bee-york

it is banality that interests me

2012-01-27T21:18:00.000-08:00

My new (old, hey $2.90 at the thrift-e-store) favorite flannel shirt smells faintly of waffles. I am content.

Yesterday someone asked me how my life was and since I don't enjoy that strain of conversation I made some jokes about parking tickets. Today I realized that through voiceless gchat it must have sounded sad but I am not sad. I don't know how to tell you in seriousness the things I am enjoying right now because I don't know how to sell quotidian. I don't have my own words for this, I only have the words of others.

Over Christmas visits at previous haunts someone told me my life is passing me by. My silent cry is But it is not passing me by! I am living it. Maybe I am slow at it, but I am slow and we have always known that I am slow.

I took tommyrot down because that wasn't quite right. I feel more like this:
(which is hanging on my wall, written on a scrap of paper in the scrawl of a friend, and which came by post)

Remember to retire into this little territory of thy own, and above all do not distract or strain thyself, but be free, and look at things as a man, as a human being, as a citizen, as a mortal. But among the things readiest to thy hand to which thou shalt turn, let there be these, which are two. One is that things do not touch the soul, for they are external and remain immoveable; but our perturbations come only from the opinion which is within. The other is that all these things, which thou seest, change immediately and will no longer be and constantly bear in mind how many of these changes thou hast already witnessed. The universe is transformation: life is opinion.Marcus Aurelius, Meditations, book 4, no. 3

I'm toying around with a lot of decisions about what to do later this year and a conversation keeps coming unbidden to me and it kind of makes me chuckle.

My sister's father-in-law: Are you going to school for a career or to have an education (before/in process of getting married)?
Me: (this is a question?) A career.

Is there anything more strange than a relationship? They happen unbidden or they remain illusive. Can you hunt one down, make one happen? Sometimes I feel I could really dig in here but there are two things missing and I am fairly certain neither are to be found here. One could keep me wandering the globe yet you must stay in one place because you, too, need to be found. The second is easy, I know where to go to find people who enjoy food like I do.

I do not know how this has escaped my journal, whose silent private pages I've been turning to. I think I just wanted to tell you how my pretty flannel smelled of the waffles I made this morning.

2011-12-09T17:52:00.001-08:00

Inspiring, isn't it?

Maybe this is why someone once told me they had a dream where I showed up and gave them guidance with aphorisms.

tommyrot

2011-12-08T06:40:00.001-08:00

Remember how I write parking tickets for my job? And how sometimes I contemplate doing weird jobs like that my whole life? And how sometimes I admit it's for this very reason. It sounds like a lot of what I've been doing lately. Homemade crap? Yeah.

schooled.

2011-11-28T21:54:00.001-08:00

Today I learned Van Morrison is from Ireland. Should I have known that already? Thank heavens I know now.

of the prairie and of the clouds • driving to Jamestown fall 2011

2011-11-24T11:55:00.000-08:00

in honor of Thanksgiving I make this announcement:

2011-11-23T09:27:00.000-08:00

I have retired this necklace as of about a month ago. But nobody else can have it. It will stay in my drawer as if my drawer was a museum?

Maybe some day I'll tell you about my new idea for necklaces. That is. If I ever get to that checklist.

mrglh!!!

2011-11-22T09:07:00.001-08:00

I had a brilliant idea yesterday: what if we made music videos to classical music(i.e. not pop culture music–the culture opening it up from top 40 to wut all us kidz listen to). It would be like fantasia+MTV+youtube. And I would start listening to Mozart again.

Last night I had a dream that I was in a church meeting that was alternately Catholic and Mormon. Each would take turns speaking and we took turns with our sacrament. Except that it was more substantial than the regular bread and water/wafer and juice(wine?). It was more like taking turns for a Last Supper or pot luck. I don't know. I think at one point I looked down at my plate and thought, "What's this purple stuff? This isn't sacrament..." And I think there was plaid flannel somewhere in there, too.

Does anyone else feel like they should be completing this check list everyday:

1. Read a book
2. Knit a scarf
3. Run 5 miles
4. Do yoga for an hour
5. Study the scriptures both spiritually and intellectually so you could rattle off all of the laws in Deuteronomy and their cultural implications.
6. Bake delicious things
7. Meditate for half an hour
8. Get lots of work done
9. Walk to work even though it adds on at least half an hour
10. Write a lengthy and insightful journal entry
11. Read at least 3 peer reviewed articles and find a way to make them fascinating outside of academia
12. Write a couple of letters
13. Make sure the house is all really clean
14. Design and sew three shirts
15. Mend that cardigan

And since you never seem to manage getting all of that done instead you only reread books that you liked as a kid so you don't get anymore stressed by surprise plot twists, never cook anything and you never journal, you try not to think about writing grad school application letters, and you try to ignore all of the people you said you would write to.

OK cool.

I love painted faces. I love learning why people paint their face. I love painting my face (but not with make up)

2011-11-18T21:20:00.001-08:00

learn more here.

letters for all of you! kind of. not in the mail though. just right here.

2011-11-18T07:11:00.001-08:00

Dear friends and family and maybe a stranger or two,

I like my job. Even when my job is standing in a parking lot at 7:15 in the morning watching the sun rise and stomping my boots to stave off the 6˚ F weather. Because we went from weeks of 47˚ to this week where 27˚ is the high. Also, I'm really excited I figured out how to make the degree symbol ˚ ˚ ˚ ˚ ˚ or if you're french the ciècle symbol ˚ ˚ ˚ ˚ also this guy: •••••• Really fun and aesthetically useful. So I hope they show up correctly on your computer, otherwise have fun with those WingDings!
•
See, I know what needs to be done and I know I'm useful when I'm hauling pylons in a tiny pick up truck that has no sound system. Where the tape deck or radio would be there's a piece of tape on the dash that says, "Please hum." And it's just nice to greet people when I'm the gate keeper. The gate being a road block that I drag open and shut.
˚•˚
This is a relief from academia where I'm always wondering, Did I just make that up? Everybody knows [insert an exciting conclusion I have just arrived at] already, don't they. or Why is this article so convoluted?!? What's wrong with engaging your readers? Why do they hate people? It's OK, nobody's going to bully you for being a nerd anymore.
•˚•
I have begun investing money into serious winter gear which makes me feel like I should only apply to grad schools where intense winter boots and long johns will be useful. Luckily my top picks are in Canada.

∞∞∞∞∞∞∞

∞∞∞∞∞∞∞

∞∞∞∞∞∞∞

always (are you catching that?)
M

P.S. I'm working on my emailing strangers skills.

hello from north dakota's clouds and telephone poles. and treetops. and street lights.

2011-11-17T11:52:00.001-08:00

everything is a tangled web [of lies]!!!

2011-11-16T18:12:00.001-08:00

ho-o-ome

2011-11-15T18:22:00.001-08:00

Jbottoms found this for me:

If this is your dream house we can probably make a home together. Don't worry, I'm thrifty and nice and I have a book that should teach me how to make wall hangings like that.

things I find around the house part 1, or who looks really silly in this picture?

2011-11-15T09:39:00.001-08:00

National Geographic Vol. 178, No. 6, December 1990

"Look fierce and don't smile for the camera: Those were the instructions given by this French television crew to Dzu Bushmen living in the Tsodilo Hills. Today few Bushmen, if any, live as simple hunter-gatherers in the manner of their ancestors. Paid to shed their Western clothes–and to pretend to stalk the crew's helicopter–they are being used to perpetuate a commercial fantasy" p. 50-51

"A sheet of water a few feet deep spreads over the Kalahari sands to create a lush oasis studded with islands that grow when silt builds up around termite mounds. Here I found an Africa I thought no longer existed. Here was a place where the antelope, the zebras, and I could drink freely from the same waters." p. 10-11

2011-11-14T10:02:00.001-08:00

a picture for my sister

2011-11-05T10:52:00.000-07:00

the rocks in this schoolhouse

2011-11-04T10:27:00.000-07:00

School of Me takes place everyday even if I try to stay home/away sick. It's inescapable.

Everyday there are lessons in Observing Tree Branches Against The Sky, How To Walk To Avoid Getting Gravel In Your Shoes, and Seeing Fat Squirrels Out Of The Corner Of Your Eye. A treat in the School of Me is when I get a lesson on Hearing The Honking Of Migrating Geese.

I regularly learn about how to be more suspicious of politics from Democracy Now!, the intersection of science and life (that's redundant) from RadioLab, there's a survey of literature with All Books Considered, there's Remember How You're A Nerd And NPR Makes You Laugh Out Loud To Yourself/Music from All Songs Considered (might I recommend the episode The 90s are back, or whatever?).

photo curtesy of this person. (that's Kurt Cobain with a cat, or whatever)

And don't worry. Just like "real" school, there are still school crushes. Like this guy and this guy.

2011-11-01T19:49:00.000-07:00

As I research my future I come across things I think are funny. Sometimes I'm fairly certain there's a good chance they may be funny to other people.

happy halloween

2011-10-31T09:40:00.001-07:00

Mound by Allison Schulnik from garaco taco on Vimeo.

favorites

2011-10-28T09:27:00.000-07:00

the secret is that I feel incredibly guilty for deriving so much amusement from a man who holds his country in a suffocating and unfeeling grip but you know....he's my dream boat despot

2011-10-25T12:00:00.000-07:00

a hypothesis for a question I've been asking for a long long time

2011-10-24T20:19:00.000-07:00

We feel compelled to tell our stories to each other because we grow collectively not individually.

Chew on that and tell me what you think. Please. Because according to my new theory I only grow with you.

the midwest cut me down at the knees

2011-10-23T21:25:00.000-07:00

This morning there were grey clouds overhead and rain sprinkles on my windshield but I was out on the prairie so I could see that forever to my left and to my right was bright blue sky. This is a thing about the plains: you can watch weather in panorama, you can see what's been, what is, and what will be.

Blue Sky to the left was one of those blues so bright I think "It's amazing you're real, if somebody painted you I'd think you were fake and I'd look for the cherubs about to bust from your fluffy clouds." But underneath it are some quiet miles of farm fields. Which is almost the opposite of the fake blue sky, I used to think it was boring. But I learned as I grew older that there's a primordial hold land has inside of us if you are willing to .

In the fall it bowls me over. I throw up my hands, I surrender, I've fallen, North Dakota, you've got me. I won't ever leave you (but I will)–I love this quilt of bleached wheat and dark earth. I love your lace lines of trees.

Oh, I will leave you. We both know it. What's happened here? I feel drawn on to a career in media and research fields which keep me moving, never settling. And I like that, I want to see places, to change. Perhaps it is my generation or, at least, definitely certain subcultures of all ages, where we've perceived the blindness that can happen as you settle. Things are your way, they must go your way, why are others doing things differently? You must stop doing things differently.

I feel I should lose myself in another country, force myself to adopt different customs to instill in me the knowledge that other ways are good. As if my doing this will add understanding and some kind of karmic healing to the collective unconscious of the world.

I also feel I don't belong here. In many ways. I could also disillusion you of any Stars Hollow notions you have faster than you can say David Lynch. These are topics for another time.

So I'll leave.

But I'll come back.
To visit, at least.
Well, I'll always love you.
I'll always dream about the fall.

P.S. The rockstar/mythological figure debate continues. My mom votes Mick Jagger as Narcissus.

2011-10-22T20:59:00.000-07:00

classy lady time

2011-10-22T08:41:00.000-07:00

Check out my lady friend Kathryn's awesome stop motion video

Untitled from kitsune-kun on Vimeo.

things that make me laugh

2011-10-21T16:10:00.000-07:00

“the chances that Rimbaud will become the bible of your life are inversely proportional to the age at which you first discover him.”
-Daniel Mendelsohn–as quoted in "When you're strange: Should we consider Jim Morrison, rock's Bozo Dionysus, a real poet?" by Daniel Nester, an essay on poetryfoundation.org.

~~update: WAIT A SECOND, wouldn't David Bowie be the Dionysus of rock?~~ After discussion with my sister we have decided: Mick Jagger is Dionysus and Bowie is ~~Hermaphrodite~~. I mean Aphrodite. But that's not quite right either. Who's the Greek god of enjoying a good dramatic lip-sync? Would't Queen be Aphrodite? He's really looking for somebody to love, and check him in that white jumper!

What's really awkward is when you're peering through the windshield of a car in the shade and you start to realize there's a person in there looking back at you. This isn't a napping person–which you will find fairly regularly as a parking person at this college campus–this is an alert person staring back at you. "Ha, ha...Oh, hi" you'll say–as if they can hear you–you'll give a small wave of your hand and move on.

north dakota cloud appreciation

2011-10-20T17:54:00.000-07:00

I spent my morning in a parking lot, how bout you?

2011-10-18T17:54:00.000-07:00

The campus I work at is smoke-free, which means that everyone has their smoke breaks in parking lots and alleys. I mostly find this funny, I mean, what do you mean campus is smoke-free? If the lots and the alleys aren't campus then all you have left are the buildings and one grassy quad. I don't give tickets for cigs, though, so this just gives me an audience, added incentive to put a little strut in my step and flourish in my windshield wiper release.

Here I will admit to something: I have always been intellectually ambitious. From a young age (four) I have admired people with multiple doctorates. I don't need to be acknowledged as the smartest kid in the class (because I rarely am) and I don't need to do G R E A T things and win noble prizes (I meant that). I've been thinking lately that I'd really like to be like the letter p in pterodactyl. The p is silent but in on all the action. I want to be silent p (I meant that).

So I've started my own brain growing school with several courses. Someday I'll tell you about my school of one. That's my cop out for not boring you now. You can thank me later/now/yesterday.

I have a goal to see how many times I can use this picture.

P.S. I have decided that if I ever get a life prison sentence I will read Ulysses by James Joyce.

And today is Mali Refugee Music Day (at my school of me). Enjoy!

just a bit of what I have to show for myself

2011-10-15T11:37:00.000-07:00

I FINISHED THAT INFERNAL QUILT FACE THAT'S 90% HAND PIECED • PHEW!

I AM A DESIGNING WOMAN

GARAGE GUARD DINOSAUR • ROAR!

can't get enough of this song

2011-10-15T08:28:00.001-07:00

if this idea lasts for a week and a half we know it's real

2011-10-13T16:33:00.000-07:00

(day two of consistent interest in archival/library science pursuits)
(day two is NBD. I had a day two for documentary theory, film theory, and film art)

¡I JUST FOUND MY NEW FAVORITE PERSON!
¡SHE BLOGS ABOUT THINGS YOU SHOULD KNOW IF YOU'RE CONSIDERING LIBRARY SCIENCE!
¡SHE EVEN BLOGGED A LIST OF THINGS YOU CAN DO WITH AN LS DEGREE!
¡WHICH I WANTED TO READ EVEN THOUGH I'VE ALREADY FOUND A FEW JOBS I REALLY REALLY WANT THAT REQUIRE ONE!
¡I LOVE WHEN THE INTERNET FINDS YOU USEFUL PEOPLE!
¡MAYBE I WILL TAKE THE GRE AFTER ALL....?

¿WILL SOMEONE TELL ME IF I SHOULD DO AN ARCHIVIST MASTERS OR LS/MANAGING KNOWLEDGE?

deer, eye cantaloupe

2011-10-12T20:31:00.000-07:00

Sometimes library science programs are called Masters of Science in Knowledge Management. Which sounds A-MAZING.

That's what I do sometimes. I say, What if I were to get a masters in.....and then spend a few nights researching schools and programs. I could make a board game out of this.

Every job I want asks for archival or library science experience. At least I think every job....Sometimes I think some....What was it that I wanted?

I had a really great idea the other day: let's rename Daylight Standard Time (or whatever it is) to Daylight Bailout. It'd be happening. Or, might I say, the hap.

Also, I have a few things to show for myself and someday I may show them. They include a dinosaur and an infamous hand-pieced quilt.

prone to wander, Lord, I feel it

2011-10-09T18:29:00.000-07:00

A sixty mile drive to church by yourself will give you plenty of time to ponder and I had a lot of thinking to do about Boondock Saints this morning. Of course I'm enthralled by modern day (ridiculously violent and tattooed) Catholic saints– Mormons are all about modern day, hence the full name of the church: The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints (totally different kind of saints, you know, a little less bloody); and hence Mormons everywhere flocked to TV's, radios, and internets last weekend for General Conference to hear modern day prophets. Religious zeal of any age is captivating to me but particularly N.O.W. So I'm into prophets, obviously; and have recently become more interested in the motivation behind Muslim extremism–this is what happens when you listen to a lot of Democracy Now! podcasts as you hand out parking tickets for a living; and then there's those Boondock Saints (not related to Val Kilmer's The Saint).

The other thing that I have a lot of time to ponder is the dash of the Honda Civic Hybrid I get to drive. It tells you lots of things that other cars might not which is what led me to drive 65 mph home today. That wind really kills your miles per gallon I tell ya what. Note: speed limit is 75 and there are a few people driving slower than me. At 65 I really began to appreciate the subtle differences of rust, orange, green, the dried corn and bleached wheat of the fields. A gentle little slope here and there, the texture of the different grasses, the heavy mist. Geese flying around. These are things I see but don't absorb as well at faster speeds. I enjoyed myself but still felt like I was moving backwards compared to everyone else. At this point in my mullings I realized, THIS IS A METAPHORE FOR MY LIFE. I love this time I get to meditate, spend time with my parents, consider religious covenants, sort through my life–but I feel as though I'm taking a heck of a time getting to where I'm going. I've got nothing to show for myself and everyone else seems to be skipping right along...Have you felt that dichotomy? "I'm doing what I need and I love it" going hand in hand with "am I a bumbling bum?"

I guess they have to go together. Else what would motivate the introspection–the soul deepening searching?

Faite attention: symbolism + mobile = symobilism. Great new word, right?

dandy

2011-10-08T08:29:00.000-07:00

When you get here we'll go straight to Ye Olde Books and Curiosities shop. Later we'll go to the Historical Museum and bring quarters to make the model trains go. If you get here today we'll go to Girl Talk tonight. I'll finish my quilt so that after the show you can curl up in it and sleep happily. Happily, which is an adverb because it's describing how you sleep. It makes me a little anxious when people mix up their adverbs and adjectives, I wonder if they realize what they're saying. How are you doing? Should be answered with I am doing well. If someone asks you What are you doing? then you can say I am doing good. Because you're all doing good. Do you see how that has a completely different meaning? Although not entirely unrelated because, for instance, I am more well when I am doing more good. Things are just flying out the window. Other than that, I'm not a strict grammarian. Go ahead and say anyways.

What if I go teach English in Thailand or Vietnam? I saw my passport lying on my dresser last night and thought, "You're so good looking...maybe we should go somewhere." Is that a good way to make life decisions? "Heeeeeey good lookin'/Whaaaaat you got cookin'"

I'm looking forward to today so Ima sayonara (see, not a strict grammarian). I just wanted to talk.

And if you were wondering, this is my favorite color scheme ever:

Linda Ronstadt get your eagles wings here

2011-10-05T12:15:00.000-07:00

Is everyone writing about the fall? Are you tired of it? Then go away. Stop reading. For I want to tell you about crackly leaves that fly horizontally. Or that float around like flocks of geese in the sky. It took me years to figure out why fall in Utah looked funny. There's no wind, leaves just fall straight down to a uniform circle under each tree. Doesn't that make you giggle? Oh....just me? Ok.

There's wind here and it makes everything perfect. Having a bad day? Go outside and shout "QUE SERA, SERA!" as you imagine you're dissolving like dust in the wind and blowing away. Having a good day? That's because you've got wind beneath your wings. Feeling dramatic? There's a tempest outside for you to play around in. I'm telling you, you're covered. Covered in wind. And possibly leaves. With a few acorns to bop you on the head.

you heard the man! on to philadelphia!

2011-10-04T05:59:00.001-07:00

funniest Freddy ever.

Can you figure out why they dressed the girls in pajamas that you'd only give to a girl of six or a quirky woman of 82?

"ke-bab"

2011-10-03T14:00:00.000-07:00

It's easy to get a skewed picture of what I'm doing with my life right now, I should know, I live it. Not that it matters if you are all skewered but when it's me things get crazy pretty quickly. Like today when I was thinking, Do I miss school? If I were a professor I wouldn't be giving people parking tickets. I should be a professor. If there is anything I have learned from having a father who teaches future teachers: T H I S D O E S N O T Q U A L I F Y A S A P P R O P R I A T E J U S T I F I C A T I O N F O R B E C O M I N G A N E D U C A T O R ! ! !

But possibly even worse is when I start wondering, Who could I marry instead of do this job? Not that marriage would negate the necessity of me working but knowing that there is no one within a 60 mile radius whom I would ever marry, ergo: move at least sixty miles = I don't do this job. This is not too strong a statement, there are not that many people in this 60MR and I know enough of them. But truth be told, I can never think of anyone in a kajillion mile radius whom I would marry right n o w either.

So.

I give people parking tickets. And most of the time I remember that's not all I do.

/// punny punny punny! \\\

2011-09-28T20:26:00.000-07:00

F A L L I N G S L E E V E S

I should note that when I first thought of this (after a successfully witty night, at least that's what my Mom will tell you) I thought to myself (chuckling), I am so funny tonight! I'm so clever! It wasn't until I started making this picture I realized that it wasn't actually that funny. Didn't stop me though.

A N N O U N C E M E N T ! ! !

2011-09-24T21:19:00.000-07:00

You never thought I would but I did. I actually posted stuff into my etsy shop. Now go buy ten of everything.

margebjork on etsy

slogging through poetic irony/envisioning grunge era combat boots

2011-09-22T21:31:00.000-07:00

As the dutiful ticket hander-outer and general inspirer of parking dread that you are, you will come to find that quantum physics and the 4 Non Blonds make some of the best listening material while mucking through your gravel lots.

High ground still holds its magnetic power over me only now it's not so much chairs, tables, or counters. I find myself walking along parking blocks and retaining walls as I make my rounds. I tap pad the tickets into a gadget about the size and weight of those Saved by the Bell cell phones and my hip slung printer gurgles them out. In the seconds of print-waiting, if I happen to be listening to some moving jams, I stare up at the trees, do a little twist and tap my toes on my cement balance-beam perch. Yes, as promised K$, I've been dancing on the job.

whirlwind in my brain every time I sleep

2011-09-20T20:36:00.000-07:00

Last night–or rather this morning sometime after waking up starving at 2:30 a.m., eating toast and reading for two hours (Our Mutual Friend by Charles Dickens) and crawling back into bed to marvel at how I'd forgotten thunder can be R E A L L Y R E A L L Y L O U D–I had a dream that I was going to be crowned Miss North Dakota. Only they checked with me first to see if I'd actually accept even though it seems I'd competed in this pageant of my own free will (Meaning no disrespect to pageants, it's just, well, me. My perverse sense of humor answers black lipstick and fake nose ring to the question of pageant). We can realize this means that even in my dream they knew my erratic history of conforming to society. I think they wanted to save their faces and mine by confirming this outcome beforehand in case I took the public moment as a soapbox on how factory farming of livestock and agribusiness contribute more than television to the dwindling of our culture, intelligence, and character as a nation; or expound upon my current moratorium against reading news of domestic politics; or for fear that I would show up as Zombie Miss North Dakota.

I thought about what it would mean to accept the crown of Miss North Dakota and I knew it could only mean one thing: appearing on national television in a swim suit.

I declined and I'm sure they went off to surprise another, more deserving young lady but I woke up.

et alors, nous voyons...

2011-09-12T17:15:00.000-07:00

I haven't the foggiest idea of where my college diploma has ended up after this move, however, I did just find my Cloud Appreciation Society certificate!

New theory: People who know where their college diplomas are don't end up with part time jobs giving out parking tickets to other students who are in pursuit of their own diplomas.

my weekend:

2011-09-10T19:34:00.000-07:00

I have attended two dance parties this weekend. I have been the only attendee. They were held in my living room and bedroom. There was music at one of them.

now bees try to pollinate my headphones

2011-09-09T10:13:00.000-07:00

true story. Or stories, because it happens frequently. I thought this was because of the floral print but one was bent on pollinating my nose yesterday and my nose is not floral print, so...

The trick with being a parking attendant is not to roll your eyes when it seems that some people think a garter is a sufficient substitute for a parking pass around their rear view mirror. Or their high school graduation tassel, Guinness beer lanyard, or crucifix. I prefer parking passes. In fact, I have developed a great love for parking passes.

It's a small campus, about the size of your thumb. Half of our lots are gravel–which has as much to do with the campus being in a flood plain as much as with the student body size. I'm learning license plate numbers and soon might have all of campus memorized. I already dream about ticketing at night which is the worst. In the day I'm pleasantly distracted by podcasts, in sleep it's just not restful.

As the Solo Enforcer of Parking Dread I can make my rounds in an hour. I'm having to memorize staff vehicles–there aren't many campus cars so everyone drives their own. I only deal in parking so vehicles are always separate from owners. It's a hazy guessing game but nobody seems too worried, so I don't worry either. If I ticket someone on staff they just tease, "Well, we know you're doin' your job." Of course they know I'm doing my job, in fifteen minutes of my morning shift I more than covered my wages for the day with all the fees I hand out.

Sometimes I have a desire to confront students on the sidewalk and say, "Do you know that I graduated? Do you know that I have a bachelor of arts? Isn't it weird that now this is my job?" I imagine that if I did this some sort of hysteria would erupt like uncontrollable giggling or I would just become excessively awkward and stutter. Why I feel like doing this is not something I fully understand. Part of it is narcissistic, I have the impression that the smaller population size you put me in the more I'm bound to stand out and so I'm convinced it's only a matter of time before everyone on campus has seen and recognizes me.

In fact, at the heart it is rather a selfish desire: to try to command attention from perfect strangers who have their own lives with concerns and hopes. Particularly strangers who are in pursuit of their undergrad and who do not need to be squashed by the reality of what that degree might get them.

Maybe it stems from a natural desire to understand and validate my current position in life. I may have always imagined growing up that I would be an artist living off of my wits and exploring the outlandish corners of society and philosophizing on their poetic qualities but still I find living it a challenge. I can only see two steps ahead and I want to know two years ahead. Is that so much to ask? So far the answer has been yes, it is too much to ask. Probably because I'm pushing, rushing, wanting, instead of meditating and prayer and......what? I just don't know.

mean lady

2011-09-06T21:50:00.000-07:00

I gave everyone in the world a parking ticket today, or at least, it feels like it. But tell me, is it inhumain to smile and bop your head a little bit as you listen to Talulah Gosh and slip a $10 fine under someone's windshield wiper? No. It can't be. Especially with the product of today's side project:

Upon seeing what I'd done my dad buried his face in his hands both in laughter and horror.

"I equate happiness with contentment, and contentment with complacency, and complacency with impending disaster."*

2011-09-04T21:33:00.000-07:00

I've been thinking this for years: "[Laurie] discussed the differences between British and American TV. 'I think good-looking people seldom make good television,' he said. 'And American television studios almost concede before they start: ‘Well, it won’t be good, but at least it’ll be good-looking. We’ll have nice-looking girls in tight shirts with F.B.I. badges and fit-looking guys with lots of hair gel vaulting over things. So at least we’ll have achieved that base standard of entertainment.’ He shook his head. 'I think that’s hugely misguided. The glory of American television is Dennis Franz.”

*Hugh Laurie, link NYT article

half of me thinks you'd want to stay updated half of me thinks blogs are absolute vanity

2011-09-02T21:57:00.000-07:00

Cutting my hair this afternoon turned out to be somewhat more of an adventure than I had intended but that's what you get when you forget that little safety switch on the hair clippers.

In truth, I've always wanted to try steps and push my androgynous limits but have been too chicken. Huzzah!

I've moved in with my parents to a small hometown which makes my Friday night socials the kind of things you want to write books about. I won't be writing books, I'm at my limits trying to think how to tell you properly of characters I spent my night with. Suffice it to say we watched Singin' in the Rain, jumped to a discourse on West Frisian–the language of Friesland and of which I'd never heard of but is believed to be what English would sound like if we hadn't been conquered by Normans (the French). And to finish it off:

I've been thinking, it's kind of great to be here.

because of my excessive fondness for strange juxtapositions and journals:

2011-09-02T08:17:00.000-07:00

THIS IS THE SECOND DAY OF APRIL 2011
it is mostly cloudy and I will appreciate it-clocked in at 11:03

4 April 2011
FROM B&N TODAY
Stories and poems for extremely intelligent children of all ages (a book) (on shelf next to Best of Women's Erotica 2)

7 April 2011
"P A T I E N T S P R A Y E D"

8A
butter
plumb sauce
produce

24 April 2011
There are so many things I hear in church and related activities that sound extremely apocryphal.

we cannot remember the future, time just keeps moving forward

2011-09-01T21:52:00.000-07:00

xkcd + clouds

2011-09-01T07:06:00.000-07:00

that's just the way it is

2011-08-31T21:01:00.000-07:00

I am a 24 year old, bachelor-of-arts holding, part-time parking attendant. Starting next week I give people parking tickets. I got the formal job offer by phone yesterday afternoon. It's something you laugh and cry about because of its hilarity and patheticness. But mostly it's funny. Mostly I find it weirdly charming and a perfect fit for all my other larger-than-time plans. Werner Herzog, love me.

Looking for the moon on a cloudy night led to my mom and I driving out to rural roads that ring our town. It's when it's cool, breezy, with the sky like dusky purple velvet falling into fields of wheat– fields that you know go on forever–when I feel at home, when I find comfort from the idea of this whole sea of earth wrapping around me. Indeed, in dusky lights I'm sure the plains are a blanket I could curl up in.

This will be a strange year. This morning I went on a walk to try to take pictures of the fog hanging around town. That was mostly impossible as fog is best seen in the distance or out of the corner of your eye. But I did see leaves already turning yellow. "Hey!" I wanted to yell, "It's only August 31st! Couldn't you at least wait until September 10th or something?!" No go, winter will be here in a month and a half which serves as an answer to my question of whether I'll dare to attend to parked cars while listening to my ipod and dancing in this extremely/strangely reserved society. I don't think it's possible to dance outside in winter. Not here. I'll try for you, though.

ground to a halt

2011-08-30T07:11:00.000-07:00

HAVE ANY OF YOU EVER PRIED APART YOUR WESTERN DIGITAL EXTERNAL HARD DRIVE AND LIVED TO TELL THE TALE? I JUST NEED TO FIX THE LITTLE BITTY TINY EXTREMELY IMPORTANT THING CALLED THE PORT. ARRRRGH.

I got the shakes!

2011-08-26T18:56:00.000-07:00

This is the town that made me. Kind of.

Come visit right now. You're the only one(s) I have to share this with. I have friends here–well one with some budding possibilities–but for various reasons they don't fulfill this role of share-dom at the moment. Mostly because I'm not sure if they're constantly suffering from the wonderment I feel as I walk around town. I have picked out some houses we should walk past so you can help me decide what it would be like to live there, who lives there now, who built a house like that, who chose that color. Most houses here are neutrals, but here and there are sherbert-like neon homes. Who can blame them, winters are long, people are reserved. I remember now how I've always wanted to shake this town up. Come visit and you can be part of my guerilla (or gorilla) poetry movement. Or whatever else I come up with. Do you have an idea? Hurry, get here, let's be star people.

I went to the thrift store again today. And again the girl at the cash register looked familiar, I must have gone to high school with her. I hesitate saying hello to people I [think I] know because a couple of Christmases ago I recognized a girl in the grocery store. She saw me but showed no sign of recognition. "Hello!" I said, "I'm Marge, remember me?"

"Yeah, I do."

Oh....

And more frequently people don't recognize me. My piano teacher of 11 years looked confused and a bit upset when I saw her and rushed to say hello, same with several other people at that wedding. It's always a toss up, do they really not know who I am or do they hope never to see me again? What would be the case for the girl at the thrift store? I said hello and re-introduced myself (six+ years and all).........and I couldn't tell.

Well, what have I got to lose? This town could use some shaking. Ask me some time and I'll remove the gloss and reveal the seedy underbelly of small towns in remote areas before I restore their glory again.

P.S. GET HERE NOW!!!!!
P.P.S We'll go to high school football games, they're just across the street. Or the water treatment plant? Just a short walk. The shortest walk ever....I might still know the music therapist at the senior citizens' center, we could sing about the yellow ribbon round the old oak tree....

rambling, probably mildly unclear, filtered list of gratitude

2011-08-25T21:31:00.000-07:00

1) I am actually scheduled to present my paper at a conference. I'll be seeing you, Claremont.

2) I hangout at the county historical library daily. (My second haunt is the public library. Which you should see.) There is a list of a few people who I am extremely excited (and not even nervous!!!) about interviewing. Sometimes, at the museum, as I'm searching through old pictures and newspaper clippings somebody plays ragtime on the player piano.

3) My mom and I have now introduced lake swimming to our repertoire. Lap swim to come as the weather gets colder. No waves and wind and late afternoon suns but on the other hand, no algae covered bodies.

4) The mornings are cool and breezy just the way I always remember them.

5) I still finish a couple of books a week despite the rules I've had to set for myself about leisure reading (the finishing up of books sometimes is to the detriment of the amount of sleep I get).

6) I still bake soda bread when I cannot sleep. And after I eat a slice of it hot from the oven, I think about how peaceful dawn is, crawl into bed and fall asleep so happy.

7) There's a specific photograph I plan on taking tomorrow.

8) My closet works as a sound recording studio.

9) I should find a poetically silly place to do yoga.

10) I get picture texts of my nephew from my sister and she calls me often.

∞ Now and here are beginning to make sense.

sorting past and present

2011-08-23T15:31:00.000-07:00

when you move back to your childhood bedroom

2011-08-22T06:20:00.000-07:00

I remember the tantrum that led to this emphatic statement against dresses.

movers and shakers (and settlers) (in this order)

2011-08-14T19:28:00.000-07:00

dakota date book

2011-08-12T23:00:00.000-07:00

If you visit me we can take a walk to the hardware store where they write out your receipt and get your change from their antique cash registers. There's a Ye Old Books and Curious Goods shop you should see. We can count how many cars go through a green light at the busiest intersection in town. Complete strangers may wave at you.

We can lay in my back yard and listen to doves and crickets at night. I'll make you granola, lemon curd, waffles, fruit cobblers, vegetable pies with homemade pie crusts, curried-apple couscous. I will not make you zucchini baked fries, not until I do a better job than I did tonight. We will only eat honey that came directly from a bee farm, there is no store bought honey in my house. And there will always be homemade bread.

If you're taller than me (which you all are) maybe you can borrow my dad's bike and we'll ride along the flooded river. You can see the parks of my childhood drowning.

If we stay up late talking you will hear the train that passes less than a mile away. I'll read out loud to you or we can read silently. I'm already started on my fifth book and it's only been two weeks.

We can walk around and see the architecture of the town: a mishmash of farm houses, victorian, and others that seem inspired by eastern sea boards. I'll take you down to the rec center where I worked out in high school, the weight room where I was educated on Black Sabbath and Pink Floyd.

We can visit my mom's library and chat with all the septo and octogenarians ladies that work there. They'll ask about your life and tell you about their grandkids and if they really take a liking to you maybe someday they'll send you a cross-stitch table cloth.

We can go out of town, stand on a hill and see the blanket of land stretch for miles and miles in a way you've never seen before. The sky hangs so low you'll think you can touch the clouds and if it rains you'll notice more than ever how they turn such an impressive steel color. Or if you come in the fall maybe you'll be able to see a harvest moon. There's a Little Yellowstone, we could camp there. What about buffalo, would you like to see some buffalo? Or do you like bird watching? We have great bird watching.

Have I convinced you yet?

kites on replay

2011-08-10T07:51:00.000-07:00

The last couple of days I can't stop from asking myself, "What am I doing here?" My immediate self-reply is to stop being melodromatic, of course it's hard when you first move and soon you'll settle in and it can't really be as stifling as when you were in high school and you just need to have a good attitude. You came here to test out your documentary filmmaking dreams, remember? I remind myself that if I don't try out this documentation intuition now....when will I ever stop holding myself back?

But my wisdom isn't reaching to the depth of that question: what am I doing here.

"Here" is a small town, population just under 7,000, in North Dakota where the descriptives "rural" and "remote" are redundant. "Here" is where bananas and milk are expensive, asparagus a delicacy, and the only place in town to really buy clothes or books are at thrift stores–which is at once lovely, amusing, and limiting.

This is the place we have lived since I was three, where I grew up during the years where you feel uncomfortable and awkward because you don't know who you are so you voraciously read books, sometimes to the exclusion of all else. I could elaborate further on the finer points of youth in rural towns and how in comparison I prosaically, unintentionally march to the beat of my own drum, but that's not the point.

I could also begin listing the reasons I should have stayed where I was. Why did I feel compelled to tear myself away from enjoyable and stimulating friends some of whom really saw me and appreciated me and vice versa–a thing which is to be treasured when found, particularly since it is the first time I had found it; or the great outdoors of hiking and swimming holes and camping and even treasured winter walks; and my dear sister, brother-in-law, and baby nephew, and my cousin J...

The only thing missing was a career direction. I could have cancelled this move, accepted/applied to that film-related job offer that came mid-summer. But I didn't, it seemed it would still leave me with all the same questions about why I want to work with film.

What am I doing here? This is not about the difficulty of change, I'm trying to discern the future, I want so much to see just a few steps ahead. I can rehearse without much thought the rough outlines of the documentary project that popped into my head last September and which is why I'm hear now but it is still so abstract.

It will be until I start filming and even more-so editing.

And I'm beginning to think the question I keep asking myself is integrally linked to the project I set for myself. When I let it ring out loud and clear, "What am I doing here?" I actually feel moved upon to get out of bed and search out the answer. It awakens all my demons but also calls out my backbone. Oh blah, blah, blah, I just have to keep going and soon we shall see.

Right? Oh yes, we'll see (said in a quixotic/inscrutable/ironical/mellow/curious tone of voice)

a day in which I realize I would have a difficult time being a truck driver

2011-08-08T15:53:00.000-07:00

Or, less succinctly: After hours of driving by myself I snap and start yelling, "I'm booooooored.....AHHHHHH!!!! I'M A MONSTERRRRR!!!!!!! ROAR ROAR RAORRRRRRR!!!!!!!!!!" Also, singing with the radio, "FOREVER'S GONNA START TONIIIIIIIIGHT, FOREVER'S GONNA START–once upon a time..."

And to go along with that, a series of my impressions (in no particular order) from the last 24 hours written in list form:

1) This is a strange land I've come to

2) Oh no! People from high school!

3) I'm drowning in prairie

4) This is a nice breeze

5) My piano teacher doesn't recognize me

6) We used to play pretend wedding when we were little! This isn't pretend!!! I'm crying! She's so beautiful! I remember him, so quiet in high school...

7) All the horrifying anti-abortion billboards!*

8) read on billboard "Be American, Buy Ethanol." My reaction: "Whoa.... Hahahahahahaha"

9) (Chuckle) These young kids remember when I was Chrissy Jo Jenkins of The Phantom of the Country Opera (chuckle, chuckle) That was a weird play.**

10) Minnesota is really good at road signs

11) I just drove past Lake Wobegon Trail....

*This is not meant as any sentiment for or against abortion. All I'm saying is the anti billboards are disturbing to me in so many ways.

**More to come later on the dynamics of a small town where people you don't know will forever remember you and treat you like an old friend, something which forever boggles my mind and is also awesome

I knew it wouldn't take long before I missed the slippers I thrifted when there was no more room to pack them

2011-08-06T12:39:00.000-07:00

or to put it more succinctly: in the market for new slippers.

There's not much to say about my week on the www other than it's ridiculous that I didn't remember to pull out my dad's vinyl of The Kinks' Lola vs. Powerman and the Moneygoround. There's not much better than putting that in the record player and turning it up as loud as I please.

And while I keep pondering over seven year old boys who are a strange mixture of sensitivity and absolute terrorists; and chubby two year old boys who cuddle into your lap and pretend to be growling polar bears–I am incredibly happy to be alone in my bedroom thinking about the evils of the socialism of time.

While ordinarily I am sympathetic (though not exclusively) to socialist ideologies, Time seems to be enjoying a good joke by doling out its hours equally to all creation. Children noticeably reach the end of the line by five in the p.m. and adults are constantly banging their heads against the wall trying to get everything done in a day. The obvious solution is to liberate the earth from the bondage of the Law of the Ubiquitous Twentyfour Hour Clock and to measure out allotments of time more justly.

But perhaps Willy-Nilly Time thinks it has something to teach us. Hmph.

Here's something I made this week with a few hours I could wrinkle out of Time:

the mustachio from Marge Bjork on Vimeo.

And Dr. Seuss is still the most enjoyable author to read out loud.

2011-08-02T12:50:00.000-07:00

Because of guilt–my own guilt and no pressure from my family–I agreed to babysit six children I have never met for two days and two nights and one morning.

You see, I can't tell mothers no (unless they are rich and rich people never ask me for anything), particularly when they have a lot of children, even though I hate the idea of lots of children.

The reason I publish this is to ask for your help. What on earth do I do with six children for an amount of time that will probably seem to me like it's never going to end? Please, please, please have some suggestions for me.

kittens love other kittens*

2011-07-31T20:45:00.000-07:00

Moving is a lot like going on vacation except you have to pack your life into five medium sized boxes, three small boxes, two bags, and a purse. And drive 1,100 miles and step into your childhood bedroom for the first time in a 1.5 years and wonder how you found yourself there.

Moving is a lot like going on vacation because it doesn't feel real.

How long it takes before life feels real again, I don't know. I've only made one real adult move previous to this and that was moving away from here. I never expected to come back.

This voice is sounding a little lost and wavery because we're in the first 24 hours of my arrival. You know the tearing away and settling in is the difficult point. Luckily I have a few great people who've been very expressive of their faith in me because it's much easier to float in the middle of a pond and feel like an empowered documentary filmmaker. Finding yourself in the middle of your adolescent stomping grounds armed with a little digital camera is intimidating.

But here's what I know: I'm a survivor, I'm going to make it, I will survive, keep on surviving.

Also, I've just received some eccentric creative direction for the week. I'm being commissioned with poetry.

Let grow my feisty, curious, loving, and quirky characteristics.

Really.

Start growing.

Now.

I've forgotten what mosquito country is like. I should have put on stronger spray.
*quote from a book I read a two year old today.

some people will play harmonica blues and skype me tout le temps

2011-07-23T21:45:00.000-07:00

This shall probably be part of my settling in sound track come 1 August 2011.

So many ideas these last weeks of things to look into documentarily filmmaker-wise. We shall see what I am made of.

I'm singin la, la, la.

letter to past and future and possibly present

2011-07-16T21:23:00.000-07:00

Dear,

I'm curling up in bed, unsure of whether I will try sleeping outside tonight, knowing tomorrow morning I will regret not doing yoga now. But whatever, I'll just do some yoga in the morning. Along with everything else I'm putting off tonight. Like talking to what roommates I have left.

I'm tired.

However, I have a lot to say to you. I've been thinking this weekend, about how I had this really important goodbye. Actually, our goodbye was just yesterday but I'm having trouble remembering that because none of what's about to happen in the next two weeks seems real. Especially the part where I move 1,100 miles.

So I had this really important goodbye with a really good friend and I couldn't cry and I've been realizing it's because not only does it not seem real, I cannot see friendship goodbyes as anything more than a temporary or prolonged...no, a prolonged but temporary separation. And it's more than that, it's because if I don't see it as temporary, if I think about permanence and losses and the general negatives of change I will panic. The weight of no longer being able to bike ride up the canyon whenever I feel like it will crush me until I can't breathe. Realizing that I've only had a month of good hiking weather will break my knees and thinking about how I won't be spending a few days every week with my sister and nephew will be enough to make me chicken out.

I can't be a stunted chicken, guys.

Here is where I'm ever pleased for Ecclesiastes, The Byrds, and that afternoon years ago where–after falling into a bout of despondency after several productive, happy days–I realized I will always have periods of down-ness and the thing to do was to appreciate that, get everything I could spiritually, emotionally, and mentally out of being in a rut.

To everything there is a season, turn, turn, turn.

You can't exactly have your cake and eat it too. I mean, I'm learning I can't have all joy at once. At times it is the joy of finding a new recipe, or the baking of a cake, or eating that slice of really good cake. (Don't tell me you're not a cake person, stop eating boxed cake, come over and I'll change your mind.) Sometimes All those things happen in really quick succession, but never all at once, all on top of each other. Everything has its time.

I will continue to write you letters, well, personal letters if you so choose to give me your address. If you call, I'll talk to you but I won't promise to call you. There's email, there's gchat, there's thinking of you.

And there's me in two weeks making the most of the changes in my life.

Take heart! (Oh, take heart, self.)

Forever,

2011-07-10T08:30:00.000-07:00

This great uncle is also probably the originator of the family term of endearment: fat head.

He is also the reason I know about the terrible repercussions of polio.

He'd tell me–when pestered on the subject–that my grandma was a wonderful lady, she had to be since she married my grandpa.

2011-07-09T17:27:00.000-07:00

image from a collection of

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

This is a concise declaration of some things I have been thinking about over the past year.

Similarly, can I tell you one thing about a great uncle of mine? I'd always know it was him calling, even before we had caller i.d., because his gravely voice would shake out, "This is your lover." And every time I'd visit or call he'd ask, "Got any boyfriends besides me?"

2011-07-07T10:01:00.001-07:00

people.

summer of my 1994

2011-07-06T11:54:00.000-07:00

I read stories hoping for an answer to questions I haven't asked in the past or help in discerning the future.
I put the clean dishes away staring at the pretty hand-me-down dishes from my cousin wondering if I'm really leaving them behind.
I realize how much I miss the prairie and how much I'm going to miss the mountains.
I realize how restless I am.
I'm still as bruised and scratched up this summer as I was when I was seven.
I still fall off rope swings and scar easily.
Nobody swims in sloughs in North Dakota.
I listen to Alanis Morissette or twee; wish I had a boom box so I could tape more Incubus songs off the radio; buy long, flowy skirts at thrift stores and consider buying purple lipstick or making myself some chokers.
Chokers aren't flattering on me.
Wonder if having my hair long again will be the same as the few times before, wonder if I'll actually punch someone this time or just simmer in suspicion and annoyance.
I've never punched anyone.
I'm looking at people differently than I have in the recent past.
I continue to be pleased with growing older and having a greater feeling of joy each successive year. However: mind blown that it's 6 July 2011.
Wasn't it May yesterday? And August the day before that?
There are some things you can't thank people for.

a likely story

2011-06-30T10:35:00.000-07:00

"24 year old female with likely I.B.S. and dyspepsia."

Everybody has their cache of things they just live with. Today it is reiterated that this is my stomach, I do what I can and live with the ups and downs of it. At this point I'm not upset or frustrated, only mildly annoyed that I paid an insurance office visit co-pay to be told that. It took less time than it did for me to wait for my prescription refill.

This diagnosis is basically just words, which makes me wonder if medical culture has ever been analyzed under a Structuralist's scope. Truth is, as with much of herdy GERDy stomach and bowel problems (and most medical problems), we have little idea why they happen. This fascinates me. What do we know? How much further are we than we were with herbal medicine and witch doctors? This is a sincere question stemming from innocent curiosity–unlike my constantly simmering frustration towards politics and the darker side of monetary systems–meaning no disrepute on medical professionals. I have a lot to thank them for, a few people I love are still alive thanks to modern medical marvels and life has been legitimately better for a lot of people because of these advancements. I hope we forever continue to research and discover.

But really, what do we depend on clinics and hospitals and doctors for that we could do more naturally?

And as I'm a million percent certain I am not the first to ask this, and the first to think we could do a better job of educating the general populous about these issues which would probably cut the nations medical bills by two-thirds (countless studies show...2/3...I don't know, I made that up. Does it sound good?).

And I am not the first to suggest that we already try to make our citizens aware of the way to life a healthy life but they choose to not live that way, not believing that somewhere along the line there is a cost. UNIVERSAL KARMA, KARMA, KARMA!!! (Might this be my moment to say I am skeptical of the effect the new graphic warning labels on cigarettes will have. In a world where we stylize violence and gore because of our fascination with the construction, deconstruction, and the capabilities of our physical body, I have a hard time believing that a garish picture is going to stop kids trying a cig out in the alley with their friends. Why are we trying to scare people? How about we give people reasons to respect their bodies instead.)

In fact, reread those last two sentences in the parentheses, please. Why are we trying to be the skinniest, sexiest, sleekest models? Let's be humans instead. Let's worry about what we eat because of whether it's healthy for your body and let's not worry about what we eat because of how we will compare to the person (WITH AN ENTIRELY DIFFERENT BODY-TYPE) next to us.

Oh, how did I end up on my soapbox?

one of the reasons it takes me at least half an hour to eat a cup of yogurt

2011-06-25T10:43:00.000-07:00

It's some kind of weekend celebration of freedom in this town. I discovered this because as I was sitting on my front porch eating yogurt there was an inordinate amount of traffic in front of my house, I kept hearing a fire truck make noises but not sirens wailing like in cases of emergency, and then I heard a band begin to play. I walked around the corner and watched the strangest parade. It was a rag tag collection of parents and children–walking, in strollers, on scooters and bikes with training wheels. No floats and only a couple of clear advertizing/campaign pushes. Mostly just parents and children. I began to wonder if the prerequisite for understanding freedom was being a child or having children.

It's both great and disturbing that this parade happened like this. Great because what a true movement of the proletariat: people banding together because they are part of a community. Disturbing because it seems a limited view of our town. There are many reasons for this, with two big ones. The young family stage is a natural point to begin settling down and becoming involved in your community. The other biggie is because I live in an area that is excited about families and freedom to a fault. Pardon if this insults, I don't mean to. I strongly believe in families and appreciate living in a country where every man and woman is "endowed by their creator to certain rights, that among these are life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness" is at least a respected argument, if it is not always acted upon and supported. The fault is that we don't examine all complexities of family and freedom.

I'm also pointing out that we continue in the rut of banding together in homogenous groups so that the superficial part of abstract ideas are represented rather than humanity.

In other words: the young families stick together, the senior citizens stick, the flirty singles stick, the singles who resent the other group's preening behavior stick, there's the various fractions of people who don't identify with the overarching Mormon vibe of this place. All these groups perpetually in place becoming caricatures instead of individual, whole people.

And sure, I'm guilty too.

It's something I constantly need to remind myself of in order to move past superficial differences that give me an excuse to alienate myself.

All that being said, toddler girls in pioneer dresses and floppy bonnets are pretty adorable and it's always interesting to see how a child will react when their balloon has escaped to fly away in the sky.

out of doors

2011-06-24T22:48:00.000-07:00

Today was a day for cloud appreciation and good (e)mail, most of which will be recorded in my journal and not here. But note: this lady's recommendation is to spend some time this summer floating on your back in a pond (or other peaceful body of water) staring at the clouds.

"I don't have to answer that question"

2011-06-21T15:47:00.000-07:00

There is an excellent documentary series that you should check out:

Starting in 1964, Michael Apted chose a variety of seven year old British children and has followed up with them every seven years since. 49Up came out most recently, I believe, with 56Up coming in a few years. That is, if we can trust my math.

One of the underlying ideas of these films can be found in this clip:

"Give me the child until he is seven and I will give you the man."

In other words, so much of our character is formed by the time we are seven, the unchangeable core of us and who we will be as an adult is already there and can already be seen. Upon reviewing my report cards and evaluations from second grade I was forced to agree with this ("has trouble expressing herself clearly"). And there was further proof this afternoon. When I was a kid I would wrap string and elastic bands around my fingers until they turned blue and my parents would have to cut me loose. Today I wrapped my finger up in black electrical tape as always and a few minutes later found I'd turned blue.

link to a PBS P.O.V. interview with Michael Apted
a clip of my favorite participant, Nick, in 49Up

2011-06-20T17:51:00.000-07:00

Just now I was sitting down at my cluttered kitchen table so I could finish listening to this comedian telling a story about early adolescent awkwardness–you can find it on June 12's This American Life–and it reminded me of Christopher, this guy I dated last summer (and who generally keeps up with this blog, I think, so Hi!), not so much because of the content of the story but because of the way this comedian talked and then Ira Glass says, that was Mike Birbiglia and I think, What a coincidence, I swear Christopher told me about that guy, but I can't know for sure because was it by letter or phone? Who knows. Since my first letter box became stuffed to the brim I have yet to start a new universal letter saving system. They end up stuffed in books on my night stand, book shelf, desk. I've got to do better about that.

So I think about what happens when you subtract 365 days of your life–that's what inevitably ends up happening when I remember Christopher. You know those things that are forever linked in your brain, here's one of mine: summer 2010, Paraguay, him. To press on, I've been stuck in this meditative state since I graduated, you know, all philosophical ideas and bittersweet emotions (I'm growing up and accomplishing things! Oh wait I've failed! New chances! Lots of goodbyes!), but I'm not so sure these bittersweet emoticons are so different from a lot of how I felt 365 days ago. The knowledge is different. I've changed. But I'm still the same, I have the same feelings. The impossibilities of life: change and the same.

Thankfully I'm not hyper explosively stressed like that year ago, although I still have the incurable nervous tic of scratching the skin off my right middle finger tip. Last week my roommate hosted a little dinner at which we were asked the [hypothetical] question: would you rather eat a live puppy or one of your fingers while it was still on your body? I would definitely choose to eat off my middle finger. I try to keep from ripping the skin off by taping it up in black electrical tape (three layers) but you can't always fix your life with black electrical tape. You can fix your bike seat though.

How do I turn everything morbid? And my life does not need fixing. Goodness.

The thing is we return to these same emotions, we move through a repeating pattern of heart, specifics change but underlying we're still working through the same internal feelings. Right? Or is that just me? It seems as though we're conducting a science experiment, try out the conditions–people, places, experiences–until you figure out why you feel...or how to change the way you feel...or something...

my body

2011-06-15T19:27:00.000-07:00

I always bend over in pictures. It's this new thing I do. Not to be read into too deeply nor should you get any ideas (I'll scratch your eyes out and I just won a war which proves I'm feisty, watch out).

body in the clouds

2011-06-13T06:00:00.000-07:00

"I marvel at the miracle of the human mind and body. Have you ever contemplated the wonders of yourself, the eyes with which you see, the ears with which you hear, the voice with which you speak?...What a remarkable thing you are. You can think by day and dream by night. You can speak and hear and smell. Look at your finger. The most skillful attempt to reproduce it mechanically has resulted in only a crude approximation. The next time you use your finger, watch it, look at it, and sense the wonder of it."*

*Gordon B. Hinckley, The Body is Sacred

2011-06-12T21:59:00.000-07:00

THE BODY (a poem) MARIANNE BORUCH

daily dose of news

2011-06-10T10:15:00.000-07:00

M. Watson/Ardea via Animals Animals and the New York Times

I've found that people think they're pretty clever and loveable when they hate on France and Obama. There's a thin line for me on whether I will support their strong opinions as freedom of speech or stop talking to them because they sound asinine.

Example: Early last year a young man was visiting my roommates when he saw my lifesize cardboard Obama next to my desk and smartly asked if he could use it for target practice. I responded, "Why would you think I would find that funny?" Did you know that boys get really quiet after you ask them that?

In contrast, late last year some friends, including Alicia and her father, were over for dinner which–because of extenuating circumstances–was taking place in our study. A's dad sees my Obama and asks where I got it so he can get his own to use for target practice. While still befuddling to me because the thought of shooting a recognizable human image is horrifying, this is more acceptable: he didn't suggest I would condone the shooting of my own Obama.

This is all a preface to explain that upon immediately reading these two news articles I found a bit amusing I thought I would post them on le facebook but then I realized I know some people who would comment and I'd get annoyed and I don't want to get annoyed.

But imagine, France is enacting a new ban on the words Facebook and Twitter: French TV and radio employees must use generic terms unless you are citing Facebook or Twitter as a source. This includes the phrase Follow us on Twitter/Facebook because these are all forms of "clandestine advertising." However, tweeter, meaning "to tweet," is now a verb in Robert's French dictionary. Click here for full article.

Also, if France does not clean up its agricultural and urbanization policies it could be fined $24.6 million because the way it is going now it is failing to protect the Great Hamsters of Alsace, the last Western European wild hamster species. Full article.

P.S. Does anyone know how to stop textwrap around photos on blogger?

le train de sable and end of the line

2011-06-08T10:42:00.000-07:00

Public transportation is always a story in the making. There's the man with b.o. who sits across from you, you start sinking your face into your scarf inwardly berating rampant lack of personal hygiene until B.O. Man starts singing. There's the trax going past all the seedy back lots in town with their graffiti, strip clubs, parking lots over grown with weeds, the man at the chop shop who waves as the train goes past. Trains and buses are no respecter of persons driving through nice neighborhoods and industrial trashy wasteland. It doesn't matter where you've been, what you've been doing, how educated or wealthy you are, pay your fair and enter.

Anything could really happen, like when I happily got on the train at 7:30 a.m., proud to independently navigate trains and buses, it takes a combination to go from Malt Flake Pretty* back to home. I love watching the people inside the train and the world going by outside. The train makes a stop in town and I see boarding my cab the producer from the radio program where I have my fake internship. The last time I saw her I tried to chat but somehow I became really awkward, leaving me to wonder if I have at all grown any social graces. I don't seem to be able to do anything right for these people. The first time I met them at the live recording with Frederick Wiseman, I was strangely so nervous my hands shook and I thought I would throw-up. Normally when it comes to anything film related I'm too excited to be held back. But not that day.

So we're at 7:30 in the morning, on the train, and I don't know if she's noticed me but she's right in front of me and my Mom taught me to always say hello to people I know, so I'm dreading having an awkward recap of our other face to face encounters, nevertheless, "hello" I say.

"What brings you here today?"
"I was visiting a friend but now I'm heading home."
"Isn't this the university train?"
"Um...I guess I'm exploring the city."

I am really cool.

I was tempted to stay on the train, I've never taken it out to Malt Flake's university, but responsibilities call and my inability to make small talk repels.

*invention of K$

no counting

2011-06-06T22:37:00.000-07:00

There was this great family dinner moment yesterday where my grandma (really my aunt's mom who only says a few words in English: thank you and potato) says (in Spanish) to my Uncle, "The meat is really good today, what happened?!" A highlight of our Sunday family dinners.

Last week a friend asked me how many family dinners I had left before I moved. "I don't know, I haven't started a countdown."

And I don't want to know.

I want to pretend this will keep going on for always until the day before I move and then I will say goodbye and hug and kiss you all and maybe cry when I'm all by myself (all by myseee-ee-eelf). It's strange to feel so torn, to feel like I'm missing something by leaving in July instead of late August when most of my friends have already moved, and most of the rest–ok one, one friend is moving the week after. I won't be missing any midnight skinny dipping in Mona, or front porch sitting, face yoga, or discussions about returning to an agrarian lifestyle. They'll happen for others probably, but not for the people I've grown accustomed to. This time is passing. The diaspora has already begun, the time is growing near to jump ship.

The reality of my decision to move to North Dakota is hovering around me like some strange dreamlike fog tinged with feelings of excitement, determination, and horror. I don't think I know yet how it will feel to say goodbye to this place I've lived in for six years (and loved for four). This time is passing extremely quickly.

Theory: diaspora pushes you into adulthood

can't get enough of you baby

2011-06-01T13:28:00.000-07:00

everything is going by so fast

2011-06-01T10:19:00.000-07:00

The nearer I got to my 24th birthday the more I felt like curling up and hiding under a rock or becoming Dr. Who's girlfriend traveling through time and space. Which is not something I feel particularly interested in analyzing at the moment and had little to do with a fear of aging and wrinkles. I'm excited for wrinkles, I think they're pretty.

Instead I had a day of dear friends and family showing up to spend the day with me. No curling and no rocks and no who's, just feeling loved, which was what I needed more than I knew.

Thanks.

every holiday is a pagan day or is more complicated if you start analyzing the esoteric ideals put forth with zeal

2011-05-24T21:51:00.000-07:00

I'm having a hard time keeping up on anything lately and it's not even that my life is hard, it's more that I'm just like every other twenty something college grad in the midst of being lost in thought all the time as you start actualizing your future outside of school for the first time in your life.

I would like to just call myself lost in thought.

Although I had the strangest tarot card reading from the below mentioned Jbottoms, that included a lot of upside down cards (bad bad bad) and that I've been deceiving myself in the past, someone is tricking me now, I view myself as a man, and everybody else views me as androgynous. But the universe supports me no matter what I do.

My nine knives card specifically referenced my health which I keep debating about how much I wish to share here. I've been internally debating over this blog for a few months now. It somehow seems more silly to publish my life and thoughts on the internet than it has in the past, particularly since I'm never sure of who reads this and if it ever makes any sense to anyone. Though it goes deeper still: I seem to have taken a couple of steps backwards this year (or a few steps deeper which seems backwards?) which I'm only beginning to realize and don't know how to work through. And these steps cause me to hold my tongue.

On the other hand, I'm now verging on excited to take these new plunges in career and location changes. Merry Christmas and a Happy Halloween.

P.S. You know that game where one person starts singing something and you have to try to match what they're singing even though they're spontaneously making it up, like in that SNL skit? Well, it's really fun to play with my baby nephew.

bottoms up

2011-05-23T00:01:00.000-07:00

This lady is so great, like a yarn pet. Happy Birthday JG.

our hair in opposite land

manifesto: just have a real conversation

2011-05-19T19:37:00.000-07:00

or (here's a family joke) being in love means never having to say you're sorry [I'm a little sick].

Tomorrow morning they will stick an I.V. in my arm, I will fall asleep, and they will send a camera down into my stomach to determine why the various pills we've been trying for the last year are not stopping my acid reflux, or GERD (herdy gerdy).*

My only fear: they still won't know what's going on.

This is why I was awake all Tuesday night. I left out the parts about vomit and my 1:00 a.m. trip to the grocery store for the hope of OTC acid relief. Yesterday I started a new diet of saltine crackers and water. Today I'm getting crazy with graham crackers and rice. No soy sauce. Maybe I bought some chocolate soy milk because I'm going C.R.A.Z.Y. from blandness and I should be off the dairy for the time being. I should also be off the chocolate but vanilla soy milk is still kind of bland. (And now that I'm thinking about it, if there were strawberry soy milk it would be rather puke-worthy.) The Surgical Solutions Nurse told me I have to fast from midnight on, I don't even get water. I thought, big deal, I'm not even sure my stomach likes water anymore.

I don't like when I can't solve things; can't find their cause and effect. Body, if I knew, if you'd just tell me, I'd change everything, you'd be the luckiest body and stomach in the world.

Just use your words, dangit.

They made me fill out this medical privacy form, listing people who I'd allow to call in to ask questions and check on things blah blah blah. I thought, there should be more lines so I could list more people (there were three lines). Case in point....Whatever, I just thought you should all know why I've been cancelling on you/not making any plans lately.

And you don't get to make any comments because if you baby me I'll punch you in the face. I'm letting my sister take care of me, it's a good thing to learn: to ask for help and let someone take care of you. But I am not in favor of your condolences. I should get a shirt: "No condolences." I mean, I like you, and I like that you care for me, but just have a real conversation. My acid boiled stomach is not the end of the world. At least, not until May 21st.

à bientôt.
*That's it! From now on you can refer to my herdy gerdy.......

I've been watching too many english folks on telly tonight.

2011-05-18T04:59:00.000-07:00

It's six, the day dawn is breaking, and I'm awake as I have been for the whole night for a stupid reason but then again, when isn't insomnia, the total body rebellion, absolutely stupid. Maybe in a moment I will make myself a cup of tea and sit on the front porch listening to the birds chirp, the ones who have been chirping since halfway through An Education (2009), the movie that came after a few episodes of Angel (which from what I have seen is mostly boring except for the fifth season which is where Spike enters in, if you know any of the Buffy/Angel characters. Since when did I become like this?), and hours of wakefulness in bed.

Oh there we go again, running at the mouth.

There may be a point in all that I'm trying to say but I'm not sure what it is yet and it could entirely just be due to my lack of sleep.

Do you know I hate when people mess up their adjectives and adverbs? I'm always worried for the poor adverb, is it dying? Not that I'm the best at grammar.

I've got to stop. Tea and birds here I come.

i just watched the last episode of Buffy

2011-05-16T22:00:00.000-07:00

Again, one more time and louder: I JUST WATCHED THE LAST EPISODE OF BUFFY!!!

All seven seasons, all watched.

And I've loved it.

Perhaps to a ridiculous extent because this winter there's been periods of me heavily consuming Buffy the Vampire Slayer episodes. What can I say, there's just really nothing like a show about a teenage girl who can beat evil creeps to a pulp.

Particularly when you're stuck with doubts you've never had before.

I've always been dreaming of my career, I never realized that some other girls really grew up thinking only of how they want to be moms–not to hate on that, I respect a lot of women who have had that as their guiding desire. I don't want to not be a mom, I just figured that's something that happens in its time after I fall in love. You live your life and it just happens. I've never been able to grasp how a career can't be impossible with a healthy, homey family life. Shouldn't my family be lucky that I can involve them in my passions and projects? I'm entirely certain I've been making the right decisions, so why have I never been like some other devout Mormon girls with eyes set on the stay-at-home-motherhood prize?

How did this weasel its way into being my self doubt this winter? I'm graduated and I'm not surprised or worried–I'm not even sad that I'm not married? And I'm looking forward to my career? Isn't that supposed to be a dirty six-letter word?

I never thought I would ask myself these questions, they were silly.

And this is how the violence of Buffy became even more inspiring to me and I began my career of stabbing vampires and striking fear into the heart of every demon of every dimension of hell. And they all lived happily ever after.

mountains beyond mountains

2011-05-16T10:01:00.000-07:00

This is a group I'll hang onto for always.

Salt Lake Flatty from Irek Reyd on Vimeo.

Thanks for documenting Irek.

keepin' it real

2011-05-11T14:15:00.000-07:00

For a while I thought it was significant that I was going to turn 24 (as I will do at the end of this month). It seems an age, it seems like a significant number–23 is the end of the set of early young person development, 24 is the beginning of adult numbers because after that comes 25, 26, 27....eventually you get to 30! People my age do things.

Then I remember I'm a baby. For example: Last night we were eating dinner at my house (these last couple of days have been extra lovely because we're all in town and reunionizing), and the others began wondering how it became so hard to find new friends (the last year has been a slow and great diaspora), we've done it once, can't we do it again? The general consensus was that it's harder as you get older. I'm a firm believer that we're not old so I peeked out of the pantry to say, "You guys! We're in our twenties you can't act that way!"

"Marge," says Alicia, "everyone here is in their late twenties except for you."

Oh.

Right.

I'm beginning to be convinced that I will almost always feel young.

eventually i need to make a list for today.

2011-05-09T15:17:00.000-07:00

Things I plan on doing when I move back to North Dakota for a bit:

Raiding my dad's vinyl collection (as I do every time I go home) and most particularly playing this album a few times as loud as I please:

making a kokedama string garden

Getting my documentarian on/conquering the world.

Now for today's conquering.

every ke$ha song is a cry for help and so seems every blog post

2011-05-08T09:55:00.000-07:00

For someone who has been spilling her guts on this internet here for nigh on four years, I am strangely and largely hesitant to stand at a pulpit and share my religious philosophies. The LDS Church is predominantly (like 99.99%) run by lay ministry and our sacrament meetings are filled with talks given by members of the congregation. Which is really wonderful in lots of ways except when it's me and it's no longer about getting so nervous I want to puke, or a fear of public speaking (I'll talk the world's ears off about film, no problem). No, it is my spirit that is deeply personal–an intimate part of myself and I rarely feel to be brazen about it. I struggle with the feeling that public affirmations of my testimony are insincere.

So today I'm standing at a pulpit in front of a bunch of people I barely know (because I do truly hate LARGE GROUPS OF PEOPLE) because for various reasons friends and family won't be there. Just Grace, who will stand as the lone representative of my entourage. Well, Grace is pretty great so...I just hope I can be sincere.

Maybe I sing a little The Byrds Turn, Turn, Turn to myself and feel a little the better.

Update: I love Alicia. She's so great, made my day. And I love you kids that texted me.

sam cooke drives me up the wall

2011-05-06T15:49:00.000-07:00

cloud day

2011-05-04T20:26:00.000-07:00

swimvation continued

2011-05-01T13:57:00.000-07:00

Because this is what I'm like:

Friday night some friends are over so I pull out the quilt I've been piecing together for months (you know, the one where if people ask me "Are you making a quilt?" I say, " Uhhhh.....yeah.....kind of...." because I feel embarrassed?). It's mostly pieced together and looking at this Alicia (I think it was you) says, "You've done a lot, are you proud of yourself when you see this?" And I, who had just been feeling overwhelmed thinking of all that's left to do and can't seem to narrow my focus to these last few stitches that are needed to perfect one section, I say, "Sometimes I can't feel that."

And we hear as film students all the time (mostly from people who are NOT in the filmmaking trade themselves) that obviously we're not all going to be that filmmaker we admire, there's a lot of us, we can't all be that filmmaker who gets screened in theatres, even limited-run art house cinema kinds of theatres. And as I'm an average human I think, Oh, I can't be, I shouldn't even try to make a feature length documentary.

But at least for the moment at this point I can remember Werner Herzog's funny voice I heard on NPR this morning saying, "You have no excuse not to make a feature film. People can make a feature film these days for $10,000." Which is really, extraordinarily cheap if you weren't aware. (DON'T WORRY MOM, I'm not planning on anything like that.) And Werner sometimes eats his shoe if someone (Errol Morris) makes their first feature length.

Maybe you can see, though, why I'm doing this to myself if you understand that I LOVE FILM. I can't help myself, I don't want to watch movies all the time, but if you want to see me get excited, ask me a nerdy film question and if I don't know the answer I'll spend hours trying to figure it out. Poke my eyes out and make me blind: I still love film, I'll just listen to it. The beauty of the innovation and history and effect and humanity of it all makes me cry. Poke my eyes and cut out my ear drums and I'll learn braille to read about it and find some way to tell you about it.

This is what I uncontrollably want.

swim for all salvation*

2011-05-01T13:27:00.000-07:00

AHEM: I'm-going-to-officially-no-holds-barred-take-the-plunge-into-following-my-intuition-passion-and-dreams-and-become-a-starving-artist.

Oh, how is that any different than what I'm already doing?

I'm going to consciously embrace it and not shy away anymore. No more shooting myself in the foot, this will be more like shooting myself in the head. No. No, bad attitude. That's what can't happen anymore. I've already told you (probably) that I'm going to move home and make a series of short documentaries about North Dakota. I've had this on my mind for months so I figured I should tentatively plan for this and hesitantly tell people, and look in the mirror and ask myself why the H I'm not a dynamic, wildly-employed, talented person, who do I think I am?

If anything ever falls under the category of a stupid question, those might be some of them. And if the questions aren't, whatever answers you come up with will make you feel stupid.

I can do this. (yes?) I'm jumping in, praying the sound equipment I don't need anymore will sell on Amazon, people will buy my postcards on Etsy (more on that later), and maybe this other web project I'm working on will get underway and I'll be able to face all the inner dragons I'll find on my sojourn on the Great Plains and I'll come out with a web site and documentary work that I can be pleased with and some festival audiences that like it too.

And maybe even some distribution please?

I long to dive back into that isolated prairie but I'm afraid of drowning.

Oh, world, please, just love me. Is that too much to ask?

*line from song I like giants by Kimya Dawson.

you'll find him most anywhere

2011-04-26T22:37:00.000-07:00

When I'm at my sister's I sleep with the window cracked open. Indoors has always seemed stuffy to me so I'm always sitting by windows, opening and shutting them in turn depending on how much I can stand the cold. I can't wait until it's warm enough and I can move my office onto the back porch and sleep outside with my roommates.

My nephew is nearing eight months old and I still think he's the best thing to hit this planet. I love staring at him, watching him bobble his head about, scrunching up his face when he's tired, hearing his baby dinosaur sounds. And a smile from him is the sweetest gift.

Sometimes I think of how old he is, think back to when he was born, and it's strange. He's so lovely and that time was so confused. Will I look at him when he's in his twenties and at the verge of some momentous life event and remember that time–just before him, right around his birth, all that's happened in the last eight months: my varieties of broken heart, my first days of my last semester at university and then my graduation, my stress, these decisions I'm trying to make. He balances everything out. He's all hope and potential and sweetness. Goodness gracious, I'm an aunt and I can love him like I've never loved anybody else. You might never see me as vulnerable as I will be when dancing around the room hoping to get a smile from him or showering him with kisses or singing every song I know the words to (false, actually, I restrain from singing the Kingston Trio songs I know because my sister doesn't want her child exposed to their adult content and language just yet).

Most of these songs I've learned from my mother, from the treasure trove of songs she sang to us for lullabies and for waking times. This certain one, Bobby Shafto, is based off a real person who broke a woman's heart, and she died from the breaking. But the wonderful thing about lullabies and folk songs that are passed down in oral tradition rather than in writing is that the words will change and then the meanings as well. My mother's voice of comfort never sang about that man in Ireland, to me it was about the moon brushing the dust off the knees of his victorian, threadbare, black smoking suit–it's always been a love song to the moon.

Bobby Shafto's fat and fair
combing down his yellow hair
you'll find him most anywhere
pretty Bobby Shafto

Bobby Shafto's gone to sea
silver buckles on his knee
He'll come back and marry me
pretty Bobby Shafto

cloud day

2011-04-26T00:01:00.000-07:00

how do you know what a wasp is thinking?

2011-04-19T10:14:00.000-07:00

In my bathroom on a window ledge is a large envelope that has "DON'T MOVE AT ANY COST" scrawled on it in sharpie. Because on this envelope is a wasp, trapped under a small glass jar, trapped under a brick. I feel guilty that it's slowly suffocating (I hope). I hope and I feel guilty?

This is me as your protector: kicking washing machines, beating spiders until they have been dead for minutes, and leaving wasps in jars. It's just, what do I do? Let the wasp out to sting me multiple times? Or to build a nest in my backyard to sting someone many multiples of times? No. So it stays in it's glass prison.

Sometimes I feel like I'm in a glass prison. Frosted glass because I have only mild ruminations and intuitions about what my future should hold.

What is this wasp thinking right now?

cloud day

2011-04-19T00:01:00.000-07:00

cloud appreciation is also part tree appreciation.

This picture was taken only a few seconds after that first one, go figure.

2011-04-17T23:08:00.000-07:00

I will figure out what music to listen to so I will relax and fall asleep and not panic about my future all night long.

my life in two pictures

2011-04-13T19:46:00.000-07:00

The problem is I'm in a cycle, hopefully not a downward spiraling cycle but....

my real lunch (say what $100 digital camera?) next to a real Sarah Michelle Gellar

You see, I haven't been cooking much lately. The closest I come is microwaving half an acorn squash. Maybe I'm still impressed that my idea of fast food is a Cliff bar or quality bread and humus. An apple. Some carrots. The problem is: I subsist on my fast food. Do you know how long it takes to get full off of some edamame here, some cucumbers and vinegar there? So my fastfood is really (lazy) slow food and because I am so slow at eating and cannot eat one-handed (which rules out reading a book, something I mostly do while brushing my teeth) I watch Buffy the Vampire Slayer during meals and the next thing I know I'm telling myself: just twenty minutes longer, Buffy's mom just DIED! And how is she going to kill Glory, the god, and will she ever love Spike and what's that voodoo doll thing? What? A sexy robot? HOLD ON! They're the same person!!!!!?!

Man. Good thing I like my job or there'd be no reclaiming me. Also, don't spoil the answers to those questions.