Wow

That's just about priceless, isn't it, folks? ;)

Blog hopping . . .

So, I'm in a better mood, if not a great one. I'm trying to reconcile myself to the fact that my life is going to be 'smaller' from here on out, so it's up to me to adjust. The first step towards obtaining realistic, Christian optimism is adjusting your expectations.

However, still not quite being adjusted to this, and lacking the opportunities and the resources to talk to *real people*, I've turned to the internet. LOL. Don't worry - I won't make a habit of it.

I've been hopping from linked blog to linked blog here, starting with my friends' blogs and branching out from there. It's weird - if you dig deep enough in people's back posts and pay close enough attention to what they say, it's not too hard to find blog written by people you already know or who are at least people related to people you know.

One of said blogs revealed this highly entertaining photo journal. It's a series of masterfully artistic shots, illustrating a wide range of people and the food they eat for breakfast. I love the way he composed the shots so as to be faithful to the character of morning light, and I think the fact that the people were very obviously photographed in the morning is absolutely hilarious. This shot is my favorite (esp. note the wet hair - I do definitely do that every day):



Also, just so you know, I've been scribbling pages of interesting half-thunk thinkings for weeks now. I just need to actually take some time and put them out onto the ol' blog. :) So, worry not, more interesting things are (eventually) coming your way.

Last week, there were a couple of days when severe thunderstorms were roaring through the area. I waited to head out to work one of these stormy mornings until the weather had settled down a bit, and although I'd taken an umbrella, it wasn't raining so I didn't have it up. Walking along the sidewalk, I was quietly minding my own business when I was hit full in the face with a spray of cold water. Confused, I went to put my umbrella up, when I realized that my impromptu shower had been courtesy of this fellow:



Shaking himself dry on the lampost overhanging the sidewalk, he decided to play a joke on me and then sing his little head off as if nothing had happened.

The little brat.

They might not nest in the corncribs, but evidently they're not without some inclination towards mischief . . .

GLUG

I was online telling my best friend that one of my favorite things about Christmastime was "the glug". I didn't tell her it was a spiced wine but figured I'd Google it just to make sure she could find out what it was by looking it up that way.

Input "GLUG" - - hit one, two, three - - all good, recipes and product details for spiced wine. But, what is this? Hit five reads:

"GLUG: Gay/Lesbian Underwater Group - - A UK based scuba club for gay men and . . . "

ROTFLOL

I have noticed this phenomenon, and I'm glad someone, somewhere, is taking it more seriously.

One of my husband's classmates, who is otherwise a conservative, very intelligent man, is VERY addicted to "gaming". He's also very inclined to all things Asian. . . I wonder where that psycological connection is? I've long thought that certain races had greater propensities towards given sets of vices - most likely a result of their cultural habituations. The Japanese (and evidently the South Koreans as well) seem incredibly inclined towards overindulgence in virtual phenomena. Come to think of it, even in my Caucasian circles, most of the friends I had who were quiet, withdrawn and fond of computer games also had an affinity towards Asian culture, either in the form of Anime, Pokemon, or in some other way.

Maybe there's something about Asian-ness that seems to resemble or encourage the virtual world better than most other cultural mainstays. Not being one of these quiet, withdrawn gamers - heck if I'd know what that was. But, maybe it's like how the Irish are given to overfondness of beer from a cultural inclination towards homey, noisy pubs and parties therein. Or, perhaps, how the British are inclined towards being stodgy from cultural habituation to large, rich, Edwardian architecture. -?-

I dunno. But, well, at least the South Koreans know they have a problem. More power to them!

Missing Term

The English language should invent particular terms for people to use when referring to their in-laws.

"Mom" and "Dad" are obviously unfit terms for this, since one is accustomed to applying them to the most proper individuals they belong to, i.e., those people who bore you and brought you up. Using these terms to apply to adopted family members from marriage is very awkward.

However, there are only two other alternatives to using these parental terms. One is to call in-laws by their last names with the respectful "Mr." or "Mrs." in front. This is very confusing, since in the case of the lady she is being called the same thing as her mother-in-law and that makes it all very odd. Moreover, it sounds stodgy. Yuck.

The other option is to call in-laws by their first names, or some corruption thereof. This is unfitting, since it isn't customary or proper for first name usage to cross generational gaps, unless the older person is an unusually good friend or of an unusually bubbly temperament. (Neither of which can be said to apply in most cases, and most certainly not in mine - my in-laws are anything but bubbly).

So, I'm now taking suggestions for new words to fill this office. If you can, supply an etymological analysis and show why the terms are a good fit.

And no, I'm not asking you to be serious.

Scientists are crazy.

Where do they get off thinking that they can philosophize? WHERE?!?! Talk about epic FAILURE. Don't we have institutions for people like this?

Sheesh.

WOW!

This is great news for me, no? ;)

Oh dear . . .

Okay, so, I have this Weird Al song stuck in my head.

It reminded me of my husband - tee hee hee. However, he only got something like a 35% score on the quiz. He does do vector calculus, though, and thinks it's great fun to talk to me about it, too. *eyes glazing over*

Yeah, I know, quite a switch from yesterday's intellectual hyperactivity, isn't it? I promise I'll come up with something profound before the night's out, ok?

Sounds familiar . . .

Now that my beloved and I have ventured away from our alma mater, we are forced into more encounters with the dreaded "system". Alas!

Well, at least the cartoon is funny . . .

Ironies

So . . . my husband and I were talking the other night, and he pointed out some inconsistencies which are very interesting.

How is it that my studies, centering mainly around philosophy and theology, gave me a Bachelor of ARTS degree? Heeeeelllllooooooo people - arts, by definition, are ordered to MAKING, and it's not like I spent four years learning how to construct truth or fabricate a God. Sciences are ordered to KNOWING, and that's what philosophy and theology are ordered to - knowing things. Not making them.

And, now, what really gets me: so, if I was to go get a degree in, say, architecture, they'd give me a Bachelor of Sciences degree. Now, there's no way in heck you're going to convince me that architecture isn't ordered to making things.

What idiot is responsible for this, huh?

It's a bunch of B.S. - that's what I say.

(I know, I know, that really hurt. I'm sorry . . . )

WHY??? WHY???????????????????????

Now, when baking powder and baking soda were being named, why, in the name of all that is holy, did they decide to qualify both of their names with the word "baking"?

They could have named them anything - "Larry", "Bob", "Joe Schmoe's Amazing Powdery Stuff You Put In Your Food".

But, why, why, WHY would they decide that both of these items needed names involving the same, one, completely extraneous word?

Perhaps they were named by evil people, foreseeing that this similarity of names was going to make me (and millions of others like me) mess up innumerable recipes in the first several months of marriage.

I can hear them cackling now, the buttheads. Grrrrrr . . .

New experiences

I must admit I never thought of myself as a city-dweller before. I love quiet places without people, fields and birds and wide open sky. Big cities, though, have one aspect that the quiet country solitude cannot provide: large crowds of people.

Okay, so I admit, I'm a people watcher, and I always have been. I don't have to talk to them, I don't have to drink with them, I don't even have to even be close enough to smell them (after all, occasionally that can be very unpleasant) - I just love to watch them. Now, while some find it very strange, I can honestly say that when I was in college it never bothered me to stay on our little campus for months at a go. I was surrounded by 350 very interesting people - TAC students, all of them oddballs, were incredibly fun to watch. However, I can remember that it was still refreshing to take that occasional excursion. Those trips, partially because they were so rare, made memories - blissful, glorious memories, even if they were all formed in and around overpopulated, smoggy Los Angeles.

However, the truly great experiences I can remember also involve memorable places - places with atmosphere, where the people in them were living art. I have memories of places like that from every city I've lived in and almost every city I've visited. In Kansas City, there is a beautiful cafe in the Nelson-Atkins Museum of Art called the "Roselle Court". In Los Angeles, people, variously dressed, mill around, their bright attire standing out against the stark, white stone of the Getty. In Huntington Beach people by the thousands stream through the Gardens and ascend the grand staircase in its Californian mansion. In Nashville, there's a bar named the Flying Saucer which specializes in an incredible list of microbrews. Even in this boring geriatrics ward called Naples there's an Irish pub on Fifth avenue with amazingly authentic wooden pub trimmings, live music, and great food.

Well, I have a new memory now.

As this semester wore on to its midpoint I suddenly became aware that I was going crazy on this campus, the day to day conveying me from our dorm room to work and back again, with nothing, whatsoever, to create variety. I might also mention that this campus provides very few interesting people to watch - they're not nearly so off-the-wall as Californians, none of them are classically rustic like good old podunk KC fare, and nobody is brave enough to be so eccentrically nerdy as a TAC student. They all look like your rubberstamped highschooler from some boring, insincere, "named subdivision". I'm telling you - these people bore me to *TEARS*.

So, yeah, it became obvious that I was in desperate need of a change of scene, a new experience, I didn't care what it was, but I NEEDED IT NOW. I expressed this to my love, who couldn't relate. He's a homebody - very, very much a homebody. To him, your home is a safe place where stupid people can't ruin your day. Why leave it if you don't have to?

Although I think he was far from understanding why I would need to go out, after 'a small discussion' he did grasp that it was a real need, and whether he could theoretically grasp it or not, it ought to be seen to, nonetheless. Since I was busy with work, I suggested he think about a place he wanted to go for a date, and we'd go. I didn't care where it was or what we did, just as long as it was an outing formulated with the intent of relaxing and having fun (that is, something other than the weekly grocery shopping trip). Which brings us to . . .



Sushi. My second obsession found out he was fond of it last year, after he was dragged into town and introduced to the cuisine by his loud, ex-Marine, Guamese roomate, Jeff. He'd been wanting to introduce me to the Sushi restaurant they'd frequented, saying it was a great place and would definitely be a new experience. He was downright excited about it. I was so pleased! *contented grin* I really needed to get out, but I didn't want to make my homebody husband miserable in the process - after all, that would be anything but recreational.

Okay, so you're all seeing this next part coming from a mile off. Truth be told, my spirit was very willing - it's not like I didn't give it a fair go. It's just that my flesh was too weak - my stomach said, "You're not seriously putting that in HERE, are you???? Do you honestly think I'm going to stand for that?!"

Ahem . . . so, it was an evening of suppressing my gag reflex and trying not to look like I was. I've always been really, really bad at hiding anything, though, from almost anybody (save perhaps "Dr. Phil", LOL) and I was with my husband, who knows me better than anyone in the world. So, well, I failed miserably. My poor husband - he was really depressed.

I think it was the same differences that made it difficult to explain why I really needed to get out of the house which made it difficult to explain how a date could still be considered a success when the food made me want to puke. To an intensely logical man this simply doesn't add up. I tried to explain that the atmosphere was what sealed the deal - the place was so crowded that the only place to sit without a wait was at the sushi bar, so you got to see them cut and roll everything. I was definitely thrilled with it, even if my stomach wasn't. The rolls pictured above are California rolls, the only ones I could tolerate without a reciting to myself "keep it in your mouth, keep it in your mouth, keep it in your mouth" . . . My love was eventually convinced of my sincerity, and he seems to have decided to trust me, even if he cannot theoretically grasp my verdict.

After dinner I ordered a nice, normal beer and sat back to let my stomach settle, watching all the people at and around the sushi bar. They were entertaining people - much more entertaining than normal Naples fare. Naples is generally full of old, plasticy looking individuals who act like they're 20-something (or who are at least trying to act like they're 20-something, which is a really sad thing to watch), but evidently those people don't go for sushi. The people at the sushi bar were still your normal Americana mix, and since they were Naples locals they were wealthier than was probably healthy for them. However, they were still entertaining, and it was nice to sit back and watch them chatter to one another.

When my beer was done we ordered some nice, normal ice cream, and then my stomach was not only appeased, but happy. After that we went and bought some wine and cheese, rented a movie that my husband wanted me to see, and watched it when we got home (btw, it was exceptionally good).

I've been happy as a lark ever since. :D

Amusing things

Indisputably vile

and

Very hilarious (gosh, I wish *I* lived in Russia. Free house as a prize? That's almost worth becoming a pink-o. JK, JK!!!)

They Were Right

There is a direct correlation between the stress in your life and the number of keys on your keychain.

I'm currently toting 9 of the infernal metal thingies, plus one very inconvenient plastic key card.

*sigh*

Chesteron on Being Fat

"It may be that the thin monks were holy, but I am sure it was the fat monks who were humble. To be fat is to be laughed at, and that is a more wholesome experience for the soul of man."

My musings . . .

. . . will forever be affected by the education I have received.

I stand staring into my closet, looking at a newly ironed shirt I had just hung up.

If Karl Marx is right and human labor really does, in some magical way, transform the objects we handle, does my shirt become more valuable every time I iron it? Heck, how about every time I wash it? If that's so, my old clothes are very valuable right now, and it would be great to have some extra cash for this wedding . . .

. . . and at this point the musing veers off into daydreams about selling off used toothbrushes, holey pairs of jeans and worn out carpets for hundreds of thousands of dollars on ebay. . . .

And I suddenly stop, and think to myself: I am such a nerd!!!

A day in the life . . .

. . . "Well, I dunno, I like the name Anne, but I also like the name Fiona."

"Eh, yeah, it's okay. It's still kinda weird."

"You think all the interesting names are weird. I refuse to make another child on this earth suffer with a blah Catholic name that everyone else has. No Pauls, no Johns, no Marks, no Marys or Katies . . . "

. . . *silence indicative of thought on something else* . . .

"What are you thinking, honey?"

"Huh? Oh, sorry. I was trying to spell 'Fiona' in Greek."

. . . *blink*, *blink* . . .

"You were what?"

"I was trying to figure out how to spell Fiona in Greek."

. . . a few moments of silence . . .

"First of all, I think that might be the nerdiest thing you've done to-date. Second, the name is Gaelic, not Greek."

"Well, you could spell it in Greek. However, I can't figure out which letter to use for the 'o'."

Fortunately, my love's risibility did kick in and he was able to see the ridiculous in this conversation. There was a time when he would have just looked at me blankly and wondered what my problem was.

And later on . . .

My future brother-in-law was wearing a shirt with a picture and signature on the front. The signature, however difficult to read, said "Jimi Hendrix". My mother had an adverse reaction to it, and asked him what on earth that was all about. He was about as animate in his response as he ever is. :) My future mother in law says, "Yeah, please, you tell him. He doesn't listen to me."

Later, when we got home, mother was telling my dad about the tee-shirt. I figured it was a good time to ask a question, since there was nobody outside of my immediate family to ridicule me.

"Who's Jimi Hendrix?"

My dad just looked at me. My mother said, "He wrote horrible, nasty, loud music. I never liked it."

"What were his hits?"

"Oh, he didn't have any." my mother responded. I seriously doubted this to be the case, since I had heard of the name in some vague way before.

My father says, "Don't ask a person for her opinion on Jimi Hendrix if her favorite singers were The Partidge Family, John Denver, and James Taylor. Jimi Hendrix wrote 'Purple Haze'."

"Oooooh, yeah, okay . . . " I said. Mom made a face at Dad.

Oh yes, a day in the life . . .

babysitting siblings on a Friday night. . .

"Hey, hey, sis, hey, Emiwee, I'm still hungwy."

"What? I thought you were the one that didn't eat!"

Skinny little kid blinks at me.

"Well, sometimes I do, sometimes I don't. I'm hungwy wight now I guess."

"Okay, well, it's Friday, so you can't have meat. Do you want peanut butter and jelly? The tuna salad's all gone and Mom hasn't had time to go shopping since we got back into town."

"Okay."

. . . I'm making the sandwich. . . .

The older boy says, "Hey, you know, Mom doesn't necessarily HOLD to the not-eating-meat on Friday thing."

I look at him blankly.

"You know that you have to make some kind of sacrifice on Fridays, Graham. It's a sacrifice for you to keep from eating meat, otherwise you wouldn't be telling me that."

He pauses for a time.

"What's for dessert?"

"I don't know yet."

"Well, . . . if it's something that's not too good I could give that up instead."

"Graham Lowell! You know that the whole point of a sacrifice is to give up something you like."

"Awwww, maaaaan. Okay, fine . . . "

Smaller child gets up from dinner table and plays around, tormenting his sister with the old "I'm not touching you" move, for the umpteenth time.

"Paul, Paul, now, listen kid, when I was little Mom never let us get up at all until we asked to be excused."

Makes some strange boy-like noises involving sticking out of tongue and wild contortions of the face - much like the illustrations in Calvin & Hobbes. As that cartoon strip is a family favourite it's hard to tell whether these expressions are from the nature the Watterson originally intended to imitate or are, rather, adverse effects of his literary influence.

I blink at skinny little brother.

"Paul, do I look amused?"

"Yes."

*&$# - - it didn't work. I thought I'd pulled off a poker face. I really need to get better at this.

"Paul, my patience is wearing thin."

"Is it this thin yet?" he asks, indicating something very small with his fingers.

Don't look amused. Don't look amused. Don't look amused.

Heck, it's no use. I'm amused. He can tell. How on earth am I going to keep order around here?

. . . Fortunately mothering happens one day at a time. . . . Hopefully I can develop these skills, eventually . . .

Okay, so it made me laugh, alright?
I kinda needed it today.


I need to start being positive about my life - - now, don't get me wrong, I'm a natural optimist, but I'm also a compulsive worrier, and right now I have enough on my plate to worry about 200 compulsive worriers into asylums. The only solution to my problem seems to be . . .

finding a way to stop worrying.

Hmmm . . .

maybe, if I do that, I can be more positive.
Suggestions, anyone?