Here's some proof that there actually is, for a few days at least, some semblance of fall in Utah. Granted, you'll miss it if you leave for the weekend, but here it is. And yes, family, it doesn't hold a candle to a New York fall. Don't rub it in. I'm having a hard enough time thinking about it on my own.

And look! A dog on wheels. I secretly snapped a shot of him at a park up the canyon.

Trav is finally coming home. Hurrah!!

survival of the (un)fittest

I almost died this weekend. Almost.

This past Friday, with the much appreciated help of Pete, Josh and Caroline, I lugged all our stuff out of our storage unit and into our new house. Saturday, Phin and I spent much of the afternoon cleaning (since the previous tenants didn't really get to it; don't worry- my rent was discounted for my trouble) and then making a mess of what we cleaned by ripping off layer #1 of wallpaper. We soon found ourselves starving and headed off to Subway for a late lunch.

About four hours later, I found myself pinned in the bathroom for sundry reasons we shan't discuss so openly on my blog. Suffice it to say the situation was ugly.

I spent most of Sunday in bed, trying not to think about food.

I spent most of Monday in bed, thinking about food, but being too weak to get up and find some.

Through many hours of pondering I decided that if there were ever a famine in the land, the kind that uses up all of the food storage in Utah County and beyond, the kind where people are dying left and right, I'd be the first to go.

This thought kind of depressed me. I used to think of myself as tough (although I'm pretty sure I could take most of my friends in a fist fight...not that I'd ever want to...or ever thought about it) I really don't think I'd survive very long without food. I'm definitely no Olan from The Good Earth (excellent book, by the way. I read it twice this year) who can go for a days surviving on only a bean while being pregnant with her 4th child. I would have died long before we got to the bean-a-day ration.

No, really. I would have. I had only gone a peasly 36 hours without anything of substance. Granted, I didn't really have anything at all left in my system, but still. Thirty six hours, and getting up to take a shower exhausted me to the point where I could barely lift my head to take a drink. I had to take a 1.5 hour nap before I felt ready to crawl over to the faucet and refill my water glass. Pathetic, isn't it?

I was also slightly alarmed to note my increased heart rate every time I moved, and shallow, rapid breathing. I could imagine my organs beginning their initial shut down due to lack of nourishment (e- how long would that actually take?). I really hoped zillah had taken good notes on my funeral requests (t-rav isn't to be trusted to remember Brahms requiem). I wondered how much longer I could live off water alone...

When finally I dramatically dragged myself out of my wallowing over to the freezer (pity no one was there to see) where I was delighted to find not 1, but 2 real strawberry popsicles.

Saved.

And that is how I didn't actually die this weekend.

*My remaining complaint: my left eye is strangely blood-shot today. I imagine that it hurts. Any ideas why?

Another cultural difference

This semester I volunteered to be the ESL student council advisor. Bear in mind that I've never been in student council, not in high school or college. I really have no idea what I'm doing. But luckily my students don't know any better. Most of them haven't the slightest clue what student council should be, so I can really do whatever I want (if you have any ideas, feel free to share them!).

My first order of business as student council advisor was to select the students to be involved. Most classes chose to have a mini election/debate to choose the student who would represent their level and section (giving me a total of 9 students). The immediate volunteers consisted of an Armenian (though not the one accusing me of wrinkles), Puerto Rican, Mexican, Haitian, Japanese, and a Congo-an (what do you call someone from the Congo??). I was quite pleased with these students; they all seem outgoing and involved. But you might notice there's a serious lack of Korean volunteers. Remember how UVU has dozens and dozens of Koreans in our ESL program? They're nearly half the student body! And not one single Korean wanted to be in student council. Not one!

At first I thought maybe it just wasn't they type of thing Koreans like to do, but then I decided it's more than that. I think Koreans are unlikely to volunteer for anything, unless there is either a clear academic benefit, or another Korean student volunteers. Having no Koreans to start with means no Koreans want to join. They don't like to operate something like this on an individual basis. At least it seems that way to me.

So I just thought this was interesting, that's all. I'm sure once I offer extra credit or something I'll persuade one or two to join. Or if I can get one to join, others will follow. I think Koreans respond better to peer pressure rather than American desire for individual attention (which is both true and not entirely true- yes, Americans, especially teens will give in to peer pressure in a heart beat. But they also love being an "individual." No matter that the "individuals"in society usually all end up being the same...)

liberal, progressive, conservative, fundamentalist....

When you see the word progressive what ideas come to mind? I think of being very up-to-date, modern, open minded. Someone who is among the first to adapt to new technology. Someone who thinks new thoughts and applies them to real life situations. People who think too highly of for themselves for being so "open minded."

Now how about the word conservative, without thinking politics (which might be hard because it's obvious where I'm going with this). I think of pioneers, fundamentalists, and overly protective fathers. Someone who is stuck several decades behind. Women who wear one of these (which for some reason I find much more ridiculous than these Muslim friendly suits) when they swim. Someone who values traditions.

Notice how I associate more negative things with the word conservative than with progressive. Why is that? And when I hear President Obama make a comment about ignoring political differences, whether you be progressive or conservative, should it irk me?

Well, it does. It really does. And I don't even consider myself conservative. What really bothers me is my perception of a negative view of the word conservative. As if the conservatives didn't already have enough political challenges to deal with to be represented by a loaded word. But who knows- maybe the word has pejorated because of some overall negative feeling people have toward the associated political views. Kind of like how the word liberal has decreased in use and progressive has suddenly appeared (though liberal doesn't really bother me...kind of like how feminist doesn't bother me either).

So what do you think of when you hear those words? Is there really a negative perception of conservative or am I just imagining it?

al-arabiya

A few days ago I was shocked and delighted to notice a flier on campus advertising a new Arabic language/culture class. My first thought was one of terror- it's been several years since I had anything to do with Arabic. And I have really really forgotten how to speak Arabic. It's quite shameful. But I decided this could be a good chance to refresh my memory. And I do love Arabs and Arabic and everything to do with the Middle East, so why not try it even if it turned out to be humiliating to my over prideful pride.

So today I plopped myself down in the classroom, became acquainted with my nearest neighbor, and waited for class to start. In proper Arab style, the teacher walked in a few minutes late. He had the most amazing long frizzy hair stylishly streaked with gray, pulled back in a ponytail. And he spoke next to no English. Not as in he chose not to speak English because it's a language class and you should be speaking the language you're learning. As in he speaks basic, basic English. If he were one of my ESL students, he'd probably be a level 2 (out of 4). Maybe. If the test is feeling kind. Most of the students in class giggled every time he started to talk and then asked questions quickly and were upset when he couldn't understand what they wanted.

Around this time, I noticed that everyone was furiously staring at their notes...surprise! It was the first test of the semester! And could I remember the word for apple? For flower? Of course not. Did I remember words like united nations or soldier that weren't on the quiz? Naturally. (Luckily I knew the word for camel- thanks Layla!) I spent the next 20 minutes berating myself for having forgotten even the most basic things like how to pronounce simple words. And having forgotten how to say house! (I could have sworn it was "beyt") But then I realized that my bushy-haired instructor was not Sudanese or Egyptian or even Jordanian like I was accustomed to, but Iraqi, and hence why I couldn't understand his weird pronunciation or vocabulary. It's almost like learning Spanish, forgetting Spanish, and then wondering why you can't understand Catalan. Or maybe Italian.

It turns out I'm not as incompotent as I thought. What a relief. Maybe one day I'll study a language long enough (and maybe in country) that I'll actually be able claim fluency. Here's hoping...

to add to my wallowing...

Conversation between me and Armenian ESL student:

student: How long have you been married?
me: almost 7 years!
student: NO WAY! How old are you?
me: 27.
student: (gasps) I never would have guessed! I thought maybe 20!
me: I know, most of my students don't think I'm old enough to be their teacher.
student: (peering at me strangely) Well, actually, I think that from far away you look really young. But if I look closer I can see all your wrinkles.

There are no words. Really?

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.