thanks, Rae. I had such an awesome time!). B. I got a new puppy who's wearing the ever-living out of me. C. My extended family is up for the 4th and we've been doing nothing but running around and playing. D. I didn't want to have to re-hash the feelings and thoughts that brought me to the decision to end the relationship in the first place since this is a perfect example of our dynamic. I.E. He thinks I'm needy because I need him to mail the books to me and I think he's selfish for not going to the post office and sending a package media mail. (This would make much more sense if I'd done more blogging in the past.)

Anyways, yes, I should have responded, but alas, I took the easy way out and ignored the problem and simultaneously huffed that the Post Office isn't that far out of the way.

Then another e-mail today (direct quote): "Hope you were not to attached to the things you lent to me =) LOL."

And here is where my problem is. I neither gave permission for my things to be kept, for them to be thrown away, nor did I say they could be given back to me via any other route. Really, I'm not TOO attached because they are just things and I can get them again, but, they are mine. It doesn't really matter if they're given to a friend in Flag other than they become somebody else's responsibility when those things are his responsibility. But, he asked how I wanted them returned to me and I gave a very reasonable option about how I would like and want them returned. It's not like I'm asking for a mailed copy of Bhutan: A Visual Odyssey Across the Last Himalayan Kingdom or for a courier service to deliver a briefcase. It's media mail. Seriously. Two dollars.

And here is where I would like your input, dear reader. What would your response be? Is asking for mail unreasonable when I have friends the book could be given to? Perhaps I should stop letting someone else determine my moods and move onto more productive thoughts like how to train Sassafrass or losing that extra fluff or finding a job after I graduate. Hmmmmm...

This may be the most mundane post ever, but really, it's the culmination of frustration that I'm trying to get past... and really, have done so. It's just reminding me that it was there in the first place. Bleh.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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!

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.

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.

Free Advice*

I've always found choosing concert-going items a tricky business. Should I take my purse? No. I don't want to hold it whilst jostling about in the pit. Perhaps I should cart along some chapstick? Yes, yes. I must. Don't want to get chappy, unkissable, dry lips. Should I take my camera? Maybe. But, only if the shirt I'm wearing can support and conceal that much extra weight in my bra.

I usually settle on the bare minimum when going to a concert. In my pocket, I've generally got a chapstick, anywhere from 20 to 60 bucks (depending I how many t-shirts or waters I will purchase), and a single key for my car in case I lose my entire ring of keys. I don't even take a cell phone for fear of losing it or having it crushed by the mass amounts of bodies in the pit.

When I ventured out in 20 degree weather without a jacket on Saturday night to see Anberlin, Mae, and Motion City Soundtrack, I had four items in my right-cheek pocket: one tube of chapstick, three 20 dollar bills, one car key, and one ticket. When my brother (we were there because I was taking him to his first moshing type concert for his birthday), his friend, and I arrived winded and freezing after three and a half blocks of brisk walking at In the Venue, the only items I had in my right-cheek pocket were as follows: one tube of chapstick, three 20 dollar bills, one car key, and pocket lint. There was no concert ticket to be found - anywhere.

Somewhere in the three and a half blocks to the venue, either I'd lost the ticket or it had been stolen from me. We basically ran back to the car, but found no ticket. All my fastidious planning was for naught because I wasn't able to see one of my top three favorite bands.

Although I had money, the concert was sold out. I dropped my brother and his friend off, gave Jimmy the money I hadn't lost, and told them to call me when the concert was over so that I could come get them.

*This is where the free advice comes in. Will Call. Always Will Call your tickets people - ALWAYS! Your tickets will be waiting for you when you get there. Then you won't have to spend two and a half hours at the stupid Gateway mall (okay, it's not that stupid, I'm just real bitter) walking in (or out really) an outdoor mall, freezing. You won't be by yourself not looking cute because you got ready to go to a concert, not to go to the mall, and you won't get sneered at by high and mighty Forever 21 employees because, let's face it, you look like crap. You won't spend time by yourself cursing the Gods that you've become the type of person that buys a book in Barnes & Noble and then immediately reads it while still in Barnes & Noble. You won't be by yourself because your friends that live in Salt Lake would probably be home and would be able to entertain, console, and/or feed you. You won't be stuck not going to a movie because they all started at the wrong times or because you don't want to see another holiday family film, like The Santa Clause 37: Rudolph's Bastard Brother, Gary the Green Nosed Reindeer.

You also won't have to hear about how your litte brother went crowd surfing for the first time or about how you weren't there to see it, or how you didn't even get to boost him up.

You also won't have a sweatshirt from a concert that you didn't actually go to.

Will Call people. It's the only way to go. Take this advice. Love it. Cherish it. And for all that is holy in music's sake, don't lose your freaking ticket on the way to the venue.

Can Childrens Really Learn?

To add a second blog to the day.



Why didn't I have this when I ranted about Al freaking Gore?

Comparatively Speaking

So. I have this little problem where I compare myself to other people....a lot of the time. I concern myself with such thoughts as, "Am I as good of writer as he is?....well, why am I not then?" or "Am I prettier or uglier than her?" and, "Am I better girlfriend than she was?" Seriously speaking, five to ten of these thoughts run through my head on a daily basis. This, in actuality, could be better or worse than what I think, but I honestly don't care to know right now.

I think that this system/code has also existed within me - I'm pretty competitive. I've always been a bit concerned with being just a little better - the better teacher, the more trusted, funnier friend, the better speaker, the more well-liked, better-in-general person.

This thought process gets me nowhere.....fast.

What this thought process is actually doing to me as a person is making me digress in my quest to become a more balanced individual. In effect, worrying about being the "better person" is not making me a better person. It's making me more cynical, more degrading of others, more judgemental. This drive, this need to be better is causing me more pain than it is bringing me confidence.

People can't be set up in a Structuralist manner. The worth of a person's soul, life, and abilities cannot be summed up in two columns for binary scrutiny. The worth of a soul is embedded much deeper than these theories allow for - the route to humanity lies in a person's own standing.

I had a dear friend point out to me that I'll never write like Sharon Olds writes. I will never sing like Etta James sang. I'll never lead a life like Gandhi lead a life. I'll write like Sarah La Rue writes, and I'll sing like her too. I cannot find the worth of myself in other people: I must find it within myself because no one is going to live a life like I'm going to live a life.

Brace Face

One time I turned 22. Four days later I got braces.


I am one spectacle adjustment and "Ha-yuck" away from utter nerd-dom.

Al got a Nobel...Really?

As I was searching msn.com today for the latest in "Undressed!", my eyes almost exited my cranium at an impressive rate of speed as I saw today's headlines. Was it Britney's most recent fashion/child/life faux pas that caught my deserving attention? Or perhaps J.Lo's booty finally broke the camel's back in pant apparel? Did Paris once again flash her cooter to the teaming paparazzi? I answer resolutely - Nay!

Not even the wonderful and joyous world of celebrity blunders could cause me to nearly asphyxiate on my Halloween sucker - "Al Gore receives Nobel Peace Prize for his work in global warming." I could scarcely believe what I saw or bring myself to click the link - but alas, I'm curious by nature. My eyes furiously and surreptitiously read line after line. The article "carefully" outlined the former Vice-President's work and efforts in the names of all things greenhouse, global, and environmental. (This is the part where I state that I vehemently agree that precautions need to be taken to ensure the safety and well-being of the environment and that I agree that people, myself included, are not doing our part to protect the Earth.) But does Al really get a Nobel Peace Prize? Really? The man made a f***ing movie - and not even a good one at that. I believe that at the halfway mark of the film I was in the midst of pinching my eyelids with my thumb and fore-finger to see how many times I could snap said eyelid back onto my eyeball. In utterance of The Bluth Family, "Come on!"

I cringe at the fact that for all time Albert Gore will have the title of Oscar Winning placed in front of his name, but to have Nobel laureate as well? To know that his name will be placed among names as Elie Wiesel, Nelson Mandela, and Doctor's Without Borders makes me cringe all the more. Now, do I realize that the group sponsoring Al Gore also received the prize? Yes. But will they get the press and receive just recognition? No. What about the producers of "An Inconvenient Truth"? What about the director? What about the scientists and experts that Al got the information from in the first place?

I'm sorry - actually, no I'm not - but I find this concept as laughable as I would if President Bush was to receive the prize for his efforts to exponentially further knowledge and awareness of how to correctly pronounce words in the English language, or if Bill Clinton received the prize for his work on a book called "Fidelity 101: Reasons to Not Cheat on Your Wife and Why Marriage is Sacred."

I know that I seem like I'm on a high-horse here - it's the plight of an English Major - but I find the fact that Al Gore lives in a 10,000 square foot mansion, which had to be built of wood and has to be somehow powered, and has a posse of vehicles, which are certainly not environment-friendly, suspect. I'm pausing to search for the right words here - oh yes, here they are - Al and Tipper (do parents think before they name?) were found to have power bills in excess of $1,200 a month - a month! Despite the fact that this amount is more than I make in a month, I believe my power bill was $38 this month and there are three somewhat moderate to moderate maintenance women living in my house - Come on!!!

I don't know why this irritates me so, but it does. Al Gore - Nobel Prize Winner. Bravo Norway.