On the 30th of December, 2010, I stood on the windy winter beach and hurled my voice Southward across the sea. I don't think it got very far; my lungs throw like a girl. But the water was like silkily shattering glass: green, smooth & sharp. Gulls flew past me every now & again, low over the water - as if they thought I was shouting into the sky like they do, so didn't mind my presence. It was a shame, I thought, that there was no one to photograph the scene, as my pink sweater would have made a nice contrast with the colors of sand, sky and sea. It was a perfect moment. I fit, like a piece in a puzzle, into the scene.
Not so with my family. I am realizing that, no matter how well I think I know them, I am operating out my knowledge of them in the past. Sometimes that works great. Other times it perpetuates past hurts. I also realized that part of the reason I have more fun with my friends than with my family is that with friends, I try to. It felt really weird to figure that out, 'cause I knew it, but was somehow too lethargic to do anything about it. I just lay on my back staring at the ceiling fan while my mother and sister argued about where to go to dinner and my dad stormed out to "get the car ready" - really to cool his head. And this was supposed to be our family time, where we enjoyed one another's company. We just... none of us were excited about it. We didn't expect to entertain each other, or to laugh with one another. All we saw - all we generally see - is the tensions and habitual arguments and pains that we go through/put one another through. And all I managed to do about it was stare at a ceiling fan.
The yearly family beach vacation was mostly like that paragraphs above. The beach was its fantastic, magical, natural, beautiful - you get the picture - self. It even gave such an abundance of shells that even my grandmother, who has been going to that same beach for a good forty or so years, was all astonishment. We found more of these puppies than we cared to count, in all sizes, from 2-3 mm long to 8-9 cm long. I mean, that shit was crazy. Not to mention some of these, these, these, and plenty of these. Then the family bit was more along the lines of the second paragraph. Familiar, mostly friendly, but with the usual crazy floating just underneath, just suppressed in honor of the words "beach" and "vacation". I learned a lot about my family. Coming back and looking at it from a more grown up perspective... I learn more every time. I now know that what my family calls crazy and impossible is more like lonely and helpless - although sometimes, I grant you, it's manipulative and controlling. It just depends on the degree.
Sigh. Anyway. There's more to say, but I just remembered I wanted to read something before tonight's new years' party.
Remind me to talk about vanity & comfort, ok? Here's a teaser trailer:
If being girly means vanity, selfishness, and wantonly spending money, I want none of it. I will proudly be un-girly. I would much rather be ladylike.
Friday, December 31, 2010
Wednesday, December 29, 2010
Monday, December 27, 2010
Blue Pelicans and other Seabirds
So. Today we went to the beach. I thought you should see why this blog is called pelicans and other seabirds. :P
Wednesday, December 22, 2010
Typical
A typical night at the Obfuscation family house:
In the corner of the kitchen/dining/livingroom closest to the door, my father, working on the computer and watching TV on the internet.
In the corner with the most windows, opposite my father, my mother, watching TV on the intenet.
In the corner with the comfiest couch, my sister, checking facebook and watching TV on the internet.
I can tell they probably do this 75% of all the days in a week. And me? I'm sitting here at the kitchen table, blogging and waiting for it to be 8 already so I can get out of the house to somewhere where there is the sound of people talking to each other and enjoying one another's company. Sheesh. Has anyone heard of human interaction? Have I?
over 'n out.
E.O.
In the corner of the kitchen/dining/livingroom closest to the door, my father, working on the computer and watching TV on the internet.
In the corner with the most windows, opposite my father, my mother, watching TV on the intenet.
In the corner with the comfiest couch, my sister, checking facebook and watching TV on the internet.
I can tell they probably do this 75% of all the days in a week. And me? I'm sitting here at the kitchen table, blogging and waiting for it to be 8 already so I can get out of the house to somewhere where there is the sound of people talking to each other and enjoying one another's company. Sheesh. Has anyone heard of human interaction? Have I?
over 'n out.
E.O.
Monday, December 20, 2010
Saturday, December 18, 2010
Wistful
Let me start out by saying: I am happy with my life. Happier than I've been with it in a long, long time. Happier than I was when my sister and I still called Europe "home".
There are days though. Days like this, around the holidays, when all my TCK friends are talking about flying home- to Wien, to Luxembourg, to Bourg d'Oisans- and about going to Christkindlmarkt's. On those days, part of me wishes that I could fly home for the holidays, home to my Europe.
Yesterday I went to a choral performance with my roommate. We got there early, and as we waited we looked around the church where it was being held. There was a smallish wooden nativity scene there, with a few carved figurines, a bit of dried grass, and a wood hut to house them. The wood was beautiful and all, but I was struck, when I saw it, with an emotion I did not expect: disappointment. And a bit of disdain, too. I missed the elaborate Belens of Catalunya. So, to make the memory come to life before my own eyes, I started to describe it to my roommate, whose face lit up with the very wonder I had hoped for.
So though I have come to terms with the fact that going home to my parents means a twenty-minute drive into the suburbs of the city, there are some things I reserve the right to miss; like the streets of Europe at Christmastime.
(to see some examples of what I'm talking about, search "Belen navidad" in google images.)
over 'n out.
E.O.
There are days though. Days like this, around the holidays, when all my TCK friends are talking about flying home- to Wien, to Luxembourg, to Bourg d'Oisans- and about going to Christkindlmarkt's. On those days, part of me wishes that I could fly home for the holidays, home to my Europe.
Yesterday I went to a choral performance with my roommate. We got there early, and as we waited we looked around the church where it was being held. There was a smallish wooden nativity scene there, with a few carved figurines, a bit of dried grass, and a wood hut to house them. The wood was beautiful and all, but I was struck, when I saw it, with an emotion I did not expect: disappointment. And a bit of disdain, too. I missed the elaborate Belens of Catalunya. So, to make the memory come to life before my own eyes, I started to describe it to my roommate, whose face lit up with the very wonder I had hoped for.
So though I have come to terms with the fact that going home to my parents means a twenty-minute drive into the suburbs of the city, there are some things I reserve the right to miss; like the streets of Europe at Christmastime.
(to see some examples of what I'm talking about, search "Belen navidad" in google images.)
over 'n out.
E.O.
Monday, December 13, 2010
activity wish list
...aaaaaand DONE. No more school for me! For almost an entire month! =)
I haven't had this much free time in... um.... a year? I think? Yes, ladies and gentlemen, it has happened. I do not have a job over Christmas break. What to do?! There are at least twenty days for which I have absolutely nothing planned. I am looking forward with twinges of excitement, dread, curiosity, worry, relief, and... well, a bunch of other things too.
Hello holidays! Come, vacation, let's you and me talk... =)
I want to:
-family: including babysitting, but also hanging with the adults. Maybe I'll take Aunt A Christmas shopping or something....
-Christmas presents for: roommate, nuclear family, one person from extended family
I haven't had this much free time in... um.... a year? I think? Yes, ladies and gentlemen, it has happened. I do not have a job over Christmas break. What to do?! There are at least twenty days for which I have absolutely nothing planned. I am looking forward with twinges of excitement, dread, curiosity, worry, relief, and... well, a bunch of other things too.
Hello holidays! Come, vacation, let's you and me talk... =)
I want to:
- Hang out with
-family: including babysitting, but also hanging with the adults. Maybe I'll take Aunt A Christmas shopping or something....
- Make my cooking 10x better.
- Keep my house relatively clean. (GET THE DRYER FIXED ALREADYYYYY)
- Go shopping for:
-Christmas presents for: roommate, nuclear family, one person from extended family
- Find ways to decorate my house/finish up the decorations I already have planned. (make it look really lived in, you know?)
- Take some AMAZING pictures for the last few days of the 365 project (and not miss any more days, lol)
- Explore the city I've lived in for so many(ish) years and still don't know very well.
- Spend as little money as possible.
Thursday, December 9, 2010
rediscoveries
...and so, we incorporate the old parts of our lives in with the new. This is as it should be. Allow me to explain my progression.
When I was ten or eleven, my sister got her ears pierced. I didn't really want to follow suit until my mom (secretly encouraging me, I think) showed me some of her old earrings. Among the others I spotted them. Blue snowflakes painted on white ceramic studs. I thought they were the most beautiful earrings I could ever imagine wearing. So I asked to get my ears pierced, so that I could. My mom tried to explain that I wouldn't be able to wear them for a long time, but I didn't care. I asked if I could have them, for when my ears healed and I could wear them, and my mom, being the kind soul she is, said yes.
It was awful. I did everything that the person at the pharmacy had told me to (that's where silly little girls who didn't get their ears pierced before they left the hospital go, when they're in Spain) but they just would. NOT. heal. Not all the way. There were constantly alternating streams of blood, gunk, and gore coming out of my poor earlobes. After... I think six months? - something like that - I abandoned the attempt and allowed them to grow over, for years. The one or two pairs that my parents had bought me over Christmas, in anticipation, were put away, along with the beautiful snowflake earrings.
Fast-forward to college. I finally decided that, in order to look more like a grown-up (since apparently my face tends to fool people into thinking I'm a babe in arms), I needed to get my ears re-pierced - which I did. And, bolstered by assurances of the piercing girl that if I just refrained from bathing my earlobes in irritants like alcohol (which the pharmacist had told me to do... silly), I slogged through the salt-water baths and some very swollen periods, and minor infections that turned one earlobe grey, until finally my body gave up and graciously healed over into some very nice holes. Meanwhile, I became entranced with earrings: especially ones that dangled. In my opinion, if it didn't swing, it wasn't worthwhile, and I amassed a nice little collection. I did find the old earrings, but as I didn't much care for studs, I just transferred them onto a card along with some other odds and ends so they would all stay together and put them away again.
Fast-forward to now. Tonight, I re-discovered those old snowflakes. I realize now that though my ten-year-old self loved them truly, they're really not that spectacular. More importantly, I discovered a pair of gold knots that my parents got for me that Christmas, years ago. They are perfect, and very pretty and I intend to enjoy them immensely.
Interestingly, or grossly (you might even say symbolically), they still had gunk on them from when I tried to wear them the first time around, so I got to wash them clean.
And I guess what I'm saying is that it feels nice to take the good parts of our past, dust them off, and make them part of our selves and our lives as we go. With the incorporation, the memory is revived. My parents supported my goals in life, and they bought me a gift to show me that they loved me. So what if I didn't get to use it 'til years later? They're not just random thing I thought was pretty and bought at Target - they're not empty like that. They are earrings that my mother saw and liked and thought would look good on her daughter. I remember her telling me so.
This story is as it should be.
over 'n out.
E.O.
When I was ten or eleven, my sister got her ears pierced. I didn't really want to follow suit until my mom (secretly encouraging me, I think) showed me some of her old earrings. Among the others I spotted them. Blue snowflakes painted on white ceramic studs. I thought they were the most beautiful earrings I could ever imagine wearing. So I asked to get my ears pierced, so that I could. My mom tried to explain that I wouldn't be able to wear them for a long time, but I didn't care. I asked if I could have them, for when my ears healed and I could wear them, and my mom, being the kind soul she is, said yes.
It was awful. I did everything that the person at the pharmacy had told me to (that's where silly little girls who didn't get their ears pierced before they left the hospital go, when they're in Spain) but they just would. NOT. heal. Not all the way. There were constantly alternating streams of blood, gunk, and gore coming out of my poor earlobes. After... I think six months? - something like that - I abandoned the attempt and allowed them to grow over, for years. The one or two pairs that my parents had bought me over Christmas, in anticipation, were put away, along with the beautiful snowflake earrings.
Fast-forward to college. I finally decided that, in order to look more like a grown-up (since apparently my face tends to fool people into thinking I'm a babe in arms), I needed to get my ears re-pierced - which I did. And, bolstered by assurances of the piercing girl that if I just refrained from bathing my earlobes in irritants like alcohol (which the pharmacist had told me to do... silly), I slogged through the salt-water baths and some very swollen periods, and minor infections that turned one earlobe grey, until finally my body gave up and graciously healed over into some very nice holes. Meanwhile, I became entranced with earrings: especially ones that dangled. In my opinion, if it didn't swing, it wasn't worthwhile, and I amassed a nice little collection. I did find the old earrings, but as I didn't much care for studs, I just transferred them onto a card along with some other odds and ends so they would all stay together and put them away again.
Fast-forward to now. Tonight, I re-discovered those old snowflakes. I realize now that though my ten-year-old self loved them truly, they're really not that spectacular. More importantly, I discovered a pair of gold knots that my parents got for me that Christmas, years ago. They are perfect, and very pretty and I intend to enjoy them immensely.
Interestingly, or grossly (you might even say symbolically), they still had gunk on them from when I tried to wear them the first time around, so I got to wash them clean.
And I guess what I'm saying is that it feels nice to take the good parts of our past, dust them off, and make them part of our selves and our lives as we go. With the incorporation, the memory is revived. My parents supported my goals in life, and they bought me a gift to show me that they loved me. So what if I didn't get to use it 'til years later? They're not just random thing I thought was pretty and bought at Target - they're not empty like that. They are earrings that my mother saw and liked and thought would look good on her daughter. I remember her telling me so.
This story is as it should be.
over 'n out.
E.O.
Wednesday, December 8, 2010
Note to self
Remember. It doesn't have to be perfect. It just has to be something you can turn in. Your grade does not depend *wholly* on this.
Finish up quick and study for your psych final instead!!
*one-two-three-GO*
Finish up quick and study for your psych final instead!!
*one-two-three-GO*
Tuesday, December 7, 2010
It's that time of the semester
~Warning~ Whiny complaining ahead.
also - victory note - at this point, I have eaten my pride and written 6 pages of terribly organized semi-drivel that I will turn in along with at least 4 more this afternoon at 5PM. This is probably the worst I have ever behaved (or written) when trying to write a paper for college. Yikes!
Every semester there is at least one. One paper that causes me to feel the following:
I HATE THIS STUPID F*ING PAPER!!!!!!!!
I just want to WRITE. SOMETHING. Something that is semi-intelligible and turn-in-able!!
This one in particular is only 20% of my grade, and the prof is lenient, so if I just turn in SOMEthing that proves that I have been working on this for weeks at a time (which I have) then I will pass the class with a fairly decent grade. Heck, I could turn NOTHING in and get a B. But I am not the kind of student who can turn in nothing, or even who can turn in something that she knows the prof will read and think "Really? You thought an intelligent person could read this without their brains hurting?"
I have been staring at the information I've collected for this particular paper for... let me think... well, I've been staring REALLY hard for about a week and a half now. And by staring really hard I mean looking at the information, trying to make sense of it, running up against a wall, going to check facebook, going back to looking at my info, trying to make sense of it, running up against a wall, walking away to clear my head *repeat*. For hours. Occasionally I'll get some kind of little breakthrough, and do some discourse analysis. But mostly I'll finish 4-5h of work having analyzed one measly little thing that might not even cohere with the rest of the project, utterly discouraged and exhausted. I am TRYING, honest to goodness. But my brain just will. not. synthesize this stuff into something coherent. I have dedicated four of my days, and countless half-days in the past week and a half to trying to get this going SOMEwhere, including today. And you see what I'm doing? I'm writing a blog post about my frustration. Argh!!!!
I HATE THIS STUPID F*ING PAPER!!
Could I be any clearer? No, I thought not.
It's two thirty, I haven't eaten since breakfast, and I'm hungry, but honestly I don't care (which if you know me will tell you just how desperate this has become) because I just want to write SOMETHING. Something intelligible, intelligent, and turn-in-able. Just a freaking START.
And it is that precise determination that is going to force my synapses to get it together already.
One-two-three-GO!
Two-and-a-half hours later, I have three and a half pages. I am averaging a writing speed of 1 page/hour y'all! Praise God. Things were getting ugly.
also - victory note - at this point, I have eaten my pride and written 6 pages of terribly organized semi-drivel that I will turn in along with at least 4 more this afternoon at 5PM. This is probably the worst I have ever behaved (or written) when trying to write a paper for college. Yikes!
Every semester there is at least one. One paper that causes me to feel the following:
I HATE THIS STUPID F*ING PAPER!!!!!!!!
I just want to WRITE. SOMETHING. Something that is semi-intelligible and turn-in-able!!
This one in particular is only 20% of my grade, and the prof is lenient, so if I just turn in SOMEthing that proves that I have been working on this for weeks at a time (which I have) then I will pass the class with a fairly decent grade. Heck, I could turn NOTHING in and get a B. But I am not the kind of student who can turn in nothing, or even who can turn in something that she knows the prof will read and think "Really? You thought an intelligent person could read this without their brains hurting?"
I have been staring at the information I've collected for this particular paper for... let me think... well, I've been staring REALLY hard for about a week and a half now. And by staring really hard I mean looking at the information, trying to make sense of it, running up against a wall, going to check facebook, going back to looking at my info, trying to make sense of it, running up against a wall, walking away to clear my head *repeat*. For hours. Occasionally I'll get some kind of little breakthrough, and do some discourse analysis. But mostly I'll finish 4-5h of work having analyzed one measly little thing that might not even cohere with the rest of the project, utterly discouraged and exhausted. I am TRYING, honest to goodness. But my brain just will. not. synthesize this stuff into something coherent. I have dedicated four of my days, and countless half-days in the past week and a half to trying to get this going SOMEwhere, including today. And you see what I'm doing? I'm writing a blog post about my frustration. Argh!!!!
I HATE THIS STUPID F*ING PAPER!!
Could I be any clearer? No, I thought not.
It's two thirty, I haven't eaten since breakfast, and I'm hungry, but honestly I don't care (which if you know me will tell you just how desperate this has become) because I just want to write SOMETHING. Something intelligible, intelligent, and turn-in-able. Just a freaking START.
And it is that precise determination that is going to force my synapses to get it together already.
One-two-three-GO!
Two-and-a-half hours later, I have three and a half pages. I am averaging a writing speed of 1 page/hour y'all! Praise God. Things were getting ugly.
Saturday, December 4, 2010
Bread!
Today, I made bread.
Me! Bread! Woah!
The recipe came from a dear dear friend of mine who promised me it was the easiest recipe in the world (if I had all the time in the world) and tasted as close to European bread as she has ever come across in the U.S. of A. - so of course, after the quiche-miracle of last week and with a recommendation like that, I just HAD to try it.
I am about to put the first loaf in the oven you guys.
The proof will be, not in the pudding, but in the loaf.
w00t!
p.s.: I wanted to post about this in my facebook status, but I already posted about the miracle quiche last week, and I really do not want to make myself sound too home-makerish. After all, I'M JUST TRYING TO LEARN HOW TO FEED MYSELF FOR CHEAP, YOU GUYS! Without overstepping my budget. Flour and yeast are cheap. Ready-made bread and pie crusts are not. Capiche?
Anyways;
bread!!! :D Yay!
Me! Bread! Woah!
The recipe came from a dear dear friend of mine who promised me it was the easiest recipe in the world (if I had all the time in the world) and tasted as close to European bread as she has ever come across in the U.S. of A. - so of course, after the quiche-miracle of last week and with a recommendation like that, I just HAD to try it.
I am about to put the first loaf in the oven you guys.
The proof will be, not in the pudding, but in the loaf.
w00t!
p.s.: I wanted to post about this in my facebook status, but I already posted about the miracle quiche last week, and I really do not want to make myself sound too home-makerish. After all, I'M JUST TRYING TO LEARN HOW TO FEED MYSELF FOR CHEAP, YOU GUYS! Without overstepping my budget. Flour and yeast are cheap. Ready-made bread and pie crusts are not. Capiche?
Anyways;
bread!!! :D Yay!
Thursday, December 2, 2010
Up-side-down
So... yeah... I just spoke. In front of people. About me. And nobody cringed. People laughed (I said funny things! !!). People even came up to me after and said what I'd said had impacted them. I met another TCK!
The world feels just a leetle bit up-side-down tonight. In a good way.
Over 'n out.
E.O.
The world feels just a leetle bit up-side-down tonight. In a good way.
Over 'n out.
E.O.
Wednesday, December 1, 2010
Studying + Twister = Awesome
How I would Like to Study/Write:
Come finals time I always, for some class or another, find somewhere I can spread out aaaaaalllllll my papers for that class so that I can really get a good look at them. I guess having a real-live bird's-eye-view of them makes me feel like I'll get a bird's-eye-view representation of the material in my head.
So if I had things my way, for this particular project, I'd have a huuuuuuuuuuuuuuuge piece of white paper, as big as my livingroom floor, with all my translations printed out on it, so I could write all over it and crawl around on the floor, comparing, scribbling, pondering, referring back to the version by my feet... as if the whole thing were a gargantuan game of twister. Yeah.
It'd be fantastic.
But I don't have that much paper or that much tape. =*(
Still, a girl can dream.
Come finals time I always, for some class or another, find somewhere I can spread out aaaaaalllllll my papers for that class so that I can really get a good look at them. I guess having a real-live bird's-eye-view of them makes me feel like I'll get a bird's-eye-view representation of the material in my head.
So if I had things my way, for this particular project, I'd have a huuuuuuuuuuuuuuuge piece of white paper, as big as my livingroom floor, with all my translations printed out on it, so I could write all over it and crawl around on the floor, comparing, scribbling, pondering, referring back to the version by my feet... as if the whole thing were a gargantuan game of twister. Yeah.
It'd be fantastic.
But I don't have that much paper or that much tape. =*(
Still, a girl can dream.
Saturday, November 27, 2010
The Rule of "Good enough"
I realized yesterday that I mostly live by the rule of "good enough".
My clothes are always in piles on the floor or the bed, according to how dirty they are...
it's not a perfect system, but it's good enough.
There are always dirty dishes in the kitchen sink, but I do put away the perishable food...
it's not a perfect system, but it's good enough.
I always do the readings for class, but don't make the writing portions to my own standards (which are quite high), only to the point where the prof will think I have...
they're never perfect, but they're good enough.
...and so on, and so forth. In Spanish it's called "la ley del mÃnimo esfuerzo," and teachers and elders used to throw it in our faces all the time: you do just what you need to get by, not an ounce more. It's taken me three years away from that to find a good translation for it, but I finally have (though I didn't realize it 'til I started thinking about what I meant by it):
The rule of "good enough"
It's ok, I think, to live by this rule in some areas of our lives. But there must be areas for which we find it unacceptable, for which "good enough" just is not enough.
What is it for you?
over 'n out.
E.O.
The above is merely one example of the results of me being really, really good at paper-avoidance strategies. xD
My clothes are always in piles on the floor or the bed, according to how dirty they are...
it's not a perfect system, but it's good enough.
There are always dirty dishes in the kitchen sink, but I do put away the perishable food...
it's not a perfect system, but it's good enough.
I always do the readings for class, but don't make the writing portions to my own standards (which are quite high), only to the point where the prof will think I have...
they're never perfect, but they're good enough.
...and so on, and so forth. In Spanish it's called "la ley del mÃnimo esfuerzo," and teachers and elders used to throw it in our faces all the time: you do just what you need to get by, not an ounce more. It's taken me three years away from that to find a good translation for it, but I finally have (though I didn't realize it 'til I started thinking about what I meant by it):
The rule of "good enough"
It's ok, I think, to live by this rule in some areas of our lives. But there must be areas for which we find it unacceptable, for which "good enough" just is not enough.
What is it for you?
over 'n out.
E.O.
The above is merely one example of the results of me being really, really good at paper-avoidance strategies. xD
Friday, November 26, 2010
You found me a what??
Thanksgiving. My parent's car pulls up at my aunt's house with all four of us in it. We gather our things, step out, get the stuff from the trunk. My sister and I transfer Christmas presents from our trunk to my Grandmother's, who has come out onto the front porch to give directions. We finish, she smiles, gives me a hug, we exchange greetings... and then she drops the bomb.
"Honey, I have something to tell you."
"Oh? What's that, Jojo?"
"I've found you a boyfriend!" She smiles again, friendly, innocent, almost solicitous, as my brain reels with what-did-you-just-say-to-me????? clamoring. "Do I need a boyfriend?" I say, raising my eyebrows. "I don't know." She rejoins, and then proceeds to tell me a long rigmarole about how she met a woman at my great-grandmother's nursing home (as usual) and they were making small talk about their grandchildren ("because you know, we were signing in at the front desk and just started chatting, and..."), and they discovered that this woman's husband and my grandfather used to have lunch together at the hospital where my grandfather worked (how they determined who sat with whom in the hospital cafeteria is still a mystery, but they did) and her husband just died of gobbledygook, and it's terribly sad, and now she has to watch her mother die in a nursinghomebutANYWAY, what she was trying to say, honey, is that this woman has a grandson who just graduated from Blah-blah university and he is into XYZ, and he's outdoorsy, and she told her, you know, that she had a granddaughter who wasn't frilly, wasn't very girly (I must have looked slightly defensive at this point because she started to say that she had never been that way either, and she'd never even had a manicure, she just hated people messing with her) and anyway, I should just meet the young man... and on and on it went.
I just laughed at her, and took her arm and told her she was cute. She continued to try and convince me, and I laughed (I am still laughing, in fact) But I also couldn't help but cringe inside, because my GRANDMOTHER tried to SET ME UP with the grandson of SOMEONE SHE MET IN THE NURSING HOME while taking care of my DYING GREAT-GRANDMOTHER. Does anyone else see the flaw in this reasoning?!
It's kind of scary, because, knowing my grandmother, this is only the beginning. The first inkling of the fact that she now considers me an "adult" who ought to be looking to find "a nice man from a godly family, sweet pea." It's the first indication that I'm moving up in the world, to places that have new and different kinds of small talk that requires new defenses. Hopefully I will be able to acquire them fast enough, and hopefully I will keep laughing throughout.
over 'n out.
E.O.
"Honey, I have something to tell you."
"Oh? What's that, Jojo?"
"I've found you a boyfriend!" She smiles again, friendly, innocent, almost solicitous, as my brain reels with what-did-you-just-say-to-me????? clamoring. "Do I need a boyfriend?" I say, raising my eyebrows. "I don't know." She rejoins, and then proceeds to tell me a long rigmarole about how she met a woman at my great-grandmother's nursing home (as usual) and they were making small talk about their grandchildren ("because you know, we were signing in at the front desk and just started chatting, and..."), and they discovered that this woman's husband and my grandfather used to have lunch together at the hospital where my grandfather worked (how they determined who sat with whom in the hospital cafeteria is still a mystery, but they did) and her husband just died of gobbledygook, and it's terribly sad, and now she has to watch her mother die in a nursinghomebutANYWAY, what she was trying to say, honey, is that this woman has a grandson who just graduated from Blah-blah university and he is into XYZ, and he's outdoorsy, and she told her, you know, that she had a granddaughter who wasn't frilly, wasn't very girly (I must have looked slightly defensive at this point because she started to say that she had never been that way either, and she'd never even had a manicure, she just hated people messing with her) and anyway, I should just meet the young man... and on and on it went.
I just laughed at her, and took her arm and told her she was cute. She continued to try and convince me, and I laughed (I am still laughing, in fact) But I also couldn't help but cringe inside, because my GRANDMOTHER tried to SET ME UP with the grandson of SOMEONE SHE MET IN THE NURSING HOME while taking care of my DYING GREAT-GRANDMOTHER. Does anyone else see the flaw in this reasoning?!
It's kind of scary, because, knowing my grandmother, this is only the beginning. The first inkling of the fact that she now considers me an "adult" who ought to be looking to find "a nice man from a godly family, sweet pea." It's the first indication that I'm moving up in the world, to places that have new and different kinds of small talk that requires new defenses. Hopefully I will be able to acquire them fast enough, and hopefully I will keep laughing throughout.
over 'n out.
E.O.
Monday, November 22, 2010
Prolific
I have looked it up. Every year so far I have written more posts in November than any other month. Go figure. I guess the stress of finals + life-readjustment + being cooped up inside again makes me want the creative outlet? Or maybe it's just the change of the seasons. I love autumn. I also love the word autumn and do not understand why it has gone out of fashion. Bring it back! It's so much prettier than "fall," if a bit less literal.
Anyway, in keeping with this observation of mine, I have decided to write a post to officially note it - and thereby make this the month with most posts EVER on this blog. w00t.
Autumn. Autumn. Autumn. Are there any other words with "mn" in them? Mnemonics. That's all I can think of. Mn?
clearly this is degenerating. I will stop before something truly unfortunate happens.
over 'n out.
E.O.
Anyway, in keeping with this observation of mine, I have decided to write a post to officially note it - and thereby make this the month with most posts EVER on this blog. w00t.
Autumn. Autumn. Autumn. Are there any other words with "mn" in them? Mnemonics. That's all I can think of. Mn?
clearly this is degenerating. I will stop before something truly unfortunate happens.
over 'n out.
E.O.
Writing Whiz?
People keep telling me that if I ever wrote a book, they'd read it. I say, great, I don't have much of anything to say, but if I ever do, you'll be the first to know.
How did I ever learn to write? Sometimes I wonder. My mom asked me yesterday how it was possible that I, growing up as many places and in as many different languages as I did, not learning how to read in English 'til I was 6? 7? - how it was possible that I should have enough mastery of the English language to be able to help other people write academic papers?
At first, I didn't know. I cited my English prof from Spanish HS who offered, out of the blue, to train me for the English lit O-levels. Then I realized - I used to read like crazy. I read so much I got sick of stories - nothing could surprise me anymore. Good stuff, classic stuff, stuff that was too old for me, mystery stuff, fantasy stuff... whatever I could lay my hands on, really. And I wrote. I wrote blogs, as has been previously noted, and journal entries, and not much more. I wrote to please myself. Did I have anything to say beyond things that were happening in my own little life? Hah! Guess. I'll give you a hint- I still don't! I don't know why you're reading this stuff, seriously. But did I learn from these things, or merely develop? (watch out, chicken-and-the-egg-problem at twelve o'clock!) It's possible that I just engaged in those activities because the written word has always spoken to me in ways that other artforms never revealed.
But anyway - *end of pointless introspection* - now, here I sit, waiting for my next pupil to walk through the door. Life is truly strange.
I'm not gonna be an author, y'all. Not unless I seriously have Something to SAY. And if that ever happens, the world better watch out, 'cause come hell or high water, it'll be said, and my intended audience will listen.
How did I ever learn to write? Sometimes I wonder. My mom asked me yesterday how it was possible that I, growing up as many places and in as many different languages as I did, not learning how to read in English 'til I was 6? 7? - how it was possible that I should have enough mastery of the English language to be able to help other people write academic papers?
At first, I didn't know. I cited my English prof from Spanish HS who offered, out of the blue, to train me for the English lit O-levels. Then I realized - I used to read like crazy. I read so much I got sick of stories - nothing could surprise me anymore. Good stuff, classic stuff, stuff that was too old for me, mystery stuff, fantasy stuff... whatever I could lay my hands on, really. And I wrote. I wrote blogs, as has been previously noted, and journal entries, and not much more. I wrote to please myself. Did I have anything to say beyond things that were happening in my own little life? Hah! Guess. I'll give you a hint- I still don't! I don't know why you're reading this stuff, seriously. But did I learn from these things, or merely develop? (watch out, chicken-and-the-egg-problem at twelve o'clock!) It's possible that I just engaged in those activities because the written word has always spoken to me in ways that other artforms never revealed.
But anyway - *end of pointless introspection* - now, here I sit, waiting for my next pupil to walk through the door. Life is truly strange.
I'm not gonna be an author, y'all. Not unless I seriously have Something to SAY. And if that ever happens, the world better watch out, 'cause come hell or high water, it'll be said, and my intended audience will listen.
Sunday, November 21, 2010
list of...
...things I don't want to deal with:
1. the pilot light on my heater being out (with no hint as to how to light the stupid thing again, not to mention where exactly it is located).
2. my dryer being broken (and my landlord's home warranty company being veeery particular about contractors and also conveniently closed-mouthed about it)
3. my project for literacy class (surprise, I don't want to do my work for literacy class. Who'd've thought?)
it may not seem like it, but those three things are pretty, um... large.
yikes!
____________
P.S.: Fortunately my dad loves me and helped me deal with the pilot light. That's one thing off the list? Maybe? - maybe 'cause he told me to call my landlord already and get the thing checked. =(
haha, I thought I had good news to add, but... well, maybe not. :P
1. the pilot light on my heater being out (with no hint as to how to light the stupid thing again, not to mention where exactly it is located).
2. my dryer being broken (and my landlord's home warranty company being veeery particular about contractors and also conveniently closed-mouthed about it)
3. my project for literacy class (surprise, I don't want to do my work for literacy class. Who'd've thought?)
it may not seem like it, but those three things are pretty, um... large.
yikes!
____________
P.S.: Fortunately my dad loves me and helped me deal with the pilot light. That's one thing off the list? Maybe? - maybe 'cause he told me to call my landlord already and get the thing checked. =(
haha, I thought I had good news to add, but... well, maybe not. :P
Friday, November 19, 2010
Post-movie thoughts
From "The Young Victoria":
In the end credits it says:
"In memory of her husband, Victoria had his clothes
laid out every day until her death at the age of 81"
And that's how I want it: only one. I don't want to try on guys like I try on clothes, to see if they fit.
I want to pick one and go for it, and if it's not perfect, that's ok. Just one, for my entire life. Granted, it prob'ly won't be the fCA - that's pretty much laid to rest. But if I have it my way, there won't be more than 3 tries.
I'm also really intrigued by the portrayal of Queen Victoria, and sort of wish they hadn't focused quite so much on the Albert/Victoria storyline. It would have been interesting if they had made it like... twice as long, with more facets of her life... if they had elaborated on her relationship with her mother, for example, and how she had handled parliament, etc. I kept wondering how she would interact with the cabinet members socially and such.
The whole thing reminds me of a book I read a year or two ago, called something like "The Queen and Essex". It was dull, but I think if they'd mixed this movie with that book, it would have made what I'm imagining. :P Of course, the book was about Queen Elizabeth, not Victoria, but still. You get the gist of my idea, right?
anyways. Good movie. For sure.
over 'n out.
E.O.
In the end credits it says:
"In memory of her husband, Victoria had his clothes
laid out every day until her death at the age of 81"
And that's how I want it: only one. I don't want to try on guys like I try on clothes, to see if they fit.
I want to pick one and go for it, and if it's not perfect, that's ok. Just one, for my entire life. Granted, it prob'ly won't be the fCA - that's pretty much laid to rest. But if I have it my way, there won't be more than 3 tries.
I'm also really intrigued by the portrayal of Queen Victoria, and sort of wish they hadn't focused quite so much on the Albert/Victoria storyline. It would have been interesting if they had made it like... twice as long, with more facets of her life... if they had elaborated on her relationship with her mother, for example, and how she had handled parliament, etc. I kept wondering how she would interact with the cabinet members socially and such.
The whole thing reminds me of a book I read a year or two ago, called something like "The Queen and Essex". It was dull, but I think if they'd mixed this movie with that book, it would have made what I'm imagining. :P Of course, the book was about Queen Elizabeth, not Victoria, but still. You get the gist of my idea, right?
anyways. Good movie. For sure.
over 'n out.
E.O.
fresh from waking
I woke up twice today. You know how it goes. You wake up the first time to your alarm clock (you vaguely remember hearing it) and then decide, what the heck, you'll just sleep out today. You have time. And then you *try* to go back to sleep.
The first time I woke up, I remembered nothing. It rarely happens to me that I'll wake up and not have a few thoughts about either what I was dreaming about or what I have to do that day. But this time... nothing. My first thought went something like "where are all my other thoughts? what day is today?" So that was strange.
Then I realized it was Friday and I could sleep a little longer if I wanted to, so I did...
and proceeded to dream that most frustrating of dreams, the one where you can't quite get your eyes open, even though you really want to because something is happening around you that you need to see.
And I woke up the second time frustrated, determined to keep my eyes open, and see my house as it was, not as I had dreamed it. Ugh. My waking house is much nicer, especially in the morning. But my roommate isn't here (she did have to get up this morning) and so it's kind of eerie... almost as if I were still in a dream. (a dream within a dream! inception style! noooo!)
ahem. so I had to remind myself of what is true about my life & real, by writing it out.
hopefully that is effective. The sunshine streaming in my window is certainly pleasant, and my room is just as messy as it was when I went to sleep. So.
over 'n out.
E.O.
The first time I woke up, I remembered nothing. It rarely happens to me that I'll wake up and not have a few thoughts about either what I was dreaming about or what I have to do that day. But this time... nothing. My first thought went something like "where are all my other thoughts? what day is today?" So that was strange.
Then I realized it was Friday and I could sleep a little longer if I wanted to, so I did...
and proceeded to dream that most frustrating of dreams, the one where you can't quite get your eyes open, even though you really want to because something is happening around you that you need to see.
And I woke up the second time frustrated, determined to keep my eyes open, and see my house as it was, not as I had dreamed it. Ugh. My waking house is much nicer, especially in the morning. But my roommate isn't here (she did have to get up this morning) and so it's kind of eerie... almost as if I were still in a dream. (a dream within a dream! inception style! noooo!)
ahem. so I had to remind myself of what is true about my life & real, by writing it out.
hopefully that is effective. The sunshine streaming in my window is certainly pleasant, and my room is just as messy as it was when I went to sleep. So.
over 'n out.
E.O.
Sunday, November 14, 2010
Moments
This post is dedicated to remembering moments this weekend that were satisfying in one way or another.
J not only openly told me about her relationship developments, she apologized for letting me guess before telling me - and then showed me a dinosaur of a digital camera and let me play with it, asking me to tell her, if I could, how it works.
Cc and I had a moment bonding about feeling awkward not knowing anyone at the party we were helping host, as none of our guests had arrived yet, and hoped her and my guests would arrive at the same time, so we wouldn't have to desert one another.
B had a legit conversation with me about Real Things after the service.
J2 tapped me on the shoulder from two rows back, just to say hi.
R is comfortable enough with me to let me walk with her arm in arm, and chat merrily, even though we've only met twice.
Standing in front of the stage, almost the only one on the floor, E comes up, takes my arm, and stands with me, swaying.
G: "You're a white guy magnet!"
G: "It's like you're trying, I can tell you're trying, but you're trying to be charming, and you are charming, and guys like you"
me: I could live in Southern California. I could do it.
G: I could too. Let's do it.
me: You want to move there after graduation?
G: Yeah.
me: Let's do it.
G: Let's do it, for real.
me: Deal.
(we shake hands. short pause.)
G: Do you mind if my mom lives with us?
(both nearly die of laughter)
I really love my friends.
This weekend was beautiful. I went and jammed with a friend of mine from SG, and it was TOTALLY different from jam sessions I've been to before, when I was still my most defensively shy self (and felt like I wasn't worth listening to). I joined in, and was appreciated as a member of the jam session or whatever. =)
I had a girls' night, watching two good, classic movies with some friends, sleeping on a couch, waking up to think.... We held a wonderful pre-thanksgiving thanksgiving party, full of good food and dear friends....
I am full - in stomach, but also in spirit. I am beloved by God and I have a community, and I am not only not crippled by my social ineptitude, I am reaching out to people and adding joy to their lives like they add joy to mine.
J not only openly told me about her relationship developments, she apologized for letting me guess before telling me - and then showed me a dinosaur of a digital camera and let me play with it, asking me to tell her, if I could, how it works.
Cc and I had a moment bonding about feeling awkward not knowing anyone at the party we were helping host, as none of our guests had arrived yet, and hoped her and my guests would arrive at the same time, so we wouldn't have to desert one another.
B had a legit conversation with me about Real Things after the service.
J2 tapped me on the shoulder from two rows back, just to say hi.
R is comfortable enough with me to let me walk with her arm in arm, and chat merrily, even though we've only met twice.
Standing in front of the stage, almost the only one on the floor, E comes up, takes my arm, and stands with me, swaying.
G: "You're a white guy magnet!"
G: "It's like you're trying, I can tell you're trying, but you're trying to be charming, and you are charming, and guys like you"
me: I could live in Southern California. I could do it.
G: I could too. Let's do it.
me: You want to move there after graduation?
G: Yeah.
me: Let's do it.
G: Let's do it, for real.
me: Deal.
(we shake hands. short pause.)
G: Do you mind if my mom lives with us?
(both nearly die of laughter)
I really love my friends.
This weekend was beautiful. I went and jammed with a friend of mine from SG, and it was TOTALLY different from jam sessions I've been to before, when I was still my most defensively shy self (and felt like I wasn't worth listening to). I joined in, and was appreciated as a member of the jam session or whatever. =)
I had a girls' night, watching two good, classic movies with some friends, sleeping on a couch, waking up to think.... We held a wonderful pre-thanksgiving thanksgiving party, full of good food and dear friends....
I am full - in stomach, but also in spirit. I am beloved by God and I have a community, and I am not only not crippled by my social ineptitude, I am reaching out to people and adding joy to their lives like they add joy to mine.
Thursday, November 11, 2010
How it all started
The internet obsession.
For me, it all started with a blog. Well, e-mail, really, but the real fascination came when I somehow got going writing a blog. It was wonderful. I could write things, like I always did, but instead of those things being just for me, my friends could read them. They wanted to read them.
I lived for the comments; for the knowledge that someone out there (almost always someone that I knew) had read my thoughts and wanted to respond, had understood, had validated what I had to say. I started to read their blogs, and comment, and learned to stay in contact with people that way, the people I loved who were far away. No longer did you have to be family, willing to pay the exorbitant prices of long-distance phone bills, or a grown-up with their own e-mail account to have a say in my world; all you had to do was have an account on a blogging website!
When I first heard about facebook, I wasn't convinced. I was introduced to it on a trip to the States, right before moving back. I was hanging out in a hotel with some high schoolers who were positively dying to "check their facebook." I had no idea what that meant, but when I found out, I was not impressed. Where was the exchange of ideas, the dialogue with your friends? I made an account anyway though, to keep up with the kids I'd met on that trip.
And really, that's what the internet has always been for me. A way to keep up with (stay in touch) the people I would otherwise lose sight of completely. I have gotten used to using it in that way, for that purpose. So it really baffles me when I come into contact with people who really... don't. They just don't use the resources at their disposal. I don't get it.
My dad likes to talk about how my generation are "digital natives." I guess we are. He likes it because it means he can call himself a "digital immigrant," which is ridiculous, because if anyone's been right at the forefront of developing technology with eyes as wide with wonder as the proverbial kid in a candy shop, it's my father.
Still, it's an interesting idea. There are definitely people in my generation, though, who don't live as if they are digital natives. They just don't have to- all their people are right there, around them, and always have been. And in a way, I'm jealous. I'm pretty sure I'd happily give up my digital nativity for a security in community like they seem to have. Instead, I have somehow developed this mindset of looking for comfort and affirmation in comments and friendly notes on my wall. How much more ridiculous could life become?
over 'n out.
E.O.
For me, it all started with a blog. Well, e-mail, really, but the real fascination came when I somehow got going writing a blog. It was wonderful. I could write things, like I always did, but instead of those things being just for me, my friends could read them. They wanted to read them.
I lived for the comments; for the knowledge that someone out there (almost always someone that I knew) had read my thoughts and wanted to respond, had understood, had validated what I had to say. I started to read their blogs, and comment, and learned to stay in contact with people that way, the people I loved who were far away. No longer did you have to be family, willing to pay the exorbitant prices of long-distance phone bills, or a grown-up with their own e-mail account to have a say in my world; all you had to do was have an account on a blogging website!
When I first heard about facebook, I wasn't convinced. I was introduced to it on a trip to the States, right before moving back. I was hanging out in a hotel with some high schoolers who were positively dying to "check their facebook." I had no idea what that meant, but when I found out, I was not impressed. Where was the exchange of ideas, the dialogue with your friends? I made an account anyway though, to keep up with the kids I'd met on that trip.
And really, that's what the internet has always been for me. A way to keep up with (stay in touch) the people I would otherwise lose sight of completely. I have gotten used to using it in that way, for that purpose. So it really baffles me when I come into contact with people who really... don't. They just don't use the resources at their disposal. I don't get it.
My dad likes to talk about how my generation are "digital natives." I guess we are. He likes it because it means he can call himself a "digital immigrant," which is ridiculous, because if anyone's been right at the forefront of developing technology with eyes as wide with wonder as the proverbial kid in a candy shop, it's my father.
Still, it's an interesting idea. There are definitely people in my generation, though, who don't live as if they are digital natives. They just don't have to- all their people are right there, around them, and always have been. And in a way, I'm jealous. I'm pretty sure I'd happily give up my digital nativity for a security in community like they seem to have. Instead, I have somehow developed this mindset of looking for comfort and affirmation in comments and friendly notes on my wall. How much more ridiculous could life become?
over 'n out.
E.O.
Some nights...
Some nights, you just have to bake cookies.
Tonight, my kitchen is inundated with them.
There are 72 so far... but there are at least two more batches to come.
My roommate and I organized the ones that we have so far all onto one plate. I call it "the cookie-mountain at half-mast" - 'cause obviously we're not done yet.
It's a normal-sized plate, of the variety you'd eat off on any regular night. We used our combined geometry and chemistry knowledge to make a "compact crystalline structure," or something of the sort. All I know is, it's a LOT of cookies, and they're mostly piled onto one plate (one batch wasn't out of the oven yet when we made it)
Some nights, you just need to bake cookies.
In Spanish, one way to say that something is easy is to say "no tiene misterio" - in other words, it has no mystery, or there's no mystery to it. As if for complicated things you have to be inducted into some impenetrable secret. I've been thinking a bit about mystery lately... you know how kids love fantasy, and then as they grow older, it loses some of its charm? I've been wondering if there's a way to keep that sense of awe and magic. I have one or two ideas.
There is no mystery to making cookies, though. You just chuck a few ingredients into a big bowl, mash them all up, slide little globs of the stuff onto some metal trays and slide said metal trays into an oven for a bit. Take 'em out and ta-da! Cookies.
Once I taught some friends of mine, a Galician friend and her mother, how to make pancakes. They were astonished. It actually was like I was revealing a mystery to them. They were particularly flummoxed by the idea that you were not supposed to stir the batter until all the flower granules dissolved. They thought it was the weirdest thing. So I guess there is some mystery, some apprenticeship in baking after all.
Cooking however, I don't understand at all. Cooking is more of an art, I think, than baking. There are so many more different ways to do things, techniques and such. I don't know. Cooking baffles me, I'd much rather bake...
So on some nights, I just have to make lots and lots of cookies. It's good for the soul, freeing for the mind.
I leave you with a picture of the mountain at half-mast:
Over 'n out.
E.O.
p.s.: the final number of cookies is 109. Not including the ones we ate. xD
Tonight, my kitchen is inundated with them.
There are 72 so far... but there are at least two more batches to come.
My roommate and I organized the ones that we have so far all onto one plate. I call it "the cookie-mountain at half-mast" - 'cause obviously we're not done yet.
It's a normal-sized plate, of the variety you'd eat off on any regular night. We used our combined geometry and chemistry knowledge to make a "compact crystalline structure," or something of the sort. All I know is, it's a LOT of cookies, and they're mostly piled onto one plate (one batch wasn't out of the oven yet when we made it)
Some nights, you just need to bake cookies.
In Spanish, one way to say that something is easy is to say "no tiene misterio" - in other words, it has no mystery, or there's no mystery to it. As if for complicated things you have to be inducted into some impenetrable secret. I've been thinking a bit about mystery lately... you know how kids love fantasy, and then as they grow older, it loses some of its charm? I've been wondering if there's a way to keep that sense of awe and magic. I have one or two ideas.
There is no mystery to making cookies, though. You just chuck a few ingredients into a big bowl, mash them all up, slide little globs of the stuff onto some metal trays and slide said metal trays into an oven for a bit. Take 'em out and ta-da! Cookies.
Once I taught some friends of mine, a Galician friend and her mother, how to make pancakes. They were astonished. It actually was like I was revealing a mystery to them. They were particularly flummoxed by the idea that you were not supposed to stir the batter until all the flower granules dissolved. They thought it was the weirdest thing. So I guess there is some mystery, some apprenticeship in baking after all.
Cooking however, I don't understand at all. Cooking is more of an art, I think, than baking. There are so many more different ways to do things, techniques and such. I don't know. Cooking baffles me, I'd much rather bake...
So on some nights, I just have to make lots and lots of cookies. It's good for the soul, freeing for the mind.
I leave you with a picture of the mountain at half-mast:
Over 'n out.
E.O.
p.s.: the final number of cookies is 109. Not including the ones we ate. xD
Tuesday, November 9, 2010
Literacy Log 3
Love Him in the morning when you see the sun a-rising
Love Him in the evening 'cause He took you through the day
And in the in-between-time when you feel the pressure coming
Remember that He loves you and He promises to stay
I only ever knew the chorus to this song. It's encouraging to know that there's really only one verse, and that the chorus (above) was the really important part, when it was being written.
On a different note, it is time, yet again, to write a literacy log.
Let us examine whether or not my feelings on the subject have actually changed. On the surface of things, my first instinct is that it hasn't, but it's always worth a look. So. Literacy. The class has finally admitted that yes, literacy does in fact have to have something to do with texts. Hear my huge sigh of relief. At least there is that. They also claim that it has to do with being able to manipulate many different contexts and capabilities to do with the texts, and these spill over into live interaction. So. If we're being honest, all of this hurts my head. I can't catch hold of it properly. But. I am supposed to explore another aspect of "literacy" (oh how I hate those scared quotes, and how I wish that it were immediately obvious that I use them in an annoyed tone that mocks the doubtful one my prof usually uses). So yeah. Literacy. Um....
I'm gonna focus on "language use that has become naturalized," in the context of christian jargon. Am I? Or would I rather focus on "The effect of practicing discourse analysis on your own language use or the language of others – recently we suggested that one definition of being literate is being an independent discourse analyst. Is this a helpful way of thinking about literacy for you, and to what extent do you see yourself able to analyze the discourse around you" ? I might have something to say about that. After all, all I do these days is discourse analysis. Or perhaps I'd do better to talk about "Cultural models that you draw upon or that you encounter" Argh.
Love Him in the evening 'cause He took you through the day
And in the in-between-time when you feel the pressure coming
Remember that He loves you and He promises to stay
I only ever knew the chorus to this song. It's encouraging to know that there's really only one verse, and that the chorus (above) was the really important part, when it was being written.
On a different note, it is time, yet again, to write a literacy log.
Let us examine whether or not my feelings on the subject have actually changed. On the surface of things, my first instinct is that it hasn't, but it's always worth a look. So. Literacy. The class has finally admitted that yes, literacy does in fact have to have something to do with texts. Hear my huge sigh of relief. At least there is that. They also claim that it has to do with being able to manipulate many different contexts and capabilities to do with the texts, and these spill over into live interaction. So. If we're being honest, all of this hurts my head. I can't catch hold of it properly. But. I am supposed to explore another aspect of "literacy" (oh how I hate those scared quotes, and how I wish that it were immediately obvious that I use them in an annoyed tone that mocks the doubtful one my prof usually uses). So yeah. Literacy. Um....
I'm gonna focus on "language use that has become naturalized," in the context of christian jargon. Am I? Or would I rather focus on "The effect of practicing discourse analysis on your own language use or the language of others – recently we suggested that one definition of being literate is being an independent discourse analyst. Is this a helpful way of thinking about literacy for you, and to what extent do you see yourself able to analyze the discourse around you" ? I might have something to say about that. After all, all I do these days is discourse analysis. Or perhaps I'd do better to talk about "Cultural models that you draw upon or that you encounter" Argh.
Monday, November 8, 2010
Dear AT&T
dear at&t: thank you for the internet service. I think you should know, though, that your bills don't make any sense. I passed both algebra and calculus (not to mention 5th grade) with flying colors, so I promise you I can both add and subtract. However, I cannot make heads or tails of your calculations, even with the help of a calculator and my roommate, who is a chemistry major. Please explain yourself.
sincerely,
E.O.
sincerely,
E.O.
Sunday, November 7, 2010
Things I am thankful for today:
that my apartment feels so much homier than a college dorm.
that I don't have to smell pot on a regular basis.
that I don't have to eat Sodexo all the time and can buy my own groceries.
that I have friends who are very happy with me crashing at their place on a weekend.
that there are grander stories to long for than just "living in the moment".
and on the note of that last one, lately whenever someone asks me, "so how's your day going?" I have to stop. and think: wait, what DID I do today? - Which is not ok. That, I think, is living TOO much in the moment. I'm so busy I've taken to just letting go anything that is past as not-nearly-as-important-as-the-fifteen-things-I-have-to-get-done-next. Which is also not ok. I would like to restore a sense of connectivity (and peace) to my life, and to do that- well, I'm gonna come up with something, very soon.
hah.
anyways.
over 'n out.
E.O.
that my apartment feels so much homier than a college dorm.
that I don't have to smell pot on a regular basis.
that I don't have to eat Sodexo all the time and can buy my own groceries.
that I have friends who are very happy with me crashing at their place on a weekend.
that there are grander stories to long for than just "living in the moment".
and on the note of that last one, lately whenever someone asks me, "so how's your day going?" I have to stop. and think: wait, what DID I do today? - Which is not ok. That, I think, is living TOO much in the moment. I'm so busy I've taken to just letting go anything that is past as not-nearly-as-important-as-the-fifteen-things-I-have-to-get-done-next. Which is also not ok. I would like to restore a sense of connectivity (and peace) to my life, and to do that- well, I'm gonna come up with something, very soon.
hah.
anyways.
over 'n out.
E.O.
Friday, November 5, 2010
Lies SOMEbody must have told me
Sorry to be cryptic. Some things just need to be in Spanish. Please don't go trying to translate- it's more for my own sanity that I've written this than for your entertainment.
-----
De alguna manera me es inconcebible que yo sea jamás la amada de nadie. Eso tiene que ser una mentira, verdad? De dónde la he sacado?
Pero aun y asÃ, a mi parecer, suena verÃdico. Después de todo, yo no me veo nada que atraiga a un hombre de verdad, de fiar. Claro que también dudo la existéncia de tal hombre, pero eso es una cuestión para otro dÃa. Quiero, si alguien me llega a amar, que me ame entera- no sólo el corazón, ni sólo la mente, o la sonrisa, no. Me tiene que querer toda enterita, y si no, nada. Y yo a él también, claro está.
(No sé por qué me siento más capaz de eso que el tÃo fantasma que me estoy inventando... otra mentira será.)
Me dolÃa menos el alma cuando ignoraba que era posible que atrajera a nadie, punto. Será que yo no se ser Ãntima con alguien?
Éstas son las preguntas que me pasan a menudo por la cabeza, y no puedo estarme de entretenerlas... ojalá hubiese alguien con quien pudiera hablar de estas cosas, quien me sabrÃa aconsejar, tal como yo supe aconsejarle a mi amiga anoche (por la gracia de Dios, no por nada que yo sepa d'estas cosas).
No diré que quisiera que nunca hubiera conocido a ese chico. Eso serÃa mentira, porque me ha hecho mejor persona y mas feliz, el conocerle. Sólo digo que quisiera que me doliera menos el despedirme de él tan lentamente... es como intentar abrir una bolsa que se cierra con velcro en medio de una clase o algo... por más lento que lo hagas, mas se nota cada- pe- que- ño- so- ni- do. Ecks. Ojalá él hubiera sabido decirme, querida, de momento no soy capaz de ser ni novio ni amigo tuyo. Déjame que me vaya de tu vida, por ahora. Ojalá yo hubiera sabido escucharle, cuando intentó decir algo remotamente parecido.
Pero enfin. Ahora sé que nos hemos dicho adiós. No me gusta, aún me duele, pero el saberlo me- bueno, me ayudará.
Seré una persona capaz de amar y de ser amada?
Supongo que ya lo veremos.
hasta la próxima.
_________
Y claro que el muy puñetero me escribe diciendo que quiere que hablemos JUSTO DESPUES de yo escribir lo de arriba... no tengo palabras, no sé qué estoy sintiendo.
Me saca de quicio, eso sà lo sé. Pensamientos: Si te despides, despÃdete de una puta vez, idiota! Y si no, escrÃbeme mas a menudo, que estamos en el siglo XXI! Tenemos internet y SMS y cosas d'estas.
...
Ahora que me lo pienso, quizá deberÃa calmarme un poco... No soy lo suficientemente madura para esto.
-----
De alguna manera me es inconcebible que yo sea jamás la amada de nadie. Eso tiene que ser una mentira, verdad? De dónde la he sacado?
Pero aun y asÃ, a mi parecer, suena verÃdico. Después de todo, yo no me veo nada que atraiga a un hombre de verdad, de fiar. Claro que también dudo la existéncia de tal hombre, pero eso es una cuestión para otro dÃa. Quiero, si alguien me llega a amar, que me ame entera- no sólo el corazón, ni sólo la mente, o la sonrisa, no. Me tiene que querer toda enterita, y si no, nada. Y yo a él también, claro está.
(No sé por qué me siento más capaz de eso que el tÃo fantasma que me estoy inventando... otra mentira será.)
Me dolÃa menos el alma cuando ignoraba que era posible que atrajera a nadie, punto. Será que yo no se ser Ãntima con alguien?
Éstas son las preguntas que me pasan a menudo por la cabeza, y no puedo estarme de entretenerlas... ojalá hubiese alguien con quien pudiera hablar de estas cosas, quien me sabrÃa aconsejar, tal como yo supe aconsejarle a mi amiga anoche (por la gracia de Dios, no por nada que yo sepa d'estas cosas).
No diré que quisiera que nunca hubiera conocido a ese chico. Eso serÃa mentira, porque me ha hecho mejor persona y mas feliz, el conocerle. Sólo digo que quisiera que me doliera menos el despedirme de él tan lentamente... es como intentar abrir una bolsa que se cierra con velcro en medio de una clase o algo... por más lento que lo hagas, mas se nota cada- pe- que- ño- so- ni- do. Ecks. Ojalá él hubiera sabido decirme, querida, de momento no soy capaz de ser ni novio ni amigo tuyo. Déjame que me vaya de tu vida, por ahora. Ojalá yo hubiera sabido escucharle, cuando intentó decir algo remotamente parecido.
Pero enfin. Ahora sé que nos hemos dicho adiós. No me gusta, aún me duele, pero el saberlo me- bueno, me ayudará.
Seré una persona capaz de amar y de ser amada?
Supongo que ya lo veremos.
hasta la próxima.
_________
Y claro que el muy puñetero me escribe diciendo que quiere que hablemos JUSTO DESPUES de yo escribir lo de arriba... no tengo palabras, no sé qué estoy sintiendo.
Me saca de quicio, eso sà lo sé. Pensamientos: Si te despides, despÃdete de una puta vez, idiota! Y si no, escrÃbeme mas a menudo, que estamos en el siglo XXI! Tenemos internet y SMS y cosas d'estas.
...
Ahora que me lo pienso, quizá deberÃa calmarme un poco... No soy lo suficientemente madura para esto.
Thursday, November 4, 2010
Unwell
Excuse me while I go throw up a few left-over friendships that were in my system last night. I just realized they went bad, and it's seriously upsetting my stomach. Just a moment -.
Tuesday, November 2, 2010
Aftershave
To that kid who was sitting in front of me:
Next time, please go easy on the aftershave (or cologne, deodorant, whatever). Like, 999/1000ths easier. Don't force the rest of us to compulsively hold our breath for 45 minutes until, not being able to stand it anymore, we are compelled to get up in the middle of lecture to look for seats further back (by AT LEAST two rows) just so we can get away from your stench. Next time, please just brush your teeth or take a shower with actual soap instead. I guarantee you, that will do better at both a) removing any stench from this weekend's partying/camping/other adventures and b) getting you in good with... well, I was going to say ladies, but with anyone you want to actually think well of you, really. Whatever pheromones they are telling you is in that stuff, it cannot possibly help you out if you lay it on like that.
So. I hope its clear. Don't be that kid. Don't suffocate your classmates. And if you absolutely HAVE to use that much scent, at least have the decency to muffle it by keeping your sweatshirt on.
Thank you.
over 'n out.
E.O.
Next time, please go easy on the aftershave (or cologne, deodorant, whatever). Like, 999/1000ths easier. Don't force the rest of us to compulsively hold our breath for 45 minutes until, not being able to stand it anymore, we are compelled to get up in the middle of lecture to look for seats further back (by AT LEAST two rows) just so we can get away from your stench. Next time, please just brush your teeth or take a shower with actual soap instead. I guarantee you, that will do better at both a) removing any stench from this weekend's partying/camping/other adventures and b) getting you in good with... well, I was going to say ladies, but with anyone you want to actually think well of you, really. Whatever pheromones they are telling you is in that stuff, it cannot possibly help you out if you lay it on like that.
So. I hope its clear. Don't be that kid. Don't suffocate your classmates. And if you absolutely HAVE to use that much scent, at least have the decency to muffle it by keeping your sweatshirt on.
Thank you.
over 'n out.
E.O.
Monday, November 1, 2010
For the moment
I miss you, you turd.
I wish I could forgive you for being gone, and ignoring the fact that you live in the 21st century. I'm working on it, if for no other reason than it will be better for my own spirit to be rid of this hurt caused by missing you, wishing you would remember me fondly in a way that communicated itself to myself, somehow. I'm trying, now, to forgive you.
But right now, until God kicks in, I really only have one word for you, turd.
I had another one, but it floated away, because turd just fits so well.
Turd.
There.
____________
On a different note, there is something else I would like to say, not to the aforementioned, specifically, but to everyone.
Don't let wishful thinking influence or interrupt your goodbyes. If you must say goodbye, be strong and just say it: Goodbye.
That is the kindest thing you can do.
I wish I could forgive you for being gone, and ignoring the fact that you live in the 21st century. I'm working on it, if for no other reason than it will be better for my own spirit to be rid of this hurt caused by missing you, wishing you would remember me fondly in a way that communicated itself to myself, somehow. I'm trying, now, to forgive you.
But right now, until God kicks in, I really only have one word for you, turd.
I had another one, but it floated away, because turd just fits so well.
Turd.
There.
____________
On a different note, there is something else I would like to say, not to the aforementioned, specifically, but to everyone.
Don't let wishful thinking influence or interrupt your goodbyes. If you must say goodbye, be strong and just say it: Goodbye.
That is the kindest thing you can do.
Friday, October 29, 2010
Moreover
If I see one more "moreover," "therefore," "thus," or "hence," beware, internet. I might scream, roll my eyes, or stomp off in frustration and be fired from (both) my job(s).
On a related note, I think that, for my sanity, I need to read some good fiction. Something with a plot, in well-written, fully correct English with a definite individual style. TV and movies won't cut it. I need a good infusion of prose! Please!
I think I may go borrow some Terry Pratchett from the Library after this... yes...
over 'n out.
E.O.
p.s.: also- why does Friday night find me all by myself, surfing netflix? Where's ma peoplesssss?!?!?? THIS IS NOT HOW I IMAGINED COLLEGE, Y'ALL! My other years weren't like this? What happened? ...oh yeah. I moved off-campus. With only one person. Who happens to have a boyfriend, and enjoy spending time with him. Right. That happened.
On a related note, I think that, for my sanity, I need to read some good fiction. Something with a plot, in well-written, fully correct English with a definite individual style. TV and movies won't cut it. I need a good infusion of prose! Please!
I think I may go borrow some Terry Pratchett from the Library after this... yes...
over 'n out.
E.O.
p.s.: also- why does Friday night find me all by myself, surfing netflix? Where's ma peoplesssss?!?!?? THIS IS NOT HOW I IMAGINED COLLEGE, Y'ALL! My other years weren't like this? What happened? ...oh yeah. I moved off-campus. With only one person. Who happens to have a boyfriend, and enjoy spending time with him. Right. That happened.
Sunday, October 24, 2010
Translation Frustration
Can you hear me shouting "Bah, I don't want to work on my translation right now! Bah!" Even though it is my absolute favorite class? No? How strange...
Translation IS my favorite class, and normally I'd love working on this project. It's just that I'm not sure I have the right material (aka, I really think I should pick another short story and save myself heartache... but I just love how this one plays on the Catalan spirit! Argh!)
*dives back into Pere Calders to search for a better short story*
____________
P.S.: I figured it out! Multiple of the super-short stories instead of one of the ickier, longer ones.
Yay!
Translation IS my favorite class, and normally I'd love working on this project. It's just that I'm not sure I have the right material (aka, I really think I should pick another short story and save myself heartache... but I just love how this one plays on the Catalan spirit! Argh!)
*dives back into Pere Calders to search for a better short story*
____________
P.S.: I figured it out! Multiple of the super-short stories instead of one of the ickier, longer ones.
Yay!
Wednesday, October 20, 2010
Discovery: Emma Wallace. She rocks.
So I'm not talking about this to many people, because it feels like something I'd resent someone for saying to me, BUT. Just about every morning I wake up to the knowledge that I have exactly the life I want, and couldn't ask for much, if anything, more. It's eerie and beautiful, and I am (more or less depending on the day, anyway) happy. That's right, I said it. Happy. Happy where I am. It's to the point where I love the feeling of waking up in the morning, with the sun streaming in my window so that the whole room glows, stretching and getting up.
On a more familiar note, I am, once again, avoiding schoolwork. I have two big projects and a take-home exam, none of which I want to face working at. But I'm cutting down my work-work hours anyway and forcing myself to, because ultimately, though I don't feel like being in school is really about school for me, if I don't keep up the grades, I don't get to stay here. So. Tally ho!
over 'n out.
E.O.
So I'm not talking about this to many people, because it feels like something I'd resent someone for saying to me, BUT. Just about every morning I wake up to the knowledge that I have exactly the life I want, and couldn't ask for much, if anything, more. It's eerie and beautiful, and I am (more or less depending on the day, anyway) happy. That's right, I said it. Happy. Happy where I am. It's to the point where I love the feeling of waking up in the morning, with the sun streaming in my window so that the whole room glows, stretching and getting up.
On a more familiar note, I am, once again, avoiding schoolwork. I have two big projects and a take-home exam, none of which I want to face working at. But I'm cutting down my work-work hours anyway and forcing myself to, because ultimately, though I don't feel like being in school is really about school for me, if I don't keep up the grades, I don't get to stay here. So. Tally ho!
over 'n out.
E.O.
Sunday, October 17, 2010
Blended days
After God, it's all about the people. Always.
Song I've just discovered I really like: Stay With Me Tonight by Emma Wallace. So great. Musical variety, vocal expertise, and it's just plain fun. Heh.
Yesterday & The day before:
This week I've had four days that blended into two: Thuednesday and Saiday. I'm only going to tell you about one, though.
Start with a huge group of people meeting in a CVS parking lot at 10 at night with blankets and heaps of excitement. Pile them all into 10 cars, with little-to-no idea where they're going, and wait 'til they come back Saturday afternoon/evening, exhausted but with a curious light in their eyes.
And in the middle? Well.
(driving) Frolicking around post-modern statuary;
(driving) getting lost on the highway;
a huge, lazy-eyed chicken; chicken-dancing;
fascinating games of never-have-I-ever;
singing in harmony (while driving);
laughter; amazement; trivia;
stressed-out waitresses and semi-delicious waffles;
hours of driving through nightscapes that only hinted at their day-time clothes;
wonderment at more, brighter stars than I remember ever seeing before (for once they truly looked like jewels in the night sky);
drowsiness (while driving) and freezing temperatures; (I came to hate the sound of the little bumps on the side of the road that let you know your car's falling off it)
warmth and sunrise;
someone else driving my car (thank heavens!!)
the brilliant, stained-glass colors of fall;
blue skies;
mountain-people food at the Bean Pot Restaurant
the hugest tree-house ever built...
and lots more hours of driving.
Excitement, Adventure, Delight, Fellowship. Drowsiness. Being cared for. Rejoicing.
I have less energy than a dog at midday, but I'm glad to have had Saiday instead of a regular Friday and Saturday.
over 'n out.
E.O.
Song I've just discovered I really like: Stay With Me Tonight by Emma Wallace. So great. Musical variety, vocal expertise, and it's just plain fun. Heh.
Yesterday & The day before:
This week I've had four days that blended into two: Thuednesday and Saiday. I'm only going to tell you about one, though.
Start with a huge group of people meeting in a CVS parking lot at 10 at night with blankets and heaps of excitement. Pile them all into 10 cars, with little-to-no idea where they're going, and wait 'til they come back Saturday afternoon/evening, exhausted but with a curious light in their eyes.
And in the middle? Well.
(driving) Frolicking around post-modern statuary;
(driving) getting lost on the highway;
a huge, lazy-eyed chicken; chicken-dancing;
fascinating games of never-have-I-ever;
singing in harmony (while driving);
laughter; amazement; trivia;
stressed-out waitresses and semi-delicious waffles;
hours of driving through nightscapes that only hinted at their day-time clothes;
wonderment at more, brighter stars than I remember ever seeing before (for once they truly looked like jewels in the night sky);
drowsiness (while driving) and freezing temperatures; (I came to hate the sound of the little bumps on the side of the road that let you know your car's falling off it)
warmth and sunrise;
someone else driving my car (thank heavens!!)
the brilliant, stained-glass colors of fall;
blue skies;
mountain-people food at the Bean Pot Restaurant
the hugest tree-house ever built...
and lots more hours of driving.
Excitement, Adventure, Delight, Fellowship. Drowsiness. Being cared for. Rejoicing.
I have less energy than a dog at midday, but I'm glad to have had Saiday instead of a regular Friday and Saturday.
over 'n out.
E.O.
Monday, October 11, 2010
Epidemic
Let's get one thing straight. I may not be the most popular person in the world, and I may have spent a lot of years feeling lonelier than Robinson Crusoe (he didn't seem to mind much, after all) but I have always had friends. Close friends, friends I could talk about Important Things with.
The more people I talk to here, the more often I hear "yeah, I've never had any really good friends..." Two people in my life, neither of whom I would consider myself particularly close to, have even told me recently that I am their closest friend. Me! It is flattering, but at the same time perplexing and incredibly saddening. Where is the richness of human interaction? the sharing of human experiences, joys and pains, thoughts and laughter? Where is trust? the knowledge of your friends' most mundane habits, their troubles and flaws? Where are the late-night laughter and conversations that are sacred to girls' friendships? How could someone miss out on that and not seek it? How could someone not seek to be known?
I am baffled. I was talking with a friend & mentor from school the other day, and she says she sees this everywhere in our university, and it worries her. She doesn't understand, she says, because her college friends are her nearest and dearest, and that is the pattern she has seen in most other colleges too... so what makes ours so different? A cultural phenomenon, she called us.
-which baffles me even more. I want to do something! I long for close friendships in my current life, but let's be real. I cannot be everyone's best friend. These girls need to learn to be in friendships, real friendships, with kindred spirits. I count myself privileged to have had so many good friends over the years... Annalisa. Hannah. Ann-Phyllis. Delice. Alexa. Kenan. Ashley. Angelica. Cameron. Godis. Most of these relationships are still alive, and that's not even all of them, only the deepest. I don't know who I would have become without them. So, knowing the satisfaction and solace that these sorts of friendships provide, I would like to do my best to promote them on my campus. Like I said, I can't be everyone's best friend. But maybe I can lead by example. Maybe I can make a few good friends, and be a good friend to a few people, and in so doing, provoke a longing in others to have a similar sort of community. Maybe I can encourage my acquaintances to think about their acquaintances, and whether or not they could turn them into friends. It's at least somewhere to start.
over 'n out.
E.O.
The more people I talk to here, the more often I hear "yeah, I've never had any really good friends..." Two people in my life, neither of whom I would consider myself particularly close to, have even told me recently that I am their closest friend. Me! It is flattering, but at the same time perplexing and incredibly saddening. Where is the richness of human interaction? the sharing of human experiences, joys and pains, thoughts and laughter? Where is trust? the knowledge of your friends' most mundane habits, their troubles and flaws? Where are the late-night laughter and conversations that are sacred to girls' friendships? How could someone miss out on that and not seek it? How could someone not seek to be known?
I am baffled. I was talking with a friend & mentor from school the other day, and she says she sees this everywhere in our university, and it worries her. She doesn't understand, she says, because her college friends are her nearest and dearest, and that is the pattern she has seen in most other colleges too... so what makes ours so different? A cultural phenomenon, she called us.
-which baffles me even more. I want to do something! I long for close friendships in my current life, but let's be real. I cannot be everyone's best friend. These girls need to learn to be in friendships, real friendships, with kindred spirits. I count myself privileged to have had so many good friends over the years... Annalisa. Hannah. Ann-Phyllis. Delice. Alexa. Kenan. Ashley. Angelica. Cameron. Godis. Most of these relationships are still alive, and that's not even all of them, only the deepest. I don't know who I would have become without them. So, knowing the satisfaction and solace that these sorts of friendships provide, I would like to do my best to promote them on my campus. Like I said, I can't be everyone's best friend. But maybe I can lead by example. Maybe I can make a few good friends, and be a good friend to a few people, and in so doing, provoke a longing in others to have a similar sort of community. Maybe I can encourage my acquaintances to think about their acquaintances, and whether or not they could turn them into friends. It's at least somewhere to start.
over 'n out.
E.O.
Sunday, October 10, 2010
Sunday, October 3, 2010
Adult-ish
My newest discovery:
Being an adult and having my own place means, among other things that I can run and jump onto my bed (multiple times!), and no-one can say a-ny-thing about it. ^^
Of course, it helps to have a bed the size of a small bouncy-castle.
Oh, the joys of being a grown-up(ish).
over 'n out.
E.O.
Being an adult and having my own place means, among other things that I can run and jump onto my bed (multiple times!), and no-one can say a-ny-thing about it. ^^
Of course, it helps to have a bed the size of a small bouncy-castle.
Oh, the joys of being a grown-up(ish).
over 'n out.
E.O.
Thursday, September 30, 2010
Tonight
Tonight my head hurts, and I somehow can't get rid of the idea that my thoughts are getting fuzzier as I grow older, concepts and truths escaping me the more I chase them.
Dehydration really sucks. xD
Also... I want someone to take care of me. I want someone who has the resources to try... to want to, and to try. But is that a fair thing to ask of this world? I think probably not.
over 'n out.
Dehydration really sucks. xD
Also... I want someone to take care of me. I want someone who has the resources to try... to want to, and to try. But is that a fair thing to ask of this world? I think probably not.
over 'n out.
Tuesday, September 28, 2010
Pockets! and Buttons!
And so it happens. The new school year comes, and every day I have material for a new post, I want to blog 'til my fingers ache. Fortunately for the internet, I don't. However. This, I have to write. Because you know, it's making me happy. I bought a jacket the other day from a large chain-store that shall remain unnamed. Within two days of buying said jacket (with pockets! in the right places!), the thread holding the buttons onto the front of it started to unravel, resulting in my almost-losing three of them. I decided to fix this issue. And, since the button-holes didn't look too great (read: sturdy) either, I decided to sew 'em up. The only problem was, I really didn't know how... aaand wasn't sure I even had a needle.
Fortunately for me, my roommate DID have one, and the internet can tell you ANYTHING- including, without much trouble at all, how to hand-sew a button-hole.
So what have I been doing for the past two days, do you think, instead of studying for a test*, or finishing my homework, or starting new homework, or doing laundry, or reading for class, etc? Yes. I have been sewing on buttons and re-sewing button-holes into this new jacket. It makes me feel nice and craft-y, like I actually did something with my money - after all, someone else would've just returned it, and then- what do big chain stores do with faulty clothes? throw them away? donate them to the homeless? hmm... if it's that last one, maybe I should've swapped it after all... piffle, I should've asked the attendant. Sigh. Anyway- Paradoxical, no? =) ...I just hope the rest of it isn't as flimsily sewn as the buttons were. :S
over 'n out.
E.O.
*which turned out to be the easiest test of its kind that I've ever taken, fortunately.
Fortunately for me, my roommate DID have one, and the internet can tell you ANYTHING- including, without much trouble at all, how to hand-sew a button-hole.
So what have I been doing for the past two days, do you think, instead of studying for a test*, or finishing my homework, or starting new homework, or doing laundry, or reading for class, etc? Yes. I have been sewing on buttons and re-sewing button-holes into this new jacket. It makes me feel nice and craft-y, like I actually did something with my money - after all, someone else would've just returned it, and then- what do big chain stores do with faulty clothes? throw them away? donate them to the homeless? hmm... if it's that last one, maybe I should've swapped it after all... piffle, I should've asked the attendant. Sigh. Anyway- Paradoxical, no? =) ...I just hope the rest of it isn't as flimsily sewn as the buttons were. :S
over 'n out.
E.O.
*which turned out to be the easiest test of its kind that I've ever taken, fortunately.
Thursday, September 23, 2010
I'm here.
I'm here. Here to listen to your troubles, dear. Didn't think I'd be the one you'd pick to say, hey, I can't take this shit, please listen to me for a bit. Didn't think you'd see such strength in me, didn't think I'd have the eyes to see that something's troubling you, causing you to doubt yourself. But if I can, I'll help.
I'll do for you what I wish someone would do for me, ask you how you are- no really, I mean it, it's more than just a greeting, I can see that something's keeping you from smiling, so- I'll ask what's up with you, and try to help you reason through, let you know there's someone here who cares about just you.
And these new eyes I have? This new-found strength that lets me reach out? No, no, it's not my own, it's not from me. This ability I seem to have, now, comes from knowing that God loves me, somehow, and has my back, and what's more, has commanded me to love him back. So I will. I do. And that is how I am able to be here for you, and hope that you see in this love that seems to come from me that He, he loves you too.
Thank you Skip.
over 'n out.
E.O.
I'll do for you what I wish someone would do for me, ask you how you are- no really, I mean it, it's more than just a greeting, I can see that something's keeping you from smiling, so- I'll ask what's up with you, and try to help you reason through, let you know there's someone here who cares about just you.
And these new eyes I have? This new-found strength that lets me reach out? No, no, it's not my own, it's not from me. This ability I seem to have, now, comes from knowing that God loves me, somehow, and has my back, and what's more, has commanded me to love him back. So I will. I do. And that is how I am able to be here for you, and hope that you see in this love that seems to come from me that He, he loves you too.
Thank you Skip.
over 'n out.
E.O.
Wednesday, September 22, 2010
If I'd had a dream
Today I had a tutee who reminded me of Imogen Heap, but Chinese. It was something about the structure of her face and the way she pronounced her vowels (she had spent time in Britain- I'm not totally crazy, y'all).
So then I started to imagine, well, what if I DID tutor Imogen Heap? - And then promptly realized that that could only ever happen in a dream. So. If I had had a dream about tutoring Imogen Heap, here's what it would've looked like:
Last night I dreamt that I was helping Imogen Heap edit her paper for English class. It was hard for her, because she only ever writes in song, and she couldn't seem to get anything down in prose. She kept trying to explain to me that she needed to condense her ideas all the way into one word, and she couldn't understand why I wanted her to change "which" to "who" ... She was up a tree, she said, and needed to get down, but couldn't find the branch she came up by. Eventually, we agreed that if I told her where the button on the tree-trunk was that would make the branch she wanted come out, she would use the right word in her essay. Then she was back on the ground with me, singing something about her heart, and I sent her on her way, saying that I couldn't help her WRITE the thing, I was only there to help EDIT, and she ought to get her ideas out onto paper first, before she came asking me things. Then she suddenly had a typewriter that was typing words into the air and I was trying to catch them, like bubbles, and put them into an organized sequence... but they kept popping as soon as I had more than one.
etc. etc.
Yes. I just wrote a fictional dream. Um... ? How to explain... I don't know. Sometimes you just have to write silly things, for the heck of it.
over 'n out.
E.O.
So then I started to imagine, well, what if I DID tutor Imogen Heap? - And then promptly realized that that could only ever happen in a dream. So. If I had had a dream about tutoring Imogen Heap, here's what it would've looked like:
Last night I dreamt that I was helping Imogen Heap edit her paper for English class. It was hard for her, because she only ever writes in song, and she couldn't seem to get anything down in prose. She kept trying to explain to me that she needed to condense her ideas all the way into one word, and she couldn't understand why I wanted her to change "which" to "who" ... She was up a tree, she said, and needed to get down, but couldn't find the branch she came up by. Eventually, we agreed that if I told her where the button on the tree-trunk was that would make the branch she wanted come out, she would use the right word in her essay. Then she was back on the ground with me, singing something about her heart, and I sent her on her way, saying that I couldn't help her WRITE the thing, I was only there to help EDIT, and she ought to get her ideas out onto paper first, before she came asking me things. Then she suddenly had a typewriter that was typing words into the air and I was trying to catch them, like bubbles, and put them into an organized sequence... but they kept popping as soon as I had more than one.
etc. etc.
Yes. I just wrote a fictional dream. Um... ? How to explain... I don't know. Sometimes you just have to write silly things, for the heck of it.
over 'n out.
E.O.
Tuesday, September 21, 2010
Monday, September 20, 2010
Have I mentioned
that I love being an ESL tutor? No? Maybe I mentioned that I LOVE being an ESL tutor? That either. Well. Now you know.
Here is an excerpt from a letter to a friend about just HOW COOL it is:
I've started doing ESL tutoring, which is a blast. It requires a lot of mental and social energy because I have to analyze a paper and a person at the same time. It's like… you have to read the surface meaning of the paper, with all its grammar mistakes and awkward wordings, but also what the person was trying to say when they wrote it; you also have to think about it as just a paper, so, is it well-organized, does it have an intro and a thesis statement, do the ideas flow with one another and so forth. At the same time though, you have to read the author of the paper: are they comfortable, are they understanding you, are you being overbearing, do they know the answer and they just can't see it yet, or do they really have no clue? All while trying to get them to fix their work for themselves, without needing me to spell it out for them. ‘Cause oftentimes it’s an easy fix, but you don’t want to just say “you need to make this word plural,” you want them to see it. Because the goal is for the person to be able to self-correct and thus, write better in the first place. It's really fascinating, deciphering the paper and analyzing it as a thing full of two languages, and then talking about the nuances of English meanings and usages with the authors. I can tell from talking to them that they understand so much more than they can convey in their English words, that there’s a whole world lurking behind their broken sentences. It’s like peering through a keyhole. Sometimes I wish the meetings could last more than an hour, but I know that I'd be terribly exhausted if they did.
End of excerpt.
ALSO! Today I met with a girl who wanted help planning her paper- which is not technically what ESL is supposed to help with, they have the writing center for that (deals more with content and with Native English Speakers) BUT as it turned out, she was totally a TCK and as fascinated by languages as I was. So we spent an hour talking about categorical perception, IPA, how people learn languages, what languages we want to learn, etc. :D I cannot even TELL you how big the smile on my face was when I left.
anyways. So yeah.
I LOVE BEING AN ESL TUTOR. Just in case that wasn't clear.
Here is an excerpt from a letter to a friend about just HOW COOL it is:
I've started doing ESL tutoring, which is a blast. It requires a lot of mental and social energy because I have to analyze a paper and a person at the same time. It's like… you have to read the surface meaning of the paper, with all its grammar mistakes and awkward wordings, but also what the person was trying to say when they wrote it; you also have to think about it as just a paper, so, is it well-organized, does it have an intro and a thesis statement, do the ideas flow with one another and so forth. At the same time though, you have to read the author of the paper: are they comfortable, are they understanding you, are you being overbearing, do they know the answer and they just can't see it yet, or do they really have no clue? All while trying to get them to fix their work for themselves, without needing me to spell it out for them. ‘Cause oftentimes it’s an easy fix, but you don’t want to just say “you need to make this word plural,” you want them to see it. Because the goal is for the person to be able to self-correct and thus, write better in the first place. It's really fascinating, deciphering the paper and analyzing it as a thing full of two languages, and then talking about the nuances of English meanings and usages with the authors. I can tell from talking to them that they understand so much more than they can convey in their English words, that there’s a whole world lurking behind their broken sentences. It’s like peering through a keyhole. Sometimes I wish the meetings could last more than an hour, but I know that I'd be terribly exhausted if they did.
End of excerpt.
ALSO! Today I met with a girl who wanted help planning her paper- which is not technically what ESL is supposed to help with, they have the writing center for that (deals more with content and with Native English Speakers) BUT as it turned out, she was totally a TCK and as fascinated by languages as I was. So we spent an hour talking about categorical perception, IPA, how people learn languages, what languages we want to learn, etc. :D I cannot even TELL you how big the smile on my face was when I left.
anyways. So yeah.
I LOVE BEING AN ESL TUTOR. Just in case that wasn't clear.
Sunday, September 19, 2010
Coming to Terms: 1
Girl, why are you crying?
How do you want God to interact with the world?
Is that right/fair?
Do you believe in faith?
Does one lose the ability to think abstractly as one advances in years? Or does one gain it? I have always loved the concrete. I like for things to be spelled out and clear cut. Prevarication gets on my nerves; so do empty polite phrases or intensely idea-focused conversations. When an example crops up, I perk up and listen. When I have trouble thinking about something, I try to put it into some kind of real-life situation. Practicality and straight-forward bluntness would be my middle-names, if they weren't too long. I don't generally like poetry because it is too condensed, and I can't tell what it says right off the bat, I have to look at it from a cajillion different angles and imagine what it might mean. But I'm starting to fear that these tendencies may be working to my disadvantage- or at least making my mental life more strenuous than those of others.
Abstract ideas are just so fuzzy to me. They don't make sense unless they're put into a situation; otherwise they confuse me and I don't know how to think anymore.
That's just not who I thought I was, you know? So often I've been hailed as smart. So often people have praised my contributions to discussion, my need to keep us honest and grounded; they say it makes them think harder & deeper.
But really all that's going on is I'm so practical I can't follow the discussion otherwise. Turns out this sage is ought but a fool with a big vocabulary. (side question: so is it praise or pity? do they realize?)
How then can I approach this question: do I think there is value in faith?
It's too elusive for me to pin it down and hash it out with myself...
but I will. This isn't over yet.
How do you want God to interact with the world?
Is that right/fair?
Do you believe in faith?
Does one lose the ability to think abstractly as one advances in years? Or does one gain it? I have always loved the concrete. I like for things to be spelled out and clear cut. Prevarication gets on my nerves; so do empty polite phrases or intensely idea-focused conversations. When an example crops up, I perk up and listen. When I have trouble thinking about something, I try to put it into some kind of real-life situation. Practicality and straight-forward bluntness would be my middle-names, if they weren't too long. I don't generally like poetry because it is too condensed, and I can't tell what it says right off the bat, I have to look at it from a cajillion different angles and imagine what it might mean. But I'm starting to fear that these tendencies may be working to my disadvantage- or at least making my mental life more strenuous than those of others.
Abstract ideas are just so fuzzy to me. They don't make sense unless they're put into a situation; otherwise they confuse me and I don't know how to think anymore.
That's just not who I thought I was, you know? So often I've been hailed as smart. So often people have praised my contributions to discussion, my need to keep us honest and grounded; they say it makes them think harder & deeper.
But really all that's going on is I'm so practical I can't follow the discussion otherwise. Turns out this sage is ought but a fool with a big vocabulary. (side question: so is it praise or pity? do they realize?)
How then can I approach this question: do I think there is value in faith?
It's too elusive for me to pin it down and hash it out with myself...
but I will. This isn't over yet.
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