Day 2: Where did you grow up? Share some memories...

Well, it's 1:40 and I have to get ready for work in just under an hour, so today's post will be an exercise in speedy writing. I am not good at speedy writing. Here we go.

I grew up in two places, really. I was born in New Mexico and we lived there till just before my 8th birthday.

Several years ago I drove a roommate down to New Mexico for a wedding and on the way back we were able to stop at my old house. The woman who lived there was so kind, she let me wander around the property and even let me come in the house to use the bathroom. I don't know if I've ever had a more surreal experience than that trip. Finding the house (I had to call my grandpa for directions) I kept driving past unexpectedly familiar things that would jump out of the background of an otherwise completely strange place. Things like an old bridge with odd wire shapes on the side, or the street up to the church building. Or the ice cream place my grandma took me that I thought for years after was Orange Julius, but is in fact called the Vanilla Moose (we stopped and got the very same drink and it tasted exactly as delicious as I remembered it, which was freaking magical). Then getting to the actual house where everything was both incredibly familiar and also so different. My grandparents' house had fallen into complete disrepair and was basically a rundown shack. Our old place now with a closed in porch all around.

But what are some specific memories I have of that house? I remember standing on the porch down at the end by the driveway. I think the porch was still level at this time; it hadn't yet been been left all akilter after my uncle had to excavate a skunk out from under it (I remember so many skunks having to be removed out from under our house, which was a single-wide trailer with an addition built on). I'm standing there on the porch and someone....I think maybe one of the Hinke children, which would have made it Heber since he and my uncle Jesse were best friends...has just given me a piece of candy.  I put the candy in my mouth and almost instantly begin to cry. It was a Warhead and it felt like it was burning through my tongue (this was not a lesson I learned as I later on developed a great love of Warheads and did in fact burn a hole in my tongue from eating an entire bag in just a few days). I cried, but I didn't spit it out. I remember getting to that last tiny burst of sour in the center.

I remember my mom making us popcorn in her black and white and orange air popper. We would sit around the stove up in the living room and listen to records. Bible stories that were in black and gold sleeves, or the soundtrack from Popeye (whenever that came out). Mom would scratch our backs and I don't think anything in my life since has ever been that cozy.

I think the top on my mom's was much more yellow. But otherwise it was just like this

oh my gosh. I actually found one. I freaking love the internet.

I think we must have been incredibly frustrating children, my brother and I. We would play these games at night. Mom would tell us we were not to get out of bed, so we would take our blankets and sheets and our silkies (my mom's old nightgowns which we were absolutely obsessed with and each had our own collection of) and we would stretch them out end to end. And at the very end we would be stretched out, literally one toe still touching the chain, laying on the floor declaring that we were still technically in bed. We could make it almost to the kitchen that way. I am not sure how mom didn't strangle us on those nights.

I remember so clearly the day my brother came in after crashing on his bike. His knees were bright red, though thinking back they must have just been thoroughly skinned. There was no blood running down his legs. But that was the moment I became terrible afraid of bikes. Instead of learning to ride my own (I got a beautiful white and pink and purple one for Christmas one year) I would run along pushing it. Or I would just run along with Dan as he rode his. That was back when I liked to run...

I didn't actually learn to ride a bike until we moved up to Oregon. This is where I finished growing up (did you see that segue? maximum smooth!). I eventually forced myself to learn to ride my bike on the dirt road behind the house. I think I must have been 10? I don't know. But I would push myself along and coast as long as I could keep my balance. It took a while before I got up the courage to actually pedal.

In the Union house I got my own bedroom for the first time. Up till then Dan and I had shared a room. In high school I decorated by putting up pictures of wild animals salvaged from calendars. I lined them up in a border around the ceiling. It was very hard for me to throw those away when I moved out for college. I have the heart of a hoarder.

pretty sure I had the 1999 version of this exact calendar

Mom has always loved rearranging the furniture, but when I was 9 or 10 she put together a configuration that left a tiny alcove between the couch and the wall. This became my little hiding place for what felt like quite a long time. I would hide in there and write. I wrote an incredibly stereotypical story about a girl who found a magical horse by a river and tamed it. I don't remember why, but eventually mom banned me from hiding in that little place.

I started public school in Oregon. Up till then I had been home school. There were kids my own age. More than that, there were girls my own age. I experienced my first sleep overs, my first birthday parties, my first experiences with the politics of childhood friendship. I was not good at it. When asked which boy I liked the most I did not know that the correct response was to giggle and drop hints. I just said I liked Remington the most because he was quiet and shy and seemed nice.

It's almost time for me to get ready for work, so I have to wrap this up. Of course there are so many more memories. These just happened to be the first to pop into my head. And very unedited because I didn't have the time. Ah well...

A Woman of a Certain Age...

So today was my 28th birthday.

All my life birthdays have been a big deal.  When we were little my mom would go all out.  You would wake up on your birthday and find the dining room decorated with streamers and balloons and a preliminary present waiting for you at the kitchen table.  Because mom wanted to make sure that we were always excited for our sibling's birthday, she would make sure that whoever's birthday it wasn't also had a small gift at their place setting (this remains to this day one of my mother's most brilliant parenting ideas).  She made us these intricate, amazing cakes that were works of art.  One year she constructed a whole clock tower for me, complete with columns.  I could not tell you a single birthday present I ever received but I still remember those cakes.  Of course we have no pictures.  We were the anti-hipsters before anti-hipsters were a thing...

I'm not even joking when I say that my first birthday at college was a bit of a blow.  Nothing quite made the point that I'd left home like waking up to a sad empty dorm room with no streamers in sight.  To be fair, I'm having a vague memory of a possible party thrown for me later that evening by the girls on my floor.  Maybe combined with other September birthdays?  Idk.  But still, that "first thing in the morning surprise that wasn't actually a surprise" hadn't been there and I'll be honest: I still wake up on the morning of my birthday with a teeny tiny hope that somehow there will be balloons and streamers, and every year that there isn't I am a very small, reasonable adult level of sad about it.

The early college years all were rather underwhelming like that.  It wasn't till I came back to school after my study abroad that birthdays began to regain their former glory.  It's amazing what happens when you start having friends...

When you have friends birthdays become a big deal again, even in the absence of breakfast streamers and balloons.

Fun fact: my first ever blues dance happened to be on my birthday.  I had no idea what a "birthday jam" was and I was terrified; when they announced it I kept quiet and thus missed out on one of the best parts of being a dancer.  Had to wait an entire year for my chance to roll back around.  Tragic.

I was the happy recipient of one not-so-surprise party, and another party that was such a surprise that I didn't even show up till I was called and frantically begged to come to Slab "because".  Both experiences were delightful.

I think it was at 25 that I started planning my own birthday party.  That year I asked everyone to bring me something wrapped.  I didn't care what it was, I just wanted to unwrap things.

that is me about to unwrap a sled and my own butcher knife

enjoying a birthday dance which I have never been so foolish as
to pass up ever again after that first poor decision

The next year I asked for flowers.  Fresh, paper, plastic...I would accept anything but those nasty craft store fabric ones.  I got some really silly ones and some really lovely ones and it was absolutely perfect.

Last year Anneke volunteered to throw my party.  She did such a good job!  All my friends stopped by and even though I hadn't asked for anything at all that year, several of them brought gifts (some less "serious" than others).  After the party we went to Red Robin.  Again, amazing.

But last year also felt a bit like an ending, at least in retrospect.  Between 27 and 28 the last of my closest dance friends moved away.  Other friends graduated and moved, or got married or made babies, or got adult-type jobs.  At 25 I had literally a crowd of people I loved and who loved me and bringing them all together was simply delightful.  I must confess that at 28 the crowd has, with all reasonableness, dwindled.  The currents of life have swept a great number of that crowd down different paths to different places.

So this year I didn't throw a party. It just didn't feel right, as idiotic as that sounds.

Instead I dressed up for work, makeup included. I clocked out early. Kara and I ordered pizza and watched some Gilmore Girls and then went to institute.  I ordered a slice of cake from The Chocolate, ate the cake and left the frosting, and questioned who I even am anymore.

And now here I sit at 12:30 am feeling apparently incurably contemplative and wondering if this is what people mean when they talk about "feeling old".  I've never dreaded old age.  My personality is, in fact, far better suited to an old woman than to a young adult.  No one tells grandmothers that they're wasting their lives because they prefer hot chocolate and a good book to an afternoon's hike.  But "28" keeps running around in my head knocking into the bookshelves and disturbing the cats.  "28" tells me I don't want a party this year because it will just remind me of how few friends I have left and how many I haven't made to replenish the pool.  "28" says that I should have, if not a solid plan for my life, at least a definite direction.  "28" says I should stop talking about being an adult and just go ahead and be one.  "28" says that old age might be something I'll enjoy when it gets here, but that the middle bit that I thought was annoyingly long is perhaps not nearly as long as I thought.

When you're little you experience finite eternity, measured in endless summer days.  I suppose "getting old" is the realization that school will come eventually, and each day, no matter how glorious, is NOT endless, but rather one day less before the end.  And 28 is the year that I am realizing that summer cannot last forever.  The day I thought would never come.

The day when I worry "I'm getting old"

Suitably Hirsute

...

In a largish transmogrification from my typical attitude, I have found myself more and more frequently striving to achieve what I like to call "Sexy Genius Hair."

Sexy Genius Hair, as you may have presupposed, is typically found on Sexy Geniuses.  Note the capitalization, which, as we all know, distinguishes a Sexy Genius family from a sexy genius family.  The former is fairly prevalent and found primarily in its native habitat of Television.  That latter is far more rare and found exclusively in The Real World (this family is far more difficult to classify due to the conflicting list of characteristics used by different scientists for classification).

But back to the point.  There are several major genuses of Sexy Genius, ranging from, to name but a few, the Awkwardly Adorable Sexy Genius to the Difficult and Actually Quite Rude but Fictionally Worth It Because He Is So Sexy Genius, to the Mysterious Sexy Genius; each can be relatively clearly categorized by its standard markings and iconic traits.  Sexy Genius Hair, however, can be found throughout the family, and often will vary in nature with the particular genus and even species.  Allow me to present some examples:

from here

image here

image from here

image via: here

via this tumblr

via this site that you probably shouldn't visit cause it looks shifty

As you can see, while it may be straight or curly, and even on rare occasions shortish, the real key to Sexy Genius Hair is that it must look simultaneously sexy, and yet also as though the Sexy Genius displaying it gives exactly zero bothers over it.  Indeed, it can and often will be mussed frequently, after which it magically returns to perfect sexiness.

Obviously, it is important to note that Sexy Genius Hair is found almost exclusively on the males.  Some scientists have argued that MPDG Hair is the female equivalent, but I maintain that the two are quite distinct and it is possible, though quite rare, for a female to achieve Sexy Genius Hair.

It is this belief which has inspired my own hirsute sartorial endeavors.  One specimen in particular could reasonably be cited as the genesis of my ambitions...

via

via

via

Alas, I have not yet quite achieved a perfect Sexy Genius Hair.  But today I got close.

And tomorrow I shall most likely try again.  Rome was not built in a day, nor do species evolve over night.  My Sexy Genius Hair is no more a simple endeavor than those, and so I press on with the struggle of looking effortless...

Prompt 21: A Photo of Something That Makes Me Happy

Today is a good day to write this post because it was not the happiest day at work I've ever had.  Sometimes Caleb takes on contract assembly work for me (that is, other companies hire us [me] to assemble small numbers of products for them) especially when work for me is thin on the ground as it has been for the last month.  Unfortunately, the latest contract job he got me didn't come together until this week...aka the week when we finally did get actual work of our own to do.  Suffice it to say, this has been a crazy week, made doubly so coming straight on the heels of all my previous down time.  I worked over 40 hours in what was supposed to be a short week.  I detail all of this simply to set the stage for my day today, which was the day I finally started this contract project.  Or rather, tried to start it.

See, the core of my job is PCB assembly.  That means that I build these:

quite literally, actually.  That's one of the sensors we sell, the GP9, which I assembled last year (and, incidentally, it is the picture I took for the website).  I don't know how well you can see, but each of those little parts has a little label next to it, like C1 or U9 or whatever.  Those labels tell me which part goes where by way of what we call a BOM (Bill Of Materials).  I go through the BOM one component at a time to populate a board.

In a perfect world the BOM lists each type of part together--all the capacitors, resistors, ICs, etc together.  It's easy to read, it's clear, and it absolutely does not inspire within me the urge to rip my hair out of my head.  The world was not perfect today as I looked at the BOM for our contract project.

The most ridiculous part of this entire story is the fact that, after spending literally 8 hours going over this BOM, sorting out all the parts, asking poor Caleb all the questions, repeatedly bashing my head into the desk, and otherwise cursing every single person who might have even glanced at this BOM and not fixed the one billion problems I was having...there actually only ended up being 2 real concrete mistakes.  Just a lot of technically benign stupidity.  Which was awesome because it meant that all of the stress I'd passed on to Caleb had really been mostly my own fault.  Bless him, he did such a good job of not slapping my face when we finally settled on the two mistake conclusion.  He's such a good boss...

Briefly, my problems involved incredibly unhelpful product descriptions, missing parts, part descriptions which didn't match part numbers, and part numbers which didn't match actual parts.  The same part was listed multiple times as a new part.  And I refuse to feel guilty about my struggles in the face of the ultimate two mistake total.  I maintain that anyone would have been confused by the mess that was that BOM.

All of this is to say that my day was deeply frustrating.  Frustrations with other people, frustrations with myself, and, of course, dealing with Caleb's frustrations about the whole thing (not least being the fact that I spent an entire day dealing with this madness).

And yet.

In the midst of this I decided I must needs listen to something happy or truly my brain was going to start pinging.

this is where I would put the video of Rory complaining about her brain pinging if I could find it.  But I couldn't...which is incredibly lame and causes me to question the state of the internet

So I decided to listen to a song that I discovered yesterday by creepily stalking my friend Jarom on Spotify.  And by stalking I mean that it showed up on my player that Jarom had listened to this song and for reasons I do not understand, I thought "huh, that looks good...I'll listen to it!"  Understand, the thumbnail they give you of any given album is literally the size the north face of a sugar cube.  And the song was called "Ala Barfi" by Mohit Chauhan.  Which is fine, I'm just saying that, as the title was in a foreign language I had exactly none connection with it.

All that being said, I did listen to it for some reason and discovered perhaps the happiest song I've ever heard.  I proceeded to listen to the entire album (technically, a soundtrack to a movie somewhat unfortunately named "Barfi") as I struggled through the annoyances of the day.  And somehow, magically, it was exactly the right thing.  My mood picked up and I was able to simply find the entire experience amusing rather than hair-rippingly frustrating.

Which is to say, I am not posting a photo of something that makes me happy, but rather posting that song.  If you have the interest I heartily suggest going and listening to the entire album.  But that first song was really the best one.  So, without further ado, here it is

also, for the first time I find that I want to watch a Bollywood movie...like a lot...

Prompt 4: A Favorite Photograph of Your Best Friend[s]

The most challenging element of this post is determining who is my best friend.  Answer: I don't really know.  But I think the two top contenders at this point in my life are Kara Baxter and Matt McDonald.

First, Kara.  Kara is definitely my oldest friend, and by oldest I mean in terms of the age of our friendship.  I'm actually friends with people much older than her.  I think my favorite thing about our friendship is the amount of crap it has been through.  But despite those rough parts we remain friends, and are, in fact, better friends now than we've ever been.  Besides my brother, the only person here in Provo who has any idea of my history and development as a human is her.  Unfortunately, we neither of us have a favorite photo of her, so instead you're going to get a small sampling carefully collected from facebook.  Do enjoy:

because this was high school

because this was the trip where we became adult friends

because running is part of who she is

because she is beautiful and has a very unique style

because obviously

because that expression is my favorite expression.  

And then Matt.  Technically Matt and I go way back to my days in Russian class.  However, since we literally never interacted there, that hardly counts.  Then for a time our relationship consisted of him running in to me when I was at dance things like booth or the Malt Shoppe where I, this random girl he barely knew, would try to coerce him into dancing with me.  This was a frightening time for him.  Then at last he moved into my ward in Campus Plaza and we became real friends.  Then, after he moved out of Campus Plaza, and then back in, he became my best friend.  I love Matt because he listens to me and because he trusts me.  Aside from those few months in Campus Plaza, the bulk of our friendship has existed online.  We talk about whatever we want or need to talk about.  We watch movies together via netflix and chat.  We share whatever we're interested in or working on with each other.  Matt tries to help me be healthier and I try to help him be more confident.  This is a picture I took of Matt during one of our many summer evenings in Campus Plaza.  He's wearing the tie I gave him and being happy and annoyed with me for insisting on taking his picture.

I miss this human

Coming up next we have prompt #5: A Photo of Myself 2 Years Ago.....(*dun dun dunnnnnn*)

Graduation: A Summary

I am a college graduate.

In a matter of two days I crossed the threshold from student to…bachelor? Plain old label-less human? At any rate, not a student. Thursday, out-going university president Cecil Samuelson “bestowed” upon me and one or two thousand others a degree, the physical manifestation of which will arrive in a couple of weeks via the thoroughly unceremonious United States Postal Service. Friday I was handed an empty vinyl cover in which that magical piece of paper will eventually reside.  I shook the hands of men I'd never before laid eyes on and walked from one side of a stage to the other. Thusly was my education declared complete and my life, as a student, pronounced over. 

If all of this sounds like I am terribly prosaic and unsentimental, I am. If you recall, I have previously declared a complete apathy for engaging in the ceremonial hoop-jumping known as walking for graduation. To me a nine year bachelor’s degree feels less like something to celebrate than something to just get over with as soon as possible…    

The problem is that, though probably less so than it was in high school, a student’s graduation is by no means an achievement which belongs solely or even mostly to them. Even a relatively self-sufficient person like me is still indebted to her parents to some extent, albeit perhaps more in intangibles than otherwise*. Hence I feel that all this pomp and circumstance surrounding graduation is not so much for the graduate’s sake as for the family’s. Which is why I decided not to let my graduation pass silently in the night like my brother. Well, that and I was hoping for congratulatory cash donations. Because I’m classy like that. And poor. Mostly poor. 

Unfortunately, letting your family celebrate your achievements isn’t exactly fun for them when you yourself couldn’t care less about them. In fact, I can tell you from my own experience that it’s actually incredibly irritating and insulting. So it behooved me to strive after some level of engagement in the hoopla which, after all, was specifically for me (and also Dan). 

Alas, behoovement does not engagement make. 

It doesn’t help that there are apparently only two questions anyone can think to ask you post-graduation.  “Do you feel any different?” and “So what’s next?” These are especially trying when you have weaned yourself out of school as gradually as I have. I had exactly zero changes pending the ceremony and, in fact, slightly resented it for awkwardly interrupting my regular schedule. If nothing else, this makes for dull conversation—though I discovered on Sunday that it is still preferable to the guy who uses his congratulations to humblebrag about his own self-funded education, graduation, and consequent disposal of student debt 25 years ago (after his fourth or fifth assertion of hatred at the idea of dragging that debt around with him I was forced to reply “Oh really?  Because I just love it!” because I can only handle so much humblebragging)

In the end, I guess I can be grateful to the fifteen year campaign my brother and I have inadvertently waged upon my mother to strip her of any vestige of hope for a nice family moment. Sadly, we not only lack sentimentality for educational milestones, but for pretty much every other thing my mom cares about. Because my mom is practically nothing but sentiment. Poor woman was somehow cursed with two pragmatically stoic children who could never satisfy her need for heartfelt and teary-eyed moments. But despite my mom’s enduring optimism on this front, Dan’s and my war of attrition has, at least, conditioned her to accept an incredibly low level of participation as satisfactory. She’s like an emotional migrant worker living through the Dust Bowl years of her children’s lives—she can make do with practically nothing. 

This is not to say that I didn’t try. I sincerely tried to glean wisdom from [stay awake through] the speeches, even the incredibly pompous student speaker on Friday. I rebuked myself when snarky commentary about all the arbitrary traditions rose, unbidden, to my lips. I even pulled out Rory’s graduation from Yale to strive after inspiration.

Alas, it was all in vain.  I am as I am; incredibly unimpressed with the ceremony of graduating college.

Luckily, as anyone who has ever talked to me about my birthday can attest, I do love any occasion where my friends and family get together, especially if it involves presents and/or food (as we all know, food is kind of like a very frequent gift to your mouth, so they’re basically the same thing).  Therefore, on that front—that is, the front where tradition dictates the giving of some sort of graduation gift—I found the weekend to be quite nice.

Of course, I admit this with some embarrassment, though my feelings on being an enthusiastic receiver of gifts should probably wait for another post.  Suffice it to say, I have a feeling that it is generally deemed tacky to openly admit that you look forward to events for the presents.  But in this case my natural tackiness came to my assistance, buoying me up to find some enjoyment in an otherwise boring and rather inconvenient weekend.  If I couldn’t muster a tear for the ending of an era, at least I could easily smile for the bouquet of lovely flowers I received to commemorate it!

Thus my favorite part of my graduation weekend had nothing to do with actually graduating, save that it was the occasion that brought us together. And that was our big dinners Thursday and Friday nights. All four of my parents were there (a first-time experience that I very much enjoyed) as well as some of my closest friends. There was delicious food and even a couple really fantastic gifts. 

I am left wishing that it didn’t require some arbitrary ceremony or “milestone” for people who love each other to get together and eat and even give each other presents. If I had the money, I would make weekends like this happen far more often…only without the polyester robes, ridiculous hats, and time wasted in uncomfortable chairs. Perhaps then I wouldn’t be left with a vague feeling of failure at the end. Regardless, I am glad that I got to see my family this weekend, and even that I graduated, though that’s more in an abstract, reasoned sense than any sort of emotional response. That’s how I feel. 

And before you ask, I don’t know what’s next…

*Let us pause a moment for the obligatory disclaimer about how I’m making some assumptions here and that I acknowledge that actually there are plenty of kids who may not have anything at all to thank their parents for and I’m sorry if they’re feeling marginalized right now and they have my sincere apologies

Filling the time till I die...

So...post-college life.  As you all know, it kind of snuck up on me (sneaked?  really?  whatever, we're sticking with "snuck" because I'm a rebel).  I haven't had my moment of college closure.  Rather I've been doing a lot of thinking, and the conclusions I've come to are...depressing.  Especially for me specifically (that is, a single Mormon girl getting uncomfortably close to 30).  Growing up Mormon I never questioned that after college I'd be married and making/raising the babies.  But shoot!  I'm out of college and ain't no babies up in here.  And there aren't likely to be any for a while.  Suddenly I am faced with the realization that there is no guarantee that I'm going to get married.  I may not get to have the babies.  Don't worry...I'm still holding at bay the full-on panic of that thought.  But what I am doing is trying to figure out what an adult life is supposed to be full of if it isn't full of family.

The fact is, up till now I've been living my life like a video game (for lack of a better analogy).  I've had all these benchmarks that are like leveling up.  Start primary; level up.  Go to high school: level up.  College; level up.  Just like a video game, the goals have been clearly explained and set in front of me.  But graduating from college was pretty much the last level I could beat on my own.  Like I said, the next level has always been family...but I kind of need a partner for that one.  Which means that, for the first time in my life, while I do have a next level in mind, it has become a much more misty, on the horizon sort of thing rather than a planned, scheduled surety.  And maybe the next level I have in mind isn't even the right one!  Basically, my life has gone from Tetris™ to Myst™.  Lots of wandering around and exploring with only minimal actual game progress.

well, technically this is Riven. It had prettier worlds.  

So here I am, unable to level up, stuck exploring for secondary games and sub-challenges and easter eggs and any clue what I should be doing.  The big one I should be working on is a career.  After all, we Americans are all about our careers, right?  That's what TV tells me.  You all may remember that post a while back flirting with the idea of buying a bookstore.  Unfortunately (or fortunately, depending) that idea hasn't exactly progressed.  But I have been thinking a bit lately about my current job situation.  As I've said many times before, I absolutely love my job.  But I mentioned that I worry that perhaps part of the reason that I love it is that it is so safe and doesn't challenge me at all.  Honestly, I'm not really sure if there's anything wrong with that.  But I will admit that I'm starting to think maybe I should pull a resume together and at least have my ears open for any opportunities.

But that means that, for the time being, the sub-quest of Job is taken care of.  I have a job, achievement unlocked, plus 250 coins (per month)!  So what else should I do?

Well, the depressing truth is that life doesn't actually have clearly delineated quests, achievements, or levels anymore.  I don't have any more socially dictated benchmarks that can reassure me that my life is progressing.  All I have is an indeterminate length of time that ought to be filled before I die.  My job is to fill that time in the most worthwhile way that I can.

Quick story.  Way back in 2010 when I worked at Target, in a desperate attempt to find some way to keep my mind occupied, one day I started asking every person who came through my line which was their favorite fairytale between Sleeping Beauty, Beauty and the Beast, and Cinderella, and why.  Sadly, I no longer have the exact results (though I remember them generally).  But I did come up with some really interesting anecdotal data.  At the time I came up with this great idea for a research project built on that data and I was legitimately excited about it (almost as excited as I still am about my epic Batman/V for Vendetta/Sense and Sensibility analysis).  However, all that actually got done was the research about one single fairytale that ended up as this blog post.  And there it ended.

it is absurd trying to find non-Disney images of these stories...

This week, as anyone who follows me on the fbook knows, I returned to my fairytales.  Unfortunately, I have no idea now what my great research project was going to be.  But I decided to go ahead and finish researching the history of the stories anyway.  I think it's fascinating and, who knows?  Maybe in the course of my research I'll remember the overall project?

 But mostly, it just seemed like a better way for me to spend my evenings than they way I have been--either drifting aimlessly in the directionless eddies of facebook and buzzfeed, or turning my brain entirely off on TV binges.  Surely there must be more value in learning than there is in comatose internet browsing....right?

I guess?

That is...yes.  I cannot accept that nearly vegetative clicking is on par with learning; even if that learning is pretty much without use or even reason.  Because that is what my research is.  I don't remember what that project was supposed to be, so as of now I'm just learning about early fairytales for no other reason than that I find them interesting.  And that's the problem.  My Mormon conditioning tells me that information and education are worthwhile for their own sake.  But another part of me keeps whispering that simply taking in information is...kind of a waste.  After all, what really is the difference between three hours of facebook status updates and buzzfeed articles vs three hours of JSTOR and wikipedia articles about 18th century marriage traditions and the literary tradition of the animal bridegroom?  Cause the facebook time is giving me information too.  I'm learning who is pregnant, who is engaged, who is hungry, and who is addicted to instagram.  So why do I feel less like I've "wasted" my evening after the JSTOR articles than the facebook?  Is that feeling justified?  Why?

baha! this came up when I googled "what's the point?"

I'm actually still working on these questions.  Because I feel like answering them will help me with the bigger question of where is my next level up.  Or rather, with no levels left to reach, what exactly am I supposed to be doing now in this game?  How should I be using the time I have?

I would legitimately like to know what you all think...

The men in my life...

Dads.

technically, this is my uncle, but there he is with
his daughter being a good dad :)

The fact is, I've had my ups and downs with the notion of fatherhood in my life.  There was a long period of time where I didn't feel like I had one at all.  Unfortunately, that is just the way things sometimes turn out when your parents get divorced before your first birthday.

But this post isn't about father issues and angst.  Not at all.  Because I no longer feel fatherless.  On the contrary, I am blessed with not just one, but two truly fantastic men who stand in my life as fathers.

And you know what?  Dads are awesome.

Today was one of those days.  One of those days where my life got crazy and stressful and I wasn't sure what to do or how to do it.  I was talking to Matt and he was being ever so sweet and helpful.  But sometimes that just isn't enough.  Sometimes you need to talk to your dad.

Hal

See, dad's are the eternal solvers of problems.  Did my car break down?  Call my dad.  Is there a problem with my job?  Call my dad.  Am I unsure about this class?  Call my dad.

Of course, all dads are different.  Some are mechanics; they can use their hands and there isn't a machine built they can't fix.  Others are thinkers; they can look at a problem and see the solution no matter how convoluted you think it is.  Others are supporters; they pick you up when you're feeling like you've fallen into an emotional gully.

This is why I am so grateful that I've somehow wound up with two of them.  I get the benefit of both their talents and specialties.

I called both of my dads today.  My first call today was to Larry, my mom's second husband.  He's calm and understanding and very practical.  I called to ask him a huge favor and his answer, without even a moment's hesitation or deliberation, was yes.  Knowing that I had his support helped to calm me down and allowed me to move forward with a plan.  Next I called Hal, my mother's first husband and my biological father (I do not call either of these men by their first name; I just call them both "dad" but this makes it hard to distinguish them...hence the first names).  He was able to help me break down my problem and find a way to get started.  I was completely overwhelmed and had no idea what I was doing, but he was able to help me stand back and find a starting point.

Larry

After talking to them both I had this moment of utter gratitude that I am blessed with not just one of these wonderful men, but two.  I may have felt like I had no father at all when I was younger, but now I'm lucky enough to have both these men in my life.

So here's to dads.  They're one of life's greatest blessings!

Cultural Education Times

Fun Fact: weddings are a big deal.  Always.

I'm currently in Germany for two reasons.  The first is because I've wanted to come back to Europe ever since I left it four years ago.  The second, and rather more important, is that my good friend Ralf is getting married.  Strike that...he now IS married.  At least, part way.

So, we got the news last fall that he was engaged and I decided right then and there that I was going to be at the wedding.  As it turned out, it wasn't quite that simple, since Ralf and Marlene decided that they were going to pick a date two weeks before the end of my semester.  However, I somehow worked it all out, and here I am.

Today was the first day of the wedding.  That's right, it's a two day affair.  Today was the civil service, which is a quite small affair, and then tomorrow is the big religious ceremony that will be attended by about 160 people.  Today was when they go to the equivalent of the city hall (the village...office of bureaucracy?) with only their very immediate family and get married legally.  Ralf's parents and his two sisters (with respective boyfriends) were there, as well as a cousin he used to be best friends with when they were young.  Marlene's two brothers, her sister and sister's fiance and their baby, her parents, and her grandparents were there.  And me and Kara.  I felt mildly out of place for a moment.  But then they asked me to take a lot of pictures for them and I didn't feel so out of place.  Alas, unlike an American city hall, which would be boring and beige and have recessed fluorescent lighting making everyone looked green, their city hall equivalent was...in a crypt?  It was in a stone-built basement space that really did seem incredibly crypt-like.  Either way, it was really wretched lighting and most of my pictures came out blurry so I won't really be able to help the family out after all.  Not to mention, I decided it would be cool to video the actual ceremony, so about three minutes after the dude started giving his speech, once I realized he was speechafying rather than just asking everyone to sit down and shut up, I started recording.  I handed the camera to Kara because she had a much better view, but we eventually decided that perhaps we should stop videoing until something interesting happened.  Which meant that Kara turned the video off.  And then they stood up to exchange vows.  Kara ran over to the aisle so she could get a really great shot of the the minister between their two backs and caught the whole thing perfectly.  Except she forgot to actually turn the video back on to record.  So really all she got was her own nice view of the vows.  And Ralf and Marlene have a nice long video of their minister talking forever.  I hope he was at least interesting.  Alas, I have no idea...

Because I don't speak German.  Turns out "lending a hand" is 100% easier and less frustrating when you can actually understand what is happening around you.  Kara and I spent a hefty part of this morning just standing around wishing we knew what was going on so that we could help.  Even just getting to the hall was hard because no one seemed to know what was going into what car, including us.  Also, it turns out that if you get a crowd of Germans in a room and you want them to accomplish something you should give them about 50 times longer than you think they'll really need.  We stood around doing absolutely nothing for a solid hour after the wedding service trying to figure out when and where to sit down.  Eventually we did sit down to tables that Kara and I had set up the day before for Sabine, Ralf's mother.  We ate possibly the most delicious soup on the face of the earth.  It looked like this:

It looked sort of completely terrifying, but turned out to be heavenly.  Those cubes are actually egg, prepared some mysterious way so that the yolk and white were completely homogeneous.

Here's a picture of the table settings and Marlene's flowers

Kara took that picture.  The dinner was lovely, except for the part where the guy handing Kara her plate knocked over her champagne flute full of orange juice and some of it got on my camera.  I was real worried, but turns out it was ok.  There was also a stinkin' cute baby girl there who, aside from a really unfortunate mullet decision by her parents, was skull-explodingly adorable.  This is another of Kara's pictures, showing her in all her cuteness wearing the fabulous little baby sweater I want to learn how to knit:

Ok, so that picture doesn't really show the sweater.  But it shows her insane cuteness in profile.


Anyway. Enough pictures for now because it is taking forever to load them and I need to go to bed 18 minutes ago.  So, after the luncheon Kara and I were put in charge of clearing off and putting away all the tables and chairs, which we completed with admirable swiftness.  All of us then trouped home (siblings, parents, significant others, and us Americans) and changed out of our nice clothes so we could go to the other hall where we'll be having the other service tomorrow.

This was where the insanity really began.  Remember how I said weddings are a big deal?  Remember how I said a bunch of Germans in a room are completely incapable of just getting to work?  Yeah, both of these facts were forcibly demonstrated to me today.  Along with the conviction that when it comes to setting up tables and chairs and covering those tables with table cloths...just trust the Mormons.  Seriously.  We have years of experience with these things.  We really do know the best way to fit the tables in and still leave room for the caterers.  Alas, they did not trust the Mormons, and they were a bunch of Germans (and one of them is a physicist!  I should have already known we were screwed!).  So we literally spent 40 minutes just trying to figure out exactly where the tables should go.  Part of this involved the most perniciously fastidious measuring of distances I've ever seen.  Heaven preserve us from a table one or two millimeters out of line!  Also, I think there really is some truth to the idea that Americans are obsessed with work.  In the time it took Kara and I to fold all 160 napkins (into chicken's feet, if you listen to her, though I thought they looked nice enough) They managed to...put two strips of ribbon on all the tables?  I think they also managed to put out a few glasses.  Most of the people there were actually eating some of Marlene's lovely chocolate cherry cake, or sitting and chatting.  After Kara and I finished the napkins we took over putting out the glasses (water and wine) and trying to make sure that all the wine glasses matched.  We kept having to work around the two or three guys who spent pretty much the entirety of the 5 hours we were preparing the hall going around making infinitesimal adjustments to the silverware, chair, and table placements to make sure that they were all lined up absolutely perfectly!  I've never seen such obsession over alignment in my life.  And so completely unnecessary....

After five hours of this Kara and I were ready to go home.  The fact is, there really was only enough work there for about three hours had everyone chipped in and worked hard.  Instead we drug it out by an extra two and that knowledge was wearing on the two of us.  Except that we realized that probably much of our frustration would have been eased had we known what anyone was saying at any point during the entire process.  For one thing we could only ever wait for Ralf or his sister Andrea or Joe (the American exchange student of years gone by) to tell us what to do.  No one else felt comfortable talking to the Americans.  For another, no one but those three could understand when we made suggestions, so we were pretty much completely ignored every time.  But despite all that, when we came back from a trip to the grocery store with Ralf we were forced to admit that the hall did look quite lovely.  I will admit that I was worried.  There are no less than four different reds on those tables, and not a one of them matching.  But from a distance they sort of all blend together and you don't notice so much.

Tangent about the floor:  instead of the traditional boards, cut in long strips along the grain of the wood, this floor was made of the perpendicular ends of the boards.  That is, if you took the ends of all those long boards and stuck them all in together, you'd have this floor.  It was a fascinating pattern of half-arches and I'm going to take a picture of it as soon as we get back tomorrow.  Bryan will love it!

Anyway, we finally made it home--all of us wiped out.  Tomorrow Kara and I have to get up early so that we can move our things to a neighbor's house, where we'll be spending Saturday night.  Some 20 or so cousins are descending upon this house tomorrow, or so we've been told.  I can only assume they'll be packed over the floor much like the Africans were on those old Spanish slave galleys back in the 15th century.  Kara and I (as well as Kami and Joseph when they return from Berlin) will get a full apartment to ourselves in said neighbor's basement and I'm perfectly willing to relocate for that kind of space and privacy.  I believe we'll be back Sunday night, though, since someone in the family is supposed to be driving us to the airport Monday morning.

I'm both excited and nervous for tomorrow.  On the one hand, it will be nice to see all our work from yesterday put to use.  The ceremony tomorrow is much grander and I think it will be much more comparable to an American wedding.  I'm quite looking forward to the experience (though not so much to the open bar, especially combined with the dancing we've been told to expect in the evening).  However, the temperature here has been dropping every day and tomorrow is supposed to be the coldest day so far.  Of course, the day I'll be wearing a thin little dress!  I may die, and I'm sure Kara definitely will.  But we'll power through as best we can and hopefully I'll get some great pictures to show you all tomorrow!

Lastly here's a picture of the happy couple just after they were married.  I'm excited to see her fer rlz wedding dress tomorrow!

Adventure and Discovery

I only have classes on Tuesdays and Thursdays this semester, which has been one of the greatest decisions of my life.  Especially on "long weekends" like the one we just had.  See, my normal weekend is already four days long so I didn't think the long weekend would affect me (effect me?), but with BYU's obsession with mucking about with the calendar suddenly my long weekend turned into a week off!  And over the course of this week off I have done some awesome things.

I sat down and tried to actually plan my life.  I sort of didn't quite plan it as thoroughly as I hoped to, but I've made a good start I think.  I discovered that this is the best possible semester I could have ever have chosen to miss the last two and a half weeks of school.  Truly, it's like it is meant to be.  I went to the library and checked out most of the books I need to read in the next three weeks.  It's a hefty re-useable shopping bag full and I'm pretty excited.

Awesome!  A picture of the exact re-usable bag  that is currently sitting on my backseat stuffed full of YA fiction!

I rediscovered Mumford and Sons and Queen and The Civil Wars, having neglected them for about 9 months.

I played Trivial Pursuit with a lot of people I love and discovered that I'm still really bad at Trivial Pursuit.  Not only that, but as soon as you ask me a question to which I do not know the answer I suddenly become incapable of formulating an answer that is even an appropriate guess.  I believe this phenomenon is responsible for all of those "Americans are such idiots" videos Leno likes to show.

I actually visited some of the people that you see randomly and say "we should totally hang out some time!" and then you completely forget about them.  When I ran into Denise in the JFSB and we said that I said "No, but really.  We're picking a day.  Right now!" and we did and I went and it was awesome.  I went over to their house for dinner on Sunday and I finally met her and Tyson's little boy Will .  He is one of the happiest, calmest, adorable-est babies I've ever met and I can't wait to play with him again.  I played games with the Remys for several hours and had an absolutely lovely time.  Next time I'll have to invite them over to my apartment for dinner.  Whether or not they can come with the baby, at least I can invite them.  I think they'd enjoy games with my roommates.

are we seeing how cute these people are??

On Monday I forced myself out of my comfort zone to go on a snowy adventure with Griffin, Mike, Jessie, and Griffin's cousin Taylor.  Before I went I was not quite to the point of nauseating nervousness, but just shy.  But, as it turned out, I had a really great time.   I mean really.  Such a good time that two days later I'm still thinking about it.

Tuesday I read a book.  I read the entire book.  Then I felt restless and unproductive for having spent the day reading, even though it was homework.  I went into my bedroom, closed the door, and had a killer ipod dance party.  I reveled in the fact that my knee only hurt a teeny bit.  Then I sat on my floor and started drawing illustrations for a children's book that I have decided to make.  Then I watched New Girl with my roommates.  Then I came into my bedroom and started teaching myself to knit while watching Tangled.  I felt better about my productivity, even though I only created one line of stitches.  I'll figure out how to add another line of them!

except I was knitting with much prettier charcoal grey yarn...

And today I read another book.  All of it.  And halfway through I looked at myself reading my book and I suddenly realized that I didn't feel that anxiety of wasting time that I have felt any time I sit and read anymore.  Devoting a second day to reading broke that wall that has slowly built up over the last few years that cut my psyche off from the immense, calming joy that reading has always brought it.  I found that joy again today.  I felt the old familiar annoyance when I had to put my book away and go to work.  Luckily, today I finally got to see our new shop and find out how awesome it is!  We have windows now, and the space is so much lighter and nicer, with the potential to be even more awesome as Caleb continues to finish it.  And Caleb takes such good care of me! He has set up two full tables that are just for me and he says he wants to get me another one so I have "enough space"! He worked all weekend putting up about eight 100-watt lights to make sure I have plenty of light.  He just got me a sonic cleaner and an oven.  He is, without a doubt, the best boss I've ever worked for.  I love my job so much!  And then as I was driving home I realized that working down in Payson will give me the perfect excuse to drive.  See, I love to drive, but I don't really ever have anywhere to go and can't really justify just driving around for no reason when I have to pay for gas.  But now I get to drive 30 minutes to and from work so I don't even have to feel guilty about it.  Awesome!

image searched "driving" and found this.  Why does this picture even exist?

Then I got home and decided completely whimsically and on the spur of the moment to buy my friend's Kindle for no other reason than that she wanted to sell it to me and I want it.  But I'm pretty excited about it.  And my roommates were discussing Lent when I came in, and what they were planning on giving up for their Lenten fasts.  And I have decided that I am going to try to give up something.  I'm going to give up all meanness in my life.  I've been feeling strangely disturbed recently by all the unkindness I've seen around and I think this is the perfect time for me to try and get rid of some that may be of my own creation.

Then end result of all of this is that right now, as I lie here in bed and write this before going to sleep, I feel a great, comforting sense of optimism about my life.  I don't know what it shall be, but I am sure, in this moment, that it will be lovely and that I will be in control of it.  I don't feel that soothing assurance often, so I am luxuriating in it for now.  I am learning how to knit, I'm creating a children's book, I have an awesome job, and I have the benefit of so many wonderful people in my life.  I am grateful.

there is no possible better way to end this post than with a picture of Wil Wheaton.
Fact.

More Pad Thai and Dog Hair...

...but not together.

Not that it is particularly helpful, but in my ongoing quest for the best Thai food in Provo, I decided to try a Thai restaurant down here in Phoenix.  I'm down visiting my dad, and my step-mom is out of town, so it's been dinner out every night.  I figured, why waste a great opportunity for Thai food, right?  So I looked up the best Thai restaurants in Chandler (the suburb where my dad actually lives) and found The Mint Thai Cafe (be warned, the site plays a little blurb of music when you click on it).  It was not the number one rated Thai restaurant, that one was too far away.  But it was a pretty well rated one.  Plus, my dad said he'd been there before and thought it was good.  So away we went.

It was...fine.  I mean, the food was good.  I got my traditional Pad Thai and dad got something called "Siamese Twins" (I find the hyper Asian stereotyped names these places come up with to be vaguely insulting...to pretty much everyone involved) that involved bamboo shoots and coconut and green beans.  I advised him to get this dish  based on the existence of green beans which, as everyone knows, are the world's greatest vegetable.  I couldn't try much of his because it was spicy and I'm a complete pansy when it comes to hot food.  But what I tasted in my one bite before my tongue started writhing was very good.  Mark up another win for green beans.

My Pad Thai was also pretty good.  The flavor of the sauce was quite nice, though I find I prefer my Pad Thai a little juicier than most people make it.  These guys went quite dry, even more than usual.  But there was plenty of chicken and even egg, which I do appreciate since it adds a bit of variety to a dish that can get a little monotonous.  When I asked for my side of lime the woman brought me a dish of lemon slices.  Apparently the only lime they had wasn't looking too fresh and she didn't want to give it to me.  I appreciate that I guess.  The waitress herself was a little eccentric, but pretty good I think.  All in all, I found The Mint Thai Cafe to be satisfactory.  Decent food, decent service, decent prices.  Probably, if I ever get Thai food down here again I'll try a different place.  But if you ever need a place to have dinner and you're craving Thai, you could do much worse than eat there.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

this is what I found when I did an image search for dog hair...
not really want I wanted, but too dang cute to pass up

Visiting my dad is quite an endeavor.  You see, my dad and my step-mom own five dogs (plus my cat, which he's now trying to tell me belongs to my step-brother...pshaw...).  Cristy has a thing for Corgis, so they have four of them, plus an older, giant German Shepherd.  All of the dogs are pretty good tempered and since they're corgis it's not as if they can really jump up on your nice clean shirt.  However, all five of them are indoor dogs, all with permission to exist on the furniture.  This all means that at any given moment, pretty much every surface in the house has dog hair on it.  I find the ubiquity of dog hair in this place to be...somewhat trying.  I don't want to go to church and spend the first 20 minutes trying to pick all the hair off my skirt.  

I have found my intense dislike of doghair generally translates into a dislike of the dogs which produce it.  Any time my dad's dogs try to insinuate themselves into my affections I push them callously away.  See, that's one thing I don't like about dogs.  They try too hard to get you to love them.  Everyone knows you shouldn't be desperate for friends...  Cats, on the other hand, do a very good job of exuding the "Yes, I know you're responsible for my daily food and water, but don't let that fool you into thinking I wouldn't eat you if you died..." (this is a fact.  house cats will eat the body of their deceased owner if they run out of food...).  The point is that dogs, unlike cats, are just desperate for you to love them.  Hence, the moment I sit down on the couch at least one of the dogs will jump up next to me and lay his head in my lap and look up at me appealingly as if to ask me "Now really...how can you say no to real, legitimate puppy eyes???"  

I have managed to rebuff these efforts now for several years, but this year I find myself faltering a little.  One of the dogs is quite old and goes by the name of Jax.  He doesn't force himself on me, he just comes and quietly sits nearby just in case I should decided to pat his head.  He has taken, on this visit, to sleeping in my bedroom, not on the bed, just in a corner.  To be honest, I feel like I'm being courted by someone who is keenly aware of the sort of courtship I would not be able to resist.  I feel weak that I'm succumbing to his charms.  But at the same time...it's just a dog.  Everyone loves dogs (or at least cats or birds...whatever you have as a pet).  It does not reflect poorly on me because I happen to also like dogs.  After all, I love my kitty unabashedly.  So I guess I'll grudgingly accept Jax as my friend...

SPATULAs, Pad Thai, and Adverbials

So, I suppose I should write an update on ye olde SPATULA.  I know you all can't actually see them, but I want you to know that there are actually two posts lurking about in my Blogger Closet that were meant to be SPATULA updates.  I just never finished them.  I do that a lot.  I think there are some 20 ish posts I have here published on my blog, but there are about 45 total posts in the closet.  I should go through and clean that place out.  It's getting musty and I'm pretty sure there are spiders...

hands down...most awesome spatula on earth.

Anyway.  SPATULA.  So, Dr. Parry was fabulous and worked so well with me the entire time we were getting my project proposal ready.  He never shook his head and said "What was I thinking?  Clearly you're not cut out to do projects with the adults..." and for that I was grateful.  In the end I did manage to get my proposal finished and submitted on time.   I settled on the immensely clever and creative title of " Not the Hero We Deserved, But the Hero We Needed." Because when in doubt, just rip off a quote from your source material.  Except that I really like that speech Inspector Gordon gives there at the end of that movie.  As for the project itself, I'm supposed to be doing research right now.  The thing is, they don't actually tell us if we've gotten the grant till February.  Not that I really need the money to do this project, really.  Which is why I'm supposed to be doing research right now regardless.  I guess if I ever really need to write a paper for one of my classes I'll really get into that research.  Dr. Parry said if I find anything interesting he'd love to talk about it with me.  Bless him.  

~  ~  ~

So I've decided that I'm embarking on a quest.  I want to find the best Thai food in the Provo/Salt Lake area.  Which is to say, I want to find the best Pad Thai in the area.  I always get the Pad Thai, which seems like the best way to evaluate the relative quality of each different place I go.  On that note, today after class I decided to go and try the Thai place I looked at every day on my way to Vivint.  It's called Spicy Thai and it's on University Ave. next door to Magleby's Fresh (whatever the heck that is...they advertise their breadsticks, which was odd enough I almost went in after my meal and requested to try them).  I'm sorry to say that I was not hugely impressed.  I got the impression that it was one of those "Dudes in the office need lunch" kind of places, specializing in fast, not horrible, "Thai" food (quotes being important indicators of the quality of the food).  

My plate did not look this good...

In following with a place that caters to people on timed lunch breaks, the food came very fast.  I'm all for eating expeditiously, but when my food gets to me too fast I'm likely to assume that it was just siting there somewhat like a hamburger from McDonald's, soaking up the rays of a luscious heat lamp.  I took that picture straight off their menu, but I'm afraid that my meal didn't look even that good.  And the food itself was...fine.  Bland and fine.  I am oddly picky about the texture of my noodles, and theirs were quite good, fully cooked, but firm rather than mushy.  But the sauce tasted like the same sauce I could buy at Target.  Nothing special at all.  I traditionally get a dish of lime to squeeze over my Pad Thai, but once I got my food I never really saw my waitress till I was nearly done, so no lime for me.  Which is a pity, because that little zing would have been really helpful.  I splurged and got a brownie and ice cream for dessert.  It was chewy and sort of fudgey, but the taste was odd.  It tasted like they used butter flavored Crisco actually.  Not my favorite.  Either use butter or use Crisco people.  Don't try to use both.  The price for the Pad Thai was pretty reasonable, however the brownie was not.  Overall rating would be 2.5 stars (who decided stars was a good way to rate restaurants?  makes no sense to me...).  Probably not a place I'll be going back to.

~  ~  ~

This semester marks my first steps on the road to editorship.  I am taking Elang 223, Intro to Linguistics with Professor Oaks.  I love Prof. Oaks.  He is hilarious.  Today in class he said "Verbs are the dungeon masters of the sentence."  The other day he was talking about back formations, which is when people assume that someone who "edits" must be an "editor".  The word didn't exist till people just started saying it.  Tangentially, this is the basis of my favorite joke in Clue, when Col. Mustard asks Wadsworth what he does and Wadsworth says "I'm the butler...I buttle."  Anyway.  Prof. Oaks is telling us about back formations and he mentions that there is currently one coming into existence right now.  "Ush" as a back formed verb from "usher" is starting to be more and more common in popular usage.  As he is telling us to pay attention and listen for "ush" he suddenly exclaims "See?!  There are so many reasons not to give up on life!" 

Anyway, the point was not, actually, to talk about how ridiculous my professor is, but rather to explain that I think I am really going to love my editing minor.  I have loved everything in this class.  Today we talked about some of the basic parts of speech.  This is the stuff I thought I'd hate.  I always loathed grammar when I was in high school.  But that is one thing I can say unequivocally in favor of my two years in Russian class.  I took from that class a new-found love of grammar.  It's like a logic puzzle, trying to trace out the parts of speech.  In Russian it's all about word endings, but in English it's about syntax.  I'm signed up for two more linguistics classes next semester and I'm very excited for them.  One of them is a straight up grammar class, and the other is...oh gosh, I don't remember how he explained it to me, but I know that it was what he suggested when I asked him if there was a class just about morphology.  

And lastly I will leave you with this gem.  A great song and a great video.  Please enjoy!