On Greek yogurt and other such fads

As a general rule I tend to scorn fads. I like to imagine myself above the fad, or pre-fad; I liked it before it became a fad!! I definitely don't claim to start the fad--ha! Me! Start a fad! But I imagine that I liked it before it was cool. Like having a scooter.. Or eating Greek yogurt. I've been wildly in love with Greek yogurt for years. It's only recently that I've actually been able to afford it much less easily find it. It used to be that if I wanted Greek yogurt, it could only be found in plain form, was very expensive (compared to other yogurts, and I'm a known cheapo), and generally required me driving to 2 stores. Now it's everywhere. On commercials, in magazine adds, in my fridge at work. All the "cool" people are eating it.

I have mixed feelings about this. On the one hand, I like to imagine that it's my thing, something that sets me apart. If everyone else is doing it, I become like everyone else (the horror!). But on the other hand, when things like this become popular, it often means they get cheaper (hurrah for competing brands!). They're more accessible. They come in a greater variety. So really it's quite beneficial.

And it's not like I don't want to share the greatness. I would encourage everyone I know to get a scooter. Well, almost everyone. And of course Greek yogurt is delicious, so please, go buy some. Eat it. Enjoy. I just have to get ride of this prideful-possibly-slightly-superior-feeling whenever I think about how I was first or at least early on in the fad. It's just silly.

grow the economy

Last night I watched part of the Republican Presidential Debates (which was, by the way, significantly more entertaining than any political debate I've seen in a while). And aside from some of the crazier ideas tossed about, I found one thing quite vexing.

Grow the economy.

Come again?

I swear I heard well over a dozen instances of candidates promising to grow the economy (at least it felt like at least that many). Does that grate on the ears of anybody else?

I realize this is not a new phrase, at least in my lifetime. Apparently, grow the economy became popular after one of Bill Clinton's presidential election speeches in 1992. Politicians and businessmen heard the phrase and ran with it. It figures they'd choose one of the most awkward sounding phrases as a catchphrase for politicians and economists for the next 20 years.

What bothers me is not that it's grammatically incorrect--grow can be an intransitive verb (does not need an object) as in these examples: the tree grows, children grow, his head is growing. And it can be a transitive verb (can take an object), so we can say grow potatoes, grow corn or grow a beard. Then why not grow the economy?

Well, first of all, and obviously most importantly, because I think it sounds dreadful and unnatural. But that's just me.

Secondly, the most common uses of grow in Modern English (in transitive or intransitive forms) refer to raising or increasing a living thing (a seed into a plant or a child or a body part or a tree becoming taller). The OED has one instance, supposedly obsolete, from 1481 of grow being used in the sense of increasing or expanding a non-living thing: When David had reigned 7 years in Hebron he grew and amended much this city (in my Modern English).

So yes, I suppose since grow can be both transitive and intransitive and can refer to living and non-living entities, one could argue that grow the economy is technically correct. But is it pretty? Hardly. Am I fighting a losing battle? Quite probably. But that doesn't mean I have to like it.

G-town

I belong on a campus. High school, community college, university. It doesn't matter. When I set foot into the academic world, my heart does a little pitter patter reserved only for the scent of autumn, the sight of awkward freshmen schlepping their bags behind them while peering furtively at their course schedule, the secluded corner benches where one can read or people watch, depending on how interesting your textbooks are.

I thought that this year would be the first since...well, since the age of 3 (I started kindergarten at 4), that I wouldn't be starting school with the rest of academia. What would life be like not on a school schedule? How would I count my days, if not by semesters, midterms and school holidays? To be quite honest, I was dreading it.

And then I got an email that made everything ok. The lovely ladies at the EFL program at Georgetown actually did have a desperate need for a teacher in the fall, and I happened to be desperate for a class. Voila! Problem solved.

So now I'm working more than I really wanted (my slightly dull full time job + 1 class), but happily get to dally with fellow lecturers, professors, and, of course students.

School starts in a little less than 3 weeks. I'm a little excited.

An embassy event--Moroccan style

Last night was the 12th anniversary of His Majesty King Mohammed VI of Morocco's ascension to the throne. I believe it is also known as National Day in Morocco. Naturally, the Moroccan embassy here threw a huge party and then kindly invited all the Congressmen in Washington. Including their staff. Which meant that T-rav scored an invite. Huzzah!

This was my very first time going to any important event where there are important people (which we are not) and nice clothes (which I do not have) and well-coiffed hair (which definitely does not describe me). And as no one in T-rav's office could/cared to go, we also didn't know a soul there. Intimidating? Yes.

At times (ok, most times) I feel like the soul of awkwardness. In a situation where "networking" is just what you do and small talk is what you say, I am generally mystified. How does one start and carry on a conversation with a perfect stranger? I feel the anxiety creeping over me just thinking about it. But I really wanted to go and see how the Moroccans threw a party, so on went my only black dress and my 4-inch heels, a tidge of eye liner and some subtle lip tint, and once my hair was pulled back in an unsatisfactory manner, we were ready (I've learned that I really really need to learn how to do something besides a ponytail or braid with my hair).

I walked 4 big DC blocks in those 4-inch heels. Very very slowly. And then we were there and there were tons of people dressed about the same--some better, some worse--as I was, and there was Moroccon music and fantastic architecture, and Americans dressed up in traditional Middle Eastern garb, and many-starred generals from almost anywhere, and other foreigners...and even a few young and slightly awkward looking peeps like ourselves. But most importantly, there was food. Spinach, Lentils, couscous, meatballs, seafood-phyllo pie, tomato salad, and bread. Delicious!

We did our best to try to talk to people. We met a very short American man who is moving to Abu Dhabi. And we met Anastasia and Peter--a young Russian girl working on her MA at American University, and Peter, a really really old ex-foreign service officer who, according to Anastasia, has a collection of young foreign girls he takes to various events. Awesome.

All in all, I'm glad we went. I did feel awkward a good portion of the time (what does one do with one's hands in a nice dress?! And is it acceptable to stuff those hands in pockets if the dress happens to have pockets? What's the best way to start a conversation with a perfect stranger who may or may not speak English?). I learned I need to work on my small talk skills and that everyone in DC carries business cards even if they're just a lowly student. And a bit of awkwardness is worth the people-watching and free food.

working for the weekend

I sneak out of the door every day at work terrified that someone is going to stop me and make me stay another 10 minutes. I don't feel safe until I'm out of the elevator and past the little Korean-run convenience store (everything from gift cards to laundry soap and an ATM!). Don't get me wrong- I like my job. It's interesting and new and I work with some fascinating Afghan people. I've learned more about Afghanistan and the languages spoken there in the past 3 weeks than I ever knew before.

But. I'm now working in the "corporate" world. I go in around 8 and I'm expected to stay a full 8 hours, with time taken out for a lunch break of course. But many days I don't really have enough work to fill my time. Sometimes I do. But there are plenty of days that I'm dragging my feet on some assignment just to make sure I'm not done too fast and left with time to twiddle my thumbs. Or delete emails from my work inbox. Or shuffle papers around my desk. Because I don't really want to be one of those people who spend their time at work on facebook or writing blogs. But what am I to do when I'm already 3 weeks ahead of schedule?

So I've decided that I should be allowed to do my work, finish my task, and go home when I'm done. In a perfect world, my salary would be the same, but I would be a whole lot more productive because I wouldn't have to waste time at work trying to look busy. I could go home and do something else, and maybe I wouldn't long for the weekend quite as much as I do now. Ah, what a dream that would be! Don't you think it's a good idea?

English English English

I love the English language. But I haven't always felt this way. There have been times I've felt a tidge of "white guilt" for speaking it. Sometimes I hate English for being a killer language and running nice little tribal languages and regional dialects right out of existence (not that English is alone in this- Russian, Spanish, Chinese, Portuguese, and countless others are guilty of the same). Sometimes it's annoying to teach because there are so many dang exceptions to every rule. But that's what makes it interesting. Because when it really comes down to it, I LOVE English. And of the many many things I love about it (maybe I'll get into more detail about that when I'm feeling particularly nerdy), but I especially love its variety.

I've always been very conscious of the way I speak. Even as an elementary school student, I paid attention to how my words sounded. I aimed for a neutral accent rather than the strong upstate New York dialect of my peers; I even made fun of my poor father for saying "melk" instead of milk or "pellow" for pillow. I loved listening to actors with British accents, and I spent a good deal of time each summer talking to my best friend Jay like a Brit in word choice and accent (or so we thought). When I went off to college, I was suddenly surrounded by a new dialect group, mostly Utah based, which I deemed again undesirable. For myself at least. My eastern dialect was a bit more interesting now, and I gave in, at least to some features like to the strong a in "canal" or "pal."

Maybe because I myself tried to "train" my dialect, it doesn't surprised me when I hear about people studying to get rid of their accent. But it does make me kind of sad, when, for instance, a charming or unique dialect is viewed as less desirable, and it consequently declines in use. This article here talks about people in Boston who take classes to learn Standard American English. But it breaks my heart a little. I don't want people to sound the same! I want them to sound different! Diversity in language is what makes it interesting. Even though I personally don't want to sound like I'm from Utah, I'm quite fond of the dialect. It makes people sound friendly and approachable. English wouldn't be the same without it.

But all of this has a point. I'm just wondering if there are any particular dialects (or accents, if you prefer to think of it that way) that you love or hate. If you could choose to sound like you're from a particular place, where would it be? Or where would you hate to sound like you belong?

New things

I live in a new (and old) city. I have a new job. I'm meeting new people at church, in the neighborhood, and at work. I have a new dress code. There's a new style to my hair: frizz. There's a new Wegman's far from my new house, but not so far I can't make up reasons to go there. I'm giving my blog a new design. So many new things...

And thus far, these new changes have been pretty good. I think I'm going to like my new job (I'm a curriculum developer for a language company that does contract work for clients such as the US military or State Department. Basically, I'm writing textbooks for Dari and Pashto- both spoken in Afghanistan- with the assistance of people who actually speak those languages). My apartment is still kind of ghetto, but we'll only be in this place for another month and a half. Things are looking up for now.

I still miss all of you I left behind. But it's good to be doing something new.

Saying goodbye

I love change. Except for when I hate it. Like when I realize that moving to DC means I won't actually get to see my friends anymore. And I'll have to make some new friends. Or like when I realize that the idea of a new job is awesome, but actually starting a new job is something closer to terrifying. Change is good. I spend my time wishing for change. And then it scares the crap out of me when it actually happens.

I also hate saying goodbye. Like most of the unpleasant things in life, when confronted with saying goodbye, my preferred method of coping is avoidance. Can't I just sneak off to DC without seeing anyone "one last time?" How do you say goodbye to someone you truly care about, but most probably will never see again in your life? "Email me" seems a little shallow. And what about the person who starts to weep while you sit there awkwardly trying not to join her, racking your brain for something meaningful to say. Pat her gently on the shoulder? This is not to mention those who are actually closest to you.

There's a lovely poem I found in one of my ESL textbooks several years ago. I posted it once upon a time in a moment of despair when Zillah was leaving us to go off and do her doctorate somewhere far away. Although a little more serious than simply moving across country, yt seems appropriate yet again.

There is No Word for Goodbye
by Mary Tall Mountain

Sokoya,* I said, looking through
the net of wrinkles into
wise black pools of her eyes.

What do you say in Athabaskan
when you leave each other?
What is the word
for goodbye?

A shade of feeling rippled
the wind-tanned skin
Ah, nothing, she said,
watching the river flash.

She looked at me close.
We just say, Tlaa. That means,
See you.
We never leave ecah other.
When does your mouth
say goodbye to your heart?

She touched me light
as a bluebell.
You forget when you leave us,
you're so small then.
We don't use that word.

We always think you're coming back,
but if you don't,
we'll see you some place else.
You understand.
There is no word for goodbye.

*Sokoya- maternal aunt (in Athabaskan, a Native American language)

kicking against the wall

I've been really busy lately. Sometimes busy in a good way- visiting friends, going to dance class, cooking, frantically trying to finish the rest of the seasons of Battlestar Galactica with Phin- but mostly I've been busy in the irritating way - teaching, grading, preparing for classes, and other various unpleasant obligations I simply can't avoid. Normally I wouldn't mind my responsibilities. But with just barely more than a week left in Utah, I've been contemplating throwing responsibility to the wind. The other option is throwing a temper tantrum.

As a child, whenever I was naughty, my parents would make me stand in the corner or sit on a stool. All I had to do was be quiet for x number of minutes. I HATED it. Hated it with more passion than the normal child hates being disciplined. Instead of being quiet as quickly as possible so I could get out of the corner as quickly as possible, I would scream and kick the wall (because that was much wiser than kicking one's parents) for being forced to do what I didn't want to do. I wasn't quite rebellious enough defy my parents and walk away which meant I was torn with inner conflict- every inch of me longed to move, but I realized the punishment would be much more severe if I did. So I stayed and screamed with rage and frustration that I had to stay there.

That's kind of how I've been feeling about a lot of things the past couple of weeks.

don't "sister" me

I received an email from the BYU music department today. This is what was attached at the bottom.

Sister Hall Dr. Staheli Sister Applonie

Please note the titles of the respective conductors. Note that the one male in the group is graced with the noble title of "Dr" while the women retain their submissive "sister" title. At least that's how I see it. Sister is what you call someone at church. Or your actual sister. You don't, or shouldn't, refer to a woman in an academic setting as sister. How often do you ever hear people call their male professors "brother" (with the exception of religion classes)?

Please admire "Sister" Hall's academic achievements:

M.M., Choral Conducting, Brigham Young University, 1993.
Postgraduate Music Teacher's Certificate, London University, England, 1978
B.M., Royal Academy of Music, London, England, 1977.
Associate of the London College of Music (piano), London, England, 1977.
Licentiate of the Royal Academy of Music (singing), London, England, 1976.

And now "Sister" Applonie:

M.M. Brigham Young University, Provo, UT, 1990
B.M. (cum laude) Brigham Young University, Provo, UT, 1984
Kodaly Certification, Brigham Young University, Provo, UT, 1997

And now "Dr" Staheli:

D.M.A., Choral Music, University of Southern California, 1977.
M.M., Choral Music, University of Southern California, 1973.
B.A., Magna Cum Laude, Piano Performance and Music Theory, including emphasis in voice, Brigham Young University, 1972.

Yes, the ladies are both lacking in doctoral status. But they both have a wealth of experience and certification deserving of recognition higher than sister. Like maybe their names. Don't you think?