The shake 'n bake kind

posts to come in the next few weeks

2011-09-27T19:21:00.000-07:00

1. My experience as an amateur dog sitter.
2. a day without my cell phone
3. musings on the fall tv lineup
4. How the Tri-Cities has given me yet another reason to not move back and teach there.
5. My parents. They're getting old.

Get excited people.

Summary of Summer: a few conclusions

2011-08-24T17:50:00.000-07:00

1. Criticizing a female politician isn't sexist as often as we say it is. It's just, in most cases, leveling the playing field.

2. If I don't put a pile away before it becomes a pile, I don't stand a chance. Sorry roommates.

3. I will always be a person who has to juggle multiple responsibilities. Grad school finished? Sure I'll take on 3 other positions to fill its place.

4. Re-packaging fruits and veggies into single serving baggies creates more of a chance that I'll reach for said baggie instead of a cookie.

5. The west coast really is the best coast. Better weather, better sunshine, better bodies of water, better soda selection, better wide open spaces for road tripping. East coast is gaining ground with its occasional tally in the win column, but as of now it's not even a close race. Just don't ask me what that means for future living situations.

6. In my former life I think I was some important person's personal assistant. It's basically what I did this summer (again just one hat), but I was spankin good at it.

7. I really do want to work on my book goal before hitting 30 years old. Alyssa we need to pick a topic.

8. I am becoming the perfect blend of my parents. And by perfect I mean have taken on both of their neuroses and very few of their strengths. I can look forward to a future of increasing clumsiness, lack of spelling skills, awkward double fist pumping in the heat of the moment, excessive annoyance when businesses don't answer their phones/hire idiots to answer phones, a talent to telling a 20 minute story about nothing, and a propensity to be 20 minutes late to everything. Bring it on.

Friday the 13th? time for shoes.

2011-05-16T19:01:00.000-07:00

As someone with years of customer service experience under her belt (they don't call me the Slushie Queen for nothin), I've come to appreciate this usually thankless sector of work more than most I see. Nothing irritates me more than a pushy customer, whether it be a slightly botched order at a coffee shop or someone asking a question that could be answered by reading the large-print sign directly behind the employee being asked the question, usually at a louder than necessary volume.

As I work towards the Skinny Bitches 2011 program, I was in dire need of new tennis shoes. (I refuse to call them sneakers. It's too 1986). So as I perused the outlet mall last weekend with some friends, my eyes perked up at my preferred pair marked down by $10, enough to get me in the door of Famous Footwear. I tried on the 9 and, discouragingly, walked up to the front counter to place a home order for a half-size bigger. I had scoured the rack and its adjoining area for the size but saw no victory in sight for that day, but figured the sale was enough to motivate me to order them. As the woman scanned the box, her eyes lit up: "We have one pair in the size you need, according to the computer. We're going to find it." Now in most retail encounters, this would not have been the outcome. 10 minutes before the store is closing is not when most employees are at their peak energy level, especially not to dig through boxes to find a misplaced pair of Nikes.

After 10 minutes of insisting the home order would be fine, the other sales associate walked confidently to the front and said "these babies? you're taking them home tonight" as she handed her partner in crime the requested size. I was beside myself. Years of experience have taught me that another size is NEVER in the back and asking usually just annoys everyone in the store, customer and employee alike. But these two women, without overdramatised fuss or sounds of exasperation, calmly and confidently went above the call of duty.

So thank you, sales associates No. 1 and 2 at the Arundel Mills Famous Footwear on May 13th. I didn't get a chance to look at your nametags and my receipt didn't identify you by name, either. But at least someone should know that you made this service sector alumna proud.

after 3/4 a container of hummus and a diet coke...

2011-04-27T19:18:00.000-07:00

I feel content about...
My current accessories collection. After a life of neglecting them, I've accumulated a quite well rounded selection of necklaces, belts, and rings (although most people here would say the ring situation is out of control). Stacey and Clinton would be so proud.

I feel frustrated by...
Birthers. As I watch Anderson Cooper yet again basically call them all liars and frauds, I can't help but think we have much bigger fish to fry than what year a typewriter could have potentially been created that might prove the type in one box of the certificate of live birth is forged. Move on, people.

I feel ambivalent about...
The royal wedding. I don't really follow celebrity weddings in the first place, let alone one British celebrity to one normal person in a ceremony that will be at the ass crack of dawn. Again, move on people.

I feel liberated by...
Skirt weather. My calves are tired of being secluded from all daylight.

I feel unsure about...
The economy. Luckily Baltimore isn't a school district that (as of now) is laying off a large quantity of teachers, but as I look at the federal government basically scrambling for loose change in the couch and China sitting in its high-backed leather chair at a mahogany desk with a shifty sneer on its face, I can't help but wonder if I should be stockpiling bottled water and Spam in our sketchy basement.

Spring Cleaning: 2011

2011-04-17T12:31:00.000-07:00

Once I finish another bazillion loads of laundry I'll finally be able to do what I've need to do for the past 6 months: the closet purge. I've been telling myself that I'm out of hangers and can go this long without totally having laundry done because I'm in between seasons (it's been a record cold spring in Baltimore) or because most of my wardrobe is work and play appropriate; cardigans are the best invention for business casual since the trouser jean.

But as I look around at my perpetually cluttered life, I can't help but wonder if I just keep clutter, or in this case clothes, around because I'm scared of the possibility of losing the possibility. The possibility that if I just could find the perfect outfit it would somehow be the game changer in a situation. I obsess before an event or outing that I want to blend in while standing out, that I won't be too formal or too casual but at the same time won't look like everyone else. That somehow having 10 options to choose from means that the one perfect option will have to be in the mix. And that getting rid of these possibilities would mean getting rid of that one option, that one day could have made the difference somehow.

This is why I usually have to enlist consultants (Sarah or little bacon, in most cases), when the purge arrives. I need someone else to convince me that the dress really does make you look fat, or holding on to the 4th grade soccer trophy won't change the fact that you really sucked at soccer and they give every kid a trophy.

I haven't decided on a number yet for this year's purge. But I know that it's just plain selfish at this point to keep buying hangers instead of investing in the life I live in the clothes. Anyone sizes 8-12 is welcome to take dibs on the results.

questions no one bothered to answer

2011-04-12T16:33:00.001-07:00

I try to be OK with not being a "real" journalist for the time being. I really do. But when I see HUNDREDS of stories covering the avoided government shutdown, I expect to find at least one that goes beyond just "but what will we do about the cherry blossom festival?" Here are my suggestions for interviews, in place of regurgitating press releases, or (and how no one thinks plagiarism isn't a problem is lost on me) regurgitating other people's reporting without citing it:

1. What part of the budget allows for senators and representatives to be paid in a government shutdown, but not their staffers who do most of the actual work?

2. What would be the cost comparison of one day of missiles used in Libya to the combined budgets of Planned Parenthood, NPR, Teach for America, and Head Start? I can guess on this one without even asking a low-level appropriations intern.

3. Who forgot to change the desk calendar in Donald Trump's office? I'm pretty sure it's still stuck on April 1st.

4. How are some conservatives, who are so bend on sticking to the Constitution, reconciling making funds illegal for an act that the Supreme Court has deemed Constitutionally legal?

5. What is the process for admonishing elected officials for lying on the Congressional floor?

Luckily at least one staffer at the Washington POst came through with a great feature on the Capitol's "non-essential" staff and the shutdown's potential impact on them. Now if only the other 99 stories could bring their A game.

April Fool's: a one act play

2011-04-01T17:36:00.000-07:00

On the phone with my parents:

Dad: So, what are we gonna do on Friday? (They're coming to visit this week and I took the day off)
Me: Not sure yet, I have some stuff I need to do in the morning.
Dad: Like what? We're going to that Quaker school in the morning
Me: Yeah yeah I know, but I think I'll need to just drop you off so mom and I can take care of something.
Mom: ooh, what?
Me: Well I have an ultrasound.
(long pause) Mom: you're shitting me. Ok so what's the real news, did you total your car?
Me: Um, no. I mean I was gonna tell you guys when you got here but I really want you to come.
Dad: (silence)
Mom: you're shitting me. (long pause and heavy sigh) Oh, Joy. Oh, Joy. Oh, Joy. So what's your plan?
Me: I mean I didn't plan it. We just had those snow days and you know it happened.
(more heavy sighs from mom. Still silence from Dad)
Mom: Ok, well is the other participant involved at this point?
Me: Well he probably would be if I had remembered his name...

I had to break it off after about 10 minutes because my roommate was literally crying in hysterical laughter, and I was worried they'd show up tomorrow with a priest and every translation of the Bible in tow. It's all about quality over quantity when it comes to April Fools.

a lesson of compromise

2011-03-10T17:05:00.000-08:00

Let's face it: no one who gives a hoot about politics is happy right now.

Ok, well Republicans might be happy. I'm sure my dad could explain how this is somehow "finally getting the liberal elite to examine their own hypocrisy." Usually I just put the phone on speaker and go about the rest of my life for 20 minutes or so until he realizes he's in a conversation...

Between Wisconsin, Planned Parenthood, Birthers, "forcible rape," guns in bars, and anti-Islamic legislation, it would be easy for me to go Crips-style and just start ignoring red states. The amount of energy I've used lately sitting on my couch sighing versions of "what the hell goes through some people's minds," has, quite frankly, taken away my normal sighing allowances for things like the Kardashians. And we all know how important those crazy ladies are to this great thing we call democracy.

So, in honor of taking the high road from the "You Lie!" and "Mama Grizzlie" crowd, I kept an open mind while watching a recent Daily Show interview with Kentucky Senator Rand Paul. And, as much as it disturbed the little liberal lady somewhere near my uterus (since that's the only place she knows conservatives aren't going to try and remove her from) wanted to heckle sexual innuendos about the Tea Party, I told her to give it a full term and hear him out.

And while Jon Stewart will be the first person to tell you he is not a journalist, this is the most sensible interview I've seen with a politician in quite some time. I think 50 percent of my respect comes from the seemingly simple fact he doesn't compare anyone to a Nazi. And I can admit, Paul makes a lot of sense. Just don't tell my father I said so...

The Daily Show With Jon Stewart

Mon - Thurs 11p / 10c

Exclusive - Rand Paul Extended Interview Pt. 1

www.thedailyshow.com

Daily Show Full Episodes

Political Humor & Satire Blog

The Daily Show on Facebook

Find the rest of the interview here.

even women have things we could improve. But just slightly.

2011-03-02T17:43:00.000-08:00

Update: Thursday's column from Gail Collins looks at the recently released White House study on the status of American Women. Check this Saturday's Gender Report for full analysis of the results.

At a recent Teach for America conference, I had the drooling privilege of hearing Gloria Steinem speak about the ingredients needed for effective social change. A friend asked "what's the big deal about her?" My first response was shock, that this well-educated woman didn't know to fall at this icon's feet in idolatry. But then I found myself searching for a concrete explanation of just what exactly Steinem did for the women's movement. I came up blank. And ashamed.

I also did not previously know that March is Women's History Month. (In one of my prouder moments, it was a male student who informed me that the end of Black History Month meant the start of the month for "chicks and shit".) I honestly don't know how this could have happened. I proudly attended public school for 2nd-12th grade, in a school who's leadership class made sure to highlight the chosen minority or cause of the month with yellow butcher paper at every corner. I can't tell you how many times Langston Hughes poetry suddenly greeted me in the hallway, or on the turning of a calendar I was supposed to start caring about breast cancer or eating disorders.

I honestly feel like, despite my zeal for women's health and political issues, I have a fairly weak grasp of the full scope of women's history as it plays out in the United States. We get a dose of Susan B. Anthony, Sacajawea and Pocahontas are the sexy exotic heroines, toss around a few Seneca Falls references, shatter the glass ceiling with our 76 cents to the dollar, and call it a day. With all the pushes for more diversity in education, women seem to still be the missing voice. I can't remember the discussion of a single female scientist (Madame Curie didn't come until college), mathematician, explorer, wartime hero, or politician. That's not to say they weren't in the curriculum, but most were probably delegated to the glossy info boxes on the side of the page that said "these people don't warrant attention in the normal narrative of history but we have to cover our bases." Maybe if we just put enough women on fancy coins people will catch on...

So I'm taking history into my own hands. The National Women's History Project has a fantastic Resource Center with dense but pithy pages about the women's right movement, biographies of note, highlights of women of color, and national events surrounding women's history.

I'm also reading Gail Collins' America's Women, a look at 400 years of women's history in the United States. So hopefully the next time someone asks me who Gloria Steinem is, I can not only tell them in detail, but explain her place in the bigger story.

Here are some other resources and literature that have anchored my passion for feminism, for those of you looking to stoke your fires:

Nonfiction:
The Feminine Mystique, by Betty Friedan
Half the Sky, by Nikolas Kristof

Literature:
The Handmaid's Tale, by Margaret Atwood
T heir Eyes Were Watching God, by Zora Neale Hurston
the poetry of Adrienne Rich
Mrs. Dalloway, by Virginia Woolf
I Am Charlotte Simmons, by Tom Wolfe

Also, an especially poignant op-ed in today's NYT showed the danger of not focusing on the complete narratives of gender issues and rather isolating issues into gender-exclusive territory.

Just under the wire: Oscar predictions

2011-02-27T13:52:00.001-08:00

As I've written before, I've become somewhat of a movie whore. At least three times in the past month my dad has called for recommendations, to which I usually respond "I don't really think it's 'your' type of movie, dad." But I thought I'd season the popcorn with a shake of narcissism and give you some suggestions for the Oscars tonight (we'll see how close I come0:

1. Best Picture
Bacon's pick: The Kids are All Right
Academy's pick: The King's Speech
It always seems like the Oscars try to find the most obscure historical events and blast them into the headlines with a sweep of the awards. In this case, I wouldn't mind the accolades for this film. However, my pick is based on what I saw as the best overall film on the list in terms of both leading and supporting actors, screenplay (it makes me want to write movies), cinematography, and directing. If you didn't see it, the DVD is well worth the time. (Also in the name of full disclosure I haven't seen "127 hours" or "Winter's Bone" yet, so I don't really have a basis for their judgment except if I haven't seen it yet, it probably wasn't a top contender).

2. Best Actor
Bacon and Academy's Pick: Colin Firth
One of the best acted roles I've seen in quite some time, especially in a historical drama. He managed to pull of pity for his character without sliding into cheesy. Hard to do, especially with a British accent.

3. Best Actress
Bacon's Pick: Annette Bening or Natalie Portman
Academy's Pick: Natalie Portman
Yes, I thought Black Swan was an amazing film. Yes, I think Natalie Portman went through an amazing transformation, both physically and psychologically, for the film. But I don't think that should awards should be based just on the amount of effort it took to pull off the role.

4. Supporting Actor
Bacon's Pick: Christian Bale or Geoffrey Rush
Academy's Pick: toss up
This is the one category where any of the nominees would be a well-deserved winner.

5. Supporting Actress
Bacon's Pick: Hailee Steinfeld
Academy's Pick: Melissa Leo or Hailee Steinfeld
While the women of "The Fighter" all pulled off some incredibly moving and well-acted performances, the young Ms. Steinfeld held her own cast aside both Jeff Bridges and Matt Damon, which is not easy to do even if your horse isn't dragging you through the mud in the wild west.

Left out, but still noteworthy
Several recent films that didn't find their way onto the Academy Awards nominee list are still excellent uses of 2 hours of your time. In particular I was mesmerized by "Love and Other Drugs" (and not just because of the excessive nakedness of Jake Gyllenhaal) and "The Other Woman."

my pride is on the shelf, in a good way.

2011-02-07T16:53:00.000-08:00

The gym and I have always had a very petulant relationship. Necessary in the long term, but usually tied to lingering teenage rebellion or just general laziness. As an athlete for most of my life, I've always preferred activities to just traditional "working out." Sports, competitions, etc. But once the opportunity for intramurals or an impromptu Frisbee game weren't options anymore in my new "adult" life, I buckled down and joined a real gym.

Now Baltimore is a place where you are either a fitness crazy or a a fitness cringer. Part of this is due to the dicotomy of the reiging gay man vs. the daily chicken box consumption. Falling somewhere in the middle of these two extremes, I was reluctant to work out at one of the "fancy" gyms where everyone already looks like they only eat 4 crackers a day. I finally settled on the YMCA right down the street, and have found my comfort zone. It has most of the full equipment of any high-class fitness club, but also offers a daily dose of reality. I can walk into a core conditioning class knowing I won't be the skinniest person in the room by a long shot, but also have made more progress than the woman behind me making orgasm-like noises with every leg lift (to which the rest of us cracked up laughing and the instructor stopped class because she was also laughing so hard.) If I went to yoga, I wouldn't be the only person who falls over more than once. It's real people, genuinely working their asses off. Literally.

It's also a great way to support a dying community asset. Baltimore doesn't have many community centers, and the Y is one of the few places where you can find an open gym time, a children's climbing wall, and craft classes all in the same low-cost building. I like that my Zumba fees are going to more than just the pockets of some corporate mogul. Now if only I would get my butt to the library more often...

I was proud to be an American. Just don't tell Sarah Palin.

2011-01-31T17:36:00.000-08:00

Living close to our nation's capital never gets old for me. Well, maybe when I was on the 18th semi-historical place where Abraham Lincoln stroked his beard, then it got old. But the symbolism of D.C. still catches me off guard sometimes.

As I was waiting for a Whitworth alumni event with a friend in the city, we walked across Lafayette Square to the "little" side of the White House. For those not familiar with the view, it's the opposite side from what's usually considered the money shot. Gathered in front of the gate, about 150 or so people were engaged in a protest/rally supporting the protests in Egypt. Now in full disclosure, I've always been of the mindset that a person of a foreign country can never really understand the true emotions, motivations, or unrest that leads to such powerful organization against someone else's government/leaders. Nor do I think media coverage of such events is anywhere close to balanced, in either direction. No matter how hard you try as a writer or photographer, you end up choosing a bad guy.

But the reports poured in of internet censorship, government force, and worldwide consequences for foreign relations and economies, I couldn't help but be proud of the sight in front of me. Police quietly blockading traffic from interfering with the demonstration. A bystander clapping along to the English/Arabic chants. A mother taking a family photo of four generations in front of the crowd, her small children clothed in their native flag. And all in the shadow, shouting distance, of our President's home and office. I don't get on the "let's cover our monster trucks in stars and stripes" train very often. But I'd rather wade through the noise of opposition and political dissent, however antagonizing and sometimes downright crazy it is, than take a pair of government-controlled waders to make the job "easier."

A new blogging venture

2011-01-22T11:03:00.000-08:00

Anyone who spends more than about 5 minutes with me knows I'm a huge proponent for gender equality. And no, that doesn't mean I think women should take over every CEO position and every political race with no concern for the Y chromosomes of the world. We should be FAMILY LEAVE, people.

As a way to further explore these issues, as well as take an opportunity to work on a writing project with my Whitworth journalism partner in crime, we have started The Gender Report. While it is not as focused on commentary as I would be on this site, I think many of you will still find it reeks of bacon. Different posts include daily Gender Checks, looking at the balance of bylines and sources used in print and online sources in 4 major regions of the country, as well as a News Feed with relevant headlines and happenings around the world.

As a result, the frequency of my shaking and baking may become a bit diminished. We launched the site last week and so far have seen a great reception and following start to build. But don't worry, the minutes I see another fashion disaster such as the pajama jean or spring cleaning reflections, I'll be sure to share.

if newspapers still paid for quirky features

2011-01-12T17:20:00.000-08:00

I would write about street flower salespeople. Baltimore is the first place I have seen these individuals in the actual streets (as opposed to just a curbside operation). Politely weaving in and out of cars on 29th and 33rd, they always smile and give me a thumbs up as I wait for the light to change. Not asking for a handout, nor a pity purchase, just a friendly offer of bouquets wrapped in plastic. Sometimes ribbon is involved.

I would find Eduardo, or Rafael, as I imagine he is named, a rags-to-riches hopeful who wakes at dawn to carefully arrange his bouquets of roses or non-descript daisy look-a-likes that men can use to beg forgiveness, charm a second date, or use to get out of going to his girlfriend's best friend's Pictionary game night. I would describe how they have stories for each of their flowers, recommendations for colors and particular arrangements based on the kind of car you drive. I would hunt down their wholesale distributor, and ask just how lucrative the streetside flower sales industry is these days (as it could be impolite or not necessarily accurate to ask the salespeople themselves).

Maybe it would be an NPR feature and I could hone in on the audio of the cars rushing by and the rustling of the cellophane against his windbreaker sleeve. Or maybe more of a Frontline spot, with video of his shuffling feet and the typical "no thanks" hand up from a stopped driver. Either way it will end with a pithy quote about how he feels about his life and what he looks for in the future, or, if I'm lucky, some metaphor he comes up with for how flowers help us relate to the world around us.

Keep your eyes out for it, my friends.

Pier 1 Imports, aisle nostalgia

2010-12-29T17:08:00.000-08:00

Every year when I come home for Christmas now, my mom specifically asks for my Tri-Cities "to do" list, if you will. This year especially I think she was feeling the sting of the empty nest more than usual since my sister is studying in Australia for her spring semester (oober jealous). I always sort of have the usual pit stops on the schedule, mainly consisting of delicious food that can only be found here (Atomic pizza, spudnuts of all varieties, Nancy Smith's chocolate chip pie) and local businesses my soul, and wallet, love to give themselves to (Barracuda's, The Bookworm).

But as I thought beyond just the shopping list of calories and new-to-me books, I realized that home in its morphing form is becoming just that: a checklist. Looking out to see the snow-capped Blue Mountains or meandering by the rivers will always feel like second-nature. This was especially true as I found the wonderful company of old friends who were able to But this isn't a place I can just be anymore. Too many haunts are still frequented by ghosts of decisions past, or have changed to the point of being almost unrecognizable (read: church). Once I'm done with my godfather pizza and potato flour maple bar, I hit a rut. Next year I suppose I'll have to add a bagel and chinese food stops to delay the rut a bit longer.

Despite this somewhat downhearted realization, I did receive the gift of wonderful company with old friends, an unexpected pleasantry this year for a lot of faces I haven't seen in quite some time. It's nice to know that so many of the ghosts are friendly ones.

as if you need another way to waste an evening

2010-12-15T18:50:00.000-08:00

In the name of research, I got on Facebook to look through a few pictures of the bacon haircuts over the years, in preparation for tomorrow's salon visit...

3 hours later, I was delving much farther into my psyche than I was prepared for on a sober Wednesday.

Although the self-stalking capabilities offered by Facebook didn't really start for me until the college years, the occasional walk down memory lane offered a glimpse into the Kodak version of my life starting with a 6th grade Fun Friday; it was pretty much downhill from those khaki overalls and pigtails, let me tell you.

Complicating matters is my aversion to carrying a camera with me to major life events, so most of the photos are what other people found interesting/memorable/worth the space on an SD card. meaning lots of me making ridiculous faces to hide the chipmunk cheeks or inability to smile and keep my eyes looking normal. Other noted trends:

-In standing group photos I'm almost always the outside figure. I don't know if this means I'm just a last-minute addition to most pictures or I'm just the last one to get in the game.

-I am significantly taller than the majority of my friends. This could also account for the awkward outside poses, but as a result I always look slouched and body parts are unflatteringly shifted because I'm leaning down or trying to contort in some other way. This gets worse as Weakley's drunk pictures are usually taken from a down-to-up angle.

-I have two hair lengths: short and butch, or long and stringy. I'm trying to rectify this tomorrow, but let's be honest, I've never been the "well why not just try something out of the box" kind of girl. Although I might go brunette...

-My quota for "omg I'm taking my own picture in a public place or maybe with my bff" pictures is well below average. This is I think is a sign of my good judgment. Although I can't say the same for any of my sister's Facebook albums...

I expected more from the white leggigs

2010-12-09T17:21:00.001-08:00

Baltimore, you disappointed me last night.

Sure, you were dressed to the nines in your platform heels and one size too small white leggings (and actually leggings of all different varied patterns that make me rethink my earlier post on the subject). You even kept your cool when Usher pulled you onstage to essentially simulate sex for a good 10 minutes. You had some good counter moves.

But compared to the enthusiasm I've seen you exhibit for lake trout and a chicken box, I was expecting much more when the king of abs himself was asking you to wave your hands.

Now I wasn't asking for you to throw your panties onstage or start some sort of Bieber-esque hysteria. We were all mature, loyal fans patiently waiting for our dreams to come true. But I don't think it's too much to ask that when Usher is busting out a medley of the old classics that you put down the camera phones and actually engage with the performance. You could've just taken your picture with the 10-foot prom background of his 12-pack and saved your battery for another day.

I expected more. After all, I was able to scream the lyrics to "Burn" while also snapping a crappy quality photo of him performing ABOVE THE AUDIENCE. Can no one multitask anymore?

I stil cringe at jeggings

2010-12-06T18:37:00.000-08:00

I don't think I'm alone in frustration when I say that 1994 called and wants its fashion trends back.

Between the female flannel, stirrup pants, and tapered jeans, I've just about given up on wasting my money on glossy magazines showing me just how untrendy I am for not thinking dominatrix shoes and shoulder pads make for the perfect night on the town.

But in honor of pushing myself out of the small square peg I usually dress inside, I dipped a toe into the crazy world of American Apparel's candy land and attempted the safest trend I could conceivably live with: the long cardigan/leggings combo.

Now I am the first girl to shout from the rooftop that leggings are not pants. (In fact catch me on the street after a solid happy hour and I really do yell it). My roommate convinced me that yes, the red cardigan covered the junk in my larger-than-average trunk, and no, my lady business was not unflatteringly exposed. (A major fashion faux pas in my book). Also complicating my fashion fears was the outfit's use at my church's advent concert, meaning I would be up on stage in front of Jesus himself, and more worrisome, old ladies.

I didn't take a picture for you to judge for yourselves, but I think we can call it a success. Just don't expect a jegging to be in my future. Or any of your futures if I have anything to say about it.

(Also I realize that if I'm going to parade myself around as an aspiring writer I should probably not let my blog go to the weeds. My apologies.)

our economy thanks you, Norway

2010-11-13T09:07:00.000-08:00

In the Fell's Point neighborhood of Baltimore, you can usually see a myriad of cultures represented. A large latino community is about 4 blocks north of the water, and the pubs that line the harbor waterfront represent Irish, German, and Italian backgrounds.

Then last week the Norweigans came to town. In their huge effing boat.

This is not the first time foreign boats have invaded the harbor waters to use the fire hydrant. A few months ago I was just walking along, eating my soft pretzel, when I turned around and was face to face with a 12 year old brandishing a large automatic weapon aboard a ship from the British Royal Navy. (Ok I'm sure he wasn't actually 12, but his baby face was way too young to have that size of firearm strapped to his side).

And I can understand that when you've been at sea for god knows how long, you'll need to go grocery shopping. Fresh foods, basic supplies, and maybe a few splurges, all reasonable. So imagine my surprise when the 14 year old-looking Norweigans (I guess Scandanavians wait a couple years before enslaving children in their armed forces) started unloaded their 15-passenger van with NOTHING BUT AMERICAN BEER. Case after case of Coors Light, Budweiser, and Bud Light. The van was full floor to ceiling. Well done, my friends. Well done.

On a side note, I also gave myself a pat on the back for correctly identifying the ship's flag of origin. Thanks Winter Olympic standings graphics.

speechless

2010-11-09T14:12:00.001-08:00

In less than 24 hours my DonorsChoose project went from being a distant reality to FULLY FUNDED.

Thank you all, from the bottom of my heart.

And for those of you who are saying to yourselves "darn I wanted to help but now it's too late!" you can still go to DonorsChoose and search/support one of the thousands of other high-needs classrooms waiting for resources. If your family/friends support a charity for the holidays, consider adding this one to the list. As a teacher who often finds herself constantly slammed up against a brick wall, this site is a breath of fresh air to those of us on the front lines.

Bless you all.

"I saw OUR author on tv this weekend"

2010-11-08T19:11:00.000-08:00

These are the words Kayla excitedly greeted me with this morning. We started our memoir unit last week, and she saw our anchor text's author being interviewed. She asked when our books were coming, because she wanted to get a head start on the reading so she could "really think about some intelligent things to say." Kayla has never finished a chapter book cover to cover.

I don't think I've ever been as nervous as the night I shook hands with Wes Moore. Not only had he written a powerful memoir about expectations and life choices, he spoke eloquently, gave a 5-minute shout out to his mother (named Joy, ironically), and is not hard on the eyes. He had just finished a sort of town-hall style discussion about educational policy in the U.S., and I was 4th in line to get my book signed and meet him. This wasn't my first rodeo in terms of book signings, so I was expecting the standard what's your name, thanks for coming, amusing catch phrase, and send you on your way. 10 minutes later I was still holding back tears and talking about the neighborhood where he grew up, the same neighborhood that is zoned for my students today.

I need your help to create this "ah hah" moment for my students. We're already halfway to funding a class set of The Other Wes Moore, his true account of his Baltimore childhood and the childhood of another Wes Moore, currently serving a life-sentence for murder. This story is all too familiar for the Wes Moores sitting in my classroom today. You can help by visiting my DonorsChoose project and getting us the rest of the way to our goal of 30 books. Huge shout outs to the Zerkels, grandma busby, and Jim McPherson for their more than generous contributions already! Every little bit helps, especially because the page gets more publicity on the DonorsChoose homepage based on the number of donors to a project. An easy way to think about it is each book costs $17.

Kayla's ready to read. Let's make it happen!

www.donorschoose.org/msbacon

**troubleshooting note: some people have been having trouble getting the donation cart to work. Most likely this is caused because you have to create a donors page through the site. It takes like 2 seconds and you can still give to project anonymously.**

canine concession

2010-10-31T13:08:00.000-07:00

I've blogged before about my insistence that we are entirely too much of a dog-obsessed culture. Man's best friend should be human, not a drooling smelly canine who eats the table leftovers and falls for the fake ball-throw every time (unless your human friend drools and smells, at which point you should just say hey, dude, get a hold of yourself).

But this past weekend while visiting a human friend in d.c., I found myself swooning for her Cocker Spaniel roommate. By the end of the second day I was even wrestling Barney for his ball right out of his mouth, a task previously considered absolutely beyond my capacity. I don't know what came over me, but the combination of his ridiculously soft black fur, oversized paws, and bark that sounded like me whining for another piece of cake melted my heart. But still, I'm hesitant to say I've been made a believer. I take the same stance with dogs as I do with children: sure, their are diamonds in the rough that make you oooh and aww and feel yourself suddenly inspiried. But then there are the other 99% of encounters that leave you covered in unwanted snot/slobber, hearing impaired from excessive cries for attention, and exhausted from telling it to get out of the cookie jar.

I've always considered myself more of a cat person, for their sheer predictability of self-reliance. Cats do not need a mother, nor do they need a best friend at all times. In fact, Sloane Crosley's essay for the New York Times was a hot emailed item to all my dog-washed friends. And while I'm currently without any sort of non-human housemate, I can see myself buying friendship in the next year or so. We'll see which camp I commit to.

stuff white people like: ms. bacon edition

2010-10-15T13:08:00.000-07:00

brunch, coffee dates with friends, country clubs, shaving off male facial hair, shopping in the suburbs, vegetables, tomatoes (specifically mentioned separately from vegetables), sunshine, country music, dating other white people, Starbucks (as opposed to Dunkin Donuts), cosmos, reading, black eyeliner, driving slow, swimming.

(as all mentioned, questioned, or stated by my students lately.)

superman? let's start with adequately compotent normal guy

2010-10-05T18:38:00.000-07:00

As one of the few "perks" of Teach for America, I participated in an advance screening of the much-hyped "Waiting for Superman" documentary, which focuses on the public education system.

I have to say, it's quite the Debby Downer.

The film, praised by the likes of Oprah and countless others, crusades against drop-out factories, rubber rooms, teachers unions, school lotteries, and an overall broken system. It follows the fates of a handful of kids trying to get out of their assigned public neighborhood school and into either charter or magnet schools in both suburban and urban communities. Spoiler alert: only two of them make it out.

As a teacher working in just such a failing school, as measured by state tests scores for English and Algebra, discussions of this nature are bittersweet. While Oprah's overflowing promises that "this is the movie that will finally change your life" are well-intentioned, I can't help but be somewhat skeptical. Reformers from the KIPP network and Harlem Success Academy are highlighted as heroes; Michelle Rhee, chancellor of D.C. public schools, is set up to as almost a martyr for the case against bureaucracy. But what the film never really tells you is that these 5 kids are stuck in a lottery for a reason: it's terribly difficult to replicate these successes on a large scale. The recipe for success in the gumbo of a successful school is more than just teachers; principals, efficient budgeting, parent support, intervention resources, and those are just the stalk ingredients. Forget the spices to taste for differentiated curriculum, attendance monitoring, extracurricular support, etc.

I'd love for superman to swoop in and start cooking the gumbo. But for now, I'd just settle for slightly better than chaos.

Instead of watching tv today I...

2010-10-04T19:43:00.000-07:00

finished a journal review assignment for a hopkins class that was due last Thursday. Once I got down to business it only took 45 minutes: highlighters and sticky notes as a strategy for keeping students with ADHD on task? useful.

I did come home and watch an episode of Gilmore Girls in between work and going to my other hopkins class, but I considered that acceptable because it really was for relaxation at a time when I would otherwise have just taken a nap.

alternate reality: a challenge

2010-10-03T18:48:00.000-07:00

I waste entirely too much time in front of the television.

When I was little we were theoretically limited to one hour a day, and that hour could only consist of PBS programming. Don't get me wrong, I loved Kratts Creatures and Wishbone like none other, but sometimes Nickelodeon may have "accidentally" ended up sucking me into what my parents considered the epicenter of all childhood sins.

As I've gained the ability to choose my own TV channels, I can't say I've made better choices than ones dictated to me. Sometimes I just sit there and 2 hours later can literally feel my soul grimacing in defeat. I've always said I watch reality/crappy tv to prove to myself that my own life is intelligent and full of good decisions (aka to not leave a hook up date alone in my room while I make a meal first. Thanks Jersey Shore). But lately I've realized there's a fine line between relaxing escapement and just a plain waste of time.

Which brings me to my October challenge: no extra tv. Now granted, Glee, Grey's Anatomy, and Private Practice can stay; I'm not going to just toss out all my stress relief techniques. (Plus John Stamos and Taye Diggs are looking quite attractive these days). This also includes online viewing. Netflix Instant Play, while the best invention ever, makes it too easy to look up and realize 8 episodes of Weeds later that I could be doing something more useful, like my 8 loads of laundry or Hopkins homework. But other than that, it's go find a book, or actually write for fun, or, god forbid, exercise consistently. Also not included would be news-watching or the upcoming PBS series on God in America starting Oct. 11. I consider being informed as counting toward the self-edification process.

We'll see how this week goes...

a lesson in moderation

2010-09-26T12:42:00.000-07:00

As Weakley and I perused the Baltimore Book Festival today, we tried to keep in mind Alyssa's latest encouragement to be frugal with the printed word. Despite the calling out of several beautifully worn books (and the constraints of limited cash on hand), we managed to stick to a minimized pile of purchases:

-The Sparrow (which I couldn't believe I didn't have my own copy of). Sometimes you just want to have your own copy of something so if I die suddenly at a young age I can prove I had good taste.

-The Liar's Club, by Mary Karr. Recommended by Weakley from a creative nonfiction class.

-The Awakening, by Kate Chopin. A classic that's always been on the need-to-read list.

-The Pleasure of my Company, by Steve Martin. I loved Shopgirl and was intrigued by his newer short work.

-Selected Poems of Rita Dove.

-A year subscription to the Baltimore Sun Sunday edition. What can I say, it's an investment in my potential future job opportunities.

ingredients for a pretty good Sunday

2010-09-19T15:37:00.000-07:00

- 2 hours of perusing the Abell Street Fair, conveniently located on my street with art vendors, bake sale items, and several community organizations promoting their causes. I walked away with two paintings, a "conversation tin" (similar to a loaded questions-type game), a flyer for next weekend's car wash, and a kick-ass piece of chocolate cake baked by an 8 year old.

-a continued commitment to reading my home delivery Sunday Times. I absolved my journalistic guilt by subscribing to the print edition for Sundays, and it keeps proving to be an excellent expenditure of time and money. This week's Time Magazine in particular is very good, all focused on education. (See the Delicious links on right).

-3 Clorox wipes and a dustpan, applied to our still-emerging living room.

-leftover cheesy bread

-being called a "love guru" by a friend in need of relationship advice. It's nice to know that my sometimes bumpy experiences are being put to good use.

-having 3 people say hello to me by name at church. It's taken me a while, but I finally am a recognized face and name, at least by my fellow choir members.

my blood probably runs redder these days

2010-09-13T22:18:00.000-07:00

In honor of my day off (thanks Maryland primaries), I decided to hit the town. And on a Fall Monday, chances are every bar in town is packed with one type of person:

a Ravens fan.

Now I've slowly been acclimating myself to the world of football, mostly out of necessity at first. I never really saw a need to watch men who, if encountered in a dark alley, would cause me to wet myself, bumble about in spandex trying to knock each other over. The only time my family watched football was on Thanksgiving, and high school football games were much more about socializing and perfecting that damn pat-your-neighbors-leg cheer.

College friends required a bit more investment, for the sole purpose of being able to see them on a Saturday between September and February. I learned the difference between a buckeye and a pot leaf (or at least that there's supposed to be a difference), and politely picked the dead Oregon pom-pom off the seat before getting in my friend's car for our Saturday Costco runs. I even kicked it in my college president's basement one year for the Ohio/Michigan game (although I slept through the third quarter....what can I say he had a really comfy bean bag chair). Now I even belong to what we refer to as the "Ohio State crew," a group of miscreants who either attended the school, lived in Ohio, stumbled into the wrong bar, or just look really good in scarlet.

But Baltimore fans are a breed of their own. Casual Friday around here means wear your favorite jersey, the mention of the Colts will get you kicked out of an establishment, and the day after a tough loss students are either inconsolable or fighting about who knows more obscure statistics from the game. I swore I'd never drink the Kool-Aid, that no matter how much I wanted to jump into the Baltimore culture this was one cult I was just too sane to follow. And believe me, if they thought it would help their Super Bowl chances, these people would drink just about anything...

So I figured holding out a year in this place was enough grounding in reality, and hit the town, purple tank top and all. And I gotta say, it was one hell of a game. Besides the fact that I love any excuse to trash talk in a public setting, football lends itself well to social gatherings. The game lolligags around enough that I can catch up with friends, or not worry that a sneeze is going to ruin the game-winning shot. And it was nice to feel a part of something that had nothing to do with "tracking the achievement gap." I was just another person screaming insults about a 400 lb man's love making abilities in front of the local news camera. Ah, to belong.

call me when you lose a limb

2010-09-12T19:49:00.000-07:00

I've never been part of a "well you have the sick leave, so take it" mentality. We called no blood no foul. And usually if there was blood, it just meant you hadn't gotten a big enough band-aid the first time around. We went to the doctor, sure, but that was just to get instructions or meds that legitimized not taking it easy. Pop the pill and call it a day.

I've played basketball tournaments that required a trashcan at the end of the bench for vomit. Still recovering from pneumonia when team camp rolled around? Suck it up and make sure to have extra fruit with breakfast. Broken wrist from rollerblading at the park? Wait a couple hours and brace it with the phone book from the drawer, cause we have to finish this rink session first. In all my time growing up I can only remember my dad taking 1 sick day from school, and that was because he threw his back out and literally could not stand up.

So now that I have my own authority to call the shots, I still find myself reverting back to the "fake it till you make it" approach to self-care. Granted I'm much more prone to using my union-contracted sick leave (thanks mono), but I just can't legitimize "taking it easy" when it comes to illness (laziness is another story...). I've taught more than once with a significant fever, and now tomorrow will hit room 215 trying to ignore the unsightly but harmless rash on my arms and legs resulting from a reaction to strep medication. Nothing my navy blazer can't solve.

the baby walks

2010-09-07T16:52:00.000-07:00

After only, you know, a month and a half, I finally put the finishing touches on my new room. The rest of the house is still in progress, but significant steps forward (like visible floor in our living room) have been made.

In an unusual morning burst of energy, I not only started laundry (which was put away within my 24 hour goal), but mounted my wall mirror, hung 2 pictures, and shanghaied the broken DVD shelf using a leftover screw. This involved a hammer, mounting brackets, 6 nails, 5 screws, and at least 3 do-overs to adjust for straightness.

I made a joke that I deserved some male body parts after all that handiwork, but my new roommate gave me the awkward laugh. Like I said, work in progress.

is there such thing as a bad onion?

2010-08-29T14:26:00.000-07:00

In honor of the pending doom that is the start of our respective school years, Sarah, Charita and I decided to continue family dinner every Sunday (a "tradition" inspired by the unofficial HHS class of '05 reunion a couple weeks ago here). This week's charge: chicken enchiladas.

Pretty much anything I cook that isn't my family macaroni and cheese or cake from a box, I have to utilize some serious hand holding. Because even if you have a recipe, there's still an assumed level of culinary background that just makes the whole thing too damn complicated. Take today, for example. Weakley and I decided to go off the cuff and figure out the enchiladas ourselves, without having to call our mommas for advice. Several problems immediately presented themselves:

1. I did not realize that enchilada sauce is not the same thing as salsa. Thus resulting in an argument in the Hispanic food aisle with Sarah, while intermittently commenting on the Phil Collins blaring in the background. We got some good laughs out of our fellow shoppers. Also helpful because the sauce can conveniently had a recipe on it so we had at least some direction.

2. I knew that onion would taste good, but realized that I neither knew which color of onion to choose, nor what constitutes a "good" onion. Firm or soft? Aromatic or no? I went with the assumption that onions should not be squishy, and the yellow one was the cheapest, so done and done.

3. I would have killed us all if I'd been in charge of the cooking, because thanks to my father I assume anything going in the oven doesn't need to be pre-cooked. Again, Weakley with the save.

They should be done in about 20 minutes, so we'll see if our improvising will pay off. I'm suspicious of the decision to go with the cayenne pepper...

And as a side note, the link to good onions is quite insightful. An excellent place to start for all you other kitchen novices.

can I get an amen

2010-08-22T16:48:00.000-07:00

For some reason the past 48 hours have been brim full of introspection. Blame it on Teach for America, if nothing else.

It started with my mom asking me to help her with her Sunday School lesson for the week about support systems. I blanked when she asked "so how did you make all those huge changes in your life over the past 2 years? What was your support system?" I mean the obvious answers of great friends and my family came to mind, but more than anything else, it was more based in beings successful in spite of local connections. I wanted to prove to others, and myself, that I could create my own life, friends, living arrangements, and job without a hand to hold that was closer than 1,000 miles away.

Finding a church was no different. Unlike some church-reared, I've been through the experience of being the new kid on the block. It's easier in a sense when you're in high school because all the kids your age are in the same room (whether or not they like you is entirely a different story). But now, adjusting to flying solo in a new church is a whole new kind of awkward. One of the reasons I've kept going back to my church here is that so far, a new person has gone out of his/her way each week to greet me. It hasn't led to being remembered, per say (aggravated by my bouncing between the two services based on how much I feel like sleeping in), and sometimes I wonder if I would get the same reaction if I wasn't sitting alone.

I was going to conquer my ultimate fear of single-church living today by hitting up the all church picnic after the one service; I totally chickened out. And as much as I can blame it on the iffy weather, it was more just the terror of standing in the grass chowing on my burger and not having anyone to talk to.

So to answer you, mom, I guess I'm not as independent as I claim to be.

Abc's

2010-08-18T11:20:00.000-07:00

As I head into my second year of teaching, I feel like I need to get a weight off my chest. For years, I've paraded around with this sense of superiority for knowing the correct use of a semicolon and the difference a hyphen makes in the word pompom (one is a weapon, the other is a fluffy symbol of school spirit).

But I can't spell to save my life.

Part of me blames this on growing up in the technology age. Even though we didn't get a home computer until I was in middle school, I wasn't exactly using complex compound words in my riveting* 5th grade report on the Stout-Hearted Seven. After that, automatic spell check became my crutch. Who needs to know where the a's and e's go when a little red squiggle line will gently remind you that you're an incompetent* user of the English language? As a result I also have very little tolerance for spelling errors in typed documents. The red squiggle is your best friend. Use it.

I could also blame this on my father, who, an English teacher himself back in the day, would bribe my sister and I to proofread his syllabus each year. Even now, my mom reads over any business* letter or document before he'll send it with confidence.

Only a few of my students caught on to my ironic existence* when they would ask how to spell a word and I would have to sit at the board with a furrowed brow and, after several erased attempts, tell them I wouldn't take points off if they guessed wrong. I vowed to NEVER be one of those teachers who answers the question of "how do you spell ____" with "D-I-C-T-I-O-N-A-R-Y." First of all, a dictionary is just another reason for johnny to have something to throw out the window. But secondly, you have to already know how to spell a word in order to find it in a timely fashion. For the 4th grade spelling bee I missed the word "immediately," and was sent to the dictionary to correct my error. But when my error was starting with an e instead of an i, an hour later I was in tears at my desk and may or may not have said some choice words to the long-term substitute.

I'm sure there's some sort of CD-ROM I could invest in that would teach me the rules for keeping/dropping vowels in compound nouns (judgment* always kills me), but honestly I'd rather invest in Rosetta Stone software. After all, spelling in Spanish is so much easier...

*denotes any word I originally misspelled in this post.

planes, trains, and a Vermont adventure

2010-08-16T14:13:00.000-07:00

Train:
pro:

excessive leg room. As in my legs didn't touch the seat in front of me if I put my knees up
No one asks me if I want a beverage every 20 minutes
(could also be a con): no security lines. I could've packed 20 pounds of shampoo and no one would have been the wiser.
more spacious bathroom facilities
less likely to be sitting next to a screaming child with ear problems from the pressure changes
access to a cell phone, and outlets to charge said phone or other electronic devices
significantly cheaper

con:

13 hours, and I only took enough OTC drugs to sleep for about 4 of these.
The last 4 hours I had to ride backwards because of the track changes. No good.
More likely to be sitting next to a screaming child because they're stuck on a train for 6 hours and can see freedom just beyond the window.
no window shades
no safety information presented except to mind the gap

Plane:
pro:

Only takes about 4 hours, including layover.
Easier to sleep
more acceptable to fear for your life due to the possibility of freak accidents.

con:

Two small planes in a row. I could tell you the eye color of every passenger, aka TOO SMALL.
30,000 feet in the air, including a stint over a large body of water.
Larger ratio of wasted time due to my freakish need to arrive at an airport no later than 2 hours before takeoff.

Jury is still out on which I'll choose next time...

call me in 62 years (updated)

2010-08-09T08:29:00.000-07:00

Lessons from my grandmother over the past four days:

1. "If you play with boys, you can end up pregnant. And a lot of boys are very convincing."

2. Always take the champagne if it's an option. Time of day is irrelevant.

3. Pie makes an excellent addition to any breakfast. Especially chocolate chip pie.

4. When you get older, you should find a younger man, because the old ones are only interested in your money. (I tried to convince her the younger ones were probably only after the money too, to which she responded "but yes they're more clever about it.")

5. Anyone scared to ride a motorcycle is a wimp.

6. Amanda (17 year old niece): "Yeah my boyfriend is coming over later."
Grandma: "So how many do you have?"
Amanda: "boyfriends?...um just one at a time."
Grandma: "oh well that's no fun. You gotta at least double up."

7. (while posing for a picture): "sex and cheese. oh wait, does that mean I have to choose between one? Can't do it."

snapshot from the vermonter 056 train

2010-08-04T11:55:00.000-07:00

Somewhere between nyc and hartford, CT, a young man got on the train and, after pacing for a seat, chose the one across the aisle from me. At first I was quite pleased, since he is not exactly sore on the eyes and seems about my age.

A little past the hartford stop he got out his computer. As I was currently on my 4th episode of gilmore girls so far this trip, I glanced over to see if my aisle mate had similarly good taste for frivilous televison.

Heks watching P90X, an intense workout video for those of you who have yet to be assaulted by tony. But no, not just watching it. Rewinding to watch the scenes with women in spandex shorts and neon sports bras do push ups to work off the theoretical .5 lbs of body fat left on their chisled frames.

He's watching workout porn.and not even the carmen electra or kim kardashian poser workout kind. p90x makes you lose weight for no other reason that you're afraid if you don't finish that last mountian climber, tony will jump out of the tv and punch you in the abs because he knows you don't have any.

And this guy definitely knows that I know, because at one point he caught my wayward glances of shock and just gave the "I do what I want but still think I'm attractive so we should hang out" head nod.

7 more hours to go...

gearing up for round two

2010-08-02T08:36:00.000-07:00

In the past 18 days, I have visited the: U.S. Capitol, Baltimore Museum of Art, Smithsonian of the art, american history, natural history, and zoo varieties, Supreme Court, Library of Congress, National Geographic museum (probably my favorite of the bunch), Union Station, Mt. Vernon, Alexandria, Ocean City, United States Holocaust Memorial Museum, monuments of the Lincoln, Washington (both D.C. and Baltimore), World War II, and Vietnam varieties, Ford Theatre, and Ace Hardware.

Needless to say, Saturday entailed a very long nap.

the first 4 am feeding

2010-07-24T18:55:00.000-07:00

Two words: Ex hausted.

The labor went better than expected, thanks in large part to the wonderful aid of friends. A big shout out to Weakley, who helped me unload the entire U-haul the same night she helped load it and moved another friend of ours. Epic friend points.

But now, the baby is starting to whine and remind me that it needs things like food and clothing. Usually my regressive type-A personality flares up when I move; I unpack and organize as quickly as possible. However, since my family got into town the day after I unloaded the truck, my entire dining room is still full of boxes. Also, this lovely heat wave hitting the East Coast means that every window air conditioning unit in the city has been sold. So the first night trying to sleep through the night with my new little child meant being able to find no clothes, having no curtains to shield my near-naked sleeping, not being able to sleep through the night anyway because of unbearable heat, and my rusty pipes forcing the purchase of a new showerhead, which of course did not work in the fitting of the old showerhead but who would've thought to check that before taking off the old showerhead and making the entire shower feature nonfunctional. Not this new mama.

Thank God for Grandpa.

As many things as I find overbearing about my father, his insistence that his daughters will not be stranded by a flat tire or ask someone the difference between a flathead and phillips screwdriver are not on the list. So, when the new baby was not only keeping me from a good night's sleep but destroying any remnants of my normal lifestyle, he helped me tackle at least the shower.

Of course this first required a trip to Lowe's, where he loaded up a new toolbox full of more kinds of plyers than I will ever have need for. An hour and another trip to Ace Hardware later, and I have a rust-free, 5-option spray shower. And sometimes I think that's just what a new mother needs. I can't do anything about the sleeping (remedied at the moment by crashing in Weakley's air conditioned basement), or the unpacking until they leave, but I at least have a respite from life for as long as the water wants to flow. Or spray, or trickle, or whatever my fancy is at the moment. Of course the curtains I bought are too short, so clearly I just need to focus on one project at a time.

My sister (who is reading this post over my shoulder), slept through the entire afternoon ordeal. Hints of her future skills as an aunt, I think.

a partial transcript

2010-07-19T18:13:00.000-07:00

Quotes from my dad watching his first-ever episode of The Bachelorette:

-"He could've saved so much money and just told her over the damn phone."

-"No guy talks like that. He sounds like a woman" (in reference to Chris Harrison).

-"Oh, well...wait why is this the most important decision of her life? I must've missed something."

-"Who are these people? What, they're parents are just footing the bill for them to fly wherever they want? This is ludicrous."

-"giggling." Literally giggling, not saying the word. That's a first I think.

(impersonating Frank): "you know, I got another broad. Deal with it."

-"You can do it, cry for the camera. There you go, you can do it. Everyone loves some good tears...you're getting paid to do that for another 10 minutes, so you better keep it up."

(impersonating Ali): "No, you can do this I totally understand. I got an ex-boyfriend back home waiting for this paycheck, too."

-"Oh, there's other fish to fry, lady. You'll be fine."

it's like having a baby, over and over again

2010-07-13T15:45:00.001-07:00

It's that time of year again. The time when I'm constantly dripping in sweat, letting out expletives like no one's business, and asking myself "how much do I care about my dishes?"

That's right, I'm moving.

Since I was 17, I have not lived in the same place for longer than 9 months. Most of this was due to coming and going from college, but since I never make things easy, I usually would move from college to home to another location for the summer, then back to home then back to school. Last summer was the trifecta: graduate, next day move home, pack not only my stuff to move across the country but pack my parent's house for their move, and then lived out of a suitcase for 3 months. It got to the point where I could pack my entire life in about 45 minutes.

I've realized that I now just assume I'm not going to stay somewhere very long. As I pack my bedroom (cough cough closet), I have nothing to take off the walls. No photos, posters, not even a decorative vase. I knew that the apartment was only for a year, and just told myself that I would just have to take everything down soon, so why bother. Almost like I was a surrogate mother for my living space, carrying it to gestation but knowing I couldn't get attached because I just had to give it back to its rightful owner.

The place I'm moving has definitely not been an enjoyable conception, but hopefully it will result in a loving relationship, rather than a purely symbiotic relationship. I think the porch swing should help with that...

I'll have to cut back on my weird crime story obsessions

2010-07-11T12:27:00.000-07:00

Since I've been out of the journalism game for a while, I've fallen behind in the latest social media/online journalism marketing trends. I got on the bandwagon fairly early, at one point maintaining Facebook, Twitter, LinkedIn, Blogger, Delicious, and Flickr accounts. However, adding the former hyperlinks forced me to visit some of those pages for the first time in months. Partly because of the legal ramifications for teachers with an online presence (no matter how squeaky clean it may be), and my limited patience for extraneous computer use during the past year, I've slowly pulled back from the world wide web.

But the other day when I was browsing the Washington Post, I noticed a new feature (or at least new to me): in the top right corner of the home page, I can view what my Facebook friends are reading and sharing from the paper's online content. This disturbed me for several reasons. One, I still get slightly creeped out when websites know more about me that I tell them, such as my Facebook friends or targeted advertising. Two, it provides yet another distraction from reading actual news, and instead adds a whole new level to a person's Facebook stalking abilities.

But I think the most unnerving about this addition was its representation of the larger problem: we rely on digital communication to tell us something about a person. Sure, it's interesting to see that Susan* read about the Coney Island hot dog eating contest, but in the grand scheme of things, I don't really care. I am completely guilty of flooding friends' inboxes with articles or interesting sites; I also know half of these go ignored, which in no way hurts my feelings. I even link my Delicious account to this blog, and try to link a variety of articles. To date I only know of 2 people ever reading one of these articles because I linked it.

I agree with *Jeremy* on most political and social issues. But rarely am I going to see that he liked the latest "summer pet pics" series and suddenly be motivated to view yappy dogs dressed in bathing suits.

I do have to say, the articles being highlighted made me proud of the depth and intellect of most of my "friends." But just remember, your future employer could see your unending devotion to the latest Kardashian family gossip and think twice...

hipsters aren't supposed to complain

2010-07-07T07:34:00.000-07:00

When I moved to Baltimore, most people assumed that traveling to D.C. is the same as driving to Kennewick in the Tri-Cities or the Valley in Spokane: a short inconvenience, but basically you're in the same town. And while I've been making the southern trek more often as I've gotten comfortable with the travel options (drive, drive to Metro stop, MARC train, regular train, light rail that I've yet to use), I've realized that Baltimore has one advantage over the "hipster" filled D.C.:

the escalators.

Almost any Metro station in D.C. requires use of potentially lengthy escalators to enter and exit the station. There are elevators and sometimes old-school stairs, but neither of these are seen as a cool-kid option unless you have an actual handicap that requires it. Part of the D.C. culture is being able to navigate these escalators, and they're unspoken but firmly upheld rules: static passengers hug the right side of the contraption, leaving commuters and eager beavers free to walk up or down on the left side.

But unless I'm with wanna-be hipster friends (aka Doug) who sigh heavily any time they (he) has to wait behind tourists who don't abide by the escalator code, you can find me gripping the right handrail and praying for my life. I've never been a huge fan of escalators anyway, but the entrance/exits to the Metro sometimes reach phobia-inspiring heights. The Wheaton station has the second-longest escalator in the Western Hemisphere (hence why this is not my park-and-ride station of choice). This past weekend when I had a small overnight bag with me to upset my normal sense of balance, we almost had a situation on our hands.

I don't know if it was my over-consumption of Rescue 9-1-1 as a child with William Shatner creeping us out with kids getting their arms sucked off, or just a general dislike of the awareness of heights (different than a fear of heights, in the sense that I'm fine with them until I realize how far off the ground I actually am). Anyone who's been to the Riverpark Square mall in Spokane can't say they've never looked down on the four-story open atrium from the moving staircase and thought "this is a good idea."

So for now, I'm working through the fear. And as far as the Metro goes, I'll take the stairs. At least when I'm moving down, anyway...

just don't ask me how to fix an appliance

2010-06-29T13:47:00.000-07:00

It finally hit me this weekend as I was in New York City with some extended family:

23 is the year I'm expected to have my business together.

I thought 22 would be that time, but considering my almost total upheaval of location, lifestyle, job description, most people gave me a break if I didn't know how to read IKEA directions or decide what sort of life insurance policy I wanted.

But as I was walking around the city with my cousin, who is the same age as me, I had to keep reminding myself that I was allowed to take the subway alone, or buy a second piece of cheesecake without someones permission or scolding. It was a weird sensation, to realize that a stranger would consider me responsible just because of my age.

Some goals I have for becoming an even more effective "responsible" adult:
1. Cook from a recipe at least once a month (baby steps).
2. Read a non-fiction book for every 3 pieces of fiction.
3. put my laundry away within 48 hours of its completion.
4. Create and maintain a budget in hard copy, rather than my current system of "oh well I'm sure I can afford these shoes."
5. read at least 2 news sources a day

We'll see if year 23 brings me any more luck at actually following through with goals...

I prefer fugi, sometimes a good gala

2010-06-19T11:24:00.000-07:00

I've officially become a cool kid:

I own a mac.

Actually, it's more of a homecoming than it is braving a new frontier. My very first computer experience was with a Mac. Granted it had a green screen and took floppy discs, but I still count it. I played what seemed like hours of Midnight Rescue during free time in my 1st grade Montessori classroom. ADDICTED to that game. I was especially skillful at finding the hidden clues near the ATM.

A few years later when my parents invested in our first home computer (which I'm stoked to have as a story for my grandchildren to be able to say "I remember when we first got a computer," the color TV of our generation), I begged them to get a Mac. Mainly because I didn't think Midnight Rescue or Oregon Trail would run on anything else, and I just couldn't live with a computer that didn't afford me resources for my budding gaming addiction. Luckily my parents ignored me and went the PC route, and I've been a Windows girl ever since.

So my second order of task with my new macbook? That's right, download Midnight Rescue and let the games begin.

why men should love sex and the city

2010-05-28T18:10:00.001-07:00

First of all, let me just say that I realize most people don't consider "sex and the city" and "conversation to be taken seriously" to be complimentary terms. But hear me out.

I went to see the sequel this afternoon, despite every review that warned me otherwise. I knew what to expect: shallow dialogue, shameless slow-motion shots of ripped men in speedos, and wildly inappropriate fashion choices. I was not dissapointed.

However, the movie for me did come back to an underlying staple of the franchises' progression since about the 4th season: the stability of the male counterparts. Without having to include a spoiler alert, a conflict arises between Carrie and Big that threatens their relationship. However, the resolution of this conflict proves once again that, more often than their female counterparts, the husbands of satc are the ones to learn the real lessons from.

Take Steve, for example. Despite his one-time marital infidelity, he proves to be a loyal and loving husband who tells Miranda what she needs to hear, even when she's at her most stubborn. He actively fights to live up to his fatherly duty, and is just overall a lovable dude.

Harry, Charlotte's 2nd husband, proves just as admirable. Unlike her first toolbag husband, he treats her infertility as a shared challenge and balances adoption with supporting his wife's dream of a family. He's not afraid to be himself, but when Charlotte pesters him with her sometimes pretentious protection of the perfect park avenue lifestyle, he finds compromises that don't just let her steamroll his personality.

Throughout the show the fantastic 4 share horror stories of bad relationships over endless bowls of rice pudding. But Carrie, despite all she did to advance the open dialogue of women's sexuality, too often refuses to give up aspects of her own identity while expecting her leading man to give up his. Ironically, the men who survived this show's entourage of potential partners are the ones who are able to find the balance of ever after and every day. Sure they sit naked on the white furniture or won't let you eat orange slices in bed. But at the end of the day, they're the ones who made it through the gauntlet and we would be better women for having loved them.

As a tangent, I could write pages about the cultural implications of the film on our opinions of Muslim women, but that's for another day...

the f word

2010-05-16T13:01:00.000-07:00

If you haven't figured it out yet, I use the f word a lot. In casual conversation, in arguments, even in formal speeches. Yep, that's right, I'm a feminist. This blog is actually something I eventually want to use as more of a focused space to tackle the 21st century issues of feminism. (Stay tuned this summer for a full critique of The Feminist Mystique.)

In a society where someone with ovaries can vote, play football, sit in the Supreme Court, and legally plan their childbirths, I am still surprised when I come across barriers to positions, pay or power simply because I am a woman. Well not surprised really, but more just disappointed. And usually indignant, especially if you try to convince me that's the way things should stay.

But for 2 hours every week, I still have not figured out how to reconcile my passion for women's issues with my surroundings: in my church pew. I've heard all the reasons in the book why women are still limited in the church; we should "submit" to our spiritual husbands, it wasn't culturally acceptable in Biblical times, women have "different gifts", blah blah blah. I even restrained myself once from punching a college peer who told me he just "didn't trust the spiritual guidance of a woman because it would be too emotionally unstable." I combat this deep-seeded spiritual sexism by trying to contribute to communities that actively encourage women's leadership, from the pastoral position on down. The discrimination and exclusion of women and homosexuals in the Christian church seem to be two of the few hot topics that we use snippet verses to defend and ignore the cultural relativism we apply to most all other passages. In a broken world with broken people, I've always taken comfort to know that in heaven we will all be walking the same golden streets and watching the same big-screen tv, regardless of race, gender, class, or self-proclaimed righteousness. We've all fucked up, but are all equally forgiven.

Recently I realized that my new church in Baltimore still works under these old assumptions. In a community focused on racial and socioeconomic reconciliation, it saddened me to learn that "Biblically" women are not intended for leadership. Sure, they have a women's deacon committee and all that jazz to "honor the contributions of women when the men just can't figure it out," (actual quote from the pastor), but at the end of the day, not allowing women access to key leadership roles is just as damaging as banishing us to a separate tent outside town for 7 days out of each month. In fact, one columnist recently suggested that recent abuse within the church could be solved by allowing women into the Catholic diocese.

I haven't decided yet if this is a deal-breaker for me. But it's a heart breaker, to say the least.

a powerful word

2010-05-02T18:00:00.000-07:00

In the vein of Alyssa's latest theme of becoming real adults, I had my first "real" adult vocabulary experience:

I said a decision was irresponsible.

Now don't worry, it's not anything my mother would disapprove of. But the word just slipped out, in a normal conversation, in a tone that said I no longer needed an adult to tell me what I should be doing with my time. And I'm even a person that has always prided myself on knowing the "right" thing to do. But there's something about that word, something frumpy almost. It carries a connotation of wasteful selfishness. It drips off your tongue, loathing the unfortunate soul it is uttered upon.

I also have no doubt I have many more irresponsible moments to look forward to.

your mama should've taught you better

2010-04-25T09:06:00.000-07:00

I have no patience for bad restaurant etiquette. I've had several friends who've worked as servers, and myself have held the esteemed title of birthday and snack bar hostess:

1. Always tip at least 12%. And that would be for really really bad service. I just realized that most of the time, problems or delays with food are not the fault of the server, but rather the kitchen staff for poor preparation or the manager for not having a good system for placing orders.

2. Order with all your options in mind. If your entree comes with the choice of 2 sides, proudly say you'd like the garden salad and mashed potatoes when asking for the grilled salmon. If you have the choice of fries, chips, or coleslaw, choose your level of diabetes ahead of time. And ESPECIALLY if salad dressings are listed, use your resources and go with the raspberry vinaigrette. Even in fast food, this is a must. If a 7-year-old on rollerblades can order a medium root beer instead of "I want a soda," then you know what size beverage and fries you want.

3. If you are with a party of 6 or more and need separate checks, ASK IN ADVANCE. And if you're on the same ticket as someone, for goodness sakes sit next to each other. Servers already get shafted for large parties, so you should also be generous in this tipping department.

4. If you add splenda or other packaged items to your beverage, stack all the wrappers on a napkin or your plate, so someone doesn't have to scoop them all up later (thanks Weakley for this one).

an open letter

2010-04-21T18:59:00.000-07:00

Dear Christina Aguilera-

This is one of your loyal fans. First of all, way to rock Ozzie Osbourne's former house. I hope he cleaned all the dog poop stains off the floor in the living room.

I wanted to write to tell you that I'm a little disappointed. Ever since you taught me that boys had to rub me the right way, I've admired your balance of sexuality, confidence, and jaw-dropping vocal talent. In a pop scene of stunted vocal ranges and plastic packaging, I always felt that you were bringing the real thing. I even stood up for you when the big bad media (whoever that is) said you were "too sexual" as a new mother. I always say a mom should have it easy when it comes to that sort of stuff. After all, the baby had to come from somewhere, and it sure wasn't Jesus...

But I have to say, your new aptly-named single "Not Myself Tonight," leaves me a little sad inside. Of anyone on the market today, you're one of the few artists who is respected for pure, raw talent. You can sing, you have lyrics that mean something, you deliver the whole package. But now, you're all about the backing techno tracks and cookie cutter melodies. I couldn't even find a part of the song to put my hand up in the air in the "hallelujah" stance you usually take at one point or the other. You went down the Britney path, as I call it. A song that will be a big hit in the clubs and dance floors (which is wehre the money comes from), but nothing that lasts past the walk of shame. You're better than the Selena Gomez's of the world (correct use of a pluralized z? not sure), even if you both started in Disney.

So for the next single, make me proud. Bust out a sweet line that cracks wine glasses and forces me to stop singing along in my car because I simply can't do it justice. Step it up.

dream from an afternoon nap

2010-04-18T17:29:00.000-07:00

My family decided to vacation in the Arctic, somewhere between the literal north pole and Canada. We rented some sort of trailer that was supported by a combination of blades and stilts, which secured into the ice.

My younger sister and I ventured out into our surroundings, a mix of snow, ice, and a sort of old-time ghost town. About 50 feet from our trailer, she found a polar bear carcass. Well, it was more like the skin of a polar bear with the head still attached, like you see in tacky people's living rooms as a sort of rug. She and I both started to cry, because polar bears happen to be one of our favorite animals. But somehow through our tears, we realized that a shark or orca whale could at any time break through the ice to make the carcass a tasty snack. And since apparently I'm just as irrational about whales popping up at any random moment in dreams as I am in real life, we scampered back to the trailer.

But then, we realized the only reason a whale was a possibility was because the ice was starting to thin. Pools of water started appearing, and I quickly feared the trailer was not equipped with flotation capabilities. I ran into the only store open in the ghost town, and met a curious woman cutting up small pieces of rye bread and wrapping them in beige napkins. She started to tell me about the lone family in the ghost own, an Inuit mother with three small children who lived off microwave dinners run by a generator. We carried on a saddening conversation about the current state of the arctic, social media, and some sort of game involving a hamster ball and "hot seat" type questions. She confirmed my fears of the trailer's lack of buoyancy, and I realized by this point my family was lost to the sea.

(Sorry Karen Weakley, this is the spiciest my life has been lately).

granny smith crisp: a review

2010-04-04T13:49:00.000-07:00

Task 1: shop for ingredients
-Since I cook pretty infrequently, I didn't have flour, sugar, brown sugar, or cinnamon. I felt so woman-like putting the powder-covered packages in my Safeway cart. Like I was connecting with so many before me who have taken the plunge into actual cooking. Thanks to my Grandma's housing community's cookbook for the assistance with this bonding experience.

Task 2: peel and pare 6 cups of granny smith apples
-First of all, I didn't really know what paring was. I assumed it was some sort of fancy cut, but really it just meant to peel, remove the seeds, and make the apple look like regular apple slices. I did surprisingly well at the peeling part, especially since I didn't have that thing you can use to take out the core. Approximately 40 minutes.

Task 3: prepare the dry mix for the "crisp"
-Done and done. I was always the dry mixer of my sister and I (she was usually in charge of the more lively jobs like beating eggs and such). Approximately 5 minutes, most of which was spent successfully keeping the flour from casdading all over our tiny kitchen.

Task 4: cut in the butter
-Epic fail. I didn't know if this instruction meant to literally cut the 1/2 cup of butter into small pieces and just toss it in, or if I should break it up so it was evenly distrubted in my beautiful dry mixture. I went with the first option.

Task 5: bake and pray
-I probably could've let it "crisp" more on the 35 minute side of the 30-35 min instructions. And because of the butter situation, parts of the dry topping were left uncrisped and untouched. But once you mixed it in, no harm done.

All in all, a delightful way to end our Easter courtyard feast.

it's a good thing I hate hospitals

2010-03-31T16:13:00.000-07:00

Well, it's official: I don't count as a person in these United States of America. Or at least that was the way I interpreted this government's rude but probably not intentional oversight of my entire apartment building in the 2010 Census. And I love surveys more than ANYONE I know. Customer service, website satisfaction, whether I'm a fall or spring, I love them all.

So, in the interest of making sure Baltimore includes a hospital bed and locker at the nearest community center for me:

1. How many people were living or staying in this house, apartment, or mobile home on April 1, 2010? 2

2. Were there any additional people staying here on April 1, 2010 that you didn't include in question 1? No additional people

3. Is this house, apartment, or mobile home... Rented

4. What is your telephone number? Hmm, not for the fake internet version.

5-10: We're both white and not of Hispanic origin females who don't sometimes live in prison or a nursing home.

And for those of you who missed it, our own Gary Locke discussing the census with Jon Stewart:

The Daily Show With Jon Stewart

Mon - Thurs 11p / 10c

Gary Locke Pt. 1

http://www.thedailyshow.com/

Daily Show Full Episodes

Political Humor

Health Care Reform

spring cleaning results

2010-03-29T15:50:00.000-07:00

Found: A never-worn top purchased in December, Erin Cooley's Christmas present (sorry, it's on its way to you soon), an overdue parking ticket, 3 stray socks, 8 bus tickets confiscated from a student after he stole them from another student, my left black Bandolio heel, India Arie's "Voyage to India" album.

Cleaned: 4 loads of laundry, my bedroom floor, the short upstairs hallway, the mud off my black flats, splotches of laundry detergent that dripped down the front of the washing machine, three piles in the downstairs entryway, my dishes from last night's dinner, my split ends (thank you new haircut).

Assembled: the black-out curtain on my skylight

Organized: my spring wardrobe, from right to left: blazer, cardigans/other light outerwear, work pants, skirts, work tops, going out/not appropriate for work tops, dresses.

Realizations: 1.) I really do not need to ever go shopping again. 2.) My bedroom looks a lot bigger when you can see the floor. 3.) Clorox disinfecting wipes are the ultimate cleaning tool. 4.) I should listen to India Arie more often. 5.) If I put my clothes away right after I wash them, I eliminate the need to iron (not like I iron anyway, so really just eliminates wrinkles). 6.) I've been using entirely too many parenthetical statements in recent blog posts. Use your words, not your punctuation.

put that away

2010-03-21T12:00:00.000-07:00

As part of my rehabilitation into the civilized world (I've been pretty much comatose at home for the past week and a half), I hit the mall with some friends yesterday. I figure if I have to walk around, might as well do it somewhere that offers new shoes and built-in snack stops (thank you almond pretzels). On the wanted list was a spring/summer dress, preferably that could be tamed down for work and required little to no thought (aka special cleaning instructions, ironing, etc). I've blogged before about frustrations with clothing, and while shopping always on some level creates self-loathing and detriment to your psyche, this particular trip highlighted the latest annoyance on my fashion radar:

Clothing should cover your tush.

Now I realize that this is the 4th or 5th season now of dresses/tops that are made with leggings in mind. But I've just never been able to get behind the concept of buying a piece of clothing that automatically requires buying yet another piece of clothing. I do not own leggings, and God willing I never will have to. First of all, leggings are another trend that only flatters the 1% of the female population who do not have to worry about junk in their trunks. But for the rest of us who decide that chocolate cake is just a necessary part of life, we're faced with a bit of a challenge.

Second of all, I think I wore through my leggings phase during my childhood. And not just any leggings; we're talking full-on stirrup pants in every color made. I wore them to church, to school, to skating practice, you name it. Under skirts, under T-shirts, even under jeans as a sort of long-underwear effect for sledding or snow-involved outings.

But especially in this spring's fashion, the problem is now becoming that leggings are viewed as old news, or out of style. However, the garments usually made with leggings in mind are just as short, just as capable of creating a nice breeze through your legs. But girls and women just choose to go without, creating the all-t00-common exclamation from me of "you should wear your lady business on the inside of your clothes." I don't want to become the modesty police, but you've all seen it. The walk that, if just a bit more swagger was added, could easily resemble a Rielle Hunter photo shoot.

So ladies, if you're one of my friends who can rock the leggings look, rock on. And if not, just make sure we don't get to a place of reinstating the "but it's as long as my fingers" test for your next purchase. I finally convinced my dad a year ago that this wasn't necessary...

surrey with the fringe on top. in front of Ira.

2010-03-16T10:20:00.000-07:00

Today, I got a delightful surprise. Instead of the usual 1-3 p.m. lull in my daytime TV lineup, I was delighted to find the classic "When Harry Met Sally" had just started. In addition to being a huge Meg Ryan fan, this movie is a STAPLE in any movie lover's repertoire. The movie is famous for two things on the surface: the idea that men and women can't be friends, and the fake orgasm over a turkey sandwich (on my bucket list, btw). But the film contains many subtle, but just as poignant, lessons:

1. "I never wanted someone to say, 'why don't you take me to the airport anymore?'" - Not quite as melancholy as Barbara's power ballod, but still gets on the list of dissapointments in a relationship. While Harry spends the whole movie justifying decisions that aim to save future pain, I think taking people to the airport is a true sign of friendship/love/whatever. No one wants to take a cab to an airport.

2. "If you want your taxes done, go for it. But when it comes to humpin and bumpin, Sheldon is not your guy." - We judge people by their names. Let's stop lying to ourselves.

3. "Do me a favor, for your own good, put your name in your books right now before they get mixed up and you won't know whose is whose." - The hardest part about breaking up is getting back your stuff. Especially when that stuff is your books.

4. "You were going to be a gymnast? Journalist. Right that's what I said." - I give Harry credit for this one, even though he's billed as a shallow chump for a lot of the movie. But I think when you haven't seen someone for 5 years, or even maybe 5 months, it's the effort to reconnect that counts. Let's stop getting caught up in all the damn details.

5. "He's never going to leave her." - NEVER. I'm just starting to have married friends, so I haven't had to deal with a friend dating a married person. But the mistress never gets the man. (Side note: I couldn't come up with a term for a man dating a married woman. I was trying to e gender neutral and not imply that it's only women who date married men. Chalk another one up for sexist language, ladies).

And, just in case you've never seen it:

call me old school

2010-03-06T10:04:00.001-08:00

Last week, I reached the peak of a book-lover's adventure: a full-fledged, all-access day in the Library of Congress. Even though I've been in and around D.C. on several occasions, the Library of Congress was one of two places still left on my tourist to-do list (the other being the White House tour).

I was floored.

It's rooms and rooms and rooms and rooms of books. About everything. From everywhere. I didn't go in with a game plan, because I wanted to just emmerse myself in the experience of wandering the shelves and letting my nose lead me, if you will. Some of my finds:

-The Handbook to nonsexist writing: on my to-order list (be looking for an addition to the newsroom, Whitworthian folks). One nugget for you to move one step closer to gender-neutral language: don't ask someone to man the sails.

-Thomas Jefferson: the collected writings: this reference book, part of a series on presidential writings, offered letters, memos, official documents, and even annotated copies of Jefferson's life as told through his own recorded words. Bad ass.

-A biographical history of Morocco: Didn't really open this one, but intrigued.

-Dance! A handbook: fun fact - Fred Astaire died on my birthday. As one great dancer left the world, another one was born. Or at least another one with flare.

-Contemporary Women Poets- I read this one almost cover to cover. Shout outs to Margaret Atwood, Mary Oliver, Adrienne Rich, Paulette Jiles, Jennifer Maiden, and Carolyn Forches.

The visit was also an interesting exhibit of the greatest strengths, and weaknesses, of technological advances. While the Kindle is absolutely an asset to society, you really can't replace the smell of the largest library in the world with a 6-inch digital screen. You can't really grasp the vastness of our government's collected printed works by the size of the scroll bar. The collected Microsoft Word tracked changes on a state law just aren't as interesting as hand-scribbled frustrations. Who knows, maybe in 10 years my all-access library card will be nothing more than an Internet password...

If only I had a blogger app

2010-02-24T18:54:00.000-08:00

Over the past 5 months, a new relationship has started to consume my life: the blackberry. For years, I refused to get a phone that would cost me more than $19.99, mainly because I knew I would be constantly dropping or losing it. Ironically, my current phone is only my 4th since I went cellular (props to the kyocera that lasted through about 6 flights of stairs and two major bodies of water).

But since I was changing everything else in my life, I figured it was time to make the plunge into what I refer to as dataland. And slowly, I started to see my own autonomy be consumed by my partner. I fell asleep to the fading backlight of my screen. I wouldn't buy any purses that didn't lend themselves to the increased bulk.

I'm to the point now where I use my crackberry (as weakley named it) to avoid awkward social situations. Only one person in your group heads to the bathroom at the movie? Time to sqeeze in a Gail Collins Op-Ed. First one to arrive at a happy hour destination? Catch up on the latest snowpocalypse forecast. Even if I'm sitting with people, in public or otherwise, I find myself constanly checking, in the off chance I got an update from Kayak in my email about useless one-way flights to Nebraska. (And according to the Washington Post, I'm not the only one to sometimes find my smartphone more stimulating than the real world).

I considered for a hot second giving up my data plan for Lent. One of the only successful Lent abstentions, after all, was all non-academic computer or internet use my freshman year of college. But then realized that I just love Gail Collins (don't miss Feb. 13, or Jan. 20) too much to be separated from her just because I'm getting a pedicure. Even my dad, the antithesis of technology, stole my phone for like 2 hours over Christmas break to read the Wall Street Journal, even though he had the print edition sitting right next to the couch.

And actually, my lack of motor skills have risen to the occasion. I've only dropped it twice, and once was actually useful because it jolted my speaker's function back into operation. Now if only I could figure out how to text with two hands while driving...

reel it in

2010-02-13T20:50:00.000-08:00

As I was sitting in the movie theater earlier at Valentine's Day (a solid choice), tolerating 20 minutes of pointless ads for Sprite and "don't add your own soundtrack" warnings, I found myself in quite a familiar place.

Since moving to Baltimore, I believe I've averaged about 2 movies a month, give or take. This is quite the increase in my movie-going habit (and subsequently quite the increase of my butter popcorn intake). In honor of the pending Academy Awards season, I thought I'd pass along some of my top favorites (in no particular order):

1. Brothers - One of the most powerful films I've seen since "The Constant Gardener". A husband is thought to have died in Afghanistan in the war, and his brother helps out with the wife and two daughters he left behind. (No real spoiler alert that he is, in fact, alive). Particularly moving in the film is the performance of the two daughters (Taylor Geare, Bailee Madison). I saw the film just days after Obama had announced the increase of troops to Afghanistan, but refreshingly the film wasn't making a political statement about war; it made a statement about the human condition, at its best and its worst. (So take that, A.O. Scott). Also PHENOMENAL performances from the small but mighty cast.

2. Fame - A guilty pleasure for sure, but so worth it, if nothing else then for the opening cover of John Legend's "Ordinary People". I tend to be weary of re-makes, but the film took a different tone and angle than the 1980 original that made it quite refreshing. And who doesn't like dancing around a movie theater on a Friday night during the credits...

3. Couples Retreat - A suprisingly not superficial waste of $8.25. Although the previews make this out to be just another relationship-bashing comedy that uses tastless sexual humor as a crutch for poor writing, take a closer look. I found the movie both funny and full of "mmm hmm" moments.

4. It's Complicated - HILARIOUS. HILARIOUS. HILARIOUS.

5. The Blind Side - Sandra Bullock deserves the best-actress nod. I actually saw it the first time with my students, which was quite the outing.

Flicks that didn't quite make the top 5, but were still enjoyable: "The Time Traveler's Wife", "Invictus", "Sherlock Holmes", and "Precious". Still on the need to see list are "Nine" and "Up in the Air".

And no, I have not seen "Avatar". I waited almost 10 years to see James Cameron's other big hit, so I figure I can at least wait for this one on DVD.

a little later, but not never

2010-02-08T07:53:00.000-08:00

Well, it's been about 9 months, so naturally the next fetus of sex education controversy is on its way out of the oven. After all, teen pregnancy is on the rise.

The latest study, however, takes us on a somewhat different genetic path than the previous siblings in this family. Just as Obama reduced/eliminated funding for abstinence-focused education, research is now suggesting that abstinence education actually worked to curb sexual activity in a group of middle schoolers in Philly.

No, that's not a typo. I said abstinence education was effective.

In the past, I've been pretty clear that I take major issue with a lot of these "just say no" approaches to sex ed. A product of this attitude myself, I especially take issue with many of the religious groups and guilt-laden misinformation that gets infused into many of these programs.

But there's a key difference with these new findings. As pointed out by a New York Times article, and again by their staff editorial today, the program urged students to delay sexual activity until the student felt more mature. This is quite the departure from many program's "if you pop the balloon the angels will cry" approach. As Quinn clearly demonstrates on "Glee", this is not the way to go.

I've always believed that sex ed HAS to be more than either of the two extremes, neither "jesus is watching" nor "take a handful of condoms and here's some pictures of clamydia." As a newcomer to the education scene, I'm constantly told to not just spoonfeed my students the answers, but to teach them how to think. It's not always about the right answer; it's how you get to that answer that really has any consequence.

I'm still not ready to throw all my tax dollars back into the abstinence bucket (although it might be a better choice than spending them on a Superbowl commercial. Grrr.). But I think the conversation is finally headed in the right direction.

"stick around if you want to see some real idiots"

2010-02-07T10:19:00.000-08:00

This was muttered to us by a man as his other friend and their two lady friends decided it would be ok to try and just drive out of the snow. On a street that hadn't been touched by footprints, let alone a shovel or plow. So that meant an solid 25ish inches.

I can't speak for the whole city, but my neighborhood is less than accessible. Of the about 8-12 streets we walked by on our morning adventure today, only about 3 had been actually "plowed," another half had been intermitently driven down by large trucks but still not passable by anything smaller than a Hummer, and the rest sat in silence. And these are streets that go by a major hospital and one of the wealthiest universities in the country. It's actually not that cold out, so it was a nice trot around town. Here's just a sampling of the scenery:

-A dude in a T-shirt and jeans walking BAREFOOT down the street. News flash: no one thinks you're a big deal.

-Not 1, not 2, but 4 people going for a run. I was waiting for them to slip and fall, so I could laugh at their foolishness.

-A woman pushing 80 years old, trying to diligently dig out her car. She wasn't really making any sort of useful progress, but it gave her something to do at least.

This is Lola, for those of you who haven't met her yet. Needless to say, she's staying put for a while.

This would be one of the "not touched by man or machine" roads, about .75 miles away from my apartment building. The guy looking confused is trying to decide if it was worth the 8+hours of shoveling to get out his car, to take his crappy one-night stand lady friend back to her house across town.

And we could get up to 10 more inches in another storm coming through Tuesday. Good thing I splurged on the value box of corn dog nuggets.

theory of relativity. and bad karma.

2010-02-06T11:40:00.000-08:00

As some of you probably have heard, it's "snowmageddon" in this neck of the woods (Obama's words, not mine). As our property manager said they're not going to even attempt to start clearing our parking situation until Sunday afternoon at the earliest, I'm not going anywhere for quite some time.

Current snowfall: approx. 26.3 inches, as of 11:45 a.m.

I'm having to learn to be patient with these Mid-Atlantic pansies. After last January's record snow in Spokane, the fact that I can still see out my windows is considered a victory. At first, I scoffed. "2 feet? Back in my day, I had to dig my HOUSE out of the snow, not just my car."

So far, I still have power, plenty of food, and 1 and a half seasons of "Will and Grace" left to keep me occupied before I decide to do work. Really the only productive things I've done are shower and make some tacos for lunch, but at some point I'll go just bat crazy enough to get out the gradebook.

I might try to trudge outside tomorrow and take some pictures, to do some side-by-side comparisons of the ones I have from last January. Stay tuned.

Look at the tight end on that one

2010-01-30T20:14:00.000-08:00

For years, the Super Bowl for me has always meant one thing: an excuse to eat tons of junk food and audibly judge commercials without getting weird looks from people. In fact, on a copy editing test for an internship in college, one of the only current affairs questions I missed was which team had won the previous year's championship. (Don't worry, I got the Beyonce and Ryan Seacrest questions no problem).

But this year, I'm taking a new approach. Mainly because if my students are going to be arguing for 3 months at a time about football, I'd like to at least know how to cleverly interject to get them on task. A couple weeks ago, I ended up watching almost every division semi-final playoff game. (Granted, I was sick as a dog and immobilized on a couch in Atlanta, but what can you do.)

I watched the "beloved" Ravens go down hard to the Colts, while finally learning the name of the Baltimore quarterback. The Saints slaughtered Arizona, and I even got to educate the boys when they asked "who is the random chick jumping around in the private box?" Silly boys, anyone knows Kim and Reggie are back together. At least anyone who overdoses on E! reality shows.

It's a nice feeling to be connected to the one sport I've never really gotten jazzed about. My house was never one of the "but the game's on, honey" kind of Saturdays, so I didn't even really know how the game was played until college, when I had the "privilege" of living with a college football fanatic and also dating one. I even voluntarily watched Ohio State games this fall, including the Rose Bowl.

And even though my favorite cheer is still "just sit on him!" I feel like I can actually make educated comments about good/bad plays, the level of suckiness for a given quarterback, and mock a kicker for losing the game. Good going, Nate Kaeding.

So next Sunday, I'm bringing my A-game. Just make sure there's some nachos and terrible Doritos commericals, too.

6 miles under

2010-01-10T13:41:00.001-08:00

Yesterday, I had an epiphany as I was trying to get to the Best Buy in the Inner Harbor. Well, 1 epiphany, 1 just organization of thoughts.

Epiphany: I hate Best Buy.
Organization of thoughts: I'm a passive driver

Trying to park in the Inner Harbor is a nightmare. It's the cool-kid tourist zone, so everything funnels into overpriced parking garages that I try to avoid whenever possible. So I circled, and circled, and circled, looking for street parking that wouldn't leave my car without a window or stereo system. No luck.

But as I sucked it up and shelled out the $7 for an hour, I realized that it wasn't just today that left me high and dry. It's all the time. I'm not the girl who guns it up at a changing light, or crosses 3 lanes at the last minute to make an exit. I only speed on straighaways with more than 2 lanes, and have never to date honked at another driver unless my literal life was in danger from being squished up against a median (and that was only that one time).

Especially on Baltimore's less-than-ideal roadways, this leaves me in quite the predicament. Around here, it's speed up/swerve lanes/avoid turn signals/ignore yellow lights, or die. Well I guess not die, but be considered a serious pansy and embarrasment to the state of Maryland. But I don't care. I would rather be the person whose passengers say "really, is my grandma driving this car?" than the one with who they grip their seats in terror. And I'm ok with that.

start with the spring rolls

2010-01-03T09:36:00.000-08:00

I was looking back over previous year end/beginning posts, and realized I don't have any. Seems that every year I take a sort of hiatus for 3-5 weeks, and apparently this decade followed suit. My apologies to those of you who sat at work and had 1 less non-work web reading to complete.

I've been thinking a lot over the past week about resolutions. One of my friends created a trick resolution for herself, and since she is much better at goal setting than I am, maybe I should follow her lead and trick myself into losing weight or becoming a better cook.

Or maybe I should take the approach of things to NOT do, rather than positives. Sometimes I feel like avoiding things is easier then taking initiative to add something to your life. For example, it's easier to turn off the television after watching two hours, rather than telling yourself to replace tv altogether with a theoretically more life-enriching activity that doesn't involve the Kardashian family. Needless to say, this probably won't happen as long as I'm in my current job situation.

But alas, it seems that this year my resolution comes not so much in a list, but from an unexpected source. I was out to dinner New Year's Eve at a Chinese restaurant, helping a new friend forget her very recent tool of an ex-boyfriend. When it came time to crack our fortunes, I wasn't expecting much. Usually I open gems like "you will meet new people" or "riches lay ahead." Bland and not specific. And on first read, I thought this day's was another dud:

"Reach for your dreams. Start with the spring rolls."

But after the laughter wore off, I got to thinking that this was actually an interesting philosophy for such a little cookie. Lately, I've been having a hard time seeing the light at the end of the tunnel, whether that's my job or my personal life. But this slip of paper reminded me that maybe this year, instead of just complaining about the big picture, I need to take a step back and get the little things done first. After all, no good adventure starts on an empty stomach.

Although I will have to replace spring rolls with something like mozzarella sticks, as I'm not really a spring rolls fan. Small detail

I can think of at least one better thing to do with a cookie

2009-12-13T14:03:00.001-08:00

Despite my father's protest, my roommate and I have completed our Christmasification of our tiny but cozy apartment. We started last week with the standard stockings and winter-esque votive holders in the windowsills. Then yesterday, the big finale: the tree. And although I've been known to say I would rather drop dead than sport a fake tree, I couldn't pass up a free 6-foot pine of glory, given to us by Sarah's boss.

Here it was, the opportunity I've always wanted: the chance to determine my own tree's fate, without influence of childhood advent craft days or falling apart tree toppers. (I think my family is on its 4th tree topper). Jenna and I went for simple but decked out: multicolored lights, silver and red balls, silver bead garland, and one turquoise penguin ornament. And as I prepping for a night of holiday cheer, complete with the holiday melodies of Christina Aguilera, Mariah Carey, and the boys of the top album of the decade, I heard a preposterous suggestion:

"why don't you put cookies on the tree?"

This came from not one, not two, but three different sources. At first I brushed it off as yet another weird East Coast phenomenon, like not recycling. But my go-to source for East Coast trends (my Massachusetts born and bred roommate) said this was no such tradition. So I was left with only one conclusion: there are just crazy people out there who would waste a perfectly good cookie on a Christmas tree.

So as you enjoy this holiday season, do me a favor. Bake some cookies, preferably in fun holiday shapes, and eat them as you sit and watch the twinkle lights on your non-cookied tree.

"it all sparkles"

2009-11-29T18:31:00.000-08:00

This was Andrew Smith's sentiment as we meticulously studied every engagement ring in Tiffany's. twice. (props to him for being such a good sport about the hour and a half outing). And I feel like his sentiments reflect my general feelings about New York City.

This trip was my third to the Big Apple, and every time I go it's almost an unreal experience. It's as if the city is in some sort of Oobleck vortex: Not quite liquid, not quite solid, fun to play with and inevitably always slipping through your fingers. I've still only been to 2 of the 5 boroughs (although this trip I ventured into Greenwich Village for the first time), and still I just walk around, staring at the tall buildings and feeling like a girl from the sticks. That feeling was amplified this time, as my traveling companion was there on her maiden voyage.

I mean, some artists spend their whole lives writing, singing, or capturing images from this one city. Almost any good romance film is either set there, or refers to NY in some reference to the fufillment of true love (including You've Got Mail, my all-time favorite). Some have gone as far to say the city stars as the fifth character in "Sex and the City."

It's just, in Andrew's words, a place of sparkles.

P.S.: Weakley already posted her details of the trip, so I refer you to her blog for the specifics.

If you sext me, I'll unfriend you

2009-11-17T18:04:00.000-08:00

2009 was not a positive year.

The New Oxford American Dictionary announced "unfriend" as the word of the year. And if that isn't depressing enough, the other additions to the list include sexting and netbook.

I thought that this was just a reflection of a bad year. After all, seeing people add Miley Cyrus to their music likes or having to constantly ignore requests to find out what Sesame Street character shares my bitter sense of humor are both valid reasons to see the "unfriend" feature rise to the top of Babel.

But upon further research, I'm not so sure 2009 is alone in its bias toward Negative Nancies. According to the American Dialect Society, which compiles the short list each year for words to earn the top honor, the best word of the year is "indicative or reflective of the popular discourse." And altough theirs is a different list than the NOAD, their past choices have not been much more promising. We had the bailout of 2008, preceded by subprime (2007), weapons of mass destruction (2002), and my personal favorite, plutoed (2006), meaning demoted or devalued. Even though I've never heard the latter used as a verb in real speech, the fact that it made the list just goes to show that we need to find something to pick our spirits up.

What happened to the 20th century, characterized by "jazz" as the Word of the Century? Or "she" as the Word of the Millennium? The 21st century is slipping through our fingers, or at least our mouths.

But we can fix this. Nominations for Word of the Decade are still open! And even better, the ADS's yearly conference this year is being held in none other than Baltimore. I'm ready to make our case for a word that can reach beyond a two-front war, the worst terrorist attack on American soil, having to look at Jon Goesslin's toolbag picture, and the complete mental breakdown of Britney Spears.. Think hard, my friends.

And just for fun, my suggestions for the Word of the Year subcategories:

-most useful: balls. It fits almost every exclamation I ever need to make.
-most unnecessary: melancholy. It doesn't really mean anything, and is sort of like consumption; it just stands for a whole bunch of other symptoms that don't really exist.
-most creative: trashcanistan. Thanks Neil Campell via Weakley.
-most delightful (my own category): saunter. It's just such a vivid image.
-most likely to succeed: rogue. After Sarah Palin's campaign-like book tour, it's only a matter of
time before this one is being used to refer to everything under the political sun. God save us all.
-least likely to succeed: fetch. Sorry Gretchen, if it hasn't caught on by now, it doesn't look good.

save me some room on the dirt floor

2009-11-11T20:47:00.000-08:00

*Edited, thanks to Meredith. Shame on me for not proof-reading.

There's only one thing that makes me feel slightly worse than drinking Starbucks as I walk by a homeless person:

employees at mall kiosks.

I can't think of very many jobs worse than standing in between the Cinnabon and American Eagle, trying to get people to stop and try some new miracle-working face serum. There are two extremes of the kiosk employee. They could take the stalker approach, following you halfway down the corridor trying to convince you that a life isn't worth living without a new cover for your cell phone. Or, they take the "I'm a 16-year-old girl who can't be bothered to get my ass off this backless stool, let alone put my cell phone down." Either way, seems like a sad existence.

So yesterday, as I wandered the 3rd floor of the Towson Town Center, I gave into a particularly aggressive kiosker from the SEACRET beauty products neck of the woods. She had the speech memorized: use the buffer for just 3 minutes every two weeks, I should treat myself to something special, it's a great gift idea for the holidays, if I bought it today I could get two 4-piece nail kits for the price of one. She was pushy, and at times I wanted to push over her lotion samples and get the hell out of dodge.

But since I was at the mall to de-stress from a particularly taxing day of teaching, I thought I would give her a chance and not take my bad day out on the innocent kiosker. After all, we all have to put food on the table. I didn't buy the nail set (my generousity of spirit only goes so far). But I thought about it, if for nothing else to absolve my soul from the guilt of years of hurried paces and skillful avoidance of eye contact. And to think, I could've gotten two souls absolved for the price of one...

let's get physical

2009-11-01T14:56:00.000-08:00

Halloween is probably one of the most stressful holidays for me, for one ridiculous reason: the costume.

I think Sarah's exact words to me last week went something like this: "Bacon, your costumes always blow." And she's right. I went through the ambiguous princess phase in early elementary school, and then moved into the attempts at sweet costumes that never quite made the cut. I believe I've tried both the M&M and Hershey Kiss costume, to name a few. But I never had one of those "all in one" costumes you can buy, that come with hat, sword, hydration materials, shoes, and pet accessories as needed. I always went for fast, cheap, and most durable in the face of inclemate weather. I also never can get behind the excuse to wear as little clothing as possible and pass it off as some sort of kitty cat, nurse, or officer of the law.

So this year, in a new town and somewhat new lifestyle, I knew that I had the chance to set a new tone. The goal was to replicate Olivia Newton John's "let's get physical" video. It turned into a conglomeration of bright spandex, tights, and orthopedic velcro shoes (note to any senior readers: you can spice those things right up with a nice pair of knitted leg warmers.) And I have to say, I was convincing. I got a handful of compliments on the costume, plus an excuse to dance like an idiot and pass it off as "fitting into character."

Other odd/admirable costumes spotted around town: a life-size box of Franzia wine, a guy with sponges that spelled "me", to represent being self absorbed, Wolverine, Abraham Lincoln and the Gettysburg Address (written on chart paper turned into a tube dress), and Roseanne.

some things are worth exclaiming

2009-10-24T13:40:00.001-07:00

It's the No. 1 rule of journalism: no one ever makes an exclamation. They don't comment, note, sigh, yell, or any of the other 18 million ways you're taught in elementary school that someone can say something without just saying "sally said."

So as a friend and I were driving through the parking garage at the mammoth-sized Towson Town Center (the closest suburb to Baltimore with the largest mall I've ever been in. Bellvue Square would fit in the luxury wing of this place), I was taken aback at the signs directing me:

"Lots more parking ahead!"

Normally, I would've made some cynical remark at how the world should use its words, not its punctuation, to make a statement. But for some reason, this sign made me stop and exclaim for myself, "what a wonderful place for an exclamation mark!"

How many times have I driven around a parking garage and by the end of it just wanted to drive off the edge of the damn thing and go home? I hate the claustrophobia, the frantic nature of the place, the feeling that at any moment some Hollywood action/thriller moment will hit and the whole thing will collapse on top of my tiny car. The use of this simple yet powerful punctuation gave me hope; more parking, and a pleasant experience, was just ahead of me.

So maybe, just this once, I can accept that a well-placed exclamation mark sometimes really does the trick. Just don't tell my students I said so...

For more insight, check out this Slate article about their overuse in e-mails.

for the next life

2009-10-13T17:16:00.000-07:00

Things that I hope give me good karma:

-I try to order in full anytime I go out. I choose my side dishes, specify size and type of beverage, and pre-empt the "how would you like that cooked" questions. If it's listed on the menu, then use the information given to you.

-Let people merge. I call it my "good driver karma." Especially in Baltimore, where lanes end at any given moment when some idiot decides to just park in the street.

-buy coffee/beverages/snacks for friends. Nothing makes someone's day than "here's the delicious beverage I know you would have ordered for yourself but didnt' have time for."

-doing research before I vote.

Things I complain about even if it means coming back as a squirrel next time around:

-so called "start-up" fees for things like electricity, my new crackberry, etc. I shouldn't have to pay you to take my money once a month.

-serif fonts. Only about 1 in 10 are actually worth my time.

-Reporting that uses excessive modifiers and fluffy descriptions. Like this, for example.

-men with long hair. Even McDreamy length just grosses me out.

-abstract art. Some of it is nice. Some of it just seems lazy.

Putting the w in wtf

2009-10-05T17:04:00.000-07:00

Apparantly my whole education has been a sham.

I learned today (learned is a strong verb. More like "was made aware that some people think") the letter "w" can be used as a vowel.

This is absurd.

According to a post on answers.com, "people in the state of Washington were not taught that 'w' is sometimes a vowel." The entry goes on to explain how w rests in the same consonant/vowel continuum as the letter y, when used as the final letter of a word, ie "cow," "tomorrow," or "few."

I decided to go to a more authoritative source, so like any good English scholar that meant off to Oxford it was. According to their online dictionary a vowel is "a speech sound which is produced by comparatively open configuration of the vocal tract, with vibration of the vocal chords but with audible friction." In comparison, a consonant is "a basic speech sound in which the breath is at least partly obstructed." It goes on to refer to the w as a "semivowel" because it is used in contrast to consonants, but functions like a vowel.

Leave it to Oxford to invent a third type of letter to justify an obnoxious technicality.

As for me, the letter w remains firmly in the consonant category, if for no other reason than my entire Wheel of Fortune and Hangman strategies are ruined otherwise. I mean, if Pat Sajak says it's a consonant, than who am I to say otherwise?

And for the record, my Massachussetts-educated roommate had never heard of this, either.

christmas isn't the only time for wish lists

2009-10-04T16:14:00.000-07:00

This is one of the few times I'll cross the line between blog-life and teacher-life.

My students have independent reading every day for 40 minutes as part of my school's new focus on boosting literacy. While the program is getting off to a somewhat rocky start, I'm really excited for its potential to give kids the chance to get super stoked to read. They can choose any book, as long as it's at their reading level.

Problem is, my school gave me about 30 books, only about 5 of which my students would have any interest in or actually be able to read.

So here's the solution. I've created a wish list through Amazon of books that are popular in Baltimore, as well as at varied reading levels that reflect the abilities of my students. I know a lot of people out there say to themselves "wow, Joy is great. I wonder how I could help her out in her first year teaching?" Now you have your answer. Browse the list, or add your own. It doesn't matter if the book is used or new, either. It gets shipped directly to me, and I would be eternally grateful!

Here's the link: Ms. Bacon's class library

the real sisterhood of the traveling pants

2009-09-21T17:56:00.000-07:00

Last Friday was my first real teacher paycheck. So naturally, my roommate and I went shopping.

I ended up getting a pair of pants from Gap (where else) and was excited about them but not at the point of "I want these in 8 different colors" yet. That was, until this morning.

The Starbucks on 25th and Charles, inside Safeway, has become a regular morning stop for me. Yes, I know it's cheaper to buy a coffee maker and do it myself, but honestly I've had one before and I just don't take the time to make coffee in-house. And since switched to americanos, it's significantly cheaper than my white mocha days. But I digress.

So I was scurrying back to my car this morning, beverage in one hand and keys in the other, when my foot slipped in one of the 100 or so potholes in the parking lot and my coffee flew everywhere. Including all down the front left leg of the new pants. After a few choice expletives about the lost caffeine and $2.10 down the toilet, I turned my attention to cleaning myself up for school. Going back home to change wasn't an option, so I blotted what I could from my pants. And then, a magical thing happened: the coffee disappeared.

I can't explain it. It's like the pants whisked the stains away into a secret stain bank that I'll have to deal with before I die. But it's like nothing ever happened. No wetness, discoloring, not even a drop of scalding water on the skin underneath. For a stain-susceptible woman like myself, these pants are a godsend. Oh yeah, and they make your ass look fantastic.

Gap. Wide leg trouser. Dark charcoal. Go get some.

west coast is the best coast

2009-09-10T17:11:00.000-07:00

I think I've grown up taken for granted that any store available in Washington state obviously existed everywhere else in the country. I still remember when a friend moved to my elementary school from the Midwest and had never heard of Albertson's. I mean, where else do you buy groceries?

By now, I obviously understand the concept of regional chains. But never could I have prepared myself for the realization today that a beverage, made by a national bottling company, might be a foreign concept on the east coast:

No one here has ever heard of ruby red squirt.

This is my go-to beverage in almost any situation. I've been known to pour it in a Nalgene and take to a morning class as "juice" for breakfast. It was not uncommon at high-stress points to see me take down 2 or 3 in one night. And since my air-popper got here yesterday, I thought what a perfect Thursday evening: self-made popcorn and a light, refreshing fake fruit soda? But no, not a drop to be found. My roommate from Massachusets has never even heard of Squirt.

Another dream lost to the wind.

my sleep partner

2009-09-06T12:03:00.000-07:00

For the past month, I've been sleeping on a high-quality air mattress, because I didn't have time/a vehicle to go shop for a real bed. The air mattress actually was not bad; I rarely woke up sore or had a restless night. But it was time for the upgrade to the beds of big kids.

Like any good 21st century shopper, I scoped out prices and information online before I hit the sales floor. I already knew which store I was going to, so I was reading through their tips section about shopping for a new mattress. One of the key questions that kept coming up had to do with my "sleep partner." What my sleep partner's space needs were. What his/her comfort level was. To make sure if I did indeed have a sleep partner that I was getting a large enough bed for the two of us to sleep comfortably. And then, once I finally got to the real store and told the friendly but indifferent saleswoman that I wanted a full-size bed, she replied "oh, so it's just for you then?"

Well, I did consider the needs of my sleep partner. His name is Manuel. He's about 10 inches long, fuzzy, with two ears and he smells real good. He's the rabbit that Alyssa sent me for my birthday/graduation/moving across the country comfort gift. He's been in my bed with me ever since. Manuel and I discussed it, and he had the perfect answer for a sleep partner's needs: "Your comfort level is my comfort level." So semi-firm, full sized mattress and box springs it was. And my sleep partner will have plenty of space, thank you very much. If he doesn't like it, he can sleep alone on the air mattress that will now go in the closet.

we hold up half the sky

2009-08-30T11:55:00.000-07:00

This post is a little past due, but what can I say, school starts tomorrow.

I feel like over the summer I sort of fell out of my zealous pursuit of women's issues. I tended to gravitate towards articles on education or basic current events. And then the New York Times snapped me back to my proper place.

(Tangent: I've realized that a lot of this blog is a reaction to things in the Times. Interesting).

Their Sunday magazine last week was titled "Saving the World's Women." The multimedia package includes stories, videos and photos about the struggles of women in several countries, including Pakistan, Burundi, and Afghanistan. I've blogged in the past about several of these issues, but I give the Times major props for devoting such a large project to the topic.

Also of recent interest to me was Sec. of State Hillary Clinton's recent trip through Africa. A Washington Post article published before her stop in the Congo detailed the horrors of rape spreading through the war-torn country. The article even goes as far as to suggest that U.S. intervention in the country is making the problem worse: we back the increased miliary efforts, which in turn means more soliders "not so much hunting rebels as hunting women."

Many people still fail to see the connections between the Congo and Uganda to the post-Rwandan genocide. And even though some justice is being sought in that country, it's still to be seen what sort of long-term social and political effects will come about. Hopefully we'll see more productive solutions applied to the supposed end of the genocide in Darfur.

nugget

2009-08-27T14:26:00.001-07:00

For the past week or so, I've been experiencing an odd phenomenon. Between about 3:10 and 3:45 every morning, I wake up for no reason at all. It usually lasts about 5 minutes, during which I check the time on my phone, look out the skylight in my room to try and guess the next day's weather, and ponder a nugget of information that's usually stuck in my head.

I try to tell myself that this is my brain's way of decompressing from the day before. Maybe one of these nights I'll come up with a magical invention or solve some world issue. But so far, the only tangible thing I've been able to remember was the night I had Rihanna's "Take a Bow" stuck in my head. Clearly helping the world's issues.

move part II: the economy

2009-08-11T18:12:00.000-07:00

It was really interesting for me to be taking a macroeconomics course during the economic crash last fall. I would walk into class and hear "the DOW just lost 800 bazillion points" and I had a bit more hope that I would understood what that meant before I left class (this hope usually wasn't converted into reality, but I tried to stay optimistic.) And I knew that a lot of the problems were cause by people buying things they didn't actually have money for, and banks giving money to people to buy things they didn't have money for.

But this also meant that when I went to purchase my first-ever vehicle, it was damn hard to get someone to finance it.

I ended up having to have my dad co-sign the loan, but the risk rate is still based on my non-existant credit score, so my intrest rate is a little outrageous. Even though I'm a college graduate with a more than decent-paying job, with not a penny of debt to my name. I was told I would be better off buying a brand new car. But I DON"T WANT a brand new car, because that would fall into the "buying things I don't have the money for" category. Someone needs to explain to me how making an informed decision and getting reasonable car screws you over.

But yes, I bought a car (pictures coming soon). 2002 Honda Civic EX. Dark blue. Sun roof. Compared to Paco, this is like heaven. Sarah and I drove out to the mall in Towson (the ritzy Baltimore suburb to the north), and part of me wanted to just drive forever. Me, the open road, my best friend, and Jason Mraz live. The perfect Sunday afternoon.

the move: part 1

2009-08-04T18:34:00.000-07:00

In the past 72 hours or so, I've gone from living out of two large suitcases to being almost settled in a new city 3,000 miles away from "home." In the process of reaching this settling point, I've been making some observations about the twists and turns of what can at times be an incredibly tiresome and expensive endeavor.

Today's discussion: the shit box.

Most of you are probably familiar with the shit box. We all have them, whether it's from a move, from a hectic lifestyle, or just from having lazy organizational skills. It's that box (sometimes drawer) that holds all the miscellaneous stuff you always say you will need but end up not really missing if you don't know it's there.

My shit box contained all the stuff I couldn't fit in my suitcases that I'd accumulated over my summer in Philadelphia. Some of it my mom sent, some I got the week between Induction and Institute, some just appeared I think from the shit fairy. The shit box even had to be brought to Baltimore by a friend with a station wagon, because the combined shit boxes of me and my roommate were too much for one vehicle (I mean that in the most endearing way possible).

So I got the box back today, and eagerly opened it to start sifting through what I knew to be invaluable items in my Harry Potter-sized apartment; I should've known better. Though I appreciate having my printer and some books back in my possession, I'm not sure if the reflective ruler, empty manila envelopes, or single piece of striped ribbon belonged on the must-keep list. It's been less than two months and already the very large box is overflowing.

Guess this means I need to pick which drawer of the kitchen is going to become the shit drawer so I can put the ribbon in it.

UPDATED: Harry Potter and the half-blood ratings system

2009-07-19T11:33:00.000-07:00

For another interesting story about the use of alcohol and teen drinking in the film, check out this NY Times article.

Last night, I got in touch with my teenage self and indulged in an outing to Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince. I've always enjoyed the movies, even if they're geared to a crowd who's more into the Jonas Brothers than worrying about their next due date for rent.

And needless to say, there were moments that this PG-rated movie scared the piss out of me.

No one argues that the books get progressively darker, so I was expecting this 6th installment to definitely be an explicit "good vs. evil" showdown. However, no one warned me of that showdown including an scene of a boy (Ron Weasley) seizing and foaming at the mouth. Or that a girl who is "cursed" is thrashed around in the air, suspended in an unmistakeably crucifixion-like pose, and then thrown to the ground where she continues to twitch. Or a spell that causes a character's blood to seep out of his body onto the ground around him.

That's on top of the standard "evil wizards swarming around and burning down houses and killing innocent people" material that comes with the Harry Potter territory. Oh, and the sexual tension that runs so thick throughout the movie I wanted to gag at times.

The 4th and 5th movies received PG-13 ratings, and didn't suffer in the box office for it. And although there were some grumblings about the harsher rating, most viewers found them to be justified. So why the drop now, in what I considered the most violent of the series to date? Some of the people I went to the film with were like "what's the big deal? If people are going to see it anyway why does the rating matter?"

It matters because that "13" on a rating is the difference between what can and can't be shown in some schools. It's the difference between a little kid being sent to the movies without a second thought, and maybe just one parent taking a closer look at just what the film contains. Or at the very least, being prepared when those more graphic scenes do come up, so they can be ready for them.

I was just disappointed in the system. But I must say, the toolbag that tries to woo Hermoine is worth a second glance.

creature comforts

2009-07-13T17:29:00.000-07:00

So in moving to the East Coast, I knew life would be different in some aspects. Drinking soda instead of pop, considering Michigan to be a western state, and seeing Dunkin Donuts on every freaking corner.

But the first weekend here in Philly, I came across a cultural difference I couldn't quite deal with: not only does the Starbucks near Temple University's campus close at 8 p.m. on the weekedays, it is closed ALL WEEKEND. As in not open Saturdays and Sundays. And even though I'm from the east side where we have at least half a mile between each Starbucks, I still consider myself from the unofficial coffee capital of the country. I considered these sorts of limited hours a type of blasphemy almost, if not at least a terrible business model for a coffee shop next to the 12th largest university in the country.

So after whining for a decent amount of time, my friend Patrice and I decided to make the trek down the block for a beverage, even though we'd just eaten dinner.

And as lame as it sounds, I was almost emotional drinking my venti 4-pump classic syrup black iced tea. It was a taste of home, a taste of the safe, the familiar. Sometimes we just need to stick to what we know to get through the 21 hour days.

The 4th in Philly

2009-07-05T12:10:00.000-07:00

Last night, I saw what it means to earn the title of best fireworks show in the country. After sitting through an hour and a half of Sheryl Crow re-living her glory of the '90s (if that's what you can call it), we finally got to the whole reason we walked 2.5 miles through Philadelphia: to watch people blow stuff up.

The show was synchronized to music intertwined with famous speeches from history, including Obama, Kennedy, and Martin Luther King Jr. And the music was surprisingly not cheesy "God Bless America" renditions. In fact, one of the songs, a recording of "Somewhere Over the Rainbow," was probably one of the best arrangements of that song I've heard.

It was a weird 4th for me for some reason. This is a holiday that doesn't have any real continuity for me as far as traditions. My sister is terrified of fireworks, so our family has never done the whole do-it-yourself shows or anything. Sometimes we went camping, sometimes I was with extended family, other times I was sitting on top of our mini van with Alyssa in the Wal-Mart parking lot. Now I can add Independence Hall to the list.

UPDATED: actions speak louder than words

2009-06-26T16:04:00.000-07:00

*The Times published a follow-up profile today of Mrs. Sanford. Read it here.

For once, I think I trumped the New York Times.

Check out this article about Jenny Sanford, wife of South Carolina Gov. Mark Sanford, after his recent announcement of a year-long affair. The basic premise of the article is this: by not standing at the press conference with her husband, Mrs. Sanford stood up for herself and her own dignity and actually turned the media frenzy in her favor.

Ever since the announcement of former NY governor Eliot Spitzer to his involvement in a prostitution ring, I've been frustrated with political wives. We see it over and over: husbands who cheat, announce it in attempts to control a leak, and the wife standing next to him. I think a Newsweek columnist said it best:

"Yet another political wife scorned, somehow willing to put on a pastel suit and sob quietly in the background as her husband explains all the very good reasons why he had boinked a dear (tan) old friend, had an affair with a man, or spent good money on a tacky hooker."

Apparantly I'm not the only one who saw Mrs. Sanford's response as a sight for sore eyes. The Times article links to multiple other commentaries, including columns from Slate magazine as well as several marriage counselors and psychologists. Newsweek even turned the incident into a project called Scorned: a user's manual, including the experiences of Hilary Rodham Clinton and Elizabeth Edwards.

Thank you, Jenny Sanford, for finally acknowledging that support doesn't have to mean taking one for the team.

UPDATED: tv chocolate

2009-06-25T16:25:00.000-07:00

*I can only hope that the filming hiatus announced by TLC on the show isn't just because they can't piece together enough fresh footage for new episodes.

It's official: I feel like a terrible person.

For anyone that's been around me in the past year, you know I've developed somewhat of an addiction to the TLC show "Jon & Kate plus 8." I started watching it last summer (thanks for nothing Kelsey), and was hooked after 5 minutes of those adorable small children. I knew at first that this was probably not a healthy marketing project to support. These children would grow up to have their friends know when they first took a poop in the laundry room, know every time they screamed on an airplane, what their first trip to the dentist entailed. It was clearly playing off the emotions of Americans, hoping to see that some other family was just as screwed up, and yet just as lovable, as the rest of us. I couldn't help myself, even though I knew with every episode I watched, I was supporting the show, and thus the commercialization of this family.

With this week's announcement, however, my guilt was officially solidified. This whole season has been painful, just because so much is happening besides what we see for half an hour on Monday nights. Rumors flew, tears were cried, and we watched a family disintegrate.

And TLC posted a "sneak peek" of their separation annoucement.

So I'm taking this opportunity to apologize, to the Goesslin family and to myself. I'm sorry that I let my affection for your small beautiful Asian children get in the way of my better judgment. I'm sorry that your kids are confused and tired and scared. Do I believe Jon cheated? No.Should my opinion matter at all? Nope. And hopefully I'll remember that in my inevitable future reality tv addictions.

the first week

2009-06-21T09:21:00.000-07:00

- Baltimore is home to the first monument built to George Washington in the United States. It's located in the Mount Vernon neighborhood (not the mount washington neighborhood, ironically).

- The Book Thing is quite possibly one of the coolest things I've ever seen. It's a free bookstore. Free. As in you walk in and take whatever you want, and they never run out because people are donating so much stuff all the time. This week's trip resulted in copies of Ian McEwan's "Saturday", Mary Doria Russell's "A Thread of Grace", The best American Short Stories of 1993, and a copy of "The Miracle Worker".

- I saw my first firefly. He lit up green for a while, then yellow, then pink. Then Phin (a dog) ate him.

- You are friend or foe depending on whether you consider Maryland a northern or southern state. I haven't made my decision yet.

- The School of the Arts, the school featured in Step Up 2, is tucked in a corner behind the financial district.

- I have to learn to stop saying the word "pop" instead of soda, so people will stop looking at me funny.

- I ate dinner at a Mexican restaurant in the part of town where Hairspray is set. Yes, parts of the movie were filmed here. And the town still has a yearly festival called Honfest to celebrate the hairstyles, among other things.

- In church this morning, they gave all the kids shakers and instruments to play during the last song. It was quite possibly the most beautiful chaos I've ever heard.

If I learned anything from communication ethics...

2009-06-16T14:03:00.000-07:00

This is more of a logistics post. I know a lot of you have been asking me to keep you updated about Teach for America and my adventures in Baltimore. However, as I have always tried to keep my work/professional life off this site, I'm torn as to how to approach this one. I've decided that although I will definitely include stuff about my experiences here (as it will be pretty much consuming my life from this point on), I want to be able to give those that want it a more in-depth update, but without the potential repercussions we've all seen with Internet information about work-related info.

So if you would like to get the email updates, either leave a comment with your email address, or you can email me directly at jbacon09@whitworth.edu and I'll get you on board!

if it aint broke, leave it alone

2009-06-13T16:36:00.000-07:00

If anyone else listens to as much ridiculous radio-hit music as I had to at the skating rink the past couple weeks, you might have noticed a pattern: no one has an original idea. Songs are featuring recognizable pieces from older songs, and 99 percent of the time it sounds terrible. Take, for example, Flo Rida's "Right Round." It features a chorus that plays off the '80s classic "You spin me round", except his version includes the phrase "when you go down" (pretty self explanatory) and Kesha from "The Hills" screeching part of the lyrics. Gross. Countless other examples are bombarding the radio waves, from Kristinia DeBarge to Jay-Z.

But my tolerance for re-makes ended when I saw an ad for ABC Family's new series "10 things I hate about you." And when I say new, I mean completely ripped off. The show uses the same graphic title, the same characters and plot line, and even includes a girl band remake of the song "I want you to want me," a staple of the original movie. It's one thing to subject the tween crowd to another summer of dead end dramas based on fictitous high school experiences. It's a whole other level to base that dead end drama on one of the classic chick flicks of the '90s.

This movie is a staple of my DVD collection, and one of my favorite performances from Julia Stiles (Heath Ledger holds his own, too.) And even though the movie itself is a remake (it's based loosely on Taming of the Shrew), I still find myself cringing every time I see the ads for it.

So if any of you have loved ones ages 8-14, make them watch the first movie before they attempt the TV bastardization. Oh, and get them to stop listening to Flo Rida unless he's talking about the boots with the fur.

boobs and waffle patterns: the college years

2009-06-10T14:40:00.000-07:00

So I've pretty much sorted through all my stuff at this point. I think my main conclusion is that I just have way too much crap, and an unhealthy affection for shoes. But the last of the bins and boxes contained mostly stuff from college, so here's some of my favorites from the college years:

My pen from the PBS headquarters, which I visited in January of 2007. Each time you click the pen a new phrase scrolls through, and when I picked it up today it was on one that said "be more tolerant." Thank you, public television.
My SAD (Singles Awareness Day) shirt from freshman year. My hall made the shirts to wear on Valentine's Day, and I still think of Katrina's shirt whenever I hear Destiny's Child "Independent Women," because she put phrases from the song all over hers.
An affirmation sheet from Lutherhaven. Camp (summer 2007) was a crazy time, and I don't think I've ever had to spend so much time affirming people I couldn't stand. No matter how much you love Jesus, some people just shouldn't work with children.
The card James gave me with my rain boots Christmas of last year. They are blue with white polka dots, and you better believe I jump in every puddle I see when I wear them.
A CD of photos from the 2006-2007 Whitworthian editorial staff. Thomas, you need a life.
The photo of me on the Rockin Rollercoaster in Hollywood Studios in Disneyworld this spring. Tied with sarah and I's photo from Tremors, circa 6th grade, for most epic photo taken on a roller coaster.

boobs and waffle patterns: part 1

2009-06-01T20:15:00.000-07:00

Yesterday I started the tedious process of moving. Well, let me back up a step. Three weeks ago I moved back to the Tri-Cities from Spokane, at which point my parents sold our house and had already moved some items to our new house 5 minutes away. So in addition to sorting through all my stuff to take to Baltimore, I have to empty my current bedroom and set up my new one.

This process began with my closet. Thanks to Sarah, when I graduated high school we spent two days sorting through all my stuff and labeling/sorting it into manageable spaces. I'm a terrible pack rat, and thus have trouble parting with 8th grade Algebra tests or the pin I bought on an elementary school field trip. And despite our careful organization 4 years ago, I still had a lot of stuff that had just been chucked into the top shelf, or stuff that I want to take to the East Coast and thus had to be unsorted and repacked. In this process, I came across some pretty interesting items. Here are a few of my favorites:

my Teen Girl Squad shirt from high school. Four of us made shirts based on the online cartoon. I was the Ugly One.

old dance pictures. I must say, I picked some pretty decent dresses (save for junior year prom. woof).

A CD someone made for me to accept my invitation to our senior year Sadies Hawkins dance. It also came with a life-size mannequin that was put in my car in the school parking lot, but I gave that part back.

My WWJD cloth watch that I bought at a church concert. Purple band with black plastic snap. Priceless.

A love poem written to me in the eighth grade, rhyming couplets and all.

A card from Sarah that she gave me after a particularly nasty break up. On the envelope she promised that "the next set of pedicures and brownies were on her." Pay up, sister.

My favorite yellow sweater with an applique teddy bear outlined in puffy paint, circa 1st grade.

A print off of an AOL Instant Message conversation I had with a friend sophomore year. Why I thought I would need to remind myself of all that angst is beyond me.

A document titled "Reasons why being boobless is awesome!" given to my by Alyssa.

-I think my favorites are #2: You can run without worrying about breaking your nose
because of floppage. And #40: You don't sink to the bottom of the pool since you don't
have those heavy weights.

A card from Alyssa with this message inside: "Waffle patterns on your butt from lawn chairs fade. Friendship lasts forever." So true.

After almost 2 hours of sorting, I had the closet done, and unfortunately also developed a rash across the front of my chest, probably from some creature lurking in the closet. That, or I'm allergic to the past.

You'll never get a second cupcake if you don't ask for it

2009-05-22T16:40:00.000-07:00

My 2 year old nephew, Benjamin, visited for about a week with my older brother for all the graduation hoopla. Here are some of the many lessons he taught me:

-Tell people how it is, and don't apologize. If you don't like the salmon, just say so. If your diaper is poopy, simply ask someone to change it for you.

-Swinging higher than you think you can is always exhilarating.

-Some people are better baseball partners than others.

-Shoes are not necessary when riding in a car.

-You'll never get a second cupcake if you don't ask for it.

-Games with sounds are better than games without sounds.

-Sliding down a staircase face first? Bad idea. Sliding down backwards? Endless fun.

-There's no good reason why we shouldn't play racecars in an international airport.

It's not all make believe

2009-05-13T22:51:00.001-07:00

Admitting I have a problem is the first step to healing, I'm told. That is, if I were willing to heal myself from the chaos that comes with being an avid "Grey's Anatomy" fan.

I know the show is full of ridiculous relationships, exaggerated emotions, and completely unrealistic medical monstrosities. But what can I say, addictions aren't rational.

With the season 5 finale taking over two hours of my life tomorrow night, I'm saddened and intrigued by the coordination of this show and the course of my college education. I started watching the show a little late in the game my sophomore year, but after catching up on seasons 1 and 2, I've never looked back.

The show has been one constant for me in a time when I never lived in one place for more than 9 months. Friday afternoons I knew that no matter what had gone on in the week, or how chaotic my life seemed, I could connect to abc.com and join people whose lives were inevitably more screwed up than mine. I could escape for 42 minutes into a world not entirely separate from my own, with characters who go big or go home. It's kept me connected to friends outside of college, as we've been able to rant and rave about Meredith's latest antics, or Callie's latest sexual orientation. This year I've been able to watch it in real time on Thursday nights, but the connection is still the same.

So tomorrow, I will make myself a heaping bowl of air-pop popcorn, pour a glass of milk, and settle in for a finale that I'm predicting will result in the death/absence of at least one major character. Hopefully the same will not be true in my own life.

And as a side note, here's an interesting article written by the show's neurological script consultant. It's fascinating.

a eulogy

2009-05-11T00:14:00.000-07:00

I realized tonight, driving home from a movie, that in 33 days, I will be effectively giving up journalism. I've been telling myself ever since I applied for Teach for America that I could freelance, or at least contribute to journalism in some capacity beyond simply a reader (although with the state of newspapers, I'm sure they'd be grateful to know they have at least one avid fan.)

But as the send-off date gets closer, it's becoming very clear that my time for outside writing is going to be slim to none. Sure I have the summer, but I have to survive an intensive summer training, a more than full-time teaching position and a master's degree at one of the most demanding universities in the country. Time for even a journal, let alone conducting interviews and research, will be precious.

And that sucks.

As I sat watching State of Play with two journalism friends, I couldn't help but get a pang of longing for the messy newsroom, the rush of a deadline, the frantic scramble for a pen that hasn't run out of ink. The joke in The Whitworthian newsroom is that it's our addiction. If I walk into a coffee shop, I usually spend more time eavesdropping than I do on whatever I'm there for. When I hear friends at a party, I snap into investigation mode: is this a trend? How many other people would have similar sentiments? Is this something I should follow up on? It's what makes for a better story, but also for a cursed life.

While the movie raises so many questions of ethics it's hard to keep track, it ends with an almost 5-minute eulogy for the print newspaper, walking the audience through the printing process from front page plates to newsstand. Hopefully I'll be able to get back into my drug before the news is dead.

And on a random semi-related note, props to Ben Affleck for sticking up for the Boston Globe. Now we only need 5 million more rich people to follow suit.

battle of intelligences (I mean, sexes)

2009-05-10T11:46:00.000-07:00

In my Interpersonal Communications class on Friday, we had a sort of battle of the sexes session. It involved the women on one side of the room and the men on the other, and we asked each other "questions" about relationships, dating, social norms, etc. There were two questions/statements I felt should be taken beyond the classroom. (As a disclaimer, I was pretty underwhelmed by the depth of questions people came up with. Just because it's Christian school doesn't mean we don't have the same issues as everyone else).

1. "Why do girls that claim they're feminists and all for women power and stuff still want to be courted and expect the guy to pay for everything? Isn't that hypocritical?"

I also point out that the male student said the word "feminist" as if it were synonymous with a child molester's name. I've heard two responses to this so far. First, that feminism means something different to every person who would label themselves as such, and it can't be assumed that all "feminists" believe all traditional roles should be eradicated. But the second, and my favorite of the two, came from my friend Jasmine: "They expect us to take care of EVERYTHING ELSE for the rest of the relationship (kids, the house, schedules, etc) so they can throw us a bone for a few months and pay for dinner." Well said.

2. This wasn't a question, but rather a study my professor shared about what men and women are attracted to. For men, it was first and foremost physical characteristics. For women, it was the "potential for monetary security." Here is my response, for both generalizations: phooey.

a bucket list, of sorts

2009-05-02T19:58:00.000-07:00

With my college career ending in less than two weeks, I've realized (as is inevitable in these nostalgic times) that I still have a lot I want to do at Whitworth University. Plus, I've always admired Alyssa's goal lists for defined periods of time. So, with 15 days left, here is my bucket list:

1. swim in the Aquatics Center. Katie and I already got this covered, we're going to a water aerobics class. brilliant.

2. Catch a pinecone. For non-Whitworth folk, this is a student tradition. Basically you're not cool unless you can say you've caught a pinecone falling out of a tree.

3-5. Go to the Screaming Yak, the Viking, and Double Dribble. (all bars, of course.)

6. Play miniature golf at Wonderland, the fun center literally a block away from campus that I've never been to.

7. Get a milkshake from the Jack in the Box drive-thru. The only way I will go to Jack in the Box is if it's on a list of this nature.

8. Sit and talk with someone at Rogue, the coffee shop across Division that also serves alcohol.

9. Get a cake from the library. This would require someone to send me a cake, though... what can I say, I'm an optimist.

10. Go on Whitworth's radio station, whitworth.fm. Kelsey and I are going to do a short show together: The Baconators.

11. Use the Dine with the Mind program, which essentially is a voucher to take a professor out to coffee. This one is more of a joke, but still might happen. Especially since my meal plan is quickly vanishing.

12. Make out in the library, preferrably in the poetry or classic literature sections. Like #8, this one takes outside participation. Again, optimism.

13. Tell a dirty joke right as a tour of prospective students walk by.

14. Go look at the art in the Koehler Gallery. Current exhibit: "Something better than free beer," the senior exhibit for art majors.

15. Rollerskate down the Hello Walk.

A different look

2009-05-01T00:00:00.000-07:00

In my Communications Ethics course today, a Fulbright scholar spoke about her take on Islamic dress in the gulf states.

I must say, my worldview was challenged.

A professor of English at the University of Bahrain, who is visiting Whitworth on a six-week Fulbright program, lectured about her country's take on the Hijab, the traditional scarf worn to cover the hair by Muslim women. She showed pictures of various styles and levels of modesty. She then compared these to the chador, what is what we consider a burka, or the full facial and body covering.

I knew before that for the majority of Muslim women, their clothing is their choice. As she said, the only country that requires the full is Afghanistan, and we all know how I feel about that. I've also always tried to make the distinction between Muslim and Arab, and fully realize that these terms are in no way interchangeable. There's a mosque down the road from my house. I get that.

But after hearing this incredible woman speak, I was inspired to realize that the West isn't the only one that cares about the oppression of Afghani women. Though she did say the idea of military or economic intervention in places like Afghanistan was a fundamentally Western idea, she said the women of Bahrain are just as outraged at the floggings in the street and the extreme takes on marriage.

Here's a fascinating video she showed us of the new First Lady in Qatar:

fight guns with girls

2009-04-20T10:32:00.000-07:00

Here is another opinions piece from the New York Times about the treatment of Afghan women, written by a member of the Afghanistan Independent Human Rights Commission. Read it.

Afghan women march, America turns away

I'm not usually one to groan about how the American media overlooks international crises in lieu of covering a YouTube "sensation" or a study that shows thinner people contribute less to global warming. But sometimes I just get to a point when the 24-hour news cycle could be used for so much more significant news. In years past, we could argue that newspapers had a limited amount of print space, and therefore had to focus on local issues in order to sell their product. Fine with me. But in a time of endless opportunities, when a story can run 18 pages and not cost any more than one of two sentences, why not spend the money to get to deeper and more substantial stories? Yes, the recent news of Taliban action against women has been covered, in some fashion, by FOX (at least they picked up the AP story, if that's "covering" something), The NYT, The Guardian, The Huffington Post, CNN, and others.

But, as the Times' column notes, "First, with the economic crisis and other domestic priorities, there is a sense in Washington that helping Afghanistan democratize is either a luxury American taxpayers cannot afford or a charitable cause they can delay."

This is terribly frustrating for me, especially because I have read several studies that show the education and advancement of women in a restrictive society, such as the Taliban's rule in Afghanistan, is an extremely effective way to fight terrorism. This was the attitude of Greg Mortenson, the subject of the runaway bestseller "Three Cups of Tea." He saw the education of women as fundamental to a stable and progressive society, and since has built over 78 schools in rural and often volatile regions of Pakistan and Afghanistan, which provide education to over 28,000 children, including 18,000 girls, according to the book's website.

As we face more than a trillion dollar defecit, a worldwide economic recession, and still fight a war on (at least) two fronts in the middle east, I would be much more supportive of a "war on terror" if it meant fighting the root causes of terrorism and hate, rather than just blowing them up.

(In other feminist rant news, check out this story from CNN about a case that reached the Supreme Court about a 13-year-old girl who was stripped searched at her school.)

a goal achieved

2009-04-19T12:42:00.001-07:00

Whitworth's Relay for Life event was Friday evening. I surpassed my fund raising goal by $20, which is definitely a first for me in the world of raising money. I walked for a cumulative 3.5 hours, and was happy to take every step. Coincidentally, today is Spokane's Komen race for the cure, specifically focused on breast cancer awareness. In honor of the race, I woke up and put on my "I heart boobs" shirt. The back of the shirt says "If you don't check them, I will." And don't think I won't.

I wasn't the only one who noticed

2009-04-16T12:27:00.000-07:00

Women in Afghanistan took to the streets Wednesday to protest the new Taliban-like restrictions on Afghani women, specifically in relation to marital sex and and sexual rights of women. I would have been honored to walk the three miles with them through mobs of of men calling them whores and attacking their vehicles. Check out this video of the march from the New York Times (sorry for the weird sizing):