The Rest of My Life

[1246] a few tips from a journal intern

2012-01-30T10:00:00.000-08:00

I did some time as an intern at a scholarly journal. It was eye-opening.

"'Accept?' What the hell is this
shwords?"

I haven't been in this whole academic world long (well, aside from the first 22 years of my life, I guess), but it doesn't take much time at all to realize that getting published is a necessary evil--emphasis on the evil. The process of submitting to a journal is frustrating, disheartening, and ultimately unavoidable for most. The much sought-after "conditional accept" is nearly mythological; I mean, who even gets those amongst the sea of "revise & resubmits" and "rejects?" Let me actually go ahead and answer that for you: Next to no one. Trust me, I know. I'm the girl entering those decisions into the database, and the appearance of an "accept" totally throws off my autopilot.

I don't tell you this to dissuade you from submitting or to make it seem hopeless. If anything, this should make you feel a little better. When you open up your email and see that bright, shining rejection letter, know that you are in the company of hundreds of other super smart and talented academics from top schools and institutions all over the world.

There are some things I learned during my internship, though, that might be helpful for those trying to close that gap between reject and R&R. And that also just might make you feel a little less crazy. While trying to get published can be daunting, it can also be a great learning experience and a fantastic opportunity to get feedback from your academic peers. So here we go....

Academic Journal: Headquartered
where signs like this are not only
necessary, but hotly contested.

First off, the process is long. You're going to need to come to terms with that. If the journal website gives you a timeline for how long it'll take, that's probably a minimum. It's going to take longer. A journal is not Vanity Fair. If you're imagining a big ol' staff of people working 'round the clock in some bustling, New York high rise, you are sadly mistaken. If you were imagining a cramped office with the thermostat perpetually cranked to 90 and a few overworked and overheated staffers doing their darndest to make sure the massive influx of submissions are processed each day, go ahead and collect your $200. On top of the staff shortage, journals rely on external readers who may not be super punctual in returning the critiqued manuscripts. On that note, if you are asked to read a manuscript for a journal, know that a lot of thought was put into asking you and everyone's relying on hearing back. You hold the fate of the author in your hands, and if you don't send it back, you've put the person in publication limbo.

When it comes to submitting a paper, don't just throw buzzwords against the wall and see what sticks. One of the head honchos of the journal lamented the volume of submissions we receive that feature a certain set of hip and happening key words, but that lack any useful contribution to the dialogue. We can probably all name five things off the tops of our heads that EVERYONE'S talking about in our respective disciplines right now. It can be tempting to jump on the bandwagon, thinking you're on the fast track to publication if you can get in on that action. You're not. You're quite likely to become another disappointing bit of white noise that leaves everyone with that feeling like when you take a sip of what you think is going to be ice cold lemonade and discover it's actually lukewarm Mountain Dew.

Your point should be significant, but you don't have to come up with something that completely blows all other research out of the water. To paraphrase something a board member said recently, you don't have to be the first word or the last word; you just need to engage the conversation. Let me reiterate, though: Your point should be significant. It doesn't have to foment revolution or change the trajectory of all future studies, but it should also be more than just a cool story. It's that white noise thing again. I've watched whole editorial board get super excited about the subjects of papers, only to then have to reject them because, while they were fun to read, they didn't add anything to a larger conversation.

Make sure you know what you're talking about. If you claim to be the first person to ever talk about transnationalism, intersectionality, and the Jumbaco, there'd better not be an entire anthology of Jumbaco studies readily available on Project Muse. And if that anthology does exist, wouldn't it be a fantastic idea to see if you can dialogue with some of the current scholars? The journal is going to send your paper out to readers who are experts on your specific topic. If you can connect with someone who's already established in your field, that person can probably tell you whether you are the next shining star of your discipline, or you're the next Stephenie Meyer. I'm a big advocate of showing any kind of paper or proposal to as many people as are willing to read it. And as one of my profs recently pointed out, most academics have been in exactly your position and consider it paying it forward to be able to help you out. You might not be able to get the top scholar in the discipline to critique your work, but you can probably get your grad advisor to do it. There's really no excuse for yours being the only eyes to have seen your work before it lands in the journal's inbox. And when your profs, friends, conference audience, or whoever else gives you suggestions, you should really take them into consideration.

If you get a revise and resubmit, FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THAT IS GOOD AND HOLY, REVISE AND RESUBMIT!! And do it soon! Most of the people who submit don't get that opportunity, and when you do, it's a sign that, not only did some external readers think your paper had merit, but then the powers-that-be at the journal discussed it, too, and determined that they'd really like to publish your work with the proper tweaking. They've got a ton on their plates as it is. They don't ask you to R&R just to screw with you. Giving you an R&R means that they are willing to take time out of their days to read your paper AGAIN after you've heeded their suggestions. That's right. These extremely busy, established scholars have signed on to read your work twice with the distinct hope that it will be publishable. Take a moment to soak that in. That's kind of awesome, right? Yes, you might still be rejected after going through the R&R process, but now you've been rejected with a ton of feedback that could help you get published elsewhere or write something that might be a better fit for the original journal. You know what they're looking for. Use it.

And now a note about getting rejected...

I see no possible way that this could be harmful
to my reputation with my peers...

It sucks. I know. And you might feel indignant. You might think your paper is the best thing to happen to Jumbaco studies since the inception of the discipline (about three paragraphs ago). Surely, those shortsighted hacks at the journal will rue the day they turned away your masterpiece. That's fine, but you REALLY shouldn't tell them so. Even in a passive aggressive way. I've seen everything from the I-wouldn't-want-to-be-published-in-your-bleeping-rag-anyway missives to the I'm-sorry-you-couldn't-see-the-timeliness-and-significance-of-this-groundbreaking-research digs. At the end of the day, the journal's readership is not suffering due to the absence of your submission, and you've just sent off a really cranky email to a fairly influential group of your peers. Who now know your name. So next time you're about to have a kneejerk reaction to the cruelty of rejection, maybe back away from the Gmail for a bit, go look at some lolcats, and try to keep in mind that your poorly chosen words in the heat of the moment may be the reason your academic idol cringes when s/he sees your name in a conference program.

Note: Opinions expressed in this blog are, as always, purely my own, and do not necessarily reflect those of the unnamed journal for which I was once an office jockey.

[1239] twitter is for conversations

2012-01-23T10:03:00.000-08:00

If I hear someone say ONE MORE TIME that Twitter is dumb because "no one wants to know what you had for breakfast," I may have to break somebody. (Cue clever commenter who insists on repeating this immediately after reading. Har dee har har.)

I have been on Twitter since December of 2008, and I'm sure on occasion I have had a breakfast so stellar that I've felt the need to tweet about it. This is not the norm. Twitter is for conversations.

LJ friends since 2001.
Clearly middle-aged men
who live in their mothers'
basements.

When I follow someone on Twitter, implicit in the act is that I feel like I'd totally hang out with that person. I don't plan on passively skimming his/her updates as something to do to pass the time between my own 140-character bursts of brilliance. I plan on responding, interacting. I follow because we study the same things, have mutual friends, watch the same TV shows, have similar senses of humor. These were the same reasons I picked Livejournal friends back in the day, or frequented the Switchfoot boards and Flicker Records forums. I wasn't looking for neat little avatars to add to a harem of fans that made me look popular. I was looking for friends. And I found them. In the past several months, I've hung out with no less than four friends I've known for nearly a decade over various forms of social networking. Y'know, back when everyone who talked to a teenage girl online was supposedly some sort of predator in disguise.

On Twitter, like I once did on Livejournal, I come to know people's stories. I know the names and personalities of their significant others and their kids. I know the anxieties and the victories of their job hunts and Ph.D. applications. I know their favorite bands, their political views, their passions, and their idiosyncrasies. There comes a point at which I stop referring to people as "Twitter friends" and just start calling them "friends," although it always feels like I'm hiding something to do so. In 2012, it's silly to still feel embarrassed about knowing people from the internet. Especially since, dammit, we have some amazing conversations!

Yesterday, a quip I made about Joe Paterno turned into a fantastic dialogue about Roman Polanski, Woody Allen, and separating the art from the artist. You can read the conversation for yourself right here in this pretty little Storify story I made out of it. This is NOT out of the ordinary! These kinds of talks happen all the time! If you choose the people you follow wisely, you'll get a lot out of it.

lolz. weatherz dumb.
im goin on twitter.
[img: jackieyaeger.com]

Now don't get me wrong: Sometimes mundane details about life add to the dialogue of Twitter. They help us get to know each other. Not every conversation we have with friends IRL carries immense gravity or importance either. Michelle and I have been known to begin our conversations with the phrase, "I like my face today." In the very rare instance that we have something actually worthwhile to say, we preface it with "OMW," meaning "Oscar Mayer Weiner," meaning something that's really not worth explaining, but isn't as full of innuendo as it sounds. My point is that our conversations are usually so unimportant that we actually make an elaborate distinction when we DO have something of note to say. So if someone happens to Tweet something like, "Waiting in line at the DMV, ugh," or "Eating a pancake. #omnomnom," or "SHOTS SHOTS SHOTS SHOTS!" this does not discredit Twitter as a medium anymore than it discredits face-to-face interactions to mention the weather.

"For our sake, you guys."

You don't have to like Twitter or Facebook or Tumblr or whatever other social networking site I happen to enjoy. But when I tell you I like it, for the love of Peter, Paul, and Mary, please refrain from telling me it's stupid because of some unfounded reason you came up with when you logged in this one time and didn't immediately get it.

[1232] letters

2012-01-16T11:00:00.000-08:00

I have become completely obsessed with letters. Formal, witty, intelligently written letters.

You see, it started with a box sent to me by my dad's best friend Weezie. I receive packages from her sporadically, filled with little things that belonged to Dadoo--photos, newspaper clippings, books, etc. One of the more interesting packages contained a section of this genealogy book that my Aunt Irene compiled a while back. As a sidenote, before I get to the letters, I discovered while thumbing through this genealogy book that a good portion of my family is from NORTHERN Ireland. I mean, they came to America quite a while before the Anglo-Irish Treaty, but still. It's like my love for Norn Iron was in my blood. And here I thought all our blood had in it was alcoholism.

But back to the letters.

"I ain't even mad."

In the loose pages packed into the box from Weezie, there was a series of letters from my grandpa to various relatives, mostly his sister Joan. And they were funny. Articulate. Full of cutting jabs in elegant and refined prose. My family's love language is mockery, and I marvel at how effectively my grandfather employed it. In one exchange, he writes, "After the cracks you made in the letter, I wouldn't count on any more revelations. That little piece of blasphemy ranks with the choices bits of Voltaire + Bocaccio." (Man, would I ever like to know what blasphemy was in her letter.) Later, he tells Joan, "If you're passing through Pennsylvania anytime before I get a chance to, you might do one of your special rock-and-window jobs on Carlisle Barracks -- the stinkers haven't forwarded any mail yet and I know there was some to be forwarded. I'll give them another 2 days + then I'm joining the Japs." I hope you'll pardon the language. It was 1944 and Grandpa was obviously in the military.

In one of my favorite digs, Grandpa all but calls his sister a drunken hussy: "Have you sobered up yet -- you seem to be making the rounds, from the Biltmore Bar to the Old Brew house... Such frivolity in a med student -- tsk, tsk! Of course, as Ogden Nash says -- 'Home is Heaven and orgies are vile -- but you need an orgy, once in a while.'" And in a bit of snark that sounds like something I might say to my own sister, he writes, "How are the exams coming? You must have been awfully worried to consider, even momentarily, studying."

"Go kill yourself."
- H.L. Mencken, the original troll

One of my favorite blogs is Letters of Note, which posts letters to and/or from famous people, often in the period before they gained any form of notoriety. This makes for good reading, as the letters are often painfully discouraging and incredibly myopic--if only in retrospect--on the part of the senders. A recent posting contained a letter from H.L Mencken to aspiring magazine editor William Saroyan in 1936. Mencken writes: I note what you say about your aspiration to edit a magazine. I am sending you by this mail a six-chambered revolver. Load it and fire every one into your head. You will thank me after you get to hell and learn from other editors there how dreadful their job was on earth."

I want to write letters like this. And receive letters like this. I mean, the other day I actually used the phrase "fo sho" in an email to a professor. And to another professor, I wrote an email with the subject line, "Ostrich love. Guh." WTF, mate? Surely I can do better than this. I'm a Vaughan, dammit! A proud yet self-effacing Vaughan with the excessively extensive vocabulary and penchant for harassment trademark of our clan. So who wants a pen pal?

[1217] i resolve

2012-01-01T13:06:00.000-08:00

Girl power and what-not.

Another fantastic New Year's Eve party behind us. Between the fantastic new friends I made (Nate, Erin, Will) and the old friends I hadn't seen in for-eh-ver (Mo, Tremper), it was one for the record books. Plus, everyone's '90s costumes were amazical. Calling it a big time win.

No one could top Nate &
Will's Just Dance
performance.

I don't think I've made a New Year's resolution since 7th grade or so. I resolved to stop biting my nails, and it actually worked for nearly a year. But then they'd get long and I just felt like it was easier to bite 'em off than to cut 'em, so that habit's been back in full force for a while now. This year I've decided to give resolving another shot, albeit in a slightly different way.

Instead of making one sweeping resolution that I'm supposed to actually remember and take into account throughout the whole year, I'm going to attempt monthly resolutions--things I probably should be doing anyway.

So here's month one, and let's hope that I can remember to keep doing this. Happy 2012!

JANUARY 2012 RESOLUTIONS

To Read:
Wuthering Heights by Emily Brontë
Jurassic Park by Michael Crichton
The Lost World by Michael Crichton
A Scanner Darkly by Philip K. Dick

To Do:
Submit to 3 calls for papers
Thesis proposal
Spend more time at Back Bay
Buy some Gotye tunes

Doesn't his voice just make you want to cry?

[1206] holiday bookbag

2011-12-21T14:15:00.000-08:00

I'm jumping on the holiday bookbag bandwagon. Apparently my all-star prof (see also: the one who is constantly ragging on my choices of baked goods), Adam Golub, wrote last year about the books he was taking with him to read on his holiday excursions. Rebecca Onion decided to swipe the idea for herself, writing about the titles filling up "holiday bookbag." Inspired by this thievery, I, too, decided to share my winter reading list.

1. The Man Who Cried I Am by John A. Williams
I borrowed this from my brain-twin Monique a while back and haven't gotten a chance to finish it. I read 150 pages of it in one sitting. Didn't even pause to check muh Twitter. It's that good. Too good to read in five minute intervals as I drift in and out of consciousness before bed every night. I sat in on one of Monique's classes at UCI with Dr. Frank Wilderson, who is kind of a BAMF, and who gave some amazing insights into the book and the real-life counterparts to its characters. Finishing this is priority #1... especially since poor Mo still hasn't read the last 30 pages. Sorry, love!

Oh, heyyy. Lookin' for a wife #4?

2. A Death in the Family by James Agee
After reading Let Us Now Praise Famous Men, I developed an intellectual crush on James Agee. I won't embarrass myself by divulging how much time I spent Googling him, but suffice it to say that I think I can now be considered a James Agee scholar. A Death in the Family is an autobiographical novel about the death of Agee's father in a car accident. Agee himself died at age 45 (dude lived HARD) and the book was published two years later. Ended up winning him a posthumous Pulitzer. I've read 70% of it according to my Kindle.

3. Fables vol. 6 & 7 by Bill Willingham
I love Fables. Volume 6 has been giving me some trouble, though. For one, somehow the cover of my trade paperback became detached from the book's binding. As such, I have to read it ever-so delicately to keep the pages from separating into an unwieldy mess of individual sheets of paper. Secondly, I don't think I'm all that into Jack, and the first half of Homelands is pretty much all about him. More Boy Blue, less Jack, please.

4. In the Garden of Beasts by Erik Larson
If you have EVER asked me for a book recommendation, I have recommended Larson's Devil in the White City. If I've ever bought you a book as a present, it was probably Devil in the White City. If you've already read Devil in the White City, I probably went on to recommend Thunderstruck. I'm a bit of a Larson fangirl. Somehow my friend Kristin got inside of my head and figured out that this would be the absolutely perfect birthday present for me, so it has been calling to me since September. Shh, I'm coming, darling book.

5. Abraham Lincoln: Vampire Hunter by Seth Grahame-Smith
I've been meaning to snag a copy of this somewhere for a while, but now that I've seen the posters for the film adaptation, it has become absolutely crucial that I read this. Aside from my obsession with "The Vampire Diaries," vampire stuff isn't really my bag. A smart, witty, historical vampire novel sounds right up my alley, though. Plus, again, the flippin' posters.

What are you reading? Any recommendations? Tell me here or friend me on Goodreads!

[1166] dad

2011-11-11T11:11:00.000-08:00

On the 1,144th day of the rest of my life, I lost one of my best friends in the whole, wide world--my dad.

Today would've been his 61st birthday. It was a birthday he looked forward to his entire life. Not because 61 is a particularly interesting age (besides, since two years ago he proclaimed that he was skipping age 59, it would have been his 62nd by his count), but because it's 11/11/11, and that's just "too cool." I remember him explaining Armistice Day to me when I was just a wee one. He was so proud of his birthday, and being born at the halfway point of the century. 1950. That he missed that birthday by just a few weeks frankly ticks me off. It just figures. Sometimes I feel like my dad was Charlie Brown. He just could never kick the football.

Had it been within my dad's power, he would never have left my side. He wouldn't have left any of our sides. He was the third base coach for my softball team, he helped me with my homework, I sat in his lap while he watched the nightly news; when we moved to California, I'd still call him to help me with those pesky math problems. When I was in college, he'd drive out to see me every Thursday, often bringing a bag of oranges from his backyard for my roommates, whom he'd always say "charmed the socks right off" him. Dad wanted nothing more in life than to settle down in New England and to know that his kids were thriving. He kept very little. Amongst his few material possessions were stacks and stacks of photos of us; heaps of letters, cards, and valentines we'd made him years and years ago.

Just over a month ago I was holding his hand in the hospital, telling him that when he got better, Kyo and I would come to visit him. He couldn't speak, but he hummed his approval and got wide-eyed and excited at the mention of Kyo's name. Man, he loved my husband. At the end of all of our phone conversations, he would tell me a joke, then insist that I run and tell it to Kyo immediately. I think he knew that I did not inherit his joke-telling skills, and hoped that repeating it right away would keep me from butchering it. It usually didn't. I seriously can't tell a joke. Remind me some time, though, to tell you the one about the "P." My dad would be proud and appalled that this is the joke I've retained throughout the years.

My dad was one of the smartest people I've ever met. He was a teacher through and through. He's a large part of the reason I was using words like "inquisitive" and "ambidextrous" by the time I reached the first grade. He co-founded The Literacy Project, which has helped thousands of adults learn to read. That anyone should be denied the pleasure of a good book or the dignity of accomplishing every day tasks without asking for help was an absolute travesty to Jimmy Vaughan.

When I first arrived in Massachusetts last month, Dadoo had improved quite a bit. He was talking a little, although his memory wasn't so great. He couldn't remember my name, but when the nurse asked him who I was, he responded, "That's my pretty little girl." When people would tell my dad that I looked like him, he would always respond, "Sure. Except for all the pretty." He was full of his own little words and phrases: Sheesh canoliburgers, Corrigan McSnortenheimer, Rudy Kazoodie, and my personal favorite, at the beginnings of bedtime stories, Are you all sitty comfy two square on your bums? Then let's begin. Once a polly tie tow...

There's a lot I could say about my dad. I could write a book about why he was and always will be one of my favorite people who has ever walked the earth. I could talk at length about his warm hugs and the way I never to had ask for a back rub--I just had to sit in front of him and his response was automatic. I could expound upon the hundreds of hours we spent walking, whether to the park, to Super John's, or to a friend's house, and the fact that a walk was never just a walk, but a history lesson or a vocabulary lesson or a lesson in why we were lucky to live in such a beautiful part of the country.

I'll miss my dadoo. I'll miss calling him every time I get straight As or land an internship or achieve anything great. I know that for the rest of my life, I will hear his "I'll be darned," and his expressions of great pride whenever I succeed. I'll think of him after every Red Sox or Patriots win. Heck, I'll just think of him. And I know others will, too. My dad's fingerprints are on a lot of lives.

So if you have a story you want to tell me about my dad, go on ahead. Email me, comment, make me a video. I'd love to hear it.

And by the way, a blonde is walking down the street and sees another blonde across the way. "Hey! How do you get to the other side?" she yells. The other blonde yells back, "Duh, you're already on it!"

G'nite, Dadoo.

[1057] diary of a coloured girl

2011-07-25T19:45:00.000-07:00

I had every intention of writing an entry for the thousandth day of the rest of my life, but I spent that day in South Africa, where the Internet was quite hard to come by most days. I did almost all of my journaling by hand, which is actually something I love to do, but don't do nearly enough. I did, however, write a blog in text edit on the flight back home. I was thinking about race, naturally. How can one not after studying in South Africa? I learned a lot. So much, I could write a book and still not scratch the surface. I shall share the tiny inkling that I was able to articulate on my last day abroad with you now:

It's weird how time can simultaneously pass quickly and slowly. Considering the anticipation leading up to this trip, it's hard to believe it's over. The memory of sitting in the airport, awkwardly staring at a group of girls and trying to figure out if they were part of my team, is still fresh. They were, by the way. Things from the beginning of the trip are becoming hazy, though. It seems like forever ago that I surfed or that I petted lions. And now I'm headed home.

I'm a little sad to be losing my newfound "coloured" identity. At the airport in Johannesburg, a black salesgirl asked me if I was from Cape Town. I was buying a Cape Town magnet, which to me would've signaled tourist. But my appearance signaled otherwise to her. When I said that I was American, she wanted to know what I was (a question that, by the way, generally drives me crazy, so don't ask it). I wasn't exactly sure what to say, considering all I've learned about race in South Africa the past five weeks. When I looked baffled and stupidly muttered, "Um... what do you mean," she asked, "Haven't you got cultures in America?" Oh, sure. We have cultures. Some of 'em are even based on race. I don't have one of those. Finally I managed to explain, "Well, I guess you'd call me coloured. But my parents aren't coloured. My mom's black and my dad's white."

We talked for a little bit longer. She told me my husband must be hot, because the mix of "Chinese... I mean, Japanese, Japanese," is a good one. She was not so incredibly fond of the mix of Indian and white. I should have showed her a picture of Chelsea or Anil as a rebuttal. I swear, that can be a good mix. She told me her son was coloured, because his dad is coloured. In South Africa, bloodlines follow the father, so that's totally logical. In America, if either of your parents is black, you're black - especially if you're dark complected. Someone like me has a bit more ambiguity in racial status, but the one drop rule is mostly applicable. No one ever accuses you of not being true to your white roots as a mixed kid. You often get razzed for being a lousy black person, though. That's the way it is.

It was kind of fun having a race all my own in South Africa. Mind you, I think the concept of race is absolutely ridiculous and we should stop looking at it as being able to determine any more about us than our hair or eye color does, but it was nice that hardly anyone asked what I was, aside from this salesgirl. No one was trying to figure me out. I was just coloured. In Cape Town, where a large portion of the coloured population lives, the pushy salesmen at the markets would totally ignore me, assuming I was a local. It was glorious. No one wanted to hyphenate me. No one wanted to know what percentage of me is Irish and what percentage is black. That's not part of being coloured. I could get used to that. But, alas, it's back to the ambiguity of being mixed race in America for me. It'll take some getting used to. It'll also take getting used to not referring to every racially ambiguous looking person I see in America as coloured. I've already done it twice since leaving South Africa, and I haven't even landed at L.A.X. yet. This is a bad habit.

[973] bloggers' guilt

2011-05-02T16:40:00.001-07:00

I have had about a million and one things I've wanted to blog about of late. I have a whole series entitled "Why Glee Sucks" outlined in a text edit document on my desktop. I have a half written essay on Henry David Thoreau and the Tea Party - which I composed while on the bus - sitting neglected in a spiral notebook in my backpack. Still another post, tentatively titled, "Don't Be A Douche," which will discuss anti-intellectualism and anti-whatever-the-opposite-of-intellectualism-is, sits neglected at the back of my consciousness. Often quite at the forefront of my consciousness, actually. It makes me anxious having all these ideas buzzing about but lacking the time or willpower to put them to paper. Or to the "compose" box.

At this time of year, anxiety awakens me in the mornings before my alarm clock. I have a thousand papers and presentations, millions of Tumblr posts thanking faithful donors to my trip to South Africa, billions of commitments and responsibilities requiring my full attention, all overwhelming me to the point of complete mental paralysis. I can feel anxiety tingling in my ribcage and the tips of my fingers.

So I'm sorry for my absence, and I thank those of you have been leaving me comments lately encouraging me to keep writing. School is nearly done for the semester, and perhaps soon I can finally inhale deeply without feeling guilty that I've taken too much time to do so.

[882] a concise history of me

2011-01-31T12:05:00.000-08:00

For our first assignment, my American Media History professor, who admits that he is a chronic forgetter of names, required us to write brief personal bios so that he could try to get to know us better. Seeing as he seems like a pretty agreeable bloke, I had a little fun with mine. Caution: Mocking of Californians contained within.

In September of 1985, I became the fourth child of Jimmy Vaughan, and the second of Michele Albouy. My older brothers range from seven to fifteen years older than me, and the oldest two grew up for the most part with their mother, whose real name, I believe, is Verna, but who has always been known to me as Bunni. My own mother elected to be known as Mike, which is slightly more androgynous a nickname, but suits her nonetheless. Mike gave birth to one more child after me, my little sister Erin. We call her Ed, which is not so much androgynous as downright masculine. Nonetheless, both my mother and my sister are actually quite feminine, albeit with an unladylike penchant for violent video games.

I was born and raised in Greenfield, MA, which is quite distant from Boston, but does not stop people from introducing me to others as being from there. While Massachusetts is a much smaller state than California, to assume that anyone from the state is from Boston is kind of like being introduced to someone from L.A., and then replying, "Oh, you're from Sacramento!" It’s always irked me, but considering I’ve had Californians ask me if Massachusetts is in the United States, I try to choose my battles when it comes to discussing my upbringing.

I attended Vanguard University in Costa Mesa, CA, and graduated with a degree in Communications, with an emphasis on TV and film. I minored in United States History and, truth be told, was far more interested in that field than I was in my major. Luckily, American Studies is the perfect hybrid of the theory and methods I learned as a Commie – as we called ourselves at VU – and those that I learned in my history courses. That’s why I elected to pursue my Master’s degree in American Studies at Cal State Fullerton.

After graduating, I would like to pursue a Ph. D. in either U.S. History or Public History. I’m particularly interested in the Civil Rights Movement, Colonial America, and American folklore. From a very young age, I always wanted to be a writer. I’ve also always wanted to be a tour guide, but telling people that tends to elicit a degree of incredulity that leads me to instead assert that I’d like to teach. And I would. I’d like to teach in both an academic setting, and in a walking-down-the-street-backwards-with-a-crowd-of-people-following-me setting. I’m pretty flexible about the context.

In the meantime, as I await my triumphant entry into the academic and literary realms, I’m living in Costa Mesa, exactly .8 miles from my alma mater according to Google Maps. I have a husband, who maintains the post-production facility and teaches at Vanguard, and a dog, who does little more than wander from couch to couch all day in search of the most comfortable place to be useless. I’m an Adjunct Teaching Assistant for the online program at an Iowa-based university. It provides me the means to pay the tuition at CSUF, but also makes me fearful for entering into a profession in which the incidence of students misspelling their own names on their papers is alarmingly high. Still, teaching is what I’m good at, and if I can teach just one student to correctly spell the word “definitely,” I will have done my bit for society.

[872] portland to vancouver on a single tank of gas.

2011-01-21T10:56:00.000-08:00

I hadn't anticipated great changes in crossing the border from the United States into Canada. I don't know whether I was excessively ethnocentric, or whatever the exact opposite of that is. Either way, I expected a friendly border officer to ask us a few questions ending in "eh," check our passports, and send us on our way to what I was sure would prove to be North Washington.

The first hint that this wasn't going to be the case was when my sister called her phone company and realized that she'd need an international calling plan to be able to use her phone on our trip. That's right. This arbitrary line on the great land mass of North America instantly bricked my phone - which has a similar effect on me to severing an appendage. I have no problem leaving my phone in another room and refusing to check it throughout the duration of a day or two, but I have to know that, should I need it, it will send a tweet or call 911 (in that order of importance).

The next indication was the surliness of the border agent. I realize that they kind of have to treat everybody like potential terrorists, but this guy either hated his life, his job, or us. Maybe all three. He was incredulous of our every plan. "What are you coming to Canada for?" "Just for fun." "Why?" "Um... y'know. We had a break." "Right. Open your trunk." Brother would not crack a smile for anything, and ended up sending us into the big border control building, where a slightly friendlier agent asked us the exact same questions, and at least acted amused when we told her we were visiting Canada because it was either that or a kidnapping tour of Mexico. It did take all my self-control not to tell her I had just picked Ed up on the side of the road somewhere in Oregon when, looking at our passports with our identical and incredibly uncommon last names on them, she asked how we knew each other. I really was looking forward to seeing more of Canada than the duty free shop on the way out, however, so I refrained.

Next, as I had briefly considered but, for whatever reason, disregarded as a possibility, the speed markers on the freeway were labeled in kilometers per hour. When the first one we saw said 50kmh, I figured that the speeds must be pretty close. When the next one said 100, I began to question my deductive reasoning. My sister retrieved from my bag a little book with conversion charts in it, and we quickly realized that miles per hour are like, half of kilometers per hour. So, as we were happily cruising along around 50mph, we were going a good 20mph over the speed limit. No matter, however, 'cause Canadians be crazy. There really is no such thing as a speed limit in Canada. No matter where you are, including the middle of the city, you're on the freaking Autobahn. While taking advantage of the wifi at a Starbucks in Vancouver, I took a moment to look up some driving tips for Americans in Canada. It basically verified what I already knew: Canadians are extremely aggressive, frequently dart around each other and run red lights, and adhere to no discernible speed limits. Furthermore, there is very little enforcement of traffic laws. Of course, we managed to find the exception to that rule, and, while I was looking up these tips, somebody was busily enforcing the street parking laws and leaving a $35 ticket on our car for neglecting to feed the meter.

Or is that metre? 'Cause everything here is written in British English. Hadn't accounted for that either. I mean, I get that the province is called BRITISH Columbia, but I kinda took that in the same way that the region of the U.S. I grew up in is called New ENGLAND. I was surprised to find Queen Elizabeth's visage not only imprinted upon the monopoly money we were given at the currency exchange, but also proudly displayed in various establishments throughout the area. This surely is what we fought the revolution to avoid: Images of the royal family and the unnecessary addition of the letter "u" to words that certainly do not require it.

Anyway, I'm learning to drive the Canadian way, and trying to figure out what all the signs mean. I'm sure that they're all very intuitive to the Canadian people, but when I see a sign that looks to me to be proclaiming, "No octagons," it takes me a minute to decipher it. But I'm doing okay. I've given up on following the speed limits, and I'm learning to swerve around anyone I deem to be in my way at a given time. I even casually rolled through a red light in front of no less than five emergency service and police vehicles, albeit completely by accident. Nobody was fazed. All signs are suggestions.

After discovering our ticket, we decided that we'd save money by not paying for a hostel. So we bought some blankets at Wal-Mart and slept in our car in the parking lot. I'm pretty sure I get a special jewel in my crown in Heaven for having slept in a Wal-Mart parking lot. That and a special hepatitis shot, probably. But it actually wasn't so bad. Having human bodies in the car all night meant that we didn't have to spend 45 minutes scraping inch-thick sheets of ice off the car in the morning like the poor Wally World employees had done when they got off work the night before. It also meant waking up to run the heater every three hours or so to prevent hypothermia. It wasn't so bad, though. For Ed and I, it made us modern day Huck Finns. This is adventure for the girl of the 21st century. This feeling was only validated when, upon waking our second morning in the parking lot, we discovered that we were covered in an ever-increasing layer of snow.

Vancouver is really a wonderful place. The city is huge - like L.A., but without the perpetual eau de urine and purple haze of smog lingering overhead. Every time you pass into a new area of the city, it feels like you've passed into a different U.S. city. It's like they squeezed all of America's biggies into one super-city. And the best part is that they managed to do so while largely avoiding the slums that make up the majority of most of our urban areas. We drove through an area or two with some graffiti and bars on the windows, but they lasted for all of a block or two before becoming nice again.

Perhaps my favorite experience of the whole trip was seeing beluga whales in the park next to the aquarium. It was even more mesmerizing than the fruit bats at the Portland Zoo, and presented me with the very rare experience of seeing an animal I had literally never seen in person before. I could've stood there staring all day, but our parking permit was going to run out, and another ticket would most likely break both my wallet and my spirit.

You know that feeling you get when you find out an actor is Canadian? Like, whoa, this changes everything I know about them all of a sudden? I've always considered that thought to be unwarranted, but I'm less convinced of that now. I don't mean that in any Team America sort of way. I am not a particularly patriotic person unless the Olympics are on. I just mean that I get now that there actually are considerable differences between "Americans" (which always seems weird to say when discussing other people who live upon the continent of North America) and Canadians. They have their own musicians, their own artists, their own film industry, their own signs and symbols, and their own society that functions completely separately from the United States. It sounds like a silly observation to make, but I think it takes experiencing it to really get it. After all, I've only begun to scratch the surface of the extremely obvious shifts here, and that's the surface of just one region of one province. I'm sure it's like describing American society when you've only been to Dallas or Chicago or Seattle - woefully ignorant and inadequate.

[830] 'Tis that season

2010-12-10T11:33:00.000-08:00

That's right, ladies & gents. It is Hallmark Christmas movie season. It is the season in which we realize that people's loved ones are always up and dying on Christmas eve, turning those they left behind into holiday hating Scrooges in need of serious Christmas rehab. Truly, it is the most wonderful time of the year.

Christmas movies are kind of like Disney movies. There's some sort of rule that forbids the existence of two parents in the same household. Of course, unlike Disney movies, in which they rarely acknowledge this strange and depressing fact, in a Christmas movie you are reminded repeatedly that one or both parents are missing. Usually about half the movie is spent referring to "That Christmas eve," until a heartfelt conversation takes place between two characters - generally love interests - in which we find out in great detail why this person has not been able to function in the month of December for the past five to twenty years. The other means for this reveal tends to have something to do with Santa - the real one, as the movie is dedicated to proving - revisiting the tragedy with the person in vague terms, and explaining that that fateful Christmas was when the poor sap lost his/her faith in Santa, and, as a result, mankind.

Another important factor in the Hallmark Christmas movie is the fight against greed. Not only do people die around Christmas, they also get super money-grubbing. Not the dead ones of course. Those who kick the bucket around Christmas are always selfless and altruistic. It's always the remnant, as I've just now elected to call the people left in the land of the living, who have a serious problem detaching from their cash. Considering the big selling point of Christmas is generally the presents, and Hallmark is in the business of holiday buying, it's rarely the presents themselves that are the problem. It's the wrong KIND of presents, for one. Kids shouldn't be asking for expensive video games and robots that do their homework for them. They should be playing with slinkies and puzzles, or dolls whose greatest technology is that their eyelids roll closed when you tilt them on their backs. They're looking out for the little guy in these movies. The rich people who can afford the homework robot are still going to buy it, but the po' folk who can't afford it can feel validated for buying one of those cheap, imitation Barbie dolls that dent if you hold them too tightly or look at them the wrong way.

The big problem, however, is the corporate Scrooge who withholds toys and Christmas bonuses from his employees and their families. This is the meany who's selling you the homework robot, or making you work late on Christmas eve, or committing any number of other evil and unfestive offenses. There's always a Bob Cratchett and a Tiny Tim, and the Christmas ghosts can take the form of a disadvantaged child, a new love interest, a mysterious old man with a white beard and a round belly, some institution that needs to be saved, or a combination of any or all of the above. In the end, there's a kiss under a Christmas tree, or a big holiday party, or some other dramatic moment in which faith in Christmas, and, therefore, humanity, is restored.

I sound critical, but I love these movies. I mean, some of 'em are real stinkers, but there's something about them that makes you feel like a kid again, and like everything really can be perfect for a moment in time - even if that moment is just the two hours you spend watching. There's life after death, and after money, and after parents who leave. It's all so very hopeful. Of all the distorted images of reality presented in movies, I find the idea of hope the least offensive.

Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good Hallmark movie.

{BONUS}
Corrigan's Top 5 Hallmark Movies Airing This Year
These aren't all new ones, but they're the best I've watched that you can catch again before the season's over.

5. Christmas in Canaan - Um... Billy Ray Cyrus. That is all.
4. Mrs. Miracle - First time James Van Der Beek has ever actually seemed attractive to me.
3. Moonlight & Mistletoe - Tom Arnold is just so dopey in this, you hafta love him. Candace Cameron is perhaps excessively angry, but Chris Wiehl makes it all better.
2. Farewell Mr. Kringle - Stars Christine Taylor (a.k.a. Mrs. Ben Stiller) and Chris Wiehl (a.k.a. a total "That guy" actor). For once, the Santa character in this movie ISN'T the real Santa, and that makes all the difference.
1. Call Me Mrs. Miracle - It has Jewel Staite of Fast Forward and Firefly fame, as well as Eric Johnson, who played Whitney on Smallville. Those are reasons enough right there. But it's also got just the right elements of cute, sad, funny, and relatable to really suck you in. Special airpoints for the positive body image messages thrown into the mix.

Looking forward to: Battle of the Bulbs, starring Matt Frewer (Eureka, Max Headroom, Honey, I Shrunk the Kids) and Daniel Stern (HOME ALONE)
Do not watch: The Santa Suit (sorry Kevin Sorbo), The Santa Incident

[791] i hate everyone who doesn't agree with me

2010-11-01T11:55:00.000-07:00

I was talking to someone recently about how adorable/silly it is that little kids think they have political views. I can remember having a very strong dislike of George H.W. Bush at the tender age of six, and I can even remember voicing that dislike to my friend Hana's mom, like we were having an adult conversation. Looking back, I can clearly see that I was simply regurgitating what I had heard my parents saying, but, at the time, those views felt like they were mine.

When I'm around kids now, and they start telling me that Obama wants to take their houses away, or that Obama is the savior of the universe, I have to laugh (and cringe a little). It's funny to see their conviction about things they know absolutely nothing about. A year or so ago, my friend James showed me this journal he'd found from when he was a kid. It was an election journal, and in it he had written his thoughts every four years about the candidates running for office. From a very early age, he was a staunch Republican. Why? 'Cause all of his outside influences told him to be. Just like I was a good little Democrat as a child

Good thing we grow out of that....

Oh wait. No we don't. Fast forward, say, ten years from those cute, childhood musings on the state of the nation. It's high school. For most of us, we live in an area that mostly reflects the views of our parents. After all, people tend to avoid living in places where everyone disagrees with them. So, all of our friends have been indoctrinated with the same political ideology that we have. We're surrounded by people who all "believe" the same things that we do. Did our friends come to these conclusions, at the age of sixteen, by any special means aside from what their parents told them? Probably not. Sure, there are some kids who really do spend a lot of time developing their political views through research, but that's not the majority. Basically, the forming of political views in high school is framed by either an acceptance of our parents' views, a rejection of our parents' views, or an apathy toward politics. It's rarely based on knowing anything about the issues, or drawing our own conclusions. I remember asking a friend who was on an anti-Bush rant in high school what she didn't like about him. Well, he was stupid, ignorant, dumb, and didn't speak well. Those are great reasons not to like that one kid who sits in the corner of your Spanish class shooting spitballs at the back of your head, but it's not a super well thought out reason to dislike a President.

We're still impressionable in high school, so we get our political views from our friends instead of our parents. But where did our friends get their political views? Yup, you guessed it. From their parents. We're all very sure of ourselves now, 'cause our parents and our friends, and the good people of Morally Upstanding County all agree with us. And we choose a college that validates that further. I can't count the number of times, as I was preparing to go off to a little Christian school in Orange County, that my mother referred to me as her "little, Republican daughter." This irked me to no end, and I think I may have eventually yelled. My dear mother (whom I do not mean to rag on at all, for I love her dearly) would also lecture me while I was at college about the importance of registering as a Democrat, so I could vote in the primaries. A) I wasn't going to vote in primaries. I was eighteen. B) I just wanted to decline to state. I had no party. I disagreed with both (and, in some cases, agreed with both). I wanted to vote on issues, not on party lines. Was that so much to ask? Resoundingly, yes. Everyone around me insisted I choose. You're for us, or against us. Which is it gonna be? At a Christian school in Orange County, questioning meant I was a liberal. At a public school in Marin County, questioning meant I was a conservative. For me, questioning was my way of differentiating myself from the people around me who had political views stronger than their reasoning abilities.

Good thing we grow out of that....

Ohhhhhhhh, wait. No we don't. Fast forward to age 25, age 45, age 65, and so on. We've formed our opinions around our parents, and then our friends, and now around commentators on cable TV who tell us everything we want to hear, and nothing we don't. If something runs counter to our firmly-held beliefs, it can't be because we were thinking about it wrong, or there are exceptions. Just shift the rhetoric, and we can make it work. Take two sort of related issues that get people hot under the collar: Abortion and capital punishment. I see campaign ads that say things like, "So-and-so will make abortion A CRIME," and "What's-her-face will NEVER seek the death penalty!" These things are supposed to make me think that these candidates are absolutely vile creatures with no sense of goodness. But let's think about this here.

The pro-abortion movement has found some absolutely brilliant rhetoric in the use of the term, "pro-choice." 'Cause what's the opposite of that? It's not pro-life. It's anti-choice. If you are anti-abortion, you are against freedom. I mean, how perfect is that? If Glenn Beck were pro-choice, this is EXACTLY the term he would've come up with. Instead of focusing on the legitimate concern for human life - which I think most of us would say is a good thing - this focuses on power. It's not about wanting to save children; it's about taking power away from women. It's about forcing religious views on people who have no interest in religion. It's control. ROOOOOAAARRRRRR!!! If people really stopped for a second to think about it, they would see that the whole anti-choice thing is bull. Sure, you can disagree about when life starts, and that's fine. You can have a civilized debate about that. But the second that you shift the rhetoric to pro-choice, you villainize the opposition. It's about those conservative meanies trying to control your body, and that's just not nice.

Capital punishment is the other side of this. Ads that run promoting capital punishment talk about cop killers and child murderers. They demand "justice" for these innocents, and insinuate that anyone who disagrees is a murder-sympathizer; that somehow, by refusing to kill a killer, one is condoning the behavior. Clearly, liberals wants to kill your innocent babies AND reward evil murderers! Again, this disregards the legitimate concern for human life. If someone who is pro-capital punishment were willing to actually consider the argument of the opposition, they would realize that, like one who fights for the rights of unborn children, one who fights the death penalty is trying to protect human life. It's not about sympathizing with killers and letting them get away with murder. It's about a hesitance to consider killing a justifiable response to killing. It's also a hesitance to execute a person who may later be proven innocent, as has been the case more times than most would like to acknowledge. It's absolutely ridiculous to refuse to see that point. Again, you can have a civilized debate about whether ending the life of a killer is justified or not, but the second you make those who are anti-death penalty out to be pro-murder or anti-justice, the conversation ends. That's it.

So, I hate you. I mean, I'm supposed to right? That's what I've learned from all of this. If you disagree with me, you are against me.

[765] i don't want to wear your moccasins.

2010-10-06T17:25:00.000-07:00

I'm sitting in my living room watching Hoarders (and unconsciously tidying as I do), when the show ends and switches to the new show Sister Wives. Considering I'm barely willing to share my husband with his job - and I only do that because it's necessary for survival - there are few things I can relate to less than women who voluntarily enter into polygamous relationships. And that IS the case with these women. This isn't some FLDS compound where creepy old men are marrying twelve-year-olds. This is suburban Utah. This is a group of people who could very well live next door to me. If I lived in Utah.

As I do when I watch anything that piques my curiosity, I took to Twitter to see what people were saying about it. I found indignation, disgust, condemnation. In a word, intolerance. Oh, snap! I just dropped the I-bomb! Look out!

But really. As I read through these comments, I saw a lot of references and connections to the Duggars and their apparently abhorrent lifestyle. People were downright angry that TLC would have the audacity to portray these people as complex and even (gasp) GOOD people. Heaven forbid we should look at them as anything other than some monolithic group full of people with no personalities outside of the evil Mormon or fundamentalist Christian programming they've received. If we're gonna portray them as normal, they'd better at least have some secret dark side like on Big Love. They can't be like us.

This has always bothered me. Let's look at this kind of judgment on a scale that's more at the forefront of our society right now: Some people have been complaining about the fact that homosexuals are portrayed as human beings on TV lately. If we see them as people who go to school, eat food, listen to music, and engage in extracurricular activities like the rest of us, it's a heck of a lot harder to hate them, or to see them as some malicious "other" hellbent on changing our beliefs and ways of life. Most of us can agree that this is pretty ridiculous. It's good for us to see how people live who live differently than we do, whether we agree with it or not. As it turns out, the overarching American culture, or at least regional culture, tends to be a lot bigger than lifestyle choices or sexual orientation. We're all a lot more alike than we give each other credit for.

But we refuse to walk two moons in another man's moccasins in order to understand him. In fact, we're more interested in the Jack Handey take on it: We want to walk a mile in another man's shoes so that, when we criticize him, we're a mile away AND we have his shoes. It's kind of hard to do that if that man looks like someone I might actually want to hang out with.

So, we're in agreement. Portraying gay people as gay PEOPLE on TV isn't a bad thing. But what about those icky polygamists? Or those irresponsible whackos with 19 kids? Surely they're too far outside the mainstream to be included in the acceptable category for positive portrayals. But why? They support themselves financially, they pay taxes, they're not abusive, the adults involved in these relationships consent to them, and the children in the families are happy to the extent than any child is happy. I have yet to meet any teenager who agrees entirely with their parents' views and choices. Both of these families give their children the freedom to choose whether they want to continue in these lifestyles once they leave the house.

Now, maybe we have a problem with the exploitative nature of reality television in general, and that's a whole other animal, but why is it that we seem to think it's some form of indoctrination to see that people whose lifestyles we disagree with are still thinking, feeling human beings? After watching two episodes of Sister Wives, I'd totally let my (future) kids hang out with their kids. Do I "approve" of polygamy? Nope. Not a lifestyle I can get behind. But I've never made agreeing with someone a qualification for being friends. I'd probably have a lot fewer if that were the case.

[761] remember high school? me neither.

2010-10-02T01:08:00.000-07:00

A couple years ago, this guy added me on Facebook. We have lots of mutual friends, so I figure I must know him, but I've looked over all his pictures and info and still can't place him. I'm not a Facebook, snob, though, and I accepted the request. After all, having "too many" people on my friends list really doesn't adversely affect me. The newsfeed only shows me the ones whose pages I visit frequently anyway. If I don't care what Danny Douchebag from third grade is doing, I just won't visit his page. No rejection necessary. I do, of course, avoid adding people with whom I have absolutely no connection, but mostly that's because I don't want people I KNOW calling or IMing me, let alone people I don't.

I'm off on a tangent. Let's go back to that guy I don't remember.

The other day I found a journal from high school. I started reading through it, with all of the appropriate cringes and giggles one might expect as one browses through the unfiltered ramblings of one's former self, and who did I find mentioned repeatedly? That's right. Forgettable Facebook Friend. Now, it's not like I'm looking back on something I wrote twenty years ago. I was seventeen when I wrote this particular journal. That's... um... hold on, calculating... that's only eight years ago! Eight years and I have COMPLETELY forgotten a guy with whom I was so closely acquainted that he made it into my journal multiple times!!! How is that possible?

This isn't the first time this has happened, mind you. In college, a friend informed me we had a mutual acquaintance. When the name didn't sound familiar at all, I found this person on facebook, did a rather in-depth stalking job, and found that I had no memory of ever having met her. But here's the kicker: There were pictures of us together! "I'm sorry, what? I must have misheard you," you say. Nope. You heard me right. There is photo evidence of our friendship, and if I saw her on the street, I would not recognize her.

This probably makes me sound like some sort of egotistical witch-with-a-B (as I might have said in high school), but that's really not the case. Or at least I don't think it is. If anything, judging by my journals, I was entirely too focused on everyone BUT myself. Man oh man, did I ever whine about how many friends screwed me over once they'd gotten all they wanted out of me. Parts of my journal are like a Dashboard Confessional album on a loop. And yet, after all those traumas, I barely remember any of it. It all seemed so important at the time. It all seemed like it would last forever. Teenagers are like Tinkerbell. They can only really feel one thing at a time. And for most, that one thing is usually negative. It's just part of the deal, I guess.

But the funny part is that it seriously doesn't matter. We aren't ready to hear that at the time, when parents and counselors and old people in department stores try to tell us, but it's true. It's only been eight years since I wrote in that journal, and I've forgotten things I would've sworn were either the best or worst things that would ever happen to me in my entire life. I was wrong. The worst thing so far happened my freshman year of college, and the best came a year after I got my first degree. I expect the superlative rankings of these things will change. I'll remember them a little better than the events of high school, but the details will get fuzzy and the feelings less tangible. That's life, thank God.

I keep reading about all these kids killing themselves over taunting and bullying from peers. Can you imagine if being a teenager was going to last forever? If that were the case, I doubt many of us would get out alive. But it doesn't last forever. When you look back, it's a strange, awkward blip on the radar. It just feels inescapable at the time. I wish someone would tell these kids, "No, seriously, I had the biggest thing for this one guy for four years, and I can't even remember his name." The pain is real, the kids are mean, and yeah, some of them live their whole lives and never get what they deserve for making someone else's life a living hell, but it's well worth waiting it out.

[744] tell me a ghost story

2010-09-15T20:01:00.000-07:00

It is no secret that I'm obsessed with ghost stories and folklore. This can probably be traced back to the fact that I grew up in front of a graveyard. I'm also from New England, and the daughter of New Jerseyans - one of which happens to be Irish. That's a pretty powerful trifecta of folklore-centric traits and circumstances.

One of the bummer things about living in Orange County is that there is a severe shortage of shared folklore. There are a few supposed haunted places here and there, and there's the legendary staple of the Southwestern U.S., La Llorona, but there aren't a lot of stories that seem to transcend the larger folklore of individual cultures. There aren't many stories specific to Orange County, or that everyone in the area seems to know. There's no Jersey Devil or Mothman. There are no banshees or haunted battlegrounds, no Indian burial sites or Pine Barrens. Or are there? I don't know. Nobody from around here seems to know about them.

I tried my hand at blogging about the few local legends I could dig up, but it was difficult considering the lack of resources from which to draw. I bought books. I scoured Google. I watched forums. It was all quite disappointing. A post that I wrote about the mysterious existence of wild parrots in Orange County continues to get fairly frequent comments. Why? 'Cause no one else seems to write about the weird stuff that goes on around here.

So, help me out. I'm in a draught. I need some good stories to share during lulls in conversation. Tell me a ghost story. Tell me about a local legend. I don't just mean in Orange County. Whether you live in Temecula or Tazmania, I want to hear about what goes on in your 'hood. What are the stories you and your friends told at slumber parties? They don't even have to be supernatural. My dad once told me a story about a group of people living in the hills of some town in New Jersey. They were supposedly descended of Hessian soldiers, and were incredibly hostile to interference from the city folk. Legend has it, they did some pretty gruesome things to police officers who tried to intervene. Not a ghost story. Most likely not true. Awesome story to tell over dinner. Give me some of those. Even better if it's a story of something that actually happened to you. Ready, set, GO!

[718] Orient(ate) me

2010-08-20T11:11:00.000-07:00

In honor of my embarking upon the adventure of my grad school orientation this afternoon, I present you with my neurotic ramblings from the day of my CSUF interview. I wrote this while sitting outside the office of the head of the American Studies department, and feeling entirely inadequate. I'm pretty sure that there are two possible personality types for those of us who are more creatively inclined. There are those who are utterly convinced of their own greatness and entitlement - I know a few of those - and then there are those who are just as convinced of their unworthiness for even the most basic recognition or acceptance. Nine times out of ten, I fall into the latter category. While there has never been any solid evidence in my life to back up that ridiculous assumption, the insecurity is there, and it is pervasive. Exhibit A:

I'm doing my darndest to be confident, to appear as though I am certain I am qualified, and to convince whomever I come into contact with that s/he would be a fool not to take me under his/her wing. My heart is racing and my iced tea isn't sitting right in my stomach, but I'm doing the best I can.
It's 3:14pm. I am one minute early, and the professor with whom I am supposed to meet has not yet arrived. Perhaps he has forgotten. Maybe I came all the way here only to be completely and totally stood up. Well, at least then maybe he'd feel bad and let me into the program out of pity. I know. They don't do that. But I'll take any bit of encouragement I can at this point - anything to make me feel like less of a presumptuous idiot for even hoping in my wildest dreams that I'm worthy of graduate study.
Sometimes I wonder what I'd even do with an M.A. Yeah, sure, I know what I want to do. How likely am I to actually do it, though? What if I put an M.A. after my name and stagnate? What if I'm a waste of a degree? Oh jeez. Maybe they shouldn't want me after all.
Who am I but just a lowly B.A. from an unknown undergraduate university with no reputation? I shouldn't even be here, tapping my foot anxiously in the hallway outside this office. Should I knock again?

[710] radio free age-gap

2010-08-12T15:28:00.000-07:00

I rarely listen to music. I love music. I just don't listen to it.

I have this thing about any form of entertainment, whether it be movies, music, TV, books, historical reenactments, or what have you. I have to be in exactly the right mood at a given time in order to enjoy any particular type or genre of one of these things. Since I rarely seem to know myself well enough to pinpoint exactly what musical mood I'm in, I generally opt to save myself the frustration of poking the iTunes skip button on my keyboard for 45 minutes before I hit my stride.

That said, today I knew EXACTLY what I wanted to listen to.

If you live in Southern California, you've probably seen the KTLA commercial in which Sugarcult's song Los Angeles is used over some seriously epic night time footage. I love that song, and I love Sugarcult. They bring me back to my high school days, when Ben and I used to blast their song Pretty Girl on road trips to visit Jason at Master's, or when Jess and I would sit in front of the TV watching Much Music for hours waiting to see the ever-adorable Rivers Cuomo interact with Kermit the Frog in Weezer's Keep Fishin' video. I'm not one to claim that high school was the best time of my life, or to ever want to go back and re-live it, but, a few years out, I can now appreciate that strange era of my life. And it was strange. I don't care how cool you think you were in high school. You were embarrassing. If your current self met you, you would smack you.

Right. So. Today, on my walk through Back Bay, I created the ultimate high school playlist. It was precisely what I was in the mood for, and it got me thinking about how our musical memories date us -- how they can make us feel really old or really young, depending on who we're talking to.

On Twitter last week, someone posted something along the lines of, "Hey Ya just came on! Awesome elementary school memories!" I was about ready to crack out the Geritol right there. Elementary school?? I was a senior in high school when that was released (on my 18th birthday, as it turns out), and, being just shy of 25, I don't feel that kids who were probably still eating paste at the time could possibly be old enough to be tweeting.

On the other hand, I recently heard Chumbawumba on the radio, and excitedly proclaimed to Kyo that this was my jam in middle school. At that time, Kyo was about 26. Aaaand, the pendulum swings back.

I really do love the perspective music gives us on our age, though. I'm pretty sure we spend about 75% of our lives thinking we're old. Then someone comes along and talks about buying a Dylan record or hearing Dion & the Belmonts at a sockhop, and we realize we're freaking babies. We've been here for like, ten seconds. At my age, I've only been capable of any form of rational thought for like, three years. If I play my cards right, I've still got about 2.5 more of the life I've already lived ahead of me.

There are very few things in life that give me such perspective on the slow passage of time as music. Well, music and Bonanza. But I'm saving that for a post on how I want to be Ben Cartwright when I grow up.

[708] my side of the mountain

2010-08-10T23:41:00.000-07:00

I recently read this blog, which discusses solitude, this essay by William Deresiewicz, and, in particular, the profound impact the book My Side of the Mountain had on the the blogger's appreciation of spending time alone. Honestly, this blog feels like I could've written it, aside from the fact that, shamefully, I have never read Siddhartha. I've also never read Diana Michener's Catching the Sun, but I don't feel like anyone is gasping in shock at that revelation. (She hasn't read Catching the Sun? Was she raised in a barn?)

I have always been a bit of an introvert, and therefore a solitude enthusiast to some degree. My Side of the Mountain absolutely validated that desire within me to spend time alone with nature and my own thoughts. When I was in fifth grade, my teacher encouraged (see also: gave extra credit to) my classmates and I to spend 24 hours alone in our backyards after reading the book. For me, 24 hours was not nearly enough. I spent the better part of a month in a tent, reading, writing in my journal, and fancying myself a regular Thoreau.

Admittedly, I am a social networking addict, and often think that I cannot live without my cell phone and my Macbook. I find, though, that I am never more at peace and less stressed out than when I've spent several days somewhere without any connection to the thousands of acquaintances whose approval and constant feedback I so frequently think I require. A camping trip to Central California last weekend was one of many reminders of this, and, upon returning, I spent two consecutive afternoons sitting in Huntington Beach Central Park working on a short story with only my ugly dog for company. It was, in a word, liberating.

All that to say, it was a nice surprise to stumble upon a blog post that reflects upon My Side of the Mountain with similar sentiments to my own, and which serves as a little bit of a kick in the pants as I sit here with a zillion tabs open in Google Chrome, and realize that 3am feels lonely* to my generation because we don't know how to be alone.

*Apologies to Rob Thomas and the boys of Matchbox 20

[687] @craigyferg

2010-07-20T16:25:00.000-07:00

Yesterday was our one-year anniversary. I know. We're big time. Hold your applause.

We spent our day in Hollywood, seeing a taping of the Late, Late Show w/ Craig Ferguson. I'm pretty sure God smiled upon our anniversary, because it was one of the best episodes I've seen, let alone been in attendance for. On the way into the studio, we crossed paths with Grant Imahara from, well, I shouldn't even have to tell you who that is. But I will. He's from Mythbusters. In my eloquence, upon spotting one of my TV heroes, I managed to say - okay, mumble - "Graaant Imahrrrrra." He responded with a much more intelligible greeting, for which I was grateful. It later turned out that Grant was a surprise guest on the show for the tweets & emails segment. It was awesome (which was the word of the evening), but stuff happened before this, too.

Pretty much immediately upon entering the studio, the warm-up comedian, Chunky B, caught sight of me and decided that I would be his target for the rest of the evening. I suppose, when you have a fro like mine, you really can't be surprised when people pick you out of a crowd. I've had drunken strangers ask to touch it, I've had random men comment on it on the street, and, as I mentioned a couple entries back, even Jeremy Davies from Lost told me he loved it. In short, a solid afro is a people magnet. If you're one of the three other black people I know and you're reading this, take note. What you do with that information is entirely dependent on whether or not you're a fan of people getting all up in your business without invitation.

Anyway, it all started as I was trying not to get hit by any of the candy he was tossing from his pockets rapid-fire into the audience. He spotted me, squirming to keep my face out of the danger zone, and mouthed that he liked my hair. I responded with a polite thanks. Two minutes later, he's got one end of a Twix in his mouth, and is leaning toward my face. Feeling like I would be a disappointment to the crowd if I turned away, and figuring, hey, when in Rome, I reluctantly grabbed the other end of the Twix in my teeth. This earned me the unfortunate nickname of "The Horny Girl" for the rest of the evening. I guess that might be better than the homely guy sitting with his considerably more attractive girlfriend, who was dubbed "Tony the Gay Guy." It's a toss up, really.

Taking my acquiescence in participating with his gag as a sign of my being down for anything, over the course of the pre-show and commercial breaks, I was given an awkward lap dance, offered an air joint, referenced repeatedly using the aforementioned unfortunate nickname, and told that the candy everyone received was melted because I was so hot.

As a side note, my husband did nothing but laugh as I was sexually harassed by the warm-up comedian on our anniversary. Didn't even feign jealousy or anger. This is somewhat troubling.

After the show, Chunky gave me a sweet Late, Late Show mug - which has been added to our shelf of TV/movie memorabilia - and a hug for being a good sport. I am nothing if not a willing participant in my own humiliation. I'd do it again (who wants go see Sara Watkins with me on the show next week? Eh? Eh? After this nice anecdote, who could say no?).

Aside from this hoopla, there actually was a show being taped, and it was awesome. It started out with a performance by She & Him. I think I'm mostly past my Zooey Deschanel obsession, but it was still pretty cool to see her up close. And I mean close, 'cause Craig's set is the smallest set I have ever seen. I mean, the set of the PBS show I interned for was bigger than this set. You really can't tell on TV that it's so small, and you would think that there are two or three hundred people in the audience, but it is, and there aren't. There are about one hundred people watching the show, and Craig's desk, the guest chairs, and Geoff Peterson are all situated within about ten or fifteen feet of each other. That's the magic of television, ladies & gents.

Jeffery Dean Morgan was HILARIOUS, and convinced Craig to let him stay for Mary Lynn Rajskub's segment. The three person interview thing was fantastic, and there is nothing like a three-way awkward pause to really make an episode of Craig Ferguson. If you can find it online, watch it, 'cause it was phenomenal.

One thing that really struck me about this show is how incredibly off-the-cuff it is. Y'know how it looks like he's making stuff up off the top of his head? He really is. There are no cue cards or outlines. His opening monologue came to him about five seconds before the camera started rolling, when Chunky B asked him what he did over the weekend. That's insane! I mean, when I have to think of something to say off the top of my head, we get, "Grant Imahrrrrra." We don't get Peabody Award winning monologues. If ever I were convinced that someone completely deserves his spot on late night, that person is Craig Ferguson.

I won't bore you with the details of our awesome dinner at some place in The Grove whose name I can't remember, or with commentary about the sweet vintage store in the Farmer's Market. I shall simply say that it was a fulfilling anniversary, and it'll be hard to beat next year. I'm a firm believer, though, that I can somehow find a way to top all of my great experiences. I aim high, and I rarely disappoint.

[Update] Read about the prank Craig pulled on the TV Critics of America. He recorded this while we were in the audience, too.

Also, I just want to add a recommendation for Late, Late Show attendees. When they give you the $20 per person meal coupons for the Grove, take that coupon to the Wood Ranch Grill. They give you a ton of food, and charge you $20 for two people, instead of $20 per person... unless, of course, it was a mistake when they did it for us. I don't think so, though, since they had a special Craig Ferguson menu there. Don't do cheesecake factory. Their deal blows.

[674] when dark comedy isn't comedy

2010-07-07T16:36:00.000-07:00

Yesterday I watched a movie called Serious Moonlight. It stars Meg Ryan and Timothy Hutton, with Justin Long and Kristen Bell in supporting roles, and it's marketed as a comedy. Admittedly, the fact that this was airing on Lifetime probably should have been my first hint that the movie might not fit into my definition of "funny." I'll cop to that. Still, I was expecting something along the lines of You've Got Mail or When Harry Met Sally. Not. So. Much.

The synopsis of the movie given on my DVR said something about a woman duct taping her adulterous husband to a toilet just as home invaders break in. Sounds like some sorts of zany antics should ensue, like an updated and more grown-up version of House Arrest. In some ways, these films actually are kind of similar. Once the house is being robbed, the husband and wife are left to try to work out their problems in captivity. Okay, did I say some ways? 'Cause that's really the only way.

What seems like a pretty entertaining plot for a comedy quickly spirals into being just plain disturbing. I know this may be blasphemy, but I'm gonna go ahead and say that Meg Ryan is not all that funny to begin with. I will grant her, though, that she does a good job of playing the exact same character in everything. Since she's departed from that character, I think we can all agree that her success has been pretty limited - and by limited, I mean, pretty much nonexistent. She does not play our old friends Sally Albright or Kathleen Kelly in this film. She plays an over-the-top, unhinged woman who thinks that she can convince her husband to fall back in love with her by taping him to the John, baking him cookies, and talking about the good ol' days. It isn't long before her husband, who's planning on proposing to his mistress, invokes the infertility card. 'Cause nothing's funnier than a woman's inability to make a baby. Heh heh. Heh. Heh?

The home invader, Justin Long, is cold and aggressive. He gropes an unconscious Meg Ryan and talks about the ways he wants to violate her, while Tim Hutton looks on helplessly and pleads for him to stop. To quote Adam Scott's character on Party Down, are we having fun yet? Later, we throw Kristen Bell into the mix, who alternately screams about how they're going to die and then nags Timothy Hutton about which one of the women he's going to pick. Somehow, we're supposed to believe that it's imperative he chooses before they all die a horrible death at the hands of Justin Long and his stoner friends, who are, inexplicably, downstairs partying for two days. Either that, or we're supposed to think it's funny that she's insisting he choose, in light of the circumstances. Whatever the scene is trying to do or be, it's failing. The whole movie is failing.

This might have made an interesting drama with a few plot tweaks. Or maybe with someone believable like Kathy Bates playing the snapped wife. There are even ways they could have made this a good comedy. The thing is, though, that there is a fine line between dark comedy and just plain dark. There needs to be a level of absurdity, not just insanity. Women being molested, cheated on, and looked down upon for an inability to reproduce really aren't funny things. Neither is the idea of a man tormenting a couple for fun while robbing their house particularly amusing. The woman who wrote the screenplay, Adrienne Shelley, was later murdered by a home invader, and it wasn't funny at all. I don't necessarily blame her for this mess of a movie, as she wasn't there to direct it or approve any of the final details. I'm gonna give her the benefit of the doubt and hope that this wasn't what she had in mind. The film is brutal and unfeeling, and the only thing that keeps it from being tragic is the fact that there isn't a single character you root for. They're all terrible people.

There is actually a pretty clever twist at the end of the film, but it doesn't redeem the hour and a half or so it took to get to that point. I won't ruin it, even though I also would not recommend that you watch it. If you're curious, there are plenty of spoilers on the IMDb discussion board for the film.

I guess this just highlights something that has always bothered me about a lot of movies. I think that a lot of times filmmakers just leap over that line that divides a comedy from tragedy. I can think of a lot of films that people told me were hilarious, but that ended up leaving me with a weird feeling in the pit of my stomach. I rarely find entertaining murder, rape, suicide, or abuse. In the interest of full disclosure, I'll admit that I laughed in Burn After Reading when a certain character got shot in the face quite suddenly and unexpectedly. One of my favorite shows is America's Funniest Home Videos, so I'm certainly not above a little schadenfreude. I'm sure there are plenty of times when I've laughed at horrible things. For me, though, there are so few times when heinous, violent acts are warranted in a comedy. Serious Moonlight is a perfect example of how dark comedy can go very, very wrong.

But you don't have to take my word for it...

[630] how to win at life: aloha to lost edition

2010-05-24T14:10:00.000-07:00

As pretty much everyone in America who does not live in complete isolation knows, last nite was the series finale of Lost. Along with that came a full evening of festivities related to said finale. Kyo and I got to take part in some of those festivities - specifically, those that took place on the Jimmy Kimmel show. We drove to L.A. at 8am, stood in line for several hours, knowing that they had overbooked the show, and were treated to the opportunity to see the finale around 6 hours early, among other perks.

We also got to see the taping of the Kimmel Aloha to Lost special. I shook Locke's (Terry O'Quinn) and Farraday's (Jeremy Davies) hands, and the latter told me he loved my hair. Win! That guy's been one of my (and my mom's) faves since Twister - which is one of the best movies ever, and you're wrong if you don't think so, mmkay? I then got to ask a question in the post-show Q&A (see video below), which was fun but also scary. When Jimmy called my name, my entire body immediately started sweating. I was not expecting my question to get picked, after there already having been a Lost/Survivor tie-in in the alternate endings, and was therefore COMPLETELY unprepared mentally. Luckily, I did not hurl. Those who know me know that hurling is always a potential outcome in a given situation.

I saw that the Q&A got a lot of crap for being totally irrelevant, which was unfortunate because we were specifically told not to ask anything related to the plot of Lost, partly because we hadn't watched the finale yet and they didn't want us to ask questions that would be answered once we watched it. Furthermore, the questions that were asked on the air were specifically picked out by the JKL powers-that-be, so it was kinda lame that Kimmel sorta threw us under the bus for asking "bulls***t" questions. To paraphrase Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade, no, no, Jimmy: You chose poorly. But it's really not that important what people thought of it. It was fun. And people are looking for reasons to trash the finale and everything that had to do with it anyway. Can we at least all agree that the real embarrassment of the nite was Marilyn Manson's rambling rant about dead babies and who-knows-what-else during the Kimmel show? People in the audience were seriously whispering, "Someone take the mic away from him!"

Aaaaaaanyway, after the JKL taping ended and the actors had left, Kimmel's people fed us pizza and held a raffle. We won a sweet piece of art called "Rousseau's Transmission," which was signed by Damon Lindelof and Carlton Cuse. As a parting gift, we also got boxes of Dharma Macaroni & Cheese autographed by Damon Lindelof and Josh Holloway. It was super awesome, and the best use of absolutely zero dollars that I've spent in a while.

I'm not gonna go into too much depth on what I thought of the finale, but I was satisfied with it. Of course it wasn't perfect, and everything didn't get wrapped up all neat and tidy, but I think it's better that way. There's no good way to end a show like this. There's no way to please everyone. I think they ended it well and with a big focus on redemption, which I would say has always been one of the main points of the show.

[595] universal truth from buster bluth.

2010-04-19T12:19:00.000-07:00

As many of you probably saw on my Facebook, last week Kyo and I had the honor of seeing Tony Hale speak at Vanguard. If you're unfamiliar with the name, that's Buster Bluth from the EPIC TV show, Arrested Development. If you're unfamiliar with that name, please open Netflix in a new tab - after all, I wouldn't want you to abandon my blog completely - and add it to your queue immediately, if not sooner. If you don't have Netflix, I'll send you a postcard from the 21st century sometime.

Tony Hale is a bit wary of bloggers, as they've gotten him into trouble before. I'm pretty sure that I'm not breaking any confidence, however, in relating to you all a particularly profound insight he shared. I don't mean profound in the sense that you've never heard anything like it before. You probably have. But I think it takes on a new life coming from someone who is, by all accounts, a successful person who is living his dream.

The insight was simply this: Be content with where you are in your life.

Seems pretty straightforward, right? And maybe you think, well, gee, that's easy for him to say. He's married, successful, well-connected, etc., etc., etc. That's what makes it all the more interesting to me, though. Like most of us youngsters, just getting our starts in the world, he had this idea that once he attained his dream, everything would be perfect. He thought that landing that sitcom would fulfill him, and he'd be content. When he got there, he found that success did not equal contentment. Not only was there an emptiness within himself, but he told us how he talked to other celebrities who really seemed to have everything, and all they could do was talk about something that they had not yet achieved - being cast in a serious role, being cast in a comedic role, getting to do Broadway, and on and on. There's always something more that you can achieve, sure. But what Tony Hale realized was that, if he couldn't be content with what he had, he was never going to be content with all the other things he thought he wanted or needed.

That's not to say that you should become complacent, of course. Kickin' around and doing the same ol' thing isn't going to get you anywhere anymore than making a lot of money is going to make you truly happy. The point is that if you try really hard and fail, but you're content with what you've got, failure is not a soul-crushing event. More than that, not achieving some goal doesn't have to be a failure. Failure is an attitude, and you could be the richest, most successful, and most famous person on the planet and still be a total failure.

I've been reading Dianna Agron's Tumblr lately. She's on the show Glee, and damned if she isn't about as content as they come. I love reading her blog. Here is a girl who has looks, talent, and success, and is taking it all as an unbelievable blessing. Her incredulity at her own good fortune is apparent in everything she writes. Maybe it's because she's young and new to the business. Maybe she hasn't had time to realize that she's supposed to crave more. I hope, though, that she has what it took Tony Hale - and most of the rest of us - years to find. Contentment.

[588] the only thing better than hairspray

2010-04-12T13:14:00.000-07:00

That's actually a trick title. There isn't, in fact, anything better than Hairspray. Kyo took me to see it onstage at OCPAC on Thursday, and I am now even more convinced of that truth.

Topping the list of things that are not better than Hairspray is the new KFC Double Down. I have now tasted death, and it is soggy and unappealing. Let me be clear: I did not expect the Double Down to be good, by any stretch of the imagination. I did expect it to be less foul than it was. In the advertisements that have been circulated for this final leap into mainstreaming obesity, the chicken buns more or less look like perfectly formed hash browns - which might actually taste pretty good encasing cheese and bacon. For those of you that just grimaced, keep in mind that I just ate a scalding hot block of cholesterol. I'm not saying either of these concepts are great ideas. I'm just saying that in the battle of hash brown bun vs. chicken bun, the hash brown might at least be less offensive to the touch and to the taste buds.

Once you get past the slimy texture - which makes you feel like you are actually absorbing calories through your hands - things don't improve. You take a big bite, doing your best to get a little cheese and a little bacon for good measure, and all you taste is cafeteria mystery meat. I'm pretty sure they served this very same thing at my elementary school and tried to pass it off as chicken cordon bleu. Never have I spent $5 more unwisely. And by that I mean, never has Kyo spent $5 more unwisely. Sorry, bud. I hope your wallet and your arteries will forgive me.

[575] pants? what are these 'pants' you speak of?

2010-03-29T19:41:00.000-07:00

Has it really been a week since last Monday? Where on earth have I been?

As you may have deduced from the title of this entry, I'm not wearing pants. I'm sick, and when I'm sick, I do not wear pants. I also don't exercise any form of discretion in my movie viewing when I'm sick.

Calm down. That doesn't mean I watch a bunch of filth and blame it on the illness. On the contrary. I watch A LOT of Disney and kids' entertainment. Today I've watched Space Chimps (really, really terrible), Harriet the Spy: Blog Wars (surprisingly true to the book), and several episodes of Hannah Montana (yeah, it wasn't just the one time when I couldn't sleep). Before you completely stop respecting me, I also watched the three episodes of Southland I've had waiting on my DVR for me. I'm totally hip, guys. F'real.

I've spent a good portion of the day downing cold medicine, sucking on lozenges, and inhaling some sort of chemical called levmetamfetamine - which sounds like a hardcore drug but smells suspiciously like Icy Hot. Kyo calls it "leave-me-alone-amphetamine." I have high hopes that I'll be on the up-and-up by tomorrow, but that could be my cold med cocktail talking.

In other news, I found out the other day that I got into Cal State Fullerton for grad school. That's right. I am going to master the arts - the arts of American Studies, more specifically. I'm excited that they like me. I like being liked. I also like learning, so I think this is the beginning of a beautiful relationship.

For now, it's time to watch a few episodes of Pawn Stars and take some ~~Nyquil~~ Nite Time (Rite Aid FTW!)

[567] the frustration of the impoverished procrastinator

2010-03-22T15:00:00.000-07:00

I'm sitting at the OCC library right now, where I should be studying for my Ethnic Studies exam. However, in the short five minutes in which I was NOT pestering the circulation desk to see if the textbook had come back in, the book was, in fact, checked in and checked back out again. That's what I get for trying not to be a nuisance. Next time I'm just going to sit there and stare at them until the book comes in. It will be uncomfortable, but I'm gonna get that book.

This all stems from two basic problems. Problem number 1 is my pathological inability to do things ahead of time. Could I have taken this book out and studied last week? Sure. That would have been a fantastic idea. Is there any chance in the whole entire universe that I would ever do that? No. Why? Because even if I physically had the book in my hands, I would have Facebooked instead. If there is no sense of urgency, I do not get things done. I need pressure. I'm useless without it.

In college, I took an English course in which there were no due dates. You heard me. No due dates. As long as everything got in before the end of the course, it was all good. By the end of the course, I'd turned in one really good paper and one atrocious paper, and I didn't turn in the last paper at all. Somehow I managed a B+ in the class, about which I still feel kinda guilty. There was no way I earned it, and I sometimes think that maybe the professor confused me with someone else.

This is why I'm not great with blogging either. There's no urgency in blogging. Nobody is hovering over my website at midnight, waiting for me to post my next ramble. I finished NaNoWriMo ahead of time, against the odds, because I had a deadline (and a healthy sense of competition, if I'm being honest).

The other issue here is the exorbitant cost of textbooks. For this particular class, we're required to have the newest edition of the book. It was just published, and therefore nobody is selling it for cheap. I believe $89 was the cheapest price at the beginning of the semester. I've paid more than that for texts before, but after four years of college, I'm over it. If I can't get it for $20 or less on half.com, I'm not buying it. I don't have the money or the interest in doing so. "But you have a husband who'd gladly pay for it," you say. True. But it's the principle of the thing. I don't want him paying for it either. It's robbery. I pay a bajillion dollars for my education, and THEN you want to gouge me on the cost of the textbook? I will say good day to you, sir! It ain't happenin'.

I realize that when grad school time rolls around, I will not be able to get by without the books. It will be a necessary evil and I will take part in it grudgingly. Let me have my rebellion now, while I still can. I'll be better in the morning.

[560] home alone

2010-03-15T14:23:00.000-07:00

I'd be lying if I said I don't become a little bit paranoid when left to my own devices for too long. I blame my mom (sorry mom) for instilling in me fear of just about every situation as a child. Going into the ocean above my knees, playing outside after a thunderstorm, handling any form of small, round object in a moving vehicle (y'know, 'cause it could roll under the brake peddle, hindering the drivers' ability to stop the automobile); these are just a few of the activities that, even now, give me pause due to years of warnings.

It's no surprise, then, that an irrational fear of home invaders (both human and animal) plagues me in my adult life. After all, my mother used to claim that if I did not do some chore that she had asked me to do, gypsies were going to come steal me in my sleep. This one wasn't so much an actual warning as a really good threat, but it all sounds the same when you're five. I've grown out of thinking that gypsies are out to get me, but I'm not sold on the idea that some guy doesn't want to steal my crap. This one's partially based on multiple experiences with my friend Ben, who has had his stuff stolen from his car on numerous occasions upon which I was present. Maybe God just doesn't like Ben - or thieves really do - but it freaks me out nonetheless.

I check that everything's locked at least five times before going to bed. My memory's not the greatest in the world, and I'm perpetually terrified that my memory of locking the door is actually a memory of doing it the night before, leaving me completely vulnerable to attack. I don't even want to go into the anxiety that bubbles up in me as I approach the front door to lock it. Irrational fear #572: Looking out a window and seeing someone else looking back. If it weren't for the pane of glass right next to the door, I could go about my evening business with relatively low stress (not to mention the fact that I could look through the peephole to check for door-to-door salesmen and JWs when the doorbell rings, while simultaneously keeping up the guise of not being home). I wonder if anyone sells long, thin curtains... or wants to make me one.

Anyway, the past several nights have been tricky. Falling asleep when you're in a constant state of fight-or-flight mode isn't all that easy. As it turns out, brainstorming your various escape routes and locating all household items that could be used as weapons actually makes you MORE on-edge than resigning yourself to an uncertain fate. File that one away under "good to know."

The dog has been helpful. He has foregone his usual favorite sleeping spot on the other side of the room for the blanket under my bedside table. I'm pretty sure he's protecting me, and I love him for it.

The TV has also done its part. I am not ashamed to admit that I watched the final three episodes of Hannah Montana last night as I drifted to sleep. Or at least I thought I watched the final three. Turns out they lied to me. There's another season coming in the summer. Why must you toy with my emotions, Disney Channel? Okay, but secretly, I'm kind of glad. I was really going to miss Miley and the gang.

But despite Gaucho's and Hannah's best efforts, I'm counting down the minutes until that knight in shining armor of mine comes home and gives me that warm sense of security we know as "safety in numbers."

And Buzz, I'm going through all your private stuff. You'd better come out and pound me.

[557] racism's last stand

2010-03-11T15:22:00.000-08:00

I'm a somewhat black person living in America. And when I say "somewhat," I don't mean 'cause I like, totally act like a white girl and stuff. I mean because I'm half white. But we all know that if you have even a little bit of black in you, the white is canceled out in the eyes of most. See Harry Reid's comments regarding Obama and the negro dialect as exhibit A.

That said, I've also had the good fortune to grow up in areas that were pretty unconcerned with the whole race thing. I think a lot of that has to do with the fact that I grew up in northern towns that were made up almost completely of white people, and therefore having a black person or two around wasn't really a threat. People tend to get a lot more racist when they feel that their power is threatened. See where I live now as exhibit B.

Southern California is racist. One of my professors recently claimed that SoCal did not have ethnic enclaves like that silly ol' racially divided east coast. I didn't know how to respond to that, because it is categorically untrue. I mean, not just kind of a stretch, but blatantly false to anyone who has ever been to Irvine, Santa Ana, L.A., or anywhere else in this part of the state. Up until my freshman year of college, I couldn't have told you a single stereotype about Mexicans. I didn't know that Asians were supposed to be bad drivers. I had never seen someone get pulled over for being the wrong color in a white neighborhood. Needless to say, my eyes have been opened to all of these things.

I'm not trying to say that Greenfield, MA or Mill Valley, CA are completely without racists. I remember being in the cafeteria when I was in third grade when a girl who I was barely acquainted with said to me, "No offense, but my dad says you're a n*****r." Um... none taken? But really, I don't even think I knew to be offended. I'd never heard the word before. I remember thinking something along the lines of, "Gosh, her dad's stupid. He can't even pronounce the word 'negro.'"

So, sure. Racism's all over the place. But it's the places that think they've got something to lose by accepting the minority that really know how to dish it out. I think we're seeing that more than ever right now, with the whole black president thing we've got goin' on these days. With the tea partiers making all kinds of fun, racially charged statements, and political figures - both Republican and Democrat - saying some pretty ignorant stuff, it is incredibly apparent that there are those in the white population who are beginning to feel a bit threatened. We see a lot of it happening amongst the poorer and less educated whites because, well, being white is about all they've got going for them. They may not be high up on the totem pole, but at least they're not [insert undesirable racial background here].

Most Americans have some skewed views of other races buried somewhere in them. These things come out in jokes or in their surprise when someone doesn't live up to their preconceived stereotypes. It's more a product of our socialization than an active desire to discriminate against people who are different from us. As such, most Americans also have come to a point where they don't harbor ill-feelings toward people based on their race. They may think that you should stay off the road or that you enjoy Kool-Aid more than you do, but they don't think you're going to mug them or that you should sit at the back of the bus.

Thus, a part of me wonders if we're seeing racism's last stand; the desperate attempts of those who are seeing power slip away from them to say, "Hey, wait guys! Remember how we're inherently better, and other races are stupid and invasive and stuff! C'mon!" It looks dire. We're hearing nasty things being said and seeing ridiculously bigoted acts carried out by individuals all over the country, but the mere fact that these incidents are a big deal says something about how far we've come. Where once we wouldn't have batted an eyelid over Reid's statement, we're now tearing apart Dan Rather's completely innocuous comment about selling watermelon to find some sort of racist undertone.

As I've said before, I'm not so naive as to grab hold of this "post-racial America" thing that people like to dream is happening. I don't know if that's ever going to happen. I do think, though, that the recent burst in racism is a reaction to the fact that racist people are seeing their power slip away. Americans aren't standing for it anymore. The social order is being challenged, and, despite our silly prejudices, as a collective group, we don't accept that anyone is inferior based on their race anymore. Yeah, there will always be racists. But the time in which we let them get away with spouting it in public without consequences is coming to an end.

[555] well, color me embarrassed.

2010-03-09T16:53:00.000-08:00

Forgive me, bloggers, for I have sinned. It has been 190 days since my last confession. That's what these things are, right? Confessions?

I have tweeted, I have facebooked, and I have even begun paying attention to the long neglected paper and pens that have been so faithful to me over the years. I had almost forgotten how good it feels to write - hand cramps and all.

On this 555th day of the rest of my life, I'm pondering authenticity, among other things. I'm thinking about what it means to live without cynicism, to love without stipulations, and to have my thoughts and actions line up with what I know and believe. I'm 24, and, while by no means am I old, I'm old enough to put childish things aside. And by childish things, I do not mean watching kids' shows or rolling down grassy hills. Those things I will never give up.

By childish things, I mean prejudice, procrastination, pride, and many other things that do not start with "p" ... and perhaps a few more that do. I've recently enrolled in a couple classes at Orange Coast College, a community college here in Costa Mesa. If you want a reality check on your own judgmental nature, try hanging around 18-year-olds for a few seconds. To even talk about it is to put on display my own intolerance of others, but I feel like I need to illustrate my point.

For one, everyone smokes. I didn't know people under the age of 40 still did that, given the knowledge we now have on its ill effects, but they do. And they cuss, too. Boy howdy, do they cuss in creative ways. I did not know that I was such a prude until I found myself nearly gaping at groups of students punctuating every pause with profanity (What is with me and the letter "p" today?). Little known fact: An f-bomb can be used in place of a comma or the word "um" in any sentence. The more you know.

On several occasions, I have passed by students discussing their fake IDs or how hard they partied the night before, and I've rolled my eyes in disgust. Teenage rebellion, I'd say to myself, because I have no friends other than myself at OCC.

And then it started bugging me that I did that. Like I wasn't a teenager once. Not that I was a rebellious teenager, but I'm sure once I got to college, I felt like a big bad grown-up and wanted to show off that I was no longer under the rule of my parents'. I'm sure the need to prove that would've have been exacerbated had I still been living in my parents' house after graduating from high school. I get it. Why am I so annoyed by it? What right have I to be annoyed? If anything, I should feel sympathetic. Those in-between years can kinda blow. You look for meaning in your life in the stupidest places, and make all of the most important mistakes in that time; the mistakes that will actually count toward the rest of your life. 'Cause Lord knows for all the drama we make in high school, it rarely counts for much after graduation. It's not until we're legally considered adults that most of us really start to screw ourselves.

It's been grating on me ever since I first caught myself silently judging my classmates. I don't want to do that. It's no good to them, and it doesn't really benefit me either. I mean, if Conan O'Brien, who makes a living off of the appearance of being cynical, is telling me that cynicism isn't going to get me anywhere, maybe I should listen. It's not like I've always been this way. Heck, prior to my senior year of college, I was about as happy-go-lucky and nonjudgmental as you could get. But, like a lot of people, I let circumstances get the best of me, and I shut myself off to the love and trust I usually freely gave in order to build a wall between me and the hurt that certain others dole out equally liberally. That's stupid. It's stupid to decide my own attitude based on something someone else does.

I'm done, I'm done, I'm done. I hope. I want to be, anyway. Down with cynicism and all the childish things I've wasted my time on to this point. Day #556 shall be different!

[365] who blogs about life anymore?

2009-08-31T23:25:00.000-07:00

I get oddly sentimental about the passage of time. I don't even mean in the fairly commonplace, "my-life-is-going-by-so-fast" way. I'm talking about the smallest increment. I'll sit and think to myself, "Oh, August is almost done now. How sad that I will never have this August again." While August of 2009 was an excellent month, its passing is no great loss. It isn't as if September comes along and sweeps all that was August into the deepest recesses of inaccessible memory. When it comes down to it, when the clock strikes midnight thirty minutes from now, and August gives way to September, nothing's going to noticeably change. I doubt that I will feel any particular disturbance in the force.

This is just one of the many strange "isms" that make up my unusually idiosyncratic personality. I like to think all - or at least most - of these things endear others to me. Do you feel endeared? I sure hope so.

Twenty-five minutes left of August, and my dear husband, who has been asleep since September was two-and-a-half hours away, has no interest in seeing it off. But I choose to believe that he, too, would be endeared to me if he knew I could not fall asleep till I'd soaked up every last second of the fleeting present. It's a wonder I sleep at all.

[290] well played, universe

2009-06-19T22:40:00.000-07:00

Wonder of wonders, miracle of miracles! God smiled upon me this day! After yesterday's series of heart wrenching failures, I found myself redeemed. Joy to the world!
While folding laundry at work today, I decided to see what was happening in the Twitterverse. To my amazement, there, in burgundy print on my homepage, was my golden opportunity:
PDX! I'm talking about #Leverage on @TheSquare tonight at 7. Now you know, and knowing is half the battle. - @WilW
Why, he may as well have been talking directly to me! I knew what I had to do.
Despite the ever-increasing downpour covering the area, I asked Lisa to drop me off at the MAX, rather than at my nice, warm house. I rode into Pioneer Courthouse Square and sat patiently on the soggy, brick steps, hoping to catch a glimpse. Sure enough, fifteen anxiety-ridden minutes later, he appeared. I would be lying if I said I didn't sit gaping for a moment, unsure of whether I should even approach this royal figure of geekhood. But I did it.
And I fangirled. Hard. There was nothing I could do. I wanted to say something cool or witty, but the only words I could muster - my shoulders shrugged up to my ears in bashfulness - were, "You were my very first crush as a little kid -- mind if I get a picture?"
Well, crap. I might as well have capped it off with, "Lolz." *sigh*
But he was gracious, and most likely well-accustomed to awkward geek worship. The nerd corps assembled to pay homage to the living shrine that is Wil Wheaton were certainly nothing to scoff at on an evening in which the threat of thunderstorms and funnel clouds loomed menacingly over PDX.
This is why there is no other subculture I'd rather be a part of than the geek subculture. It's a happy subculture, built off of a mutual love for something, rather than a mutual disdain. It is a subculture in which our grand poobah is a fairly average 30-something blogger/actor who can roam the streets in relative anonymity, save for the gamers, Trekkies, and web gurus who beg him for a twitpic and a review of the latest RPG. And this somewhat incidental celebrity is more than willing to oblige his fans, as are many of the other geek icons.
I will wave my nerd banner high, my friends! And, while I'm at it, I shall watch an episode of Star Trek on Netflix. Make it so.

Watch me take pics of and otherwise ogle Wil on the air in this vid from KGW.

[289] wtf, universe?

2009-06-18T23:17:00.000-07:00

In the picture above, you see me, eating a Pita from Pita Pit at Pioneer Courthouse Square at approximately 5:35pm. This was after deciding that I didn't really feel like sitting inside the restaurant to eat. This was also after deciding that, for the first time ever, I was NOT going to visit Powell's City of Books while wandering the city. These, as it turns out, were two of the dumbest decisions I could have made today. You see, apparently, my childhood idol, Wil Wheaton, was not only spotted outside Pita Pit at around 5:30 this evening, but he also then proceeded to spend the next two hours roaming the sci-fi section of Powell's. THAT'S THE SECTION I'M ALWAYS IN!!!! Hath the universe conspired against me??? I mean, I've written a freakin' (humorous, not creepy) song about this guy (which will hopefully make its YouTube debut sometime in the near future)! I watched Star Trek religiously for the Wesley Crusher scenes as a child. If he guest stars on a TV show, I immediately look it up and watch it. And here he was, not only in my city, but apparently mere steps behind me, and I MISSED HIM! I am a failure as a geek, a blogger, and a lover of all things '90s. End me now! I have failed you all, and I have failed myself. That picture should not be of me stuffing my face. It should be of me and Wil Wheaton poring over a copy of Shatnerquake. Guh.

[261] in my day we were better behaved

2009-05-21T20:16:00.001-07:00

I'm sitting at Portland International Airport where, thankfully, they have free WiFi for those of us stuck in limbo waiting for delayed flights to arrive. I was lucky enough to have the use of the Lyons' car rather than relying on ol' TriMet to get me out here. This was not only convenient because of the sheer volume of inane conversations I missed out on, but also because this will enable us to go see Star Trek in IMAX once Kyo arrives. That is assuming that he gets in anywhere near the predicted time of arrival. My fingers are crossed. But not really. I can't type like that.
Back to the whole inane public transportation conversations thing, though. The other day I was downright disturbed by some of the talk that I was hearing. I mean, this isn't entirely uncommon. It seems that 90% of the time when I board the 52 bus, some gaggle of teenage girls is discussing their varied pregnancy issues and sharing such valuable tips on high school motherhood as, "After your second trimester you should only smoke pot like, once a week." Yes, disturbing. This particular trip, though, I had the misfortune of overhearing some very flippant discussion of some extremely troubling body image issues.
Two girls were sitting behind me talking about hair, makeup, and the usual teenage hangups. Vapid, but not out of the ordinary. But then they started talking about some music video they had seen recently on MTV (I know. I was as shocked as you were to hear that MTV still plays music videos). One of them says, in completely seriousness, "I want to get skinny enough so that my hip bones stick out like the girl in that video." The other, rather than assuring this beautiful young woman that she doesn't need to do that, merely nods in agreement. Okay, this just turned ugly.
I wanted to put down my book and yell at them. Being so skinny that your bones protrude is not attractive! It's dangerous! Dear God! It's not like these girls were overweight by any stretch of the imagination. It's that Lindsay Lohan syndrome. She looked her best with a curvy figure in Mean Girls. When she went for that whole Kate Moss heroine chic thing, it was just plain gross. The kind of guys who are attracted to that are not the kind of guys that I like to picture 16 year old girls wasting their time on.
I was blessed - and I thank both of my parents for this - with a fairly high measure of self-confidence. This doesn't mean that I don't struggle with body image. I'm a girl. At any given moment, I could probably list five things that bug me about my own appearance. However, those things have never caused me to actually change myself. And I've been HAPPY. I haven't suffered because I refused to starve myself onto the pages of a magazine. Guys have found me attractive, I've made a good number of friends, I've gotten leadership positions at school, I've had internships and jobs in the real world, etc. I just wish that I could get it through these kind of girls' heads that suffering to be attractive has never been and is never going to be worth it. Sure, it's cliche to say, "Be yourself," but if more people would get out there and do it, the world be a much easier place to live.

[255] social netwhat?

2009-05-15T23:58:00.000-07:00

Lately I have noticed that I am less a social networking enthusiast than I am a simple Internet addict and obsessive tweeter. As such, I revoke all ear-flicking privileges extended two posts ago as punishment for infrequent blogging. This doesn't mean I'm not going to TRY to post more, but let's just say I've had eight unread messages in my Facebook inbox for several weeks and have yet to make any plans to answer them. I'm sucking at this.
I am, however, a lean, mean, tweeting machine. While I thought that I would hate Twitter, I've gone beyond tolerating it to downright embracing it. I'm as surprised as you are, assuming you were even remotely surprised.
Anywho, I'm just thinking that maybe it's social media - not social networking - that gets me going. Also, Star Trek.
I was going to leave it at that, but I don't think I can. Have you seen it? Because, if you haven't, your life is only at a fraction of the satisfaction level it could be at right now. I'll give it to you that I've got the bias of having been a minor Trekkie my whole life. It's not just loyalty to the franchise, though. I mean, we all know J.J. Abrams knows how to make a good buck. Seriously. Raise your hand if you've been strapped to your sofa every Wednesday for the past several years for a certain island adventure - and I'm not talking reruns of Gilligan's Island on TV Land. Star Trek is just another example of J.J. knocking one out of the park. I laughed, I cried, I got really super nervous and chewed my thumb nail down to a bloody stub. Trust me, it's freakin' awesome. Next stop: Star Trek in IMAX with Kyo on Thursday.

[231] iiiiit's been one week...

2009-04-21T00:20:00.000-07:00

I fully intended to update much sooner, but it has been quite a bit busier than usual this past week. My normally mundane life here in Beaverton got thrown for a bit of a loop when my childhood friend Sarah came to Oregon for a couple days. Sarah runs a popular website called Pop17, and was here as an Intel Insider testing out their ish and doing the duties of a social media guru. She invited me to tag along on these outings, including a presentation at Intel on their new MyWiFi technology, a Tweetup at the Green Dragon Pub, an evening at a decidedly un-Portland bar (think Sutra in Costa Mesa), and a self-guided tour through the Wieden & Kennedy building (meaning we wandered around aimlessly until someone finally questioned why we were there) after her radio interview on W+K radio. As it turns out, this very building was where the Nike catch phrase, "Just do it," was coined. Also, the advertising for Coraline was done by this agency, so I got to see some sweet posters and contemplate snatching them right off the wall. I didn't, of course.
On Friday nite, we watched Mean Girls and stayed up chatting about old friends, new friends, and theology. Not only was the conversation pleasant; it was also nice to hang out with someone who didn't laugh at me, but instead got excited when I changed the channel to Star Trek: The Next Generation after the movie ended.
Saturday, Emil, Andy , and I dropped Sarah off at the airport, then headed to Yreka, CA so that Em could get a fix-it ticket taken care of. It was a long drive for a signature, but we made it count. We ate at Heaven on Earth, which is probably one of my favorite restaurants ever and truly lives up to its name; we spent ten minutes in a casino simply to say that we'd done it and to take pictures. Turns out you're not supposed to take pictures in the casino. Guess they don't want to risk letting out the secret that casinos are actually filled with depressed, old people wasting their retirements compulsively pressing "spin" on a flashing screen while sitting in a stagnant cloud of cigarette smoke. This is not what it looked like on The O.C.
Anyway, we spent most of the trip singing at the top of our lungs to Disney songs, 90's contemporary Christian hits, one-hit-wonders, and other such classics. It was beautiful.
Sunday, I babysat all day before heading out to see Gran Torino with my road trip compatriots. I loved it. I bawled.... but I always bawl. It's kind of my thing when it comes to watching movies. I know that most of the supporting actors in the movie were crap, but I still don't see why it wasn't nominated for an Oscar. I thought it trumped Slumdog, no contest.
Now, I'm finally slowing down for a minute. I have a day off tomorrow and I plan to sleep for as long as my body will let me. Goodnight, moon.

[224] remember me?

2009-04-14T18:31:00.000-07:00

I used to blog here, once upon a time. *sigh* Such levels of suckitude1 are only attainable by those sincerely devoted to the pursuit of sucking. And the lazy. Okay, mostly the lazy. But I mean it this time: I'm gonna do better. If I don't blog at least once a week, I give you, the reader, the right to give me a swift flick to my abnormally small ears. And by you, I mean, anyone but Emily. The last thing I need is an ear bombardment while I'm trying to get my snooze on. Heaven forbid she should interrupt me while I dream about Liam Neeson.
Not THAT kind of dream. Sickos.
I just spilled Gatorade all over my pillow sham. Let that be a lesson to you all - don't drink and blog.
I just watched Five Minutes of Heaven, speaking of Liam (totally on a first name basis). It was incredible. I know I'm biased on multiple fronts with this one - namely the fact that it stars Liam Neeson & James Nesbitt and that it revolves around the Troubles in Northern Ireland - but it's legit no matter who you are.
I've also recently watched Doubt and Slumdog Millionaire. Doubt was phenomenal. Not the most exciting or fast-paced film out there, but the acting is out of this world. See it. Slumdog, on the other hand, was just alright. I was expecting to love it, but I was also expecting a pretty different movie. Everyone made it out to be some sort of heartwarming, feel-good, family film. Um... yeah. Still Danny Boyle. Depressing as hell. It had a similar affect on me to reading The Kite Runner. Not a good one. But I did love the Bollywood dance scene in the credits. All movies should end like that. Whoever survives gets to bust a move.

1. The word "suckitude" was stolen from Anthony Bourdain, who referred to himself as the "epicenter of suckitude" on an episode of his Travel Channel show, No Reservations.

[190.2] deepest, darkest

2009-03-10T17:46:00.001-07:00

I keep a lot incriminating things - boxes of spiral notebooks and journals, a trunk full of diaries and thoughts scribbled on scraps of paper, countless scattered bits of evidence in easily accessible locations. They're all things that, were I to die suddenly and unexpectedly, hearing from beyond the grave that people had begun reading would surely make me want to reanimate my own corpse and kill myself again.
I have never withheld a thought from myself. Just about anything that has eaten away at me for more than a fleeting moment can be found within the pages of one notebook or another. And yet, I have always had a nagging fear of becoming some sort of Anne Frank in the event of some unfortunate demise. I can only imagine that if she knew that her infatuation with Peter Schiff had become common knowledge throughout the entire literate world, she would be a touch mortified. Of course, knowing her poignant story has touched millions might curb her embarrassment. But what have I got to redeem me? I haven't a heroic bone in my body, but have had plenty of less than heroic thoughts. The last thing I want is for people to remember me for my Saves The Day-esque poetry detailing my disdain for my ex-boyfriend in 2003; or for imaginative hypotheticals on how I might someday capture the heart of some unrequited crush whom I have long since forgotten or moved on from.
A week or so ago, I decided that I would begin methodically destroying all of these damning artifacts. Lord knows I can't even bear to read them, so there's no reason I should be keeping them around for others to someday cringe, or worse, laugh at. Still, it's harder than it seems. My dearest Chelsea and I made an agreement when we were sixteen or seventeen that, should one of us shed this mortal coil before our time, the other would destroy the humiliating ramblings left behind. We called it "burning the cabinet," because all such records of Chelsea's were kept in a cabinet in her bedroom. A part of me thinks, well, maybe I should just keep it all and let Chels burn the cabinet. But the other part of me thinks that it could be time to burn it myself and finally move on with my life. I don't know what comfort I find in holding on so tightly to the past, but it's about time to let it go.

[190] the creative process

2009-03-10T02:47:00.000-07:00

One of the many things I like about my fiance is that he doesn't blow smoke. I should be sleeping right now, but I'm caught between writer's block (or is it "writers' block?") and an excessive influx of ideas. This is mostly due to Kyo's delightfully/brutally honest feedback on the story ideas I've been bouncing off of him. Through the process of listening to his criticism, defending my vision, and debating over the general rules and expectations inherent in writing fiction, I end up with a plethora of thoughts as to why either he's right and I need to revamp everything, or I'm right and, therefore, need to write something that will blow his mind to prove it. It's beautiful. To the untrained ear, it may sound like bickering. In reality, it's the most helpful exchange I think I've ever had when it comes to my writing.
So, in the words of Matt Keeslar in my current favorite episode of Dollhouse, shoulder to the wheel; which I think is like "nose to the grindstone," which I think means I'm gonna go get some s**t done.

[185] the chris brown & rihanna thing

2009-03-05T15:33:00.000-08:00

In general, I try not to keep myself too up-to-date on who's dating who and all the drama of what VH1 cleverly dubbed, "celebreality." However, I, like many people I know, am fascinated/disgusted by this whole Chris Brown & Rihanna thing. As I mentioned on my Facebook status the other day, I was shocked that she went back to him after he hit her. At the time, I thought that was all that happened. He hit her. That was a big enough reason to me for her to leave him. Turns out, though, that that isn't the half of it.

Here's an excerpt from this article describing exactly what went down:

Robyn F. turned to face Brown and he punched her in the left eye with his right hand. He then drove away in the vehicle and continued to punch her in the face with his right hand while steering the vehicle with his left hand. The assault caused Robyn F.'s mouth to fill with blood and blood to splatter all over her clothing and the interior of the vehicle.
Brown looked at Robyn F. and stated, 'I'm going to beat the s--t out of you when we get home! You wait and see!' "
The detective said she then used her cell phone to call her personal assistant ... who did not answer.
Robyn F. pretended to talk to her and stated, 'I'm on my way home. Make sure the police are there when I get there.'
After Robyn F. faked the call, Brown looked at her and stated, 'You just did the stupidest thing ever! Now I'm really going to kill you!'

That's not even including the biting, the choking, the multiple headlocks, etc. that were all a part of this incident which started because she confronted him about a text message from an ex. Good God. Who goes back to this?

Well, the Anderson Cooper blog answered this question for me with this article: Why Rihanna would go back to Chris Brown.

Read it. Come to terms with it. Be sickened by it. This is what happens in the cycle of domestic abuse. Maybe the publicity and public outrage surrounding this incident might serve as a wake-up call to women who keep going back, or to friends and neighbors who sit by and watch thinking it's none of their business.

[184] prolific. prolificness. prolificacy.

2009-03-04T23:55:00.001-08:00

I think I'm beginning to get my muse back.
I mean, I don't know exactly what my muse is. It's not any particular person or place or thing, though there certainly are people, places, and things that I find inspiring. My muse just seems to be something a little more intangible than all that. I don't know. Could be a feeling. Could be an allergy. Could be a few too many late nights spent reading until either my eyes give out or my current reading material runs out of pages. All of these are possible. I don't need to pinpoint my muse, so long as I take advantage of it when it comes bustling into my life without warning.
I'm not sure, by the way, if this muse of mine does the whole blogging thing. But should I be able to press it toward prolificness (which, despite what my spellcheck is telling me, is actually a word) in the online arena, I will be sure to focus that energy on this ol' blog of mine. I have all but retired most of my others.
On the subject of reading into the wee hours of the night (if by, "on the subject of," I mean, "in reference to a passing comment I made in my first paragraph), I attempted to read a few pages of Neil Gaiman's The Graveyard Book the other nite, and instead ended up reading about 200 of them, effectively finishing the book I'd intended to make last for a week or two. It was magnificent. I laughed out loud, I sobbed into my pillow, I wrote a review on Facebook and promptly Twittered it (Really, Firefox? You recognize "Twittered" but not "prolificness?") to share my amazement. Needless to say, I highly recommend this book. I will not deny that I am biased by my complete addiction to all things Neil Gaiman, but I really do think that this goes beyond the simple bounds of fangirling (also in the Firefox dictionary). It's a touching story that is, at all times, bittersweet. I just might read it again in the near future. However, at the moment, Kurt Vonnegut's Timequake is beckoning me from the pile of clutter next to my bed. It would be rude of me not to respond to its call.

[177] the woodsman

2009-02-25T23:50:00.000-08:00

Fail. Two weeks sans blog. And what's worse is that, really, the only reason I haven't been blogging is because I've been too lazy to upload my photos to Flickr. So, one laziness leads to another, I guess. But I've mostly caught up on Flickr and now I can blog with minimal guilt. Hi, everyone. I'm CoRri and this is my blog. We've been estranged for sometime, but I hope you can consider me your prodigal and welcome me back with open arms.

Moving on from my apology - which is becoming habit at this point due to my frequent blog neglect - I'd like to talk about a movie I watched the other day thanks to good ol' Netflix. The movie is called The Woodsman. I've been meaning to see it for years now, but finally got around to moving it to the top of the queue and making an afternoon of it. The film centers around a man named Walter (played by Kevin Bacon) who has recently been released from jail after 12 years behind bars for child molestation. Upon gaining his freedom, Walter does his best to turn his life around. As is to be expected, though, his past eventually catches up to him and people begin treating him like the scum of the Earth.

Now, don't get me wrong. I believe that child molestation is pretty close to the top of the list of the most deplorable acts any human being could possibly engage in. However, the key words here are "human being." As unpopular as the statement may be, I'm going to throw this out there: Sex offenders are human beings. They're human beings who sin and make mistakes just like the rest of us. Yes, their sins have much further reaching consequences than, say, my penchant for gossip or your occasional little, white lie. But sin is sin, and one of the most important means of pulling yourself out of that kind of rut is the support of others. This movie really challenged my thinking about the way that we view/treat pedophiles. They represent the one group of people that we feel absolutely no guilt about calling "animals" and other such degrading terms. It's true that sex offenders are often the most difficult criminals to rehabilitate, but are we introspective enough as a society to look at ourselves and realize how easy we make it for them to fail?

Reading the Oregonian online yesterday, I read an article about a man who killed a little girl. Here are some of the comments (click image to read):Reading this just a few days after watching the movie, these comments, which lump all child molesters into the same category as this murderer, didn't sit well with me. I'm not saying that we oughta welcome child molesters into our homes as babysitters or make them substitute teachers in our elementary schools. I'm just wondering if chasing them out of our towns, alienating them in the workplace, and making them feel subhuman is really the best way to lead them out of their sin. Isn't it possible that when the rest of the world has turned against them, the first place they're going to run is into the non-judgmental arms of a child?

[163] me in motion.

2009-02-11T23:46:00.000-08:00

Trying a little something different today and vlogging. It probably won't become a habit, but then again, it might. We shall see. I'm afraid that photobooth cut me off at the end. Some ridiculous two minute limit. Psh. But don't worry. You didn't miss much. The epiphany regarding my keyboard functions was pretty much the apex of the vlog. It was all downhill from there.

[161] cogito ergo blog.

2009-02-09T18:17:00.000-08:00

I'm becoming more and more of a blog slacker all the time. Considering the fact that I give Kyo such a hard time for neglecting his, I'm beginning to feel a bit hypocritical. Again, I shall attempt a comeback. And again, no promises -- not that I'm assuming anyone is waiting with bated breath for my return to the blogosphere. But on the off chance that your breath was, in fact, bated, here I am.

That said, life is more or less rolling along as always. Working, sleeping, watching Friday Night Lights and my weekly installments of prime time soaps (Gossip Girl & 90210). Emil & I had the use of a car this weekend and decided to change up our predictable routines. We painted the town of Beaverton on Saturday, then headed to Multnomah Falls and into the city on Sunday. Even got to drive through a sweet cemetery nearby. It was a stellar couple days.

Today while playing a game with the kids, I witnessed the funniest conversation between Katie and an imaginary police officer (also Katie) who was looking to arrest me for breaking a dog (Nikki) out of the pound. While JoJo, Nikki, & I hid in the closet, this was what I heard/saw through the slats of the door:

Katie Policeman (in deep voice): I'm looking for a tall girl with black skin and black hair. Have you seen her?
Regular Katie: Uh... no, no one like that here.
Katie Policeman: Her name is CoRri the Babysitter.
Regular Katie: Oh, yes, well, I'm afraid she died last week. Hit by a blimp.

I nearly wet myself. Katie is the funniest six-year-old on the planet.

Now it's off to put away some laundry before my date with Alex Trebek. Adieu.

[133] resolute

2009-01-13T23:48:00.001-08:00

Bally's has become overrun by New Year's resolvers. Upon arriving at my oft nigh-empty gym tonite, there were no treadmills, ellipticals, bikes, or even stair climbers available upon which to work on my fitness. It's absurd. I realize that in a month or two it'll be back to normal, but I certainly do not feel that I am getting my $18 a month worth at the moment. Of course, I should be glad that people are attempting to curb the widespread obesity problem in America. I should be happy for these people that they are decreasing their chance of heart problems and diabetes. But I'm selfish. I want my elliptical back.

Katie was impressed enough by tuna melt making skills that today she told me that I'm going to be an excellent mother. I hope that my own children will be as easy to please as Katie.

Upon arriving at their house today, Chris explained to me that Katie was learning about Martin Luther King, Jr., and that she and her classmates had a hard time understanding why people would make fun of others and treat others badly because of the color of their skin. He said that he almost didn't want to explain it because it was just so awesome that they couldn't even fathom the concept of racism. That made me smile. I mean, I'm not in denial or anything. I know that racism still exists and probably always will, but to see the pockets of it getting smaller and smaller is a pretty incredible thing to witness.

I'm currently reading the book Thunderstruck by Erik Larson. He's the fella who wrote Devil in the White City, which, if you have not read, I'm judging you for. It's amazing. Read it. Especially if you're a history nerd. Anyway, this one ties together the stories of a murderer named Hawley Harvey Crippen and the inventor Guiglielmo Marconi. So far, it's fantastic. No one does non-fiction like Erik Larson... except maybe Capote, but I'm not sure that quite counts. This book is a delightful change after attempting to read Jon Krakauer's Under the Banner of Heaven. Only Krakauer can take a subject that I'm completely fascinated by - to the point of obsession - and make it unreadable.

Emil, Brian, and I are going to California for Coop's wedding in three days. I love being spontaneous. I feel alive.

[127] back to reality

2009-01-07T00:11:00.001-08:00

Vacation has come to an end. It was a brilliant one, to be sure. I really can't complain of its ending, since it felt like I had more time than I actually did. Maybe it's the fact that I'm used to short spurts of a day or two here and there when I'll see Kyo that made it seem like I had a month with him this time, but whatever created that illusion, I'm grateful for it. It was a good time.

I saw several friends. I saw nine of my dad's ten siblings. I saw two of my four siblings. I saw my former RA staff. I saw more food than any girl could ever hope to eat, but did my darndest to attempt it.

On Monday, Kyo took me to the Blue Bayou at Disneyland. I've wanted to go there for the past five years. It lived up to my expectations. They even gave me a little candy doubloon. Now that's service.

As I've mentioned before, Kyo is an excellent amateur nurse, and once again his skills were put to the test when a migraine kicked the crap out of me on Saturday. I don't think there is a more attentive man on the face of this earth than Kyo Edmoundson. If I hadn't been in so much pain I was about to smother myself with my own pillow, I would certainly have been beaming with pride at my super awesome man. Air points.

It was wonderful to see the kiddies again today. They warm my heart. I showed them pictures of Gaucho and Kyo and Disneyland. They swooned at all three. "He looks pretty handsome to me," Katie says - in reference to Kyo, not the dog. The cuteness of those three little ones just never ceases.

[108] winter

2008-12-17T23:42:00.001-08:00

Last nite Emil and I journeyed into the city to see Andrew & Adam's band Brave Citizens at the Hawthorne Theater. It was so cold that the bands were wearing pea coats on stage, and Emil & I didn't even remove our gloves while standing in the crowd. Mind you, I use the term "crowd" loosely, as there were all of 25 or so brave souls who made the trek out of their warm homes for a nite of good music. I don't blame people for not showing. The roads were icy, the public transportation was shoddy, and by the time we parted ways with Andrew after a bite to eat at the Bagdad, it was a bone chilling 18 degrees out with a wind chill that threatened to suck the soul right out of our bodies. I have never seen Portland so completely devoid of all activity. It was like the rapture happened and Emil & I had picked the wrong side.

Anyway, as a result of my near freezing last nite, I decided to keep warm today and passed up Amos and Yarby's offer to go sledding with the Ungers, et al. Instead, I watched a couple episodes of What Not to Wear in the living room, then moved to my room where I've been watching Friday Night Lights on Netflix pretty much ever since. Not a bad way to spend a day, if you ask me. And even if you don't ask me, it's my blog, so tough.

Three days till Orange County. It's going to be so weird going from snow to SoCal. I may die of shock.

[105] first snow

2008-12-14T22:10:00.001-08:00

That's right. Today it snowed here in Beaverton... a lot. At least, a lot for this area. It's funny to me that everything is pretty much shut down in the greater Portland area due to the 3 or 4 inches of snow. There's no school tomorrow at all. Man, I remember times in Massachusetts when we were just short of having a blizzard and all we would get would be a 2 hour delay. So disappointing. Wimpy Oregonians. Can't take a little ice.

But anyway, it was pretty awesome watching the snow fall. By the time Emil and I got to church this morning (we walk there), our hair and pea coats were covered in snow. She'd never actually seen snow falling before. Her excitement was even more magical than when she first saw autumn leaves in October.

I'm just hoping that the snowfall will have stopped by Saturday, 'cause there's nothing I hate more than a delayed flight.

[100] tuesdays with corri

2008-12-09T20:33:00.001-08:00

Happy 100th day of the rest of my life! Boy oh boy, was it ever eventful!

Oh, wait. No it wasn't.

Today I worked on my website a little bit. Finally figured out how to embed my blog into it, which is a big personal victory. I also added a new section to the site entitled "obsessions." Adding these obsessions to my website inevitably led to my spending countless hours on YouTube watching videos of or pertaining to Falco, Northern Ireland, the FLDS, and Ghost Hunters, among other things.

Last nite my curiosity got the best of me and I signed up for Twitter just to figure out what exactly it is. I think I hate it. Nonetheless, if you have one, add me on it. Donna swears that I'll love it once I have a lot of people I know updating it. Without that luxury, it just seems like I'm making status updates that no one comments on.

[99] 'tis the season

2008-12-09T01:30:00.001-08:00

Again, I'm cheating. This picture is actually day 98, not 99. But I liked it, so I'm using it. You can look at my flickr feed on the left side of the page to see today's real photo.

Christmas is almost here, and I'm not sure whether it feels like the holidays or not. Our house is nicely decorated. We have a lovely tree and various "swags" around the house that were crafted during this week's Thursday nite breakfast. The kids have been begging me to let them eat candy canes, and I've been drinking my share of peppermint hot cocoa. Still, something's not quite in place yet and I'm not sure what it is.

My suspicion is that it has something to do with there being no semester's end to indicate the upcoming season. I should be studying for finals right now and planning holiday parties in the comm. lab. It's odd that nothing's changing. It's weird be going through life the same way I have been for the past seven months rather than going through the pre-vacation scramble I'm used to.

I leave for California on the 20th. I'm excited to spend two whole weeks with the mister. We haven't spent more than four days within 900 miles of each other since July. That's dumb.

I had my interview with CSU Fullerton for grad. school and it looks like I'm in. They don't actually make their decisions till March, but seeing as the department head not only used "when" rather than "if" when talking about her sending my acceptance letter, but also offered me a job upon my arrival, I think it's a fairly safe bet. I'ma get educated. I can't wait.

[81] matching hearts

2008-11-21T03:37:00.001-08:00

Kyo and I both wore our Threadless heart t-shirts today while chatting. It was an excellent Skype session filled with Lolcats and Wilfred Brimley "diabeetus" remixes. The one to the tune of Falco's "Amadeus" was by far my favorite. I laughed so hard I cried. And Kyo laughed my favorite laugh - the one that bursts from his open mouth like it has a mind of its own, completely beyond his control.

We're made for each other, he and I. I'm sitting here in my bed listening to Tom Waits, a shared favorite of ours, and I can't help but feel like I couldn't possibly be happier with anyone else. I've never been one to believe that there's only one possible person out there for everyone, but sometimes I think, well, maybe there was just one for me after all.

No one else makes me laugh like him. No one else keeps me engaged in conversation for as long. No one else indulges my stupid routines like watching Jeopardy (or AFV on Sundays when Jeopardy's not on) or doing the daily crossword. No one else buys roses for my single friends so they feel loved, or bakes pizza for my RA staff just because I mention they like pizza, or flies up to see me every month simply to be able to hold my hand. No one but him.

I think I'll keep him.

[79] untitled.

2008-11-18T12:23:00.001-08:00

I will admit I'm cheating a bit. The photo is from day 77, not 79. However, I have not uploaded day 78 to flickr, and it's too early in the day to have taken today's photo yet. I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me.

Kyo and I decided that for our honeymoon we're going to have a grand adventure along the Oregon and California coasts. He booked the first three days at the Cannery Pier Hotel in Astoria, which is officially about fifteen times nicer than the nicest hotel I have ever stayed in. Legit. Hotels are pretty high up on the list of my favorite things in the world. Also ranking pretty high are rivers and fishing, both of which shall be part of the next leg of our honeymoon excursion. We're planning on doing some camping for a bit, and I insisted that we need to catch our own food. Decapitate it, gut it. The whole nine yards. Hardcore honeymoon.

Aside from little bits of planning like that, life is pretty uneventful. Well, that's not completely true. Dear Yarby has a boyfriend now. We give her fella, Amos, helpful hints on how to be a good significant other and on what establishments and eateries Yarby enjoys. So far, this arrangement has worked out swimmingly.

Emil, Daniel, and I went and saw Quantum of Solace, which was confusing at times, but overall a fun watch. I'd buy it. I probably will buy it.

We took this picture after the movie of us with the title character of my most anticipated movie of the holiday season: The Tale of Desperaux. Get psyched.

It's almost thanksgiving. The Macy's Parade, fragrant foods, holiday music, and a visit from my fella are just over a week away.

[65] democracy

2008-11-04T23:26:00.001-08:00

Wow. It's a pretty crazy day. Whatever side you lean towards, I hope that everyone can at least acknowledge the amazing lengths we've come in the past 40 years. It's incredible. For once in my life, I really feel like I CAN do anything. It's an odd feeling - a liberation from an insecurity that I'm only even aware of occasionally.

I've been watching people's Facebook statuses religiously. It's pretty entertaining. Sometimes I wonder where the crap people get their ideas from. I remember in 2004, some of my super liberal friends saying similar end-of-the-world things about Bush being elected, and while it has been rough, it hasn't been the end of our civilization as we know it. I will say now what I said then: We're not all going to Hell in a handbasket. Get a freakin' grip. Or move to (socialist) Canada as you've threatened. Let's just be real: The President does not have the ability to unilaterally change the entire political philosophy of the U.S. There are checks and balances to prevent that. Enough with the drama.

Anyway, I'm glad all this election hoopla is over and we can resume our normal lives.

[63] in absentia

2008-11-02T22:41:00.001-08:00

I've been shamefully lax on my blogging of late, and I apologize to any who may take offense at my neglect. It was unintentional. I'm just... absentminded. And busy.

Kyo has been here the past few days. It was glorious. I spent most of Friday throwing up while Kyo emptied my bucket and brought me countless cups of water. This is the mark of a good fiance. I may not have the kind of hair that requires literal holding back, but he at least metaphorically did so for me while I expelled what I can only assume was at least three major organs. TMI.

Anyway, once that little adventure was over, we had a fantastic time being positively lazy and deciding that neither of us really wanted to get married in Southern California, so Oregon it is. Also, we took engagement photos. They're pretty sweet. Yarby is magical.

[53] black

2008-10-24T03:24:00.001-07:00

A friend of mine and I have been discussing Barack Obama over myspace, and today she sent me a video about Obama's citizenship. Now, I don't mean to insult her in any way because I have no problem with opposing viewpoints and our debate has nothing to do with our friendship. My problem is that I'm fed up with the blatantly racist tactic that people are using to shut down Obama. This is not a political rant. It is a rant of a mixed race woman who has rarely ever felt belittled because of her race, but suddenly feels that a formerly silent portion of the U.S. wishes her kind didn't exist.

The first sign that I wasn't going to like what this video had to say was that one of the sponsors of it was a website called nohussein.com. Appealing to racist sentiments much? Seriously. Obama can't help his name. If he had changed his name from John Smith to Barack Hussein Obama, maybe I could see a bit of an issue. However, that's not the case. His parents named him. Deal with it.

Anyway, one of the key points that the guy in the video made was that when Obama moved to Indonesia for four years, his step-father was Muslim. Who the effing hell cares? For one thing, Obama is NOT a Muslim and never has been. Like his name, he didn't choose his father's or his stepfather's religion. Secondly, being a Muslim DOES NOT MAKE YOU A TERRORIST. In Marin County, where I spent my teen years, there were several prominent Muslim families. I took classes with them, hung out with them, played sports with them. None of them ever expressed any anti-American sentiment. And when the tragedy of September 11th occurred my sophomore year of high school, they mourned alongside the rest of us. Video I took that day confirms that, and I bet that there are many out there who would demand to see that before believing for one second that Muslim and American aren't mutually exclusive terms. Third, his stepfather's religion is completely irrelevant to the point he's supposedly trying to make. While he says he's trying to point out Obama's not a citizen, it sure sounds more like he's trying to show that Obama is a Muslim. Otherwise, why mention it? Religion has no bearing on citizenship.

The man in the video claims to be a staunch democrat, yet he praises John McCain. It'd be one thing to say, "Look, I'm not a fan of McCain but this Obama guy is off his rocker." Then I'd believe the whole non-biased angle they're trying to pull. But there IS a bias. The guy is an out-and-out McCain lover. The fact that he has to repeat several times throughout the video that he is a democrat shows that he's worried his support of McCain is utterly transparent. Why is he supporting McCain? Because Obama is a Muslim? He didn't mention any of his policies, so that's the only thing one can assume.

The man claims that Obama lost his citizenship when he moved to the Philippines and therefore cannot be president. McCain, on the other hand, was born in Panama but is eligible for presidency. Now, I know that being a military brat you're entitled to that, but that's not the point. The constitution states that you must be a "natural born citizen" of the United States. Whether the Philippines recognized Obama's U.S. citizenship or not, he was still born in the U.S. You can't be unborn from a place. I don't know what legal nonsense he's pulling up to argue that case, but it's bull. The constitution doesn't say it. Even if somehow that held any water in the original constitution, or it turns out that Obama wasn't, in fact, born in the U.S., in 1975 the constitution was amended to say that "the children of citizens of the United States that may be born beyond sea, or outside the limits of the United States, shall be considered as natural born citizens." A constitutional amendment put in place a year after McCain's birth is the only reason that he can consider himself natural born as well. The fact of the matter is that John McCain was born abroad but is white, Obama was born here but is half black and descended of a Muslim. MOST of the videos I've watched lately have emphasized more the Muslim issue than any policy issue of Obama's.

Now, keep in mind, I am not an ardent supporter of Barack Obama. I like him better than McCain, but I'm not a fan of politicians and Obama is a politician. McCain, though, has done nothing but continue stirring the pot of racial tension, knowing that it galvanizes a quietly racist community of Americans who are ignorant enough not to question the assertion that Muslim = terrorist; or even the equally false assertion that Obama = Muslim.

[52] surgeried

2008-10-22T23:10:00.001-07:00

First phase o' surgery: Extraction of old shotty tooth/crown, bone graft, suture mania, and the "flipper." I talk with a mega lisp with the flipper in. I sound like Homestar Runner. Upon extracting my tooth, the periodontist discovered that the crown had, in fact, cracked in half and what was left underneath was just a mound of decay. Yummy.

My former dentist owes me a bundle.

My main complaint is that I can't eat any solid foods. Eating things that simply slide down my throat is incredibly unsatisfying.

[51] my last day with my tooth

2008-10-21T22:21:00.001-07:00

Tomorrow the periodontist takes my tooth away and replaces it with some dead body bone and a removable substitute in preparation for my implant in a couple months. Not looking forward to this so much, but such is life. Or at least, such is MY life. Sometimes it seems pretty darn unfair. But then me and Emil spend an evening watching The Simpsons, Goosebumps, and Home Improvement after a brisk evening walk to 7eleven for Gatorade and Hostess products, and I know that things could be worse. At times, I have it damn good.

I updated my OC Oddities blog today. I created it for a class I was in first semester last year and have neglected it ever since. It was fun to revisit it and update. It also at least gives me something to look forward to about moving back to Orange County. Weirdness awaits.

[50] well, 51, technically

2008-10-21T00:52:00.001-07:00

It is after midnite, after all. Nonetheless, I'm gonna say it's day 50. As Benno has pointed out to me a few times, I haven't updated this in a while. It has been crazy around here and mostly, when I'm not engulfed in something else, I'm sleeping. Excuses, excuses, I know. I should just suck it up and post. I'm doing it now.

We pulled a major surprise engagement for Emil last week. Literally, an engagement. Jer flew out and proposed and she had NO idea. See, for some odd reason, Emil operates under the assumption that Yarby and I would never lie to her. I haven't the foggiest notion where she got that idea, but I can assure you, she no longer harbors that fantasy. We lied. She bought it. She was shocked.

I also went to the coast with my nanny family this past week. It was delightful. I texted Chris, the dad, while I was walking around by myself and told him that I was moving there. He simply responded, "Told you so." It's true. He did.

On Wednesday I have a surgery that is going to cost $1500 more than I expected it to. To be completely honest, I cried like a pansy upon realizing this. Fortunately, I have a sugar daddy and he's taking care of it. I am spoiled... but it'd be nice if that spoiling entailed weekend spa getaways and monthly massages rather than bone graft surgeries and amoxicilin prescriptions. I have no doubt in my mind that, should I decide I required those things, he would jump at the opportunity. The knowledge of his willingness is enough. I need no such treatment.

I decided today that I want to learn to draw. I'm no good, but maybe if I practice, someday I'll draw something that isn't total crap. I have high hopes. My mother is an artist. Some of that has to have rubbed off, right?

Right?

[39] I <3 Thursdays

2008-10-09T23:38:00.001-07:00

Tonite's Thursday nite breakfast included our dear friends Daniel, Amos, & Casey. It was followed up by a little Office, a little Weekend Update, and a little America's Funniest Home Videos. I consider it a criterion for all my friends that they be able to enjoy AFV. If you can't enjoy it, your sense of humor must be broken.

I don't have to work till 11:30 tomorrow. Life is so good.

Plus, we're going to Kennedy School. I'm going to order the Principal's Special. Yesssss.

[37] the best tuesday ever

2008-10-07T23:52:00.001-07:00

Today was AMAZING. I got a buncha rest, I got my new glasses, I did my laundry and cleaned the bathroom, I went bowling, and had a supremely collegey ride home in which we raced Amos and Daniel, and passed an ice cream cone between our cars. So much fun.

It is SO good to have friends. I know I say that a lot, but it's true. We're throwing a Halloween party, and we will actually have people come. It's a beautiful thing.

[36] patience

2008-10-06T23:44:00.001-07:00

The girls were certainly testing my patience today. Sometimes they switch on and off. They're perfect angels one minute, and then biting each other the next. This is not to say that they are by any means out of control. They're actually extremely well-behaved most of the time. But sometimes their little tempers flare and I'm ready to pull my hair out.

I got a nice, winter jacket at Costco today. I'm gonna be snug as a bug in a rug.

Autumn is lovely here. Not quite New England status, but lovely.

[35] weekend's end

2008-10-05T23:16:00.001-07:00

We had our friends over tonite for some cider, some cookies that ended up being scones, a bit of candy corn, and a viewing of Dan in Real Life. As always, it was a lovely time. Our hearts were warmed by the fact that Amos rang the doorbell, but came in before we even got to the door. Then Molly simply entered as well. We love when people feel comfortable enough to do such things.

Hillary ran her marathon today. The rest of us made a list of pros and cons of participating in such an event. The list of cons was rather exhaustive. There was only one pro. I will not be running any marathons.

I am almost done with my current read and I'm excited to finish so that I can finally get a full nite of sleep. It's really been taking a toll on my sleep patterns.

[33] deprivation and disorientation

2008-10-03T23:45:00.001-07:00

I'm so tired. I have to work at 8:30 tomorrow morning. I haven't had a full day off where I could just relax in weeks. Tuesday I should finally get that. I hope.

I finally saw The Dark Knight tonite. So awesome. I felt like a real person going out to a movie on a Friday nite. I'm adjusting to being normal. College life isn't normal. Normal life is... weird.

[32] insurance

2008-10-02T23:55:00.001-07:00

By some freak of nature, I found out today that I actually have insurance until the end of this month. This means that my extraction and bone graft surgery will cost me $290 as opposed to about $1300. Someone up there's looking out for me.

[31] wearing out

2008-10-01T22:56:00.001-07:00

I am absolutely exhausted. I have to go for a consultation at the dentist's office tomorrow. I was originally supposed to go on October 15th, but for some reason decided to take the earlier appointment offered to me. That was dumb. I need a day off.

The Sox won game one of the ALDS. That's good news. It was fantastic to actually get to watch the game on television. Despite the fact that Oregon has no baseball of its own, they rarely show my beloved Red Sox.

I watched Tarzan with the kids today. I've always like the music, but after seeing the movie today, I can't believe that that's supposed to be a kids' movie. I did not enjoy having little Katie turn to me after the hanging of the bad guy and asking why having something wrapped around your neck helps you die.

I need sleep.

day thirty

2008-09-30T21:56:00.001-07:00

I must say, I'm pretty pleased with myself. I managed to write every single day for a month. I make no promises about such faithful blogging from this point forward, but I will try to press on with at least comparable frequency.

I bled a lot at the dentist today.

Because of this, my dentist recommended I allow her to put amalgam - rather than composite - fillings in my mouth. It was a bit of an internal struggle for me. I have a tendency to open my mouth pretty wide and the last thing I want is to look like Lil' John's less successful sister. However, I decided that Dr. Berg knows best and allowed it. The plus side is that these unsightly things are a crapload cheaper than the composite fillings. The downside, though, is that, so far, putting anything cold in my mouth hurts like a bitch. I mean, seriously. Like an angry, female dog who decided to orally maim me for stealing one of her pups.

My dear dentist did give me sealants for free today, so I can't help but be glad about that. Plus, that whole office has been bending over backwards to figure out how to get part of my upcoming (dental) implant surgery paid for by the Gentle Dental organization, and for that I am incredibly grateful.

Every time I write Gentle Dental, I write "gental." Things should not be allowed to rhyme that aren't spelled similarly.

day twenty-nine

2008-09-29T22:51:00.001-07:00

At the gym tonite, we saw a guy standing in the aerobics room in his tighty-whities, posing in front of a somewhat overweight middle-aged woman. Naturally, it took me by surprise. As it turns out, this fella is going to be in a body building show and was working on his poses. I guess if you can stand in your skivvies in a room made of windows and mirrors for all passers by to see, you can stand in front of a crowd at a body building show. The odd thing was that he wasn't a particularly muscular guy from the look of things. I didn't look too closely, but he wasn't any Schwarzenegger or anything.

I like that Schwarzenegger is apparently in the Firefox dictionary, because it didn't underline it as a misspelled word when I wrote it.

I took the kids to the library today. That's not a euphemism for anything, even though it sounds like it. We fed the ducks, borrowed some books, and fled just before Joey had a fit in the middle of the children's section. Success.

Tomorrow is my last trip to the dentist... until the 15th of October anyway.

day twenty-eight

2008-09-28T23:28:00.001-07:00

It's almost October; at which point I may consider ceasing to number my entries, but I've yet to come to a decision on that. We shall see.

We had our first real social gathering in our home tonite. Molly, Katie, Amos, Dan, Brandon, and Daniel came over for our potluck. It was magnificent. The food was good, the company was good, and we even had some good game time. It's starting to really feel like we live here. We have friends we didn't know before moving to Oregon, and that's quite an accomplishment.

Furthermore, I carved a chicken today, and that is no small feat for my shamefully un-domestic self.

day twenty-seven

2008-09-27T22:02:00.001-07:00

The concept of having some measure of responsibility for children in the wee hours of the nite apparently stresses me out to the point where I can't sleep. On top of this, the kids began their waking at 4am, the last one sleeping in until 6:00. It was rough.

Upon arriving back home, I almost immediately headed back out with the girls to Portland for some exploring. We did some of the usual spots like Powell's and the Waterfront, and switched it up a bit with a little Saturday Market action and a haunted pizza place called Old Town Pizza. If you're every in Portland, I give this place as many stars as it is possible to give a food establishment. Most of those stars are for atmosphere. The pizza's good, but the atmosphere is awesome.

The crew just headed out for a little karaoke. I, needless to say, am a little too tired for that.

On a more melancholy note, dear Paul Newman has shed this mortal coil. I think it's safe to say that this is a sad day for just about every American. Paul Newman embodied everything that's good and pure about Hollywood. They just don't make 'em like that anymore.

day twenty-six

2008-09-26T22:46:00.001-07:00

Today was Karen and Kattie's birthday. We ventured into Portland to visit the Rose Garden and wander Hawthorne. We ate lunch at the site of my first date with Kyo. It was just as good as I remember. Plus, I had considerably fewer butterflies this time.

I'm currently doing an overnite nanny shift. So far I've watched the presidential debate and put on my pajamas. It's a hard knock life for me.

Tomorrow we're heading into the city for the Saturday Market and some other excursions yet to be determined. My life is so full right now, I can hardly handle it.

day twenty-five

2008-09-25T20:36:00.001-07:00

Today I got good news from the dentist. Well, good news that's sucky but convenient right now. It turns out that the infection in my mouth is actually a direct result of a procedure I had done at Gentle Dental in Costa Mesa. That's the sucky part. This could have all been avoided. Nothing I did caused it.

On the plus side, this means that they should at least pay for part of the extraction and implant surgeries. This means less money out of my, err, Kyo's pocket. I wouldn't go so far as to say I'm happy, but I am a bit relieved.

Tomorrow is Kattie's birthday. Karen, Emily, and her friend Jessalyn are arriving tonite for the occasion and will be here until Tuesday. It's going to be crazy here at the Fort.

We're having a potluck at our house with our new friends on Sunday. Time for us to get all Martha Stewart.

26 minutes till the Office. I'm so ready.

day twenty-four

2008-09-24T23:55:00.001-07:00

My attempt to get to the dentist today was a failure. Big time. I don't want to talk about it.

Otherwise, a successful day was had. Kattie and I went to the youth group thing at Living Hope. It was.... intense. We played a Jeopardy meets Are You Smarter Than A Fifth Grader type game in which our phones served as our buzzers. It got pretty heated, but let it be known: Our group OWNED the pop culture category.

A couple more fillings tomorrow. PTL, I'm almost done with these dental disasters.

I should just get dentures.

day twenty-three

2008-09-23T23:53:00.001-07:00

My roomies and I actually left the house after 9 o'clock this fine evening. We went bowling with our new church friends. It was fantastic. It's so nice to have friends outside the house. I'm not downplaying the awesomeness of my roommates, but I have to say that it's nice to see some different faces. I think they like us.

I got a couple fillings today. Not my favorite activity. Two more on Thursday. Big sigh.

I'm exhausted. Friendship is overstimulating.

day twenty-two

2008-09-22T21:24:00.001-07:00

I've been following this forum where people are debating whether or not it's okay to teach your children your religion. It's a stupid conversation. Of course it's okay. The right to practice religion freely is one of the big concepts upon which this country was founded. That's not to say that religious oppression hasn't been a part of its history, but I like to think at this point we're getting past that. It's just funny to see militant atheists try to argue that parents have no right to introduce their children to their faith until they're at least sixteen and can make up their minds for themselves. They're saying that it's irreparably detrimental to their future well-being, and their proof is in the website exchristian.com. Big shocker that on a website for ex-Christians people are bitching about how harmful religion was growing up. I'm not saying no harm has ever been done by people claiming to act on behalf of God, but passing the belief in God on to your kids is not inherently detrimental. That's just ridiculous. Not to teach your child the faith that you believe is Truth would be hypocritical - another thing that I'm sure these same people would be quick to attack.

The discussion has been making me so stressed out that I finally unsubscribed from the forum today. It was making me grind my teeth, and my teeth do not need anymore abuse.

In other news, I got new glasses today. Or, well, I ordered new glasses. They'll be here in two weeks. I can't wait to wear glasses with two arms on them.

Also, I hate Sudoku.

day twenty-one

2008-09-21T22:48:00.001-07:00

We made friends! Wonder of wonders, miracle of miracles!

While Hillary, Emil, and I were patting ourselves on the backs for actually going out tonite and grabbing some grub at a McMenamins, we got a phone call from a girl they'd met at the church picnic two weeks ago. She invited us to a get-together at her friend's house. Of course we said yes. I mean, we have zero friends who we didn't move to Oregon already knowing. This was a golden opportunity.

Now we have bowling to look forward to this Tuesday with our newfound playmates. We are overjoyed. The romantics in the house are already trying to figure out ways to set up the single roommates with the cute farmboys present at the function. I think it'll work and it'll be brilliant.

day twenty

2008-09-20T18:37:00.001-07:00

The girls and Jojo are watching the third Little Mermaid movie. Yes, there are actually three of them. Who knew? I'm updating from my phone since there's no wireless here. I wouldn't dream of shirking my blogging responsibilities. I do reserve the right to disclaim any typos in this entry due to the difficulty of monitoring such things on a cell phone screen - albeit a large and awesome one (props to my sister for my new enV2).

day nineteen

2008-09-19T22:35:00.001-07:00

Katie turned six today. She lamented to me the fact that she didn't feel any different than she did when she was five and a half. I can commiserate. I have felt that way many a time. Oddly, though, twenty-three does feel quite different than twenty-two - and certainly worlds different from five and a half (though there are similarities). I think it's the way it sounds. That three thrown in the mix changes everything.

Emil and I decided to be real people and at least go somewhere on our Friday nite. We went to L&L for some Hawaiian grub, and followed that with a trip to Powell's. We were then rejected by not one, but two different bus drivers trying to catch a ride to the Beaverton Transit Center. Normally the bus drivers around here are pretty legit, but I guess it was d-bag nite here in Zone 3 of the TriMet system.

I'm exhausted, but we are forcing ourselves to stay awake and watch Hard Candy. NetFlix is detrimental to sleep patterns. However, I stayed up reading till 3:30am, so I think that I am just detrimental to my sleep patterns.

day eighteen

2008-09-18T20:34:00.001-07:00

Summer finally seems to be relenting a bit and making way for autumn. It was a nice, cool, overcast day here in the city of beavers. I'm hoping that this is a trend and not just a a short recess from the unseasonable heat. It should never be over 90 in September. It's unethical.

day seventeen

2008-09-17T22:27:00.000-07:00

My glasses inexplicably broke today. I was just sitting on the couch, looked down, and noted that the previously unbroken arm of my glasses was bent at a curious angle. I picked them up, attempted to adjust the arm, and was left with two separate pieces in my hand. With a sigh, I shuffled into the kitchen and retrieved a roll of Scotch tape with which to make a hasty repair that will have to tide me over until my optometrist appointment next week.

I went to the gym without glasses tonite. My head hurts now. On the plus side, I could not watch the interview with Sarah Palin that was playing on Fox News at the time. Every time I'm at the gym, Fox News is talking about Sarah Palin. That also makes my head hurt.

Speaking of TV politics, Oregon politicians fight dirty. At least Gordon Smith does, anyway. I don't know anything about Jeff Merkley, but if I were a resident of Oregon I feel like I'd vote for him simply because Gordon Smith's smear campaign against him is so ridiculously brutal.

I hate politics.

day sixteen

2008-09-16T20:07:00.000-07:00

I cannot say that today was nearly as eventful as yesterday. I felt sluggish. I did, however, buy Dr. Horrible on iTunes, including a couple songs from the soundtrack. I've listened to them several times already. I'm addicted. Man, if Neil Patrick Harris weren't gay... and if I weren't spoken for...

I'm noticing a wholly unintentional trend in my reading material these days. Judging by the titles I'm currently using to lull me to sleep at nite, I'm one twisted individual. The Terror chronicles an ill-fated Arctic sea expedition in which crew members are munched and mutilated by some mysterious beast on the ice. In The Woods tells the tale of a police detective in Ireland who was found with shoes full of blood not belonging to him as a child, his two friends having, presumably, been murdered. Finally, An Absolute Gentleman is a fictional memoir of a rather pleasant serial killer.

Sometimes I have nightmares.

day fifteen

2008-09-15T21:14:00.000-07:00

Considering my fairly homebody-ish nature, I actually had quite a few adventures today. I took dear, sweet Joey to the Hillsboro Library where we fed ducks and everyone who passed us by ooh'ed and aah'ed at how adorable he was. Seriously, he's cute. I'd like to claim he's mine, but I think his blonde hair and lack of skintone give me away. I'll settle for being recognized as the lucky babysitter.

When I got home from nannying today, Kattie and Hil were headed out to the Beaverton Library, so I joined them on that outing and procured for myself a Washington County library card. I inaugurated it by borrowing every Phil Collins CD in the library's collection, as well as a couple of books I probably don't have time to read but could not resist.

Kattie and I followed the journey up with a trip to a local coffee shop called Ava's. We chatted about life, family, gender roles, and all the other normal things that come up in conversation over a cuppa joe - or, in my case, a tall blended caramel cappucino.

Naturally, the gym followed such an imposing caloric intake. And now it's time to pick up Emil, who abandoned me for California this past week, from the airport.

My, my. Look at all my adventures. I'm a regular Beryl Markham.

day fourteen

2008-09-14T19:23:00.001-07:00

My MacBook and I have been bonding today. I have been diligently working to accomplish all of the things that theknot.com tells me are of the utmost importance at this point in the planning process - wedding website, registries, location scouting, and the like. It's a bit of a headache.

The part of me that loves to be one step ahead of everything enjoys the meticulous planning and daydreaming involved in all of this. I think, though, that it's probably that very same forward-thinking aspect of my personality that is annoyed that nothing can be set in stone just yet. As much as I like a good surprise, I am also a big proponent of predictability in certain cases. Anything that is going to require great time and effort from me falls under the latter category.

Don't get me the wrong idea about my day, though. All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy. So I've punctuated my obsessive-compulsive planning with a few episodes of Gossip Girl and several viewings of my new favorite viral video, Jesus is My Friend. It does a body good.

day thirteen

2008-09-13T21:34:00.001-07:00

I've never considered myself cool enough to hang around in coffee shops for extended periods of time. Yesterday I managed all of ten minutes in the Barnes & Noble Starbucks and felt quite accomplished. Today, however, I was gripped by the feeling that, if I'm going to go to the trouble in the morning of adorning my finger with this opulent diamond, I should really justify it by at least leaving the house. It just seems weird, after all, to put on jewelry with no intention of going anywhere beyond the mailbox. So, when Yarby invited me along on her near daily trek to Bella - a coffee house in the ritzy Streets of Tanasbourne - I decided I should tag along. It was actually quite nice, although the teenage boys manning the store on this particular occasion were blasting some ambiance-shattering screamo music. That setback aside, I'd certainly do it again should the invitation be extended.

We later attempted a much-needed work out session at Bally, but realized upon arriving that it's Saturday and they closed at 7:00. It was 6:44.

Instead, we went to Dairy Queen.

day twelve

2008-09-12T20:59:00.001-07:00

I abhor the dentist.

Well, okay, not the dentist herself. I actually quite like Dr. Berg. She's a sweet lady. From the look of her, she can't be a whole lot older than I am. I have no complaints about her. I just hate the fact that my teeth, no matter how much I brush/floss them, and no matter how little sugar I ingest, will always be a problem. In today's battle between my teeth and my wallet, my teeth struck a potentially fatal blow to their opponent. Aside from the usual cavities and things, I have an incredibly bad infection in one of my molars, which will require its more or less immediate extraction. Once that happens, a $4,000 implant surgery which is not covered by (my or any other) insurance will need to take place.

Dear Life,
In case you hadn't heard, in a month and a half I need to start paying off the massive amounts of debt I incurred during my stay at Vanguard University. Also, I'm getting married. If you could please refrain from creating any further situations that will cost me an arm, a leg, and perhaps my first born child, that'd be great.
Sincerely,
Corrigan (soon to be Edmoundson) Albouy-Vaughan

day eleven

2008-09-11T20:56:00.000-07:00

Epiphany of the week: It takes kind of a long time to get to and from the airport on the MAX.

Leiko brought her wonderfully chubby baby Dakota over for a bit of doting from his Uncle and future Aunt. He's a pretty awesome baby. You'd like him, Reader-of-Mine. I really think you'd approve.

Unfortunately for me, the mister had to return to the black hole of Southern California, so after a bite to eat at the airport, I sent him on his way. Mind you, when I say I sent him on his way, I mean that I asked more than a few times if he was sure he had to leave and supervised his entire journey through airport security before finally slinking down to the MAX in defeat. I hate battles that I can't win. Cursed Vanguard for providing my fella with full-time employment.

day ten

2008-09-10T21:14:00.001-07:00

In the words of M.I.A., blaze-a-blaze, galangalangalang. I don't really know what that means, but I promise I'm not a stoner.

We watched Smart People, which was pretty average except for the fact that Thomas Haden Church plays one of the funniest characters I've seen in a movie in, um, ever. We followed that up with a little Benny & Joon. Obviously an excellent choice. I needn't tell anyone that. Oh yes, and Kyo has just brought up the fact that we supplemented these experiences with some fantastic take-out from one of my favorite haunts: Extreme Pizza. He also adds that there was birthday caramel apple cheesecake made by Kattie Frosberg and Hillary Karwowski. He would further like the reader to know that he realizes that this is NOT, in fact, his blog, but that he hopes it makes up for his epic suckitude in updating his own. The epic suckitude part may have been my words.

Anyway, all this to say, in the words of Luce, it's a pretty good day - I'm looking forward to tomorrow.

day nine

2008-09-09T22:09:00.000-07:00

Happy birthday to me! It would probably be an understatement to say that it was eventful, but that's the word I'm going to use. Yup. It was eventful. I took the MAX to get Kyo from the airport, we went on some adventures, hung out at the zoo, and got engaged. The penguins were our witnesses. I have some major bling going on. But don't worry - I'm still Jenny from the block.

As a celebration of both my 23rd year of existence and this crazy engagement thing, the roomies, Kyo, and I went to IHOP. I'm willing to claim with some sense of certainty that this was pretty much the greatest IHOP experience ever. Let's just say there were free cherry shakes involved. You can admit that you're jealous and, I promise, I will not judge.

Tomorrow I finally get to see Dark Knight. I'm having a good week. I should be on Best Week Ever.

day eight

2008-09-08T20:18:00.000-07:00

It is my last day of being twenty-two. This year has been good to me, but I'm looking forward to a fairly awesome twenty-third. It starts on a high note when a certain adjunct professor from Vanguard University arrives in PDX tomorrow to whisk me away on a day full of adventures. I have heard promises of steak and pancakes. Separate meals, I assure you.

I can't think (or write) when I'm listening Tim Hughes.

It's off to Bally for me with my dear roomies. I can no longer sit and be fit (though I enjoy engaging in that activity with the wonderful elderly folks at the Avalon Senior Center and my good friend Marcus DeLeon).

day seven

2008-09-07T21:20:00.001-07:00

I missed the church picnic today because I realized I would've had to get on the bus to leave for work as soon as I got there due to the irregular Sunday bus schedule. Epic fail.

Fortunately, Hillary and Emily made some friends in my absence and they have promised to have them (over) for Tuesday Night Breakfast next week. This week's TNB, however, is an elite affair. It is my birthday breakfast, and that must take priority over entertaining new guests. Call me self-centered, but, dammit, it's all about me.

I'm kidding, by the way.

The girls made a birthday cake for me today. I think they ended up wearing more of it than they ate. It was hard to tell, though, whether it was the chocolate cake or the inexplicable amount of magic marker staining Nikki's face that looked most obtrusive.

I put In the Name of the Father in the mailbox today. I hope that whatever Netflix sends me next is happier. I could peek at my queue, but I can't help but relish the surprise.

day six

2008-09-06T21:29:00.001-07:00

For the billionth time in my nine years or so of having a debit card, I have lost it. This made it impossible for me to get cash out to take the MAX to see my dear friend (that lay in the house that Jack built), Connor. I am sad. I am also sad because I just watched In The Name of the Father. I bawled my eyes out. I'm such a sap.

On a slightly random note, I've never been a particularly political person (unless those politics pertain to Northern Ireland). However, I think everyone has become at least a little bit political during this crazy circus of a presidential race we have going on right now. Up until, oh, a week or so ago, I was still undecided between presidential candidates. When McCain chose Sarah Palin as his running mate, though, I thought that any thinking person would see through this ridiculous gimmick and realize that their only option was to choose Obama. Oddly, some brilliant people I know for some reason fell for it. I'm stunned. There is so much wrong with Sarah Palin - and none of this is based on her being a woman or having a pregnant teen or whatever other things that people like to blame opposition to her on so that they don't have to face the facts - that I don't even know where to begin. It just saddens me that some people are so staunchly set on voting with a party or ideal that they are blind to the fact that they're being duped.

The office of the presidency has a tendency to age its incumbent some ten to fifteen years over a four year span. This doesnt even include the years the campaign itself tacks on. As such, i can't help but feel that a vote for McCain is, in all actuality, a vote for Sarah Palin. I mean, the grim reaper is standing at the White House door with a welcome basket for our war-hero friend. And God help us all if he does kick the bucket and that woman ever becomes commander-in-chief.

Anyway, thus ends my first and only political rant.

In other news, I am watching Failure to Launch, and all I can say is that I never had any desire to see Terry Bradshaw naked, and could have lived a happy life without seeing him disrobe. I can only hope that, from this point forward, this never happens again.

day five

2008-09-05T18:04:00.000-07:00

Today when I picked up Katie from the bus stop after she got home from kindergarten, the first words out of her mouth were, "I have a boyfriend. His name is Ethan and we fell in love. He's the handsomest boy I've ever seen." I so miss kindergarten. I think I want to be a little kid when I grow up.

I am feeling incredibly lethargic this evening, but I've still got some Bally time to attend to with Emil and Yarby, and I'd really like to hang out with Connor Maguire, who is one of the coolest people you will ever have the privilege of meeting (should you, in fact, ever get the privilege of meeting him).

I should also really watch the movie I got from Netflix three weeks ago. I am squandering my $8.99 a month.

day four

2008-09-04T23:02:00.000-07:00

I don't know if you've ever had one of those days where you look back on it and realize that you did absolutely nothing, but when I have days off, that can generally be said of any one of them. Today was no exception. I honestly can hardly recall doing anything at all. I watched some Discovery Channel. I ate a couple times. I went to the gym with Yarby. Other than that, I can only assume that I was completely motionless and nigh thoughtless for the rest of the day. Either that or I entered into some sort of parallel universe around 9am when I woke up, and didn't come back to our own dimension until 5pm when I tuned in to "It Takes A Thief." I'm willing to accept either explanation.

day three

2008-09-03T20:25:00.001-07:00

Little kid meltdowns are fun. And by that I mean: They're not. Dearest Nikki, whom I love, had a total panic attack over having to wait a half hour to watch a DVD she was particularly in the mood for. I gave her some space for a while, though, and twenty minutes later she came out of her room with a huge smile on her face as if nothing had happened. O, to live so simple a life that what seems a tragedy one moment is no more than a distant memory the next.

I made a dentist appointment and an optometrist appointment today. I felt like a big girl. Well, except for the fact that I kept having to call my mom for missing bits of information necessary for insurance purposes. I have come to terms with my dependence upon my mother's guidance.

My foot is asleep.

There are six days until my birthday. Exactly six years before I first made my debut on this planet (That's September 9, 1979, in case you were stumped), a little comic called For Better or For Worse made its own debut. In today's photo, I am holding up the very last FBoFW strip. I would be lying if I said I didn't shed a tear or two when I read it.

day two

2008-09-02T22:57:00.001-07:00

It was a 9 to 5 day, but a good one. The kids were phenomenal. The picture above was taken by Katie, the nearly-six-year-old. Her sister Nikki was on my shoulders, but Katie apparently didn't see fit to include her in the picture.

I really love the family I work for. They're truly amazing and they make me feel incredibly appreciated. Sure, I'm not the biggest fan of waking up in the morning, but if I'm gonna do it for anything, this is the best reason I can think of.

We used our gym passes for the first time tonite and it felt marvelous. I hate being sedentary, but, on the other hand, I also hate exercise. Kind of a catch-22. I'm trying to fix it.

Tomorrow I will be meeting the nice people at Nikki's pre-school in the morning - a precautionary measure so's to not cause alarm when a random black girl attempts to pick her up at the end of the day.

day one

2008-09-01T20:32:00.001-07:00

Arbitrarily, I have decided that today is the first day of the rest of my life. Arguably, this could be said of every day in which I wake up. I am aware of that fact. Nonetheless, I've made my decision. Today is day one.

On this first day, I slept in nice and late. I tooled around on the Internet for a bit, then went grocery shopping. After all, I'm a big kid now. Gotta make sure I'm fed and fed well.

Trader Joe's was followed by a trip to Bally Fitness where Emil and I secured gym memberships for a paltry $19 a month thanks to a helpful employee named Tim and our incredibly common last names. I won't go into detail as to how those worked to our advantage lest it be discovered that the method was terribly illegal. Fearing for Tim's job, I asked if he would get in trouble for this deal. "Nah," he replied. "They make it easy for a reason." Fair enough. Who am I to press the issue any further?

Now I'm winding down the day with a bit of Anthony Bourdain. It's bed for me early tonite since tomorrow is a work day. Eight days until I'm 23. I think I'll feel more adult then. I'm damn near sure of it.

2008-07-27T19:32:00.001-07:00

Coming soon.