lame duck books

I used to believe it was a terrible sin to quit reading a book without finishing it. I clearly remember reading one particularly awful book upon the recommendation of a friend (called The Clan of the Cave Bears. The title should have been enough to tip me off, I know) and being either scandalized or bored out of my mind. Yet I kept plodding through, waiting for it to get better. It never did. It's not that I really thought the author would suddenly morph into an amazing writer or that the plot would get interesting 10 pages before the end. I just couldn't leave it unfinished. The remaining pages would haunt me, and whenever I saw the book sitting on my shelf, I'd be tempted to pick it back up and see how it ends.

Luckily, as a moderately speedy reader, I've been able to keep the time-wasting to a minimum. Not to say that I haven't read plenty of worthless books over the years- it pains me to think of all the pages spent on badly written material when I could have been reading something better.

So lately I've begun to reevaluate my policy. I started reading a book last spring that I just couldn't get into. I hated the writing style, the plot was confusing, and the characters flat and uninspiring. After about 100 pages, I put it down. Last week I started a book I got for Christmas from T-rav (one that I thought I wanted to read) and I'm thinking about dropping that one as well. I feel like I've given it a fair chance to persuade me to keep reading. If a book can't interest me after 210 pages, what's the point?

control freaks

I'm perfectly willing to admit that I can be a bit controlling. A bit. When I think I know how to do something, I think everyone should naturally do it my way. Who doesn't? But fortunately, I don't think I'm the best at everything, nor do I have answers to every question or solutions to every problem. And very unfortunately, I'm more and more often becoming surrounded by people whose level of control-freak-ness rivals that of Stalin. Or Hitler.

I'm finding it exceedingly difficult to hold my tongue. How can I not say something when blatant lies and/or misinformation are spewing forth out of the mouth gaping back at me? When the justification just won't stop coming, even when my coat is on, bag over one shoulder, hand is on the knob and foot our the door. When there's a conspiracy around every corner, but no amount of factual evidence or detailed explanation can convince the person they might be wrong. Or when the "answers" to the problem actually have nothing to do with the actual problem.

Fighting back with passive aggressive notes aren't my style. I prefer to directly tackle the problem (or rant about it on my blog). But what to do when I've addressed the problem(s) directly, and still nothing comes of it? My approach thus far has been that of peacemaker, but my tolerance for peace is waning. I'm starting to realize that you can't rationalize with people like this. You also can't change their minds.

I should just be in charge.

a fender bender

On our way to school just barely past our house on our street, T-rav notices a large sedan sitting at a stop sign on the left, waiting to cross the street. I am just driving along, not speeding, not poking, just going, paying attention to my surroundings, but also trying to see through our very dirty windshield while chatting with T-rav. I suddenly hear him saying "Tia, tia, TIA" and I finally look over to see that the car sitting at the stop sign is no longer sitting. She's attempting to cross the street, but obviously hasn't looked to see if anyone is coming. I simultaneously slam on the brakes, curse, and honk, hoping that she will see me and stop.

She doesn't.

Luckily, we both slow down enough that when I finally ram into her, it's not very hard. I'm instantly enraged. I try to zip after the moron I just hit, but find that I can't. In the split second of panic during impact, I took my foot off the clutch and killed the car. I start up the engine, squeal away, and park just beyond the red sedan. I'm ready to get out and rage at the idiot who doesn't know how to drive when I see that it's the nicest little old lady from our ward. I can't yell at her. I feel bad because I know she's probably a lot more shaken than I am. I also realize that I kind of enjoyed the sensation of ramming into another car (Trav later suggests that I should become a derby car driver).

I pull the key out of the ignition and leap out of the car with no thought of anyone's physical well-being. Who cares if someone is injured- what about my car! How much is this going to cost me! I later wonder what it says about my personality that my first thought in a crisis is always of the expense of the repair and never my health. The little frau I hit asks if we're ok while admitting that it was her fault; she was thinking about how she was going to get across the busy intersection a few streets ahead rather than the one she was driving on. She didn't look for cars coming the other way.

We're lucky- our front bumper is scraped up and slightly cracked, but no serious damage done. Her insurance should easily cover it. Our little frau is less lucky- I hit her right in the wheel, leaving it bent at a strange angle. We're not sure she should drive on it, but she insists it's ok. I think she's quite shaken but doesn't want to admit it. As we chat I start feeling guilty- I should have driven slower (slower than 25?), I should have looked more carefully (but she crossed without looking), and worst of all, the thought that T-rav would have slowed down in time if he had been driving!

We exchange numbers, and she reminds us where she lives so we can come over and sort things out later. I wish to myself that I had hit a nasty punk 19 year old I could have yelled at. Who can be mad at grandma? We hop back in our cars and go about our day. A few blocks from school, I remind T-rav that he better not even think for 1 second that he could have avoided our accident. It has nothing to do with me being a good or bad driver. I admit that I'm overly concerned about being considered a good driver and hope this doesn't tarnish my good record, for today was my very first accident.

the eleventies

As I leapt off the tallest stool I could find on New Year's Eve at 11:59:59 (a tradition passed on by my childhood best friend's Norwegian mother), I found myself thinking something along the lines of "good bloody riddance 2010!" rather than my usual wish for the new year. Not that 2010 was particularly awful; I had a decent albeit severely underpaid job, T-rav went back to school (alhamdulillah!), we lived in a lovely house with superb neighbors, my sister moved back to the area, I took Irish dance AND karate, and we got chickens. Really, not much to complain about. But my general feeling for most of the year was blah. Blah blah blah. It was a year of stagnant monotony, and more often than I like to admit, I was grumpy, irritable, depressed, and unpleasant to be around, especially for my poor T-rav. I'm glad 2010 is over.

Sometimes I think it's silly that we make goals and resolutions for the coming year. As if one particular day really made things a clean slate, fresh and new. Nothing magically changes once the clock strikes 12:00 on January 1st. I'm probably still a surly disconsolate beast. But...I'm hopeful that 2011 will bring a bit more excitement and a whole lot of change with it. And so, in the spirit of hopefulness, here are a few of my goals/hopes/wishes for the eleventies.

1. Move out of Utah. And stay out. Not that there's anything wrong with Utah, I've just been here too long.
2. Travel somewhere outside of the US and Canada. Some days my wanderlust is so tangible it's painful. I itch to go somewhere.
3. Finish the study Raceli and I are working on and submit it for publication.
4. Compare, criticize, and complain less.
5. Find some way to raise substantial money for the Haitian school belonging to my former student. Ideas would be appreciated.
6. Win out (reach the pre-champ level) in all my dances in Irish dance. I have a LOT of practicing ahead of me.
7. Become better friends with myself.
8. Go on the road trip I've been secretly planning.
9. Read more. About a wider variety of things.

Wish me luck.

Trav told me it was high time to put up a new post on here. Something about being sick of self-deprecation...

So here's an update on the past 4 weeks:

• We went to Idaho for Christmas and spent the time lounging, eating, chatting, laughing, etc. It was lovely to be spoiled like a child again.
• I got an immersion blender and pie weights for Christmas. Huzzah!
• I realized being an adjunct at UVU puts me near the poverty line. Lovely.
• We watched all of season 7 of The West Wing (the final season) in 3 days. Except the last episode. I'm saving that one because I'm not ready to be done with it.
• Our chickens were brutally attacked by an over-sized husky. One was killed, 2 lost all their tail feathers, and 1 remained unscathed.
• School starts this week. I need another week off.
• T-rav got an internship in DC for the summer. Which means we're FINALLY leaving Utah. The plan is to find a job there and stay for a while.

How was your holiday?

self-deprecation

Sometimes words cannot express what I'm thinking and feeling. I feel mute, voiceless, helpless to express my rage, joy, discouragement, anxiety. I haven't yet mastered the ability to identify and come to terms with my own emotions. Writing things down sometimes makes it easier, unless I read what I wrote and realize that I sound like a imbecile. Or think I do. I have been known to go back through previous journal entries and "edit" things I didn't like. I even occasionally make rude comments to myself, mocking the ridiculousness of whatever I had said. It's really not much motivation for journal writing. It also makes it hard to articulate any of those thoughts out loud...for if i find myself worthy of ridicule, won't everyone else?

the perfect jeans

I'm being punished.

Nearly 2 months ago I splurged and spent an exorbitant amount of money (for me, at least) on a pair of jeans. The price shall remain a mystery, but let's just say that when I tried them on, I was so convinced of their awesomeness that I shed my usual penny-pinching attitude and bought them anyway.

Then came the remorse. These jeans sat on my dresser in the bag with the receipt for 2 weeks. I agonized about them, thinking of all the excuses why I shouldn't keep them; I couldn't possibly pay for crummy jeans that cost that much! But I was finally convinced by the fact that it usually takes me a good 6 months of hunting before finally finding a pair with buying. At any price. So spending a little more on 1 pair shouldn't be the end of the world, right?

Once I decided to actually put them on, I remembered that they were a good 6 inches too long. Off they went to a friend's house to be hemmed. Alas, I didn't measure very well, and we, or rather, she, since I was only good for conversation while she sewed, hemmed them a bit too long. So they returned to their place on top of my dresser until last week when my sister-in-law re-hemmed them for me.

And now that I can actually wear them with no excuse, I'm finding them a bit less amahzing than I originally thought. Did I really pay ___$ for jeans that are already exceedingly faded in certain places? And maybe I widened up a little over Thanksgiving, but I don't recall them being quite so stretched in the waist...and hemming flared pants often ruins the shape of the leg...

I suppose it's what I deserve. Next time I'll stick with a cheap pair. At least I'm only out 20$ if I decide I don't love them after all.

28

I will be 28 in just barely over a week, and I'm approaching this birthday with a bit of trepidation. I graduated from high school ten years ago. I've been out of school (well, finished my most recent degree, I should say, since I can't resist taking classes while I teach) for 3 years. I've been living in Utah for far longer than I ever intended. I'm only 2 years from 30.

Twenty-eight sounds old. Like someone who should have a real direction in life and be doing something worthwhile like working at a real job where she intends to stay for a while or one that has benefits (at least that's what my dad tells me). A twenty-eight year old should know how to curl her hair. She should be able to properly apply eye liner. And she should especially own a stunning black dress.

There's a small part of me that doesn't mind getting older. The part that thinks it's silly to fret about 28 or 30 or 45, especially when people routinely think I'm barely 20. This wise part knows to embrace life with each stage that passes.

But still...I can't help thinking...can't I just stay 27?

Wise Mongolians

If I ever have a baby, I'm going to swaddle him/her just like this:

It's brilliant! Notice how the wrapping is tied- there's no wiggling out of this burrito. I think you could toss the newborn around with no adverse effects.

And then, if s/he is starting to want a bit more freedom, we'll graduate to this:

election day

To vote...

Or not to vote?

At UVU there's a sign on the wall of the International Center that says "Half of the American people have never read the newspaper. Half never voted for President. One hopes it is the same half" (Gore Vidal).

On a day like today, I suppose we have four main groups of people: (1) those who are moderately informed and educated on the candidates; (2) those who vote and have very little idea aside from what they've seen/heard on the advertisements; (3) those who have no idea and vote anyway; (4) those who don't care and don't vote.

But how common do you think it is for people to vote on issues they know nothing about? I've also been wondering how common it is for people just pick a random name for races they know nothing about or how many just leave it blank. If I don't know anything about a person/issue, I generally leave it blank (ok maybe I occasionally vote for someone from a party you've never heard of. It's for moral support!). Maybe you just shouldn't vote if you don't know about the issues.

So do you think it is more important to be an informed voter or to do your civic duty? But isn't it part of our civic duty to be at least somewhat knowledgeable on the things we're helping our government decide?