I think I've been kind of neglectful of my blog lately, or at least not writing about any of the things I have swirling about in my brain. Or maybe I've been neglecting just about everything but those things that are required for survival: eat, sleep, breathe. Though the eating and sleeping part haven't been going too well either...Basically, I'm a wreck, treading water with my head just barely above the surface. I'm indecisive to the point of being ridiculous, and when I finally do make a decision, I spend the entire time questioning the logic of my decision; I have to figure things out in the most inconvenient way possible for all parties involved; I try all the bad options before deciding on the "good" one (which I naturally question once it has been decided); I say I'll do one thing and then change my mind and do the opposite. I'm sure I'm driving poor T-rav crazy. I'm driving myself crazy.

I need a dog.

New Orleans

Last weekend Trav and I went on a journey. We began with a stop to my favorite childhood road-trip restaurant: Shoney's. They only exist in the south, and I had been dying to go since I first arrived in Memphis. They offer a great greasy, southern, sugar-filled breakfast buffet. I would definitely recommend the french toast sticks, but would encourage you to stay far far away from their dinner menu. We tried it once many years ago on the way to/from somewhere southern and it was terrifying.

Our destination was New Orleans, a mere 6 hours from Memphis. Knowing that we don't often have reason to head south, we couldn't resist. We had also heard that since Katrina, the tourism industry has been seriously hurting, causing the price of lodging to drop significantly. It was true- we booked a good (as in not the Ritz, but clean and simple) and very cute bed and breakfast right in the French Quarter for less than $60/night (on the weekend during the second busiest season).

If you're looking for an "exotic" feeling vacation, but don't have the money, time, or adventurous spirit to venture outside of the US, New Orleans is a great option. The architecture makes you feel as though you're walking down a street in Italy...or maybe France. The food is unlike any you'll find in other parts of the US (including the biegnets- I think I ate 6 or so in 1 day. Call me a glutton, it's true). There are plenty of historical things to see if you're in to that sort of thing- you can take a walking tour of the city during the day or a haunted tour of the spookier parts during the evening. You're also very close to plantations and swamps, which both offer guided tours for a price. Being the cheapos that we are, we opted out of any official paying tour (however we swiped an itinerary for one of the walking tours and did it on our own). But had we stayed longer and had a bit more money to spend, we probably would have indulged in something touristy.

New Orleans felt so festive. There was a ton of live music playing in restaurants or on the streets (we even heard a homeless woman busting out some impressive opera for spare change). You can find all kinds of souvenirs, from street art to voodoo dolls to overly offensive t-shirts (watch out for those) and spices.

And, of course, there's Bourbon Street. If you're a drinker, Bourbon Street = heaven. Even being non-drinkers, we still had plenty of fun peering into the bars, laughing at the drunk people stumbling about, and watching the men-folk taunt the girls with beads (a few boys desperately shook their beads at me in hopes of seeing some...skin. They were disappointed).

We also drove around the 9th Ward, which is the area that suffered the most damage from Katrina. It was interesting and depressing at the same time. On one hand, we were in awe of the destruction. In an area where houses used to be packed in so tightly you could shake hands through the windows, there are now chest high weeds and broken sidewalks. The houses still standing are either recently repaired or newly built. The city removed most of the houses that were past hope, but a few still remain (notice the slant on the house below).


Other lots are meticulously maintained-the owners obviously intend to return and rebuild one day.

I found this both sad and hopeful. Katrina happened four years ago and people are still displaced, still hoping to go back to their "homes" and start over. Four years! How much longer will they have to wait before they either give up or finally have enough saved to return? Maybe they never will. Maybe they shouldn't. Maybe it would be better to give up and start a new life somewhere else, somewhere they can have a fresh start with none of the bitter memories that life in the 9th Ward might dredge up. But the fact that these people still care enough about their homes to mow and edge their vacant lot means they're trying. Maybe these are the people who will actually succeed in life, the ones who will go back to New Orleans and make it a better city than it used to be.

Either way, New Orleans was great fun. You should go visit.

Chinglish

I heart when people misuse English. It never ceases to make me laugh. See the latest Chinglish in real life from the BBC.

update

I'm back in Utah, where we will be staying for (hopefully!) only 1 more year while Trav goes back to school for a degree in political science which will (hopefully) help him find a job doing something he actually likes. Imagine that. So no Deutschland for us, which leaves me with mixed feelings. Coming from someone who agonizes about things as insignificant as what to eat for breakfast or wear to school, I'm bound to question any decision I make. That's why I usually avoid making them.

change

I've always thought of myself as a person who liked change. I easily become restless and look forward to the next big event in my life. I make big plans and get excited about following through with them.

But I was wrong, oh so very wrong.

The truth is I don't like change. Not one bit. Change is scary. Unexpected. Difficult. Unreliable. People only say change is good because they're trying to look on the bright side of something very terrible. I only like change when I can control it. I want to be able to see the exact outcome of the change before I get excited about it. If I don't know know how it's going to end, I don't want anything to change. How do I stop change from encroaching its sneaky self upon my life?

Maybe I can't control it. But I don't have to like it.

european standard time

Sometime around last March, I sent my resume to a university in Germany. They had a fantastic looking position available in their English department and since I apply to everything whether I'm really qualified or not, I applied. As usual, I didn't expect a response, but a tiny part of me waited for one just the same. And as usual when dealing with foreigners and job applications, I didn't hear anything for months. I gave up hope.

May rolled around and I had forgotten all about the German job. But then they sent me an email and asked me to please update my resume before the job closed in June. Thinking it was quite nice of them to inform me of a closing date (after I had just spent 2 months pining for the job), I sent another copy of my resume. And I waited.

July approached. Remembering how inefficient everyone in Europe seems to be when dealing with jobs, I hadn't given up hope. But I also didn't expect an interview, which was offered to me around the middle of the month. I scheduled and did my phone interview, felt like it was disastrous (or at least not enough to tempt them into offering the job), despaired over my incompetent interviewing skills, and waited to hear the bad news from them.

And waited.

And waited.

Three weeks past and I heard nothing. The start date of the job rapidly approached (Oct 1), as did my semester of teaching at UVU. Although my pride was slightly wounded, I decided it was better for them not to have offered me the position; it made deciding what to do with our lives much easier.

And then today I looked in my inbox to find an email from dear Wolfgang, head of the English department- he urgently needs a copy of my MA diploma to continue with the application process!

I am at my wits end. Apparently they didn't decide that I'm hopeless; I still have a chance. UVU starts in 1 week and I'm scheduled to teach 3 classes. We decided that Trav is going back to school. I mentally prepared myself to go back Utah...again.

This jerking back and forth of possibilities is bad for my delicate nerves. What if they offer me a job? Do they think I'm going to take it? Should I take it if they really offer it to me? What about school for Trav? What happens to poor UVU if I ditch out on them?

Just think- none of this would have happened if the university were run by Americans.

home at last

Three weeks ago I left Memphis (and T-rav) to embark on a trip around the east/mid west. I flew 760 miles, drove a total of 1510 miles (205 from Richmond to the Outer Banks; 697 from the Outer Banks to Palmyra; 610 from Palmyra to South Bend, IN), and after realizing I somehow needed to get myself back to Memphis, took the train 549 miles from Chicago.

Total miles traveled: 2819

Aside from the guilt I felt for ditching my husband hard at work while I went to play, it was a great trip. I was able to relax at the beach, spend some time with my family, buy lots of books, and visit my dear friend Zillah.

And I took a train! I really, really heart trains. And train stations. And train platforms (which should always be called platforms, not "tracks" like they apparently call them in the Amtrak system). And the tracks. And really everything about them. But I had never ridden a train in the US before. I went expecting all sorts of unsavory folks, kind of like the ones you find on the Greyhound bus. But I stand corrected; there was a lovely assortment of people aboard Amtrak, most of them very run-of-the-mill.

Anyway. It's good to be home, although Memphis will only be home for 1 more week. Then I'm back to Utah by way of New Orleans.

Oriental Institute, Chicago, IL

pride or prejudice or hypersensitivity

For some reason I was thinking about Pride and Prejudice the other day (maybe it was seeing a guy with a copy of Pride and Prejudice and Zombies which I'm really dying to read). Anyone who has read the book or seen any of the movie versions can recall that Elizabeth's sisters constantly made fools of themselves, her mother was terrible, her father could be rude and tactless, and her cousin mooned and fawned over those with high status and money. Elizabeth and Jane remained the only Bennetts who retained some sense of propriety and dignity in social settings. So we can agree that the Bennet family was socially awkward and behaved inappropriately on a fairly regular basis, but would it have bothered a more confident or laid back person? Was Elizabeth's embarassment due to being overly sensitive? Was she just plain uptight?

Granted, during Elizabeth's time there was quite a few more rules of social etiquette one needed to follow in order to be a respected member of society. So maybe Elizabeth really did have reason for humiliation. But let's think about this during today's time. If Pride and Prejudice were set during modern times, would Elizabeth be justified in her feelings or would you tell her to lighten up?

reminiscing

I spent a large portion of today going through the ridiculously jam packed closet in my brother's old bedroom. I found treasures and trash, in equal portions: my little sister's doll stuff and ancient but sassy nail polish; my brother's trash (literally), clothes, and backpacks; pictures/paintings that used to be up on the walls but have been replaced by something more modern and chic; and a mountain of my papers and other stuff from high school. I also discovered a questionnaire about myself that I answered when I was 15. I learned all sorts of things that I didn't remember:

• I loved the movie Titanic. Who knew! I don't remember loving it. I hate it now.
• Even then I was obsessed with Italy.
• I wanted to become a spy.
• I also wanted to become an author. Maybe I should write books about spies. This explains my love for the show ALIAS.
• Regardless of my reasonable career aspirations, it seemed like a good idea to me to study genetics. I don't think there are words to describe how completely that does not suit me.
• I considered myself athletic. Ha! I was totally and completely uncoordinated.
• I was a pretty dang good essay writer. My essays were leaps and bounds better than most of those my ESL students write, even the ones who have been to college (regardless of the language barrier).
• I was sassy and feisty and proud of it.

I don't have too many regrets from my teenage years. I do wish I would have put aside my lust for money and worked less so I could be more involved with school activities. I wish I would have not been so stubborn and proud and refused to sing in the "select" choir because I hated the director. But the real question is would my 15 year old self be pleased with how my life has unraveled thus far? Maybe. I think she'd be disappointed I never served a mission and shocked that I had the nerve to get married before 25. She would ask me where my book was...and I would stare at her blankly. She would find linguistics to be totally perfect for us. She would scold me for still never having been to Ireland, but rejoice that I managed to get to Italy, if only for a month. She wouldn't believe me when I told her I'm not really a spy (as if I'd tell her if I really were!). Would she be more or less adventurous than me? Would she tell me to quit my very enjoyable and perfectly sensible job to go vagabonding around Europe for a semester? Would she approve of the decisions I've made along the way? And would I be proud of how we turned out?

I think so.

Would you?

Outer Banks

This morning I awoke to a cloudy, rainy, humid New York summer day- quite a shock when the past week was spent basking in the sun on the beaches of the Outer Banks. Aside from a few days of winds rivaling a sand storm in the Sahara desert, the weather was perfect. We shared our house with my aunt and her family and my grandparents, ate lots of fresh seafood, played cutthroat family on family games of Catch Phrase and Buzz Word, and basically had loads of fun.

This picture is a very proud one for my grandma because she's never actually been in the ocean. Ever. Although she has come to the beach with us almost every year we've gone, she never really learned to swim and has always been uncomfortable in the water. Unfortunately you can't entirely tell from this picture, but we're actually standing on a sand bar a few yards into the ocean. With my grandpa and uncle's assistance (she doesn't trust my grandpa to not push her in), she waded onto the sand bar and cheerily splashed around. Way to go, Beverly!

Our yearly beach picture (not on the beach due to sand blasting winds. My skin may need exfoliating, but not that badly!), lacking my brother and T-rav, but including our sister-in-law-to-be, Lauren.

And finally, I was exceedingly excited to finally go to Ocracoke Island, one of the more remote islands on the Outer Banks. The only way to get there is to take a 40 minute ride on one of 3 free ferries. The island is a whopping 9 square miles with a population of about 770. And it has a tiny but still functioning lighthouse on Silver Lake (it's really a bay). More importantly (to me at least), it also happens to be the home of the Ocrakoe Brogue, giving us charming little words like mommuck (to harass) and quamish (nauseated). I was hoping and praying to find someone who actually still speaks the brogue, but alas, we didn't encounter anyone actually from Ocracoke or under the age of about 30, and old people tend to be the only ones who hold on to their dialect these days. However, my disappointment subsided a bit when I found a charming little inn I intended to return to the next time I'm in the area. But since I wasn't able to bring back a real life sample of the brogue, here's a little taste of what we're all missing. Until next year...