Seattle

After living on the East coast for a time, I'm seeing this area with fresh eyes. Most distinguishing features? People don't stand on the right side of the escalators, and the air smells fresh with the scent of trees everywhere! And of course, traffic, rain, kiddies, and fabulous family dinners. I love Seattle!

1st Semester of Grad School

Done and done!

R+J - It's about plants

Today I taught my first high school English class. Turns out, I like teaching! This is definitely a good thing, since I have chosen to make it my career. We studied Friar Lawrence's speech in Act II Scene III, and it is quite the change from the previous "I've known you for ten minutes - let's get married!" balcony scene in II.II. Shakespeare goes all botany on us, and talks about the potential for medicine or poison in every plant. I had the students dissect the speech, and we chatted about the definitions of virtue and vice. We talked about how something can turn into a vice, such as a leadership position, and I asked them if they were team captains, trying to think of a common high school leadership role. They all looked back with blank stares until one kid said, "um, we're freshman." Right. Forgot about the bottom rung of the food chain thing.

I also had them fill in the sentence "Life is like (something from nature) because ( . . . ). Mine was, "Life is like a slug. You always leave something behind." One kid said, "Life is like a grumpy cat. It's better when you're sleeping." Another said "Life is like a snowflake. It is beautiful while it's here, but it melts away quickly." LOVE IT! Do you have any "life is like" examples for me?

Thanksgiving

I don't know much about John Donne, but I do know that his poem For Whom the Bell Tolls verbalizes my feelings today. "No man is an island, entire of itself. Each is a part of the main. . . . I am involved in mankind."

This week friends and family have included me in their lives, and I am grateful for feeling a part of the main. There was the volleyball game, where new friends encouraged me to swing hard; the Goble Goble Goble race with a fellow student; the beautifully prepared meal hosted by my brother's friends; good advice from my sister-in-law; DC ladies who drove 9 hours to visit; a spontaneous night with the Boston Ballet; roommates who swapped stories; parents who listened to boring presentations because they knew it mattered to me; a supportive phone conversation with a sister; a chat with a former roommate; a text from a fellow adventurer; and a letter from a kind Grandma.

Says Elder Uchtdorf, "Creation means bringing into existence something that did not exist before—colorful gardens, harmonious homes, family memories, flowing laughter. . . . As you take the normal opportunities of your daily life and create something of beauty and helpfulness, you improve not only the world around you but also the world within you."

I am grateful for the beautiful creation of laughter and love. I am grateful for others' efforts to involve me in mankind. In other words, I am grateful for you.

Another Gem from THE WEEK

"Bad Week For . . .

Accepting victory, after Steven Cowan of Wisconsin became so enraged that Bristol Palin keeps advancing to the next round of Dancing With the Stars that he allegedly blasted his TV with a shotgun, leading to a 15-hour standoff with police. “Steven did not think that she was a good dancer,” his wife told police."

THE WEEK'S Quote of the Week

"The primary purpose of management is to kill any hope that staying in your current job will work out for you. Bad management is how imagination gets wings. The economy needs workers who are fed up, desperate, and willing to quit their jobs for something better. You can't do something great until first you quit something that isn't. The last thing this world needs is a bunch of dopey-happy workers who can't stop humming and grinning. The economy needs hamster-brained sociopaths in management to drive down the opportunity cost of entrepreneurship. Luckily, we're blessed with an ample supply." (Taken from WSJ)

Appearance of TV

It may seem that all I do in grad school is watch TV. Yes, my TV consumption has drastically increased in the last week, but it's almost an academic exercise since the shows are so old, right? I'll think of it as a study of recent culture, and be grateful that the fashion of Buffy is over.

Four years behind

So, last week I had an insane academic load, coupled with a trip to DC. I was basically hitting the books morning to night, with no breaks . . . until I gave my 20 min. presentation on emblems and finished the immediate projects on my plate. I got home and my brain pretty much flatlined. I began season 1 of Prison Break a week ago, and finished it last night. I loved it! Just the sort of trash/action plot I wanted. This happened a few months ago with the first season of 24 - why are 5+ year old dramas so appealing? Also, I stalked Wentworth Miller after I finished the show and found out that he graduated from Princeton in English Lit! Wentworth is my hero.

Buffy and Flu Shots

Two nights ago the most incredible thing happened. I was next door with some friends, bundled up in a blanket and watching Buffy the Vampire Slayer. One of the girl's friends came over in her nursing scrubs with extra flu shots, and offered to give me one for free. I didn't even have to move from my lazy perch in front of the tv - I just had to expose my arm! She filled out all the paperwork and everything. It was the best flu shot I've ever had.

A New Roommate

In my last apartment we had a fish named Rico "Bloop Bloop" Suave. My old roommate reported a few weeks ago that Bloop Bloop fell down the sink. When I heard that, a tiny bit of cockle in me died. Luckily my roommate executed a miraculous rescue in getting Bloopers out of the garbage disposal (needless to say my cockle revived), but in the spirit of Betta love I decided to buy a new Boston betta fish, to have a pet to snuggle with and call my own. The naming of said fish has been a difficult road, and I'm down to two. Any votes?

Option 1: Woyzeck Wagner Bloop Bloop II
Option 2: Bach

Because God isn't a Story

A few weeks ago I was assigned to observe in a classroom of freshmen. The class had been studying the creation story in Genesis, and the teacher was showing Pleasantville, asking her students to compare the biblical story with the film. The film is set in black and white, and once characters are enlightened, in other words lose their innocence, they begin to see color. I found the comparison banal and perverse; to compare God to a tv repairman and Adam and Eve to 1950's teenagers searching for something more was so belittling to Christianity that I felt like the exercise had turned from an objective, academic study to a subjective debasing of my personal beliefs.

The following week I was tasked with helping one of the students outline his essay on why the public school system should/should not teach the creation story in the classroom. As we worked and wrestled through different ideas, the foremost concern in Jose's mind was the presentation of God. He told me he thought it was wrong to compare God to the movie. When asked why he responded, "Because God isn't a story. He's real." What I had fought so hard to articulate suddenly became very clear through the simple response of this freshman: Because God isn't a story.

I don't oppose teaching the Bible in the classroom, just as I don't oppose the Koran, or other religious literature. But it concerns me that as a backlash to taking God out of the classroom, educators sometimes fictionalize what is considered for at least some of their students holy. Bringing the creation story into the classroom might tip fencesitters into secularism if we write off the Bible as just another story, comparable to some forgotten movie with Reese Witherspoon. If we do teach the creation story, let us consider it as it is: a religious text that is for many, not just a story.

Playing with the Big Kids

The following is what I wrote during today's boring lecture. Don't worry, I would tune back into class every once in a while, and I'm confident that I got what I needed to.

"We have an old, rusty basketball hoop in our driveway, and a deflated ball buried in the ivy near our house. But the hoop hasn't always been old and rusty. When the hoop was fresh and new, my brothers and sisters would often rough it with a pick-up game. Though they were twice my height and could have dribbled me in addition to the ball, I wanted to play. As the youngest of five by more than three years, I often wanted to participate in activities beyond my age, beyond my physical capacity, and beyond my mental abilities. Whether born this way or conditioned by growing up as the caboose of a large family, I have always wanted to play with the big kids.

For the last year, I played as the figurative watergirl of a team of ivy league MBA grads at my work. Like Rudy, I got thanklessly knocked down day after day, with little room to shine. But I got to be a part of the team, learn the rules of the sport, and when the season was over walk away with a love for the game and a hope to play more in the future. Now I'm in grad school, surrounding myself with PhD candidates in two graduate level English courses.

By switching sports I've again assumed the role of the underdog; I still feel anxious every game day and I still recognize that I'm the weakest member of an all-star team, but I love it. I love dabbling in new subjects, collecting new information, and being around experts, though they recognize that I'm not one of them. There are seasons of shine, and seasons of shadow; being the duck in a room of swans lacks personal luster, but there is great beauty, even divinity, in watching experts execute their craft. Though I've moved on from the now rusty hoop in our driveway to an intellectual game, I still love playing with the big kids. And someday soon I'll learn how to become one."

Manuel

My old roommate, G$, gave me a 4 ft. black and white poster of a really ugly wrestler. Last week's boring 2 hour lecture became a brainstorming session for what to do with this poster. If you have any additional ideas, please add them to the list!

Laminate
Stick him on someone's windshield
Mail him to someone without packaging him first
Take him skydiving
Hang at a bus stop
Hang on a door
Give as a birthday gift
Send to Dr. Fischer or Melody
Create a melodrama by filming Manuel getting run over by a train
Host a who-dunnit night and use him as the body outline
Bring him camping
Label different parts of him in Spanish and send to anyone who wants to learn
Make him model men's clothing
Place him in an inflated inner tube and doorbell ditch him
Color him in
Use as object when teaching prepositions (about Manuel, above Manuel, across Manuel) - this was G$'s favorite

Too Many Aphorisms

I have a really boring 2 hour lecture Thursday mornings. Thus, I now have a time dedicated to write thoughts about whatever. This entry is from my second time in this class, dated 9/9/10.

"Too many cutesy, benign aphorisms - why? Why does a department head suck at teaching? Why do 40 adults allow for this masochistic 2 hour waste of time to occur? I hate the long pause effect - you say something pretty unimpressive, but pause for a long time to let the mediocre wording set in, as if to validate the subpar previous 15 minutes. It's as if an older gentleman invited us over to a dinner party where he launches into self-inducing conversational terrorism. The difference is that I'm paying thousands of dollars to attend this dinner party . . . and there isn't even any food! Why does this happen? The professor keeps repeating that the career of education is above and beyond a lot of other professions in many ways, but doesn't give himself and us the respect to treat the class like he would were he a lawyer teaching law, a doctor teaching medicine, etc. THIS is why the industry has a bad reputation."

New Kid on the Block

"What's your name? Where are you from? Why are you in Boston?" I've answered and asked these questions about 200 times in the last two weeks, hoping to cross the threshold from "I've seen your face but never talked" to "we are past the getting to know you barriers and can start building a real relationship". In case you are curious, Andrea; Seattle/DC; MA in Teaching. This last weekend I went with about 150 people from my church group to a camp to meet, greet, and eat. It was fantastic, but by the end of each night I felt like I had been speed dating for 12 hours straight. It's like a thousand first date conversations, trying to get a feel for the other guy and squeezing out any and all possible commonalities: geography, major, job, intl' experience, languages spoken, favorite movies, books, activities, and most importantly, a listing of all possible friends we have in common. Hopefully I've finally broken through to at least a few people and can contribute more to the conversations of this upcoming week than "Oh, right, your name IS Kirsten, not Kristen. Huh."

Israel

In June I got to go on a 9 day adventure to the Holy Land. It was one of the best international experiences of my life. There is no way to summarize on a blog entry such an impactful and poignant experience, but here is a taste. Photos from top to bottom: Herod's palace on the coast of the Mediterranean Sea just south of Tel Aviv; traditional falaffel; Ginette taking a break; the Dead Sea - we really did float!; Masada, where about 900 Jews held off the Romans for 3 years in 70 AD staying in what had been Herod's home away from home - it's right next to the Dead Sea, and it's a wasteland; the Garden Tomb, where Christ was buried and resurrected; view of the old city, with the Dome of the Rock; spices at a market.

The people were fantastic, the guides were extremely knowledgeable about history and how to best see the country, the hummus was to die for, the camel was a flirt, the sites were powerful and holy, and the experience was unforgettable. It was definitely the highlight of my year.

No Weekend Left Behind: Chicago!

Yes, I already had a Chicago girl's weekend over Valentine's Day, but this was round II . . . and we had an AWESOME time! This time around it was all Bassett girls. We did a riverboat architecture tour, saw a Chinese circus, went to a fantastic Mexican restaurant that taught us the true taste of Mole, ate deep dish and Italian, saw the world class art museum, and snuggled in a huge bed watching a chic flic. Love my sisters! Love my mom!

Ohio

My work allowed me to accompany my coworkers to Ohio for two days to observe a training session on building business plans. While there we had a tornado warning! I had to wait in the hallway with the other guests at the hotel, waiting for it to pass. Everyone was very nice, though I am still baffled by the international names of the cities; they range from Delphos, Dover, and Dublin to Lima (pronounced Lime-a), Willoughby, and Toledo. One could travel the world and never leave the state! But maybe people would say, with so many great people and so little traffic, who would want to leave?

No Weekend Left Behind: Cool Runnings Party

Kayleigh and I decided in March that it would be a good idea to invite a bunch of people (friends new and old, and especially Greg) over to watch the ultimate Jamaican classic, Cool Runnings. So, May 22 we did it! We even had "bobsleds", bananas with pb and choc chips on them, invented by my coworker. Feel the rhythm, feel the rhyme, get on up, it's bobsled time!

No Weekend Left Behind: Pennsylvania Camping

A bunch of us DC 2nders went camping in Pennsylvania. We got in about 9 pm, and stayed up until about 3 discussing third-world economies. Good times! On the way back, Greg, Tyler, and I swung by Gettysburg and had an impromptu but wonderful run-in with Strawberry Rhubarb Pie.

Gladys Knight

Last night I went to a 4th of July concert dress rehearsal. The only names I recognized on the program were the Natl' Symphony Orchestra, David Archeleta, and Gladys Knight. The rehearsal nature of this event became clear as we saw a live projection of the mall and heard the words, "A sea of people is gathered here tonight." All we saw were empty lawns and a few stray festival tents. With the backdrop of the sun slowly whitewashing the formerly blue sky, and the Washington Monument standing firm in the dimming twilight, I decided that it was a perfect night for a first-time view of the famous Gladys Knight. The announcer boomed, "And now, Gladys Knight!" The thousands of crowd members went wild. Until a woman as black as snow came on to the stage and began to lip sync Knight's music. Stunned, we looked on as this woman in her late-thirties stood there smiling and trying to get everyone to clap. She didn't even know all of the words. But we soon got over our disappointment and by her third number we were standing up and dancing to "I Will Survive!" The event in equation form: 0 < Watching a white woman lip sync Knight's songs at the Capitol Building < Watching Gladys Knight sing her own songs at the Capitol Building. Overall though, a fantastic night. Nothing beats watching some famous singer that I have never heard of sing God Bless America with the Capitol 200 yards behind you and the mall spread out as far as the eye can see.

Straw Person

Being new to the business world, I have learned that "straw man" is a filler name for an unassigned placeholder to represent a person in a workplan. I work in a firm of mostly women, so our IT consultant, a guy, recently felt obliged to change the placeholder name to "straw person." Once the phrase turned androgynus, I knew the answer to a question that has haunted me since I was five years old: the title straw person is most likely the real species name of Dorothy's friend in the Wizard of Oz! Most likely Scare Crow was a cruel and xenophobic nickname for an underrepresented species that had been forced into hard labor in the fields of Kansas. Who's to say he didn't have a brain all along, just because we called him an unfortunate title that acted as a negative verb instead of a not-threatening descriptive noun? It has been many years since that film - I must assume that he has gone on to the other side. RIP, Mr. Straw Person.

Safety First

On Saturday a friend of mine needed to place his half-eaten watermelon somewhere in his car so that it wouldn't roll around. He chose to buckle it securely into the back seat as if it were an obedient child, where it stayed put until my friend inevitably carried it tenderly into the house and into the fridge.

On Sunday, another friend gingerly placed his trumpet in the backseat and buckled it in to drive it home. Is there a subversive "inanimate object buckling club" that I haven't heard about?

Simulacrum

Recently my roommate taught me two words: foamite, and simulacrum. Since a word meaning an inanimate object that hoards germs doesn't sound too appealing as a blog post, we'll go with the imitation, an "unreal or vague semblance." I am drawn to the artificial. People sometimes ask me how I've passed the time, and once in a while I can dazzle them with fascinating answers full of strength of character and depth of thought; but truthfully, I also have had to answer many times that I was at home, watching a bad movie. Step Up 2: The Streets comes to mind, or most recently the mediocre romance, P.S., I Love You. I take pleasure in watching characters who for 2 hours can say the perfect, if coined, phrases, visit grandiose homes in Ireland, find fabulous careers as luxury shop keepers in New York, and glide around in designer clothing while maintaining that they are poor. It is a hallow escapism to be sure, but also satisfying to see happy, romantic stories unfold.

Is this like Plato's "chairness" of romance, where there is the perfect thing out there and we produce and consume cheap imitations until we find it? Or does this easy-to-swallow romantic simulacrum corrupt and distress our already limited understanding of love? I know in my heart of hearts that the love shown in most movies is a far cry from the time and effort it takes to build that perfect romance, but wouldn't it be nice if the serendipity only found in Hollywood would be real? I watch the artificial, and let it persuade me for a time that it is someone's reality, if not mine. And when the lights come on, it is exposed as the love boggart, a shadow of what I hope to work towards someday. This post is neither a quip nor a giggle, but I conclude that simulacrums are seductive distractions from this universal truth: perfect love is a lifelong process, and where the movies glitter like fool's gold, the real thing will yield a depth and richness only known by those who already have it. I hope.

Canto 25

In Dante's 8th circle of hell, Dante depicts those who were thieves during their lives as continuously changing shape in their eternal state; men turn into snakes and snakes turn into men, in a constant metamorphosis of identity. Though I do not change my physical identity, and though I certainly don't feel like I'm in an inferno, I do find myself mentally shifting vocational shapes all the time. I live among bright, bold, brilliant people who do fascinating things with their lives. In many conversations with peers I find myself subconsciously imaging myself placed in their careers or on their educational trajectories. I ask myself, "How would it be to interview refugees in Mongolia? Be a volunteer nurse in Haiti? Attend the London School of Economics? Get a law degree?" But at the end of the vocational fantasy I think about Canto 25, and chide myself that to live in the endless possibilities of the future is to shortchange the present, and yields a dangerous affair with covetousness. And who wants to be a snake?

My Trip to Spain

For those who may not know, I was going to go to Spain for a refreshing tour and a much needed catch up with my dear friend. Iceland's spewing volcano caused the company to cancel the tour. My flight was still available, but I decided to wait and go another time. Then 1 hour before I was to leave my apartment, my dad called and convinced me to seize the day and go. Frantically I showered, threw clothes into a bag, printed off an art article, and grabbed my Rick Steves book, ready to face the unknown with no plans and no hotel reservations. 10 minutes to go time, and I couldn't find my passport. 8 minutes to go time, and Dad called again to say he thought I shouldn't go. 6 minutes to go time, I decided that in light of the fact that a volcano erupted, my tour was canceled, and I couldn't find my passport, maybe it was time to take a hint.
Instead of going to Spain I sat on my couch, ate chocolate fudge icecream, and bawled my eyes out watching The Post Graduate and feeling sick that I could relate so well to the misfortunes of the main character. Luckily, friends willingly kept me company through dinner, and a few of us sneaked into a closed park and jumped into a lake, and I didn't feel quite so bad. However, concerning Spain, I will look back at this missed opportunity and think, "What the REYKJAVIK?!?!?!"

Self-induced Poverty

My roommates and I live huddled in a small apartment with three bedrooms and one bathroom (not all people in picture live in our apartment). Our greatest assets are probably Wendy's film collection and Lynn's matching plates. Ginette and I both have holes in at least one if not multiple pairs of shoes. We skimp on things like new towels and contacts, expensive produce and hair cuts. The other night I ate scrambled eggs and popcorn for dinner. It's a combination of fiscal conservation and laziness, really. And yet, two of us are going to Israel in a few weeks. We will go stay in hotels and eat out with a tour group for 9 days, then come back and continue to eat tortillas and put off buying new running shoes for budget's sake. We're in the quintessential post-college experience . . . right?

Wrist Wars

My mother and I are alike in many ways, but the most prominent similarity is the size of our wrists. They are, to say the least, small. Because of this, she and I have been known on occasion to compete against each other in a wrist war: an activity where a partial judge, typically one of us, will measure our own wrist size and that of the competitor, then announce a winner. I was telling my roommate about this this morning, and got to thinking, this is probably a Bassett-original competition.

Also, for the record, my armspan is much longer than my mother's, but I concede that she has the smaller wrist. Read into that what you will. :)

Earrings

You know those people who have heavy histories of unfortunate events from childhood? "I once got a tatertot stuck up my nose." "Oh yeah? Well, I once swallowed my mom's car keys." You know the type, the people who grow up to brag about their favorite sports team as if they had personally trained the athletes themselves. Well, I may cheer on sports teams, but I was never one to have a bad experience with a foreign object in my person. Until tonight. Tonight I struggled for 30 minutes to get my studded earrings out of my ears. No luck. I asked my friend Melissa to pull them out. Though she found the source of the problem, she could get out only one. Pulling out the big guns, I asked mechanic Matt to get them out. With no tools he was as stuck as I was. It took finding two pairs of pliers and standing under the kitchen lights to get this earring out. Matt told me that he was happy to bend them back into shape so that I could wear them again. Needless to say, I declined.

Easter Sunday

On this day, the commemoration of Jesus Christ's death and resurrection, I want to share one of my favorite talks about the resurrection. It was written by Elder Worthlin, given in November 2006, entitled "Sunday Will Come." I know that what he says is true, and that this truth gives meaning to our lives.

"I think of how dark that Friday was when Christ was lifted up on the cross.

On that terrible Friday the earth shook and grew dark. Frightful storms lashed at the earth.

Those evil men who sought His life rejoiced. Now that Jesus was no more, surely those who followed Him would disperse. On that day they stood triumphant.


I think that of all the days since the beginning of this world’s history, that Friday was the darkest.

But the doom of that day did not endure.

The despair did not linger because on Sunday, the resurrected Lord burst the bonds of death. He ascended from the grave and appeared gloriously triumphant as the Savior of all mankind.

Each of us will have our own Fridays—those days when the universe itself seems shattered and the shards of our world lie littered about us in pieces. We all will experience those broken times when it seems we can never be put together again.

But I testify to you in the name of the One who conquered death—Sunday will come. In the darkness of our sorrow, Sunday will come.

The Resurrection transformed the lives of those who witnessed it. Should it not transform ours?"

I close this post with words from my favorite hymn: "No creature is so lowly, no sinner so depraved, but feels thy presence holy and thru thy love is saved. Tho craven friends betray thee, they feel thy love's embrace. The very foes who slay thee have access to thy grace."

It is a Happy Easter indeed.

Ginette Happened.

Yesterday I found out through my blog that I'm in a relationship with someone who may or may not be named Peffron. Who knew? :)

In reference to my earlier post, and to best describe this man, I'll show you some pictures. I'd say he's a cross between the two pictures above. As you can tell, we're the perfect couple! But I'm a little nervous; any relationship advice?

Sooooo . . . I have some big news. I'm in a relationship! I refuse to post that juicy piece of gossip on Facebook, but for anyone who reads my blog, YOU get to know. Posted picture soon to come.

DC and Loving It!

I know that DC isn't a verb, but in my life it should be! Here is a list of things I've been able to do in the last month . . . I love this city.

Run through the Kite Festival with Lynn
Chant "Kill The Bill" on capitol hill with Health Bill protesters
Watch "Journey to Mecca" Imax at the Smithsonian
NSO Verdi's Requiem
Sing Chichester Psalms and Brahm's Requiem with the Natl' Philharmonic
Run to Eastern Market with Melissa and G$
22 mile bike ride to/from a lake
Basketball game
Sleepover at Megan's
Dinner for Lynn's b-day at Chili's
Roommate breakfast
Natl'Portrait Gallery Walk
O'Keefe exhibit with Melanie
Buy a fish named Rico
St. Matthew's Passion at the Natl' Cathedral
Bruschetta
Home-made lasagna
Jeniel
Temple
Venezuelan Food
Lebanese food with Uncle Bill
Shopping/walking around with Megan (bought very cute black heels - thanks Megan!)
Wallace and Gromit with Roommates
Spy on Ginette and her date

Roommates

Remember those fun riddles of childhood? "Two fathers and two sons go fishing. Every person catches a fish, but only three are caught. How does that work?" Well, here is another one: 4 people live in apartment #2, but I have 5 roommates.

Answer? I'll let you work it out.

I'll just introduce them: Ginette, the master of the em dash; Melissa, the constant worker-outer-social-butterfly; Wendy, the Brit Lit master mind who, I have to admit, is always right (especially about federal holidays and movie actors); Lynn, the graceful modern dancing, bread making muse who is, as John Mayer says, truly bigger than her body; and Rob, the "I'll do it" man who will try just about anything with a good attitude, including a 22 mile bike ride on a dying bike and a delicacy involving rabbit. These are most of the main characters in my play, the people who color my lens of the world and spice my intellectual Top Ramen. They validate, challenge, laugh, cry, sing, tease, and help me remember at the end of a long work day that life is a difficult but savory delight.

Rico Blup Blup Suave

In the name of roommate bonding, we have added an extra body to our apartment. Introducing our latest member, Rico Blup Blup Suave!!! (The one in the bowl, not the one holding the bowl)

The Currency of Compliments

"Good job! Nice shot! Oh, nice try Cindy! Good job Lauren! You got this Ali!" I cheered my teammates through warm ups, drills, and scrimmage. It was fresh/soph basketball, and I wanted to show as much enthusiasm as possible. In hindsight, I'm not sure if it was that I wanted people to feel loved, or if I wanted to be liked, or both, but for whatever reason, every effort of every teammate was accompanied with some sort of positive accolade from me. And finally, my teammate had had enough. "Don't say anything about my shot. I don't want your comments." I was crushed; how could such an unfeeling person shoot down my efforts to show kindness?

The answer is in the currency of compliments. In those few months of practice my compliment currency had inflated like the Icelandic Krona until it was worth nothing to my teammate. In fact, she found it to be offensive - the currency had been so overused that it to her had reached a negative value of insincerity.

Since that experience I've been able to lower my compliment circulation and add value back into my currency. But I hope that I can find that balance of praising where praise is due while still maintaining the sincerity of the comment. And one last shout out to my high school teammate - Good job, Lauren, for recognizing that quality, not volume, makes a person feel validated.

Sometimes, Youtube says it all

This is what I wished I had the guts to do at work last week.


http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZP2q3DDz41M

Snow!

Leading up to the weekend in Chicago, work was canceled for 4 whole days, thanks to a furious snow storm, large by anyone's standards. We lost power last weekend, and had 9 people huddled together watching the Burbs on a battery-run 15" laptop. We made it through the movie, then sat in the dark swapping stories and watching the candle light dance on the faces of the new friends who had instantly become our honorary roommates.

I also did a snow angel on my car.

Best Weekend Ever.

Katie, Elizabeth and I gallivanted around Chicago this weekend, going on a cold architecture tour, seeing a play that combined minority report and the parent trap into one, eating delicious Italian, Armenian, Chicagoian, and French food, shopping in boutiques, taking pictures, giggling about Clueless and Super Special handwriting, and drinking lots of hot coco. We even saw the St. Valentines Day Massacre site, made famous by Al Capone. It was pure bliss, all weekend long. Loved it!

In Defense of Marriage 1/28/10

The other day I asked a friend of mine if she was going to marry the man that she has been seriously dating for some time. To give some background, she is in her 50's and is a divorced mother of three, a prestigious lecturer, and a very smart, capable woman. She said, "I don't think I'll ever get married again. It's nothing but a financial contract anyway." I kindly told her that I disagree, and she told me that I haven't been married before, which is true. We chatted a bit about marriage, but soon the conversation veered to other topics.

Today I want to address that comment, and speak my mind in defense of marriage. Though, as my friend astutely pointed out, I have never been married, I am not isolated from the effects of marriage in my life. In fact, almost my entire life has been shaped by the contract that my parents made on a 21st of June many years ago. My parents are not perfect, but their commitment to one another is. The marriage contract allows them to make mistakes without the fear of losing their best friend; it encourages them to serve one another more than themselves; it is their conscious decision to stick it out, whatever it may be. It is the opportunity to create the crowning masterpiece of life: a happy home . . . together.

The concept that a "marriage-like" relationship without the contract is very much like my work experience of the past five months. I have been temping at a wonderful firm in DC. Because I am a temp, I can jump ship or my employer can let me go at any time with no strings attached. While that allows for both parties to feel free, it also make me fear for my job every time I mess up. I don't quite feel like part of the team yet, and so don't feel the joy of really participating as a trusted team member, nor do I feel the need to take on the "for the good of the team" attitude. Tomorrow my boss and I will discuss my future with the firm and I hope it goes well. I am ready to invest in my firm, and ready to have my boss invest in me. No longer will I wonder if I'm good enough to even officially get through the door. This contract will go much deeper than a financial transaction; I will finally become part of the entity that I so admire.

If we never make commitments, marriage included, we will inevitably wake up every morning of our lives and waste the day away worrying about all of the possible scenarios that could play out, because we are too protective of our "liberty" to be free of the burden of endless possibilities. To my friend I say that I hope that someone will one day love me enough to promise that he will stay by my side for always, and be brave enough and bold enough to make that promise legally binding.

Hair in the Mouth 1/24/10

There is almost nothing worse than having hair in the mouth and no opposable thumbs.

Picture courtesy of Kent Bassett.

Wilson 1/24/10

I have a car as of Monday, January 11. Its name is Wilson, and it loves me. I am blessed.

Texas 1/24/10

Flying home to Seattle, I made a stop through Texas. From the three times I've flown through a city in Texas, I have never once wanted to get off the plane (I don't do well in heat and I appreciate hills). So I was curious at what the friendly man next to me would say when I asked him about the appeal for Texas. He began with tales of back road towns where everyone invites visitors in for lemonade and pie. He also talked about the Mexican style churches and the Alamos. It all sounded great . . . but the smell was another story. This man had the worst halitosis I have ever beheld, and his offensive plaque build-up made me want to quit my job and start a nonprofit called "Toothbrushes for Texas". Nevertheless, his words beat out his smell, and I may add Texas to my bucketlist (if I have frequent flier miles :)). But people, for my sake, please brush your teeth! I want to talk to you, but only if I know I can handle what's inside your mouth.

The Reason 1/24/10

President's Day. Sunny Weather. Great Friends. Soccer. Ultimate. The Best. Need I say more?

Tiger Mountain 1/24/10

I accept bribes. All growing up, my dad offered bribes. This proved to be a brilliant partnership, especially when my dad and I would hike Tiger Mountain in Issaquah, WA. Dad would offer a milkshake if I could name 20 plants. As we began to make Tiger Mt. a regular outing, I soon realized that I could rattle off the same 20 plants every time for my milkshake. Dad and I would also bet on the time it would take us to reach the top; typically with weight it's 1:15, depending on if the 20-minute stream really was at 20-minutes, or if we would reach it in 15.

Over Christmas break I decided to climb this bribe-inducing mountain and was filled with fond memories of running up a steep part for 5 bones, racing through the Flats (which are now gone), and seeing Pacific Bleeding Heart in all of its glory near the top. I also saw this tree, which reminded me of the word biforcation--learned from Dad as we hiked through the narrows--and caught a view of the Olympics. I did the hike in 56 minutes. I have yet to claim my milkshake.

Know Your Market 12/20/09

The other day I went to see the Terra Cotta Warriors exhibit and found that if I waited in line for 30 minutes I could get in for free. Having the "sucker for deals" gene, I sauntered to the back of the line, entirely pleased with myself for saving $12. While in a line of 150 plus people, all of us freezing in the cold, I saw a lady walking up and down the line. Her group had some no-shows. . . she was asking everyone standing in the free-ticket line if they wanted to buy these extra tickets. Let's just say she had no luck selling tickets to a group of people about to get in for free. :)

Narwhals 12/20/09

I should have been a sailor.

Snow Day! 12/20/09

DC got between 15" and 20". Delightful for those who had no planes to catch. Between tackling my best friend Megs in the snow, cozying with 15 people in a basement to watch a Christmas movie, getting kicked out of Borders at 12:30 in the afternoon, and seeing cars utterly hidden by the snow, I had a ball.

3/4 12/13/09

What do "Keep Holdin' On" by Avril Lavigne, "You and Me" by Lighthouse, and "Iris" by Goo Goo Dolls all have in common? They are all pop songs you can waltz to! I've decided that I LOVE songs that are in 3/4 or 6/8. Good times.

It's coming . . . 12/11/09

50 pages shy 12/2/09

Tonight my roommate told me of her experience with reading The Brothers Karamazov. She said that Dostoyevsky delves into the human condition in a fascinating and challenging way. After an arduous journey, she was fifty pages shy of the end.

I remarked how similar MY experience has been, 50 pages shy of finishing a book written by an author of paralleled dignity, Mr. Robert Ludlum, best known for the '70's classic The Bourne Identity. It is the first book in a trilogy which explores the fine nuance of international dispute and how a modern vigilante is able to rise above international peacekeeping agencies like the U.N. to fight the world's terrorists. Bourne is a natural Atlas that alone must fight evil through instinct barely perceptible to even himself.

Dostoyevsky-esque, Ludlow magnificently connects his readers to the overall themes of humanity found in his work. "She was a vial of nitroglycerine balanced on a highwire in the center of an unknown ammunition depot."

Wendy, though our authors are different, our journey is one.

A Thought 11/23/09

Pip on thoughts: "I would decide conclusively that my disaffection to dear old Joe and the forge was gone, and that I was growing up in a fair way to be partners with Joe and to keep company with Biddy--when all in a moment some confounding remembrance of the Havisham days would fall upon me, like a destructive missile, and scatter my wits again. Scattered wits take a long time picking up: and often, before I had got them well together, they would be dispersed in all directions by one stray thought . . ."

I have felt this often over the last three years. It is an unpleasant thing to attempt to retrieve scattered wits.

11/19/09

I start my blog embracing the truism found at despair.com:

Oblivious 11/19/09

Yesterday during rush hour I made my way through the crowd to the escalator. Realizing that it was stopped, I began to climb. As I climbed, I noticed that there was a bottleneck on the third step and everyone was moving to the left side to keep walking up the steps. I looked to my right and realized that some poor bloke was standing on the third step of the escalators, casually reading his paper and waiting for the escalator to carry him to the exit. What caused this man to dismiss all sense of reality and choose readership over efficiency? Habit? Disregard? Pressing deadlines?

These questions have no answers. But the most puzzling question of all is what a fellow metro rider asked to those of us who reached the top of those stairs: "Should somebody tell him?"

Amalie 11/5/09

Recently I watched the foreign film Amalie; its focus left the "corporate woman finds love" genre played by the Sandra Bullocks of the world and instead followed the simple journey of a simple woman who creates profundity in her world by observing and enjoying life's little oddities. From garden gnome travels and photo booth mysteries to the pleasure of skipping rocks, this film reminds audiences everywhere that life is not defined by worldly successes but by marveling in the patterns and exceptions of every-day living.



Since that film, I've noticed a few items in daily DC living that would make my Amalie list.
-The lunchtime bells of an old church, ringing "A Mighty Fortress"
-The free chocolate-covered fruit samples in Edible Arrangements
-When a gentleman gives up his seat for a lady on the crowded metro
-Free Godiva chocolate samples
-When people hold the elevator door so you can get on