I am voting today.
Let me just say once again how cool it is that I'm a twenty-first century woman who can study anything she wants at any college and can vote. God knew what He was doing when He made me a modern girl.
I seriously love voting. However, I have this strange feeling that it isn't for the right reasons. I do enjoy voicing my democratic opinion in Oregon's initiative process, choosing [between Uhhh...Maybe Okay, Not So Much, and Ha Ha...No.] for my elected officials, and carefully making important decisions for my country.
But even more than that, I really enjoy filling in the little ovals.
I think maybe it carries back to the excitement of standardized testing all through grade school. I'm really quite talented with instructions like "use a pencil or blue ink pen" and "completely fill in the oval to the left of the response of your choice" [too many prepositional phrases on the ballot? hmmm...]
And this time, there are no wrong answers.
Monday, October 30, 2006
Tuesday, October 24, 2006
assertive-ness...
I AM AN ENGLISH MAJOR.
I realized yesterday how much I enjoy my chosen study path. I was wandering through the Mossey [eucalyptus candles?] Library on the trail of the White Whale, but found myself distracted by the aisles and aisles of literary criticism, author biographies, comparisons between Henry James and modern philosophy, etc. I wanted to stop and read them all.
I also had a difficult time picking out a copy of Moby Dick. Did I want the old hardbound version? The thick one with the larger print and nice cover? Or the Penguin Classic paperback version? I finally settled for the one easiest to lug around in my book bag [the one with the broken strap. i need to get domestic and fix that].
At the Circulation desk, I got involved in a passionate discussion about the merits of the book. Both parties involved attempted to impress the other by casually mentioning the number of times they have finished the great mouthful of Melville: "yeah, well, I read it over the summer, so this time through i can just review and enjoy it.' 'it gets kind of boring. reading it twice was enough.' I proceeded to explain that the random leaps from plot to background to scientific observation to description are precisely the things which keep the novel from becoming boring. Every time something could get annoying or slow, Melville changes course completely for several chapters.
I love being an English Major. I love being passionate and well-read. As an English buff, I don't ever have to be in a gray area. You either love Emily Dickinson or you hate her. You either think Emerson was amazing or crazy. You either devour Malamud to the extent that you can defend him to anyone or you eagerly spout a list of thirty-seven reasons why The Natural is not an Great American Novel [which it is, by the way]. I love walking through the library and wanting to devour everything in sight. I love explaining life and history and faith through literature. I love being captivated by Poe's intense look at humanity, crying over five pages of Hemingway, sitting breathless over Potok's depth and spiritual meaning, and laughing outloud when Bertie does it again...
I AM AN ENGLISH MAJOR.
I will always be.
and I love it.
I realized yesterday how much I enjoy my chosen study path. I was wandering through the Mossey [eucalyptus candles?] Library on the trail of the White Whale, but found myself distracted by the aisles and aisles of literary criticism, author biographies, comparisons between Henry James and modern philosophy, etc. I wanted to stop and read them all.
I also had a difficult time picking out a copy of Moby Dick. Did I want the old hardbound version? The thick one with the larger print and nice cover? Or the Penguin Classic paperback version? I finally settled for the one easiest to lug around in my book bag [the one with the broken strap. i need to get domestic and fix that].
At the Circulation desk, I got involved in a passionate discussion about the merits of the book. Both parties involved attempted to impress the other by casually mentioning the number of times they have finished the great mouthful of Melville: "yeah, well, I read it over the summer, so this time through i can just review and enjoy it.' 'it gets kind of boring. reading it twice was enough.' I proceeded to explain that the random leaps from plot to background to scientific observation to description are precisely the things which keep the novel from becoming boring. Every time something could get annoying or slow, Melville changes course completely for several chapters.
I love being an English Major. I love being passionate and well-read. As an English buff, I don't ever have to be in a gray area. You either love Emily Dickinson or you hate her. You either think Emerson was amazing or crazy. You either devour Malamud to the extent that you can defend him to anyone or you eagerly spout a list of thirty-seven reasons why The Natural is not an Great American Novel [which it is, by the way]. I love walking through the library and wanting to devour everything in sight. I love explaining life and history and faith through literature. I love being captivated by Poe's intense look at humanity, crying over five pages of Hemingway, sitting breathless over Potok's depth and spiritual meaning, and laughing outloud when Bertie does it again...
I AM AN ENGLISH MAJOR.
I will always be.
and I love it.
Thursday, October 19, 2006
airport observational free writing...
I am one of those people who cries in airports. There are few socially acceptable public places to cry, but airports are okay. I am not, however, one of those beautiful romantic poet criers leaving behind true love. I am the sopping, bleary-eyed, sniffling kind that people ignore and then feel sorry for themselves.
I choose to walk between terminals rather than take the train. I have time. I need to burn the energy and emotion. Businessmen look away from my tears, which somehow makes me laugh.
Hemingway is perfect airport reading.
A man limps past me, waiting at the gate for one of those electric transports driven by charming black men to take him and his artificial leg to the next gate. He stops the new recruits wearing army t-shirts and tells them how he lost his leg in a roadside bomb in Iraq. They're heading to boot camp and he's on his way home from an event in New York honoring soldiers injured in battle. Now he works for the government helping disabled soldiers integrate back into society. He reassures them, but it's unnecessary. They are confident and cocky and have never faced death like that. I say a prayer for Mark and Joe and Jake and all the other names I don't know. I smile, but feel like crying for them now and not for me. Instead I tell him thank you when he looks over at me, writing, and smile at the tattooed boys my own age.
"You're welcome."
"Don't be scared, learn everything they teach you, don't be scared," he says again. They don't know fear yet. I hope Hemingway writes about them standing, not laid out flat against a block wall, defeated.
The cart arrives as the automatic trash compacter runs noisily next to me. The boys start to walk towards B-27 and past the fat Jewish boy and his father. Another generation that will have to learn fear.
The wounded soldier in his business suit smiles and waves at me and rides away. The uniformed lady announces my boarding group. I stuff my journal and my Hemingway into my red backpack and board the plane.
I have a new reason to cry in airports.
I choose to walk between terminals rather than take the train. I have time. I need to burn the energy and emotion. Businessmen look away from my tears, which somehow makes me laugh.
Hemingway is perfect airport reading.
A man limps past me, waiting at the gate for one of those electric transports driven by charming black men to take him and his artificial leg to the next gate. He stops the new recruits wearing army t-shirts and tells them how he lost his leg in a roadside bomb in Iraq. They're heading to boot camp and he's on his way home from an event in New York honoring soldiers injured in battle. Now he works for the government helping disabled soldiers integrate back into society. He reassures them, but it's unnecessary. They are confident and cocky and have never faced death like that. I say a prayer for Mark and Joe and Jake and all the other names I don't know. I smile, but feel like crying for them now and not for me. Instead I tell him thank you when he looks over at me, writing, and smile at the tattooed boys my own age.
"You're welcome."
"Don't be scared, learn everything they teach you, don't be scared," he says again. They don't know fear yet. I hope Hemingway writes about them standing, not laid out flat against a block wall, defeated.
The cart arrives as the automatic trash compacter runs noisily next to me. The boys start to walk towards B-27 and past the fat Jewish boy and his father. Another generation that will have to learn fear.
The wounded soldier in his business suit smiles and waves at me and rides away. The uniformed lady announces my boarding group. I stuff my journal and my Hemingway into my red backpack and board the plane.
I have a new reason to cry in airports.
Sunday, October 15, 2006
in the garden...
Em, Lily, Danielle
04 girls represent! Emily, Lily, Danielle, Katie
JohnDavid, Emily, Lily, Danielle, Katie, Bryce
We don't pose for very long... 
adventures in ikea...
The trick of Ikea is that they are impossible to leave...You have to walk through the entire store in order to get to the exit...It is difficult, but not quite impossible, to get out of the store without making a purchase. On the way, take lots of pictures!
Oh yes, we are! [dani, rach, lily, em]
All I want for Christmas...[rach, lily, em, dani]
Share the love [billy and em]
They have these great measuring tapes everywhere. Does Bryce fit? [bryce and johndavid]
Oh yes, we are! [dani, rach, lily, em]
All I want for Christmas...[rach, lily, em, dani]
Share the love [billy and em]
They have these great measuring tapes everywhere. Does Bryce fit? [bryce and johndavid]
fall break, in progress...
In Atlanta with some of the most amazing girls ever...
Rachel and Lily
Danielle and Emily
Darling, Beautiful, Lovely, and Hottie in downtown.
Rachel and Lily
Danielle and Emily
Darling, Beautiful, Lovely, and Hottie in downtown.
Wednesday, October 11, 2006
on the brink...
One essay stands between me and Fall Break.
I am poised on the edge, so close to achieving that higher plane of transcendental knowledge about my topic. It is that moment where your mind is so filled with facts and directions and ideas and quotes, but none of it quite makes sense. I am waiting for that moment of coherence, of knowing, of understanding the story and being able to write about my revelations. The world is spinning faster and faster, but the saturnalia isn't quite here.
My research keeps building, the tension is mounting, I keep climbing.
My coffee's getting cold.
I am poised on the edge, so close to achieving that higher plane of transcendental knowledge about my topic. It is that moment where your mind is so filled with facts and directions and ideas and quotes, but none of it quite makes sense. I am waiting for that moment of coherence, of knowing, of understanding the story and being able to write about my revelations. The world is spinning faster and faster, but the saturnalia isn't quite here.
My research keeps building, the tension is mounting, I keep climbing.
My coffee's getting cold.
Monday, October 09, 2006
googly eyed fun...
Billsy's slippers have been asking for it since the beginning of the semester, and last weekend I finally got my chance. Aren't they cute? And whatever should I do with fifty more googly eyes?
i have talent...
Oh yeah? Well, look what I can do. Take that, college!
Yes, I have a donut balanced on my nose. Do I win a prize?
Yes, I have a donut balanced on my nose. Do I win a prize?
Tuesday, October 03, 2006
communication extraordinare...
I remember when I was very young and one of the highlights of the month were our issues of God's World News. I remember a story about some Asian country [they get all the cool stuff] and the latest rage: video phones. A camera and a tv screen were added to the regular old chunky desk phone, and if the other person had one, you could "see" and talk to each other at the same time. Unfortunately, they cost about a billion dollars.
Of course, being age eleven or so, I wanted one to be able to talk to my friends. I thought that was pretty crazy, but so cool. I mean, wow, talk about amazing.
Do you think people even knew what was going on when they sent the first telegram? Imagine how excited they were. You can't even send them anymore. The pony express? That was the coolest thing ever. If I was a teenager in 1860, I totally would have been in love with a Pony Express rider. Those guys braved weather, exhaustion, and wilderness, just to bring a letter. Complain if you want, but it's ridiculously cool that it only costs thirty-nine cents to send a letter all the way across the country [to michigan, in fact. ahem. that would be a hint, kids]. And now, an entire new level of communication has been opened up...
I bought myself a webcam. On Skype [get it], you can have a live video feed in order to "see" someone while you talk to them. You can see me roll my eyes at your dumb jokes, or how often I'm playing with my hair, or how wide my mouth opens when I'm laughing. I finally have my video telephone!
I am living in the future! I'm pretty sure teleporting is next.
Of course, being age eleven or so, I wanted one to be able to talk to my friends. I thought that was pretty crazy, but so cool. I mean, wow, talk about amazing.
Do you think people even knew what was going on when they sent the first telegram? Imagine how excited they were. You can't even send them anymore. The pony express? That was the coolest thing ever. If I was a teenager in 1860, I totally would have been in love with a Pony Express rider. Those guys braved weather, exhaustion, and wilderness, just to bring a letter. Complain if you want, but it's ridiculously cool that it only costs thirty-nine cents to send a letter all the way across the country [to michigan, in fact. ahem. that would be a hint, kids]. And now, an entire new level of communication has been opened up...
I bought myself a webcam. On Skype [get it], you can have a live video feed in order to "see" someone while you talk to them. You can see me roll my eyes at your dumb jokes, or how often I'm playing with my hair, or how wide my mouth opens when I'm laughing. I finally have my video telephone!
I am living in the future! I'm pretty sure teleporting is next.
Sunday, October 01, 2006
worthy...
Then Came the Rain [day ten]
After sunny beginnings
then came the rain -
outrageous, terrifying downpour
glorious as a tidal wave.
Laughing - dancing - washing clean
the flooded sidewalks and the soul.
Inviting any excuse to run
hard - far enough to hurt - not caring
but caring about everything.
Soaking - up to the knees,
ruining shoes, but mending hearts.
Each lightning bolt tearing apart
the kaleidoscope of colored clouds,
every thunder crash trumpeting
the arrival of a future earth and sky.
The brave few fought the elements,
but the rarer breed pressed in - smiling
as the wind pushed back.
Intensity that could not sustain
lasted just long enough to renew
and remind one of the power -
beauty - passion of the thunderstorm.
After sunny beginnings
then came the rain -
outrageous, terrifying downpour
glorious as a tidal wave.
Laughing - dancing - washing clean
the flooded sidewalks and the soul.
Inviting any excuse to run
hard - far enough to hurt - not caring
but caring about everything.
Soaking - up to the knees,
ruining shoes, but mending hearts.
Each lightning bolt tearing apart
the kaleidoscope of colored clouds,
every thunder crash trumpeting
the arrival of a future earth and sky.
The brave few fought the elements,
but the rarer breed pressed in - smiling
as the wind pushed back.
Intensity that could not sustain
lasted just long enough to renew
and remind one of the power -
beauty - passion of the thunderstorm.
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