For the past month, I've been doing Camp NaNoWriMo, where the goal is to write 50,000 words during the month of June. I was pretty good about it, especially considering long hours and busy-ness at both offices, but there were a few days when I didn't write or didn't write as much as I needed to (it averages out to 1667 words a day to reach the goal; my average was more like 1450). With 12 and a half hours left in the month, I have 7,700 words left. So of course I am blogging.
Saturday, June 30, 2012
Saturday, April 14, 2012
LOL, my poor blog.
SO. Remember how I was going to update this thing regularly? HAHAHAHAHAHA. Yeah, best of intentions, bout of depression, etc. So I didn't. And then I got a job (two, actually!) and updating my blog seemed a lot less important? And I didn't really have very much to say?
Guess what, I still don't. BUT! I have this idea. Tell me if you like it.
First, some background:
I was born and before I was 3 I had memorized (and performed for my stuffed animals) "Big Bird Goes to the Doctor." Years later I was the kid walking down the street, riding in the car, waiting for the elevator with my nose stuck in a book. Fast forward some years and I graduated from college with a degree in Literature. I guess you can say reading has been a serious part of my life for a very long time. Getting my degree in Literature meant I read a lot of Serious Books. Books about the world and small people in it, books about ideas and thoughts, books about people who write about the world and the small people and ideas and thoughts. Even when I was assigned to read "Moby Dick" in two weeks, I read unassigned books on the side. A lot of Flannery O'Connor and Salinger, mostly, but also, for example, Ayn Rand (I can with strict authority that, except for a small handful of dictators, she is the worst person ever born). Then I went to law school and read a lot of other things, and I instead of waving "Catcher In the Rye" in front of everybody's face (I don't care what you say, it is THE American novel; in your face, "Grapes of Wrath"), I ranked my favorite Supreme Court Justices and quoted seminal cases. (I know, I was so annoying.) But the thing I didn't do was read "for fun" anymore. (Sidenote: why do people say "for fun" like assigned reading can't be fun? I was assigned books I would never have otherwise read and I count them now amongst my favorites. Reading should always be fun! It puts the "fun" in "fundamental"!) Anyway, it took a couple of years before I had time to read anything that wasn't assigned, and when I did, I started with my old favorites. Dusted off the Flannery, broke out the Shirley Jackson, and even thumbed through "Frankenstein." But something was missing. I still loved, and love, the classics and the things they put in anthologies (just writing that word, I remember my first time buying my book list for my first semester in undergrad and how studious and RIGHT I felt buying those huge collections OHMYGOD I MISS COLLEGE). I wanted something new, and to me, the thing that was truly new, the thing I had missed out on when I was reading Thomas Hardy and "The Good Earth" in high school was young adult fiction. First, it was "The Hunger Games," which I read before I knew everybody in the first-world was reading and that they were making into a movie. Then it was "Divergent," and then "I Am Number Four" and then the entire "Harry Potter" series. Then I took a break and read a whole bunch of Bronte novels.
When I went back to YA, and at some point, I read the first four books in "The Mortal Instruments" series, followed by its prequel, "The Infernal Devices." At this point I almost stopped reading YA fiction. Because it was really bad. It was my first lesson in not trusting all the stars and reviews on Amazon, which should be obvious, because look at the documented evidence of how many people love the "Twilight" series. But these series, by Cassandra Clare, have a lot of followers across the internet, possibly because she got her start by writing Harry Potter fanfiction, which is totally fine and awesome for her, but also, her writing is so amateur and her characters so trite that I don't understand the adoration. Because I hate myself, I also follow her on Twitter, and obviously the things she retweets are going to be self-serving, but it just filled my (kind of writing a novel, sort of, and also teaching myself plotting at the same time) mind with resentment. And just seeing all the self-flagellation makes me want to be a crazy dissenter.I realize that this sounds like I am just bitter and want to bitch about it. And that's kind of true. But this blog also needs direction, and I think it would be fun to try my hand at book reviews. (If you remember, I have reviewed a book before, and I am never doing it in a forum like Amazon ever again.) I am pretty good at analyzing literature in the sense of discussing themes and metaphors and fancy stuff, but when you're a lit student, you don't really discuss whether something was entertaining or a good read. At least I didn't. I was too wrapped up in churning out papers to worry about whether I "liked" a book. Literature was something you probed and dissected, like a cadaver, and you don't talk about whether you liked the body you autopsied (unless you do, I don't know. I don't watch "CSI".) Looking back, I clearly remember discussing some books more than others, and some books I learned to love through the method of discussion. Turning off the part of your brain that automatically identifies elements of a story and spots epiphanies and different kinds of irony is something else to me, but I think I would like to develop my skills in evaluating a book not just on its anatomy.
So I'm going to start with Book 1 of "TMI" as the kids on the internet say, and I'm going to talk about what I did and don't like about it, and there will probably be some Literaure-ease sprinkled in there, and then we'll go through the books. Yes, this will require that I re-read the series, which will be painful, but I'm willing to do it because I love you guys.
I realize a lot of you don't care about this at all. Totally fine. I won't be offended if you skip. Mostly, I just want to review some stuff I feel strongly about without engaging in a battle over semantics with numb-skulls that pepper Amazon. So, right now I am reading another YA novel I really like so far called "Daughter of Smoke and Bone" and then I'll get on this review thingie. I just wanted to announce it now because otherwise I'm afraid it won't happen. And if the history of my blog writing is any indication, it still might not, but anyway. At least it feels good to update this stupid thing.
Sooooooo... who's excited!
Guess what, I still don't. BUT! I have this idea. Tell me if you like it.
First, some background:
I was born and before I was 3 I had memorized (and performed for my stuffed animals) "Big Bird Goes to the Doctor." Years later I was the kid walking down the street, riding in the car, waiting for the elevator with my nose stuck in a book. Fast forward some years and I graduated from college with a degree in Literature. I guess you can say reading has been a serious part of my life for a very long time. Getting my degree in Literature meant I read a lot of Serious Books. Books about the world and small people in it, books about ideas and thoughts, books about people who write about the world and the small people and ideas and thoughts. Even when I was assigned to read "Moby Dick" in two weeks, I read unassigned books on the side. A lot of Flannery O'Connor and Salinger, mostly, but also, for example, Ayn Rand (I can with strict authority that, except for a small handful of dictators, she is the worst person ever born). Then I went to law school and read a lot of other things, and I instead of waving "Catcher In the Rye" in front of everybody's face (I don't care what you say, it is THE American novel; in your face, "Grapes of Wrath"), I ranked my favorite Supreme Court Justices and quoted seminal cases. (I know, I was so annoying.) But the thing I didn't do was read "for fun" anymore. (Sidenote: why do people say "for fun" like assigned reading can't be fun? I was assigned books I would never have otherwise read and I count them now amongst my favorites. Reading should always be fun! It puts the "fun" in "fundamental"!) Anyway, it took a couple of years before I had time to read anything that wasn't assigned, and when I did, I started with my old favorites. Dusted off the Flannery, broke out the Shirley Jackson, and even thumbed through "Frankenstein." But something was missing. I still loved, and love, the classics and the things they put in anthologies (just writing that word, I remember my first time buying my book list for my first semester in undergrad and how studious and RIGHT I felt buying those huge collections OHMYGOD I MISS COLLEGE). I wanted something new, and to me, the thing that was truly new, the thing I had missed out on when I was reading Thomas Hardy and "The Good Earth" in high school was young adult fiction. First, it was "The Hunger Games," which I read before I knew everybody in the first-world was reading and that they were making into a movie. Then it was "Divergent," and then "I Am Number Four" and then the entire "Harry Potter" series. Then I took a break and read a whole bunch of Bronte novels.
When I went back to YA, and at some point, I read the first four books in "The Mortal Instruments" series, followed by its prequel, "The Infernal Devices." At this point I almost stopped reading YA fiction. Because it was really bad. It was my first lesson in not trusting all the stars and reviews on Amazon, which should be obvious, because look at the documented evidence of how many people love the "Twilight" series. But these series, by Cassandra Clare, have a lot of followers across the internet, possibly because she got her start by writing Harry Potter fanfiction, which is totally fine and awesome for her, but also, her writing is so amateur and her characters so trite that I don't understand the adoration. Because I hate myself, I also follow her on Twitter, and obviously the things she retweets are going to be self-serving, but it just filled my (kind of writing a novel, sort of, and also teaching myself plotting at the same time) mind with resentment. And just seeing all the self-flagellation makes me want to be a crazy dissenter.I realize that this sounds like I am just bitter and want to bitch about it. And that's kind of true. But this blog also needs direction, and I think it would be fun to try my hand at book reviews. (If you remember, I have reviewed a book before, and I am never doing it in a forum like Amazon ever again.) I am pretty good at analyzing literature in the sense of discussing themes and metaphors and fancy stuff, but when you're a lit student, you don't really discuss whether something was entertaining or a good read. At least I didn't. I was too wrapped up in churning out papers to worry about whether I "liked" a book. Literature was something you probed and dissected, like a cadaver, and you don't talk about whether you liked the body you autopsied (unless you do, I don't know. I don't watch "CSI".) Looking back, I clearly remember discussing some books more than others, and some books I learned to love through the method of discussion. Turning off the part of your brain that automatically identifies elements of a story and spots epiphanies and different kinds of irony is something else to me, but I think I would like to develop my skills in evaluating a book not just on its anatomy.
So I'm going to start with Book 1 of "TMI" as the kids on the internet say, and I'm going to talk about what I did and don't like about it, and there will probably be some Literaure-ease sprinkled in there, and then we'll go through the books. Yes, this will require that I re-read the series, which will be painful, but I'm willing to do it because I love you guys.
I realize a lot of you don't care about this at all. Totally fine. I won't be offended if you skip. Mostly, I just want to review some stuff I feel strongly about without engaging in a battle over semantics with numb-skulls that pepper Amazon. So, right now I am reading another YA novel I really like so far called "Daughter of Smoke and Bone" and then I'll get on this review thingie. I just wanted to announce it now because otherwise I'm afraid it won't happen. And if the history of my blog writing is any indication, it still might not, but anyway. At least it feels good to update this stupid thing.
Sooooooo... who's excited!
Saturday, November 26, 2011
I believe it's "jogging." Or "yogging." It might be a soft "j." I'm not sure, but apparently it's where you just run for an extended period of time.
I am not exactly what you would call "built for running." I have disproportionately short legs, not a lot of lower body strength, and a hype-extended epiglottis that makes is difficult to breathe when I'm exerting myself. My running form is terrible and is best described as "running away from nothing drunk." But I also like being healthy, not being fat (need to offset my sugar addiction somehow), and I really like a challenge.
So when my boyfriend announced he was going to get back into running, I decided I would run with him. After all, I worked out with my girl Jillian Michaels 4-6 days a week and I was no stranger totorturing myself running on the treadmill.
Here's the thing. In addition to the physical challenge running presents for my short, weak, hyperventilating body, I also hate it. I loathe running. You know all those people who carry on about "runner's highs" and how if they don't run every day, they're just miserable and depressed? I want to shove those people's Nikes up their pooper. I definitely do not think of myself as a "Runner," nor do I ever plan to become one of Those. I call myself "A Person Who Runs." It's how I sleep at night.
So I'm not really sure why it is that I have decided I must do the running. I like challenges, but I also like not running. But to be completely honest, with no classes and no job, I need something to do. I am a person who picks some Thing, commits, and then does not give up on that thing, no matter what. For the past three years, that Thing has been school. Now that there is no more school, there is no more Thing, and I just can't live without a Thing! (That's what she said, Brady.)
Brady and I started Project Running around the middle of October. We started out running and walking up and down Rio Solado, then to a park near Brady's house. Mulder had been joining us, but after the third trip or so, it became clear his short little corgi legs were not going to be able to keep up, so he stays home and gets my glass of wine ready for me when I trudge in the door. Not really, but I wish.
We've been doing the whole increasing distance thing and acting like People Who Run. When I moved home, I was worried I would just stop running on my own. I've actually managed to keep it going, though. Brady comes over and we run together a couple nights a week, and when he isn't here, I challenge myself to run faster by doing faster/slower 30-second intervals. Counting keeps my mind off how much I dislike what I am doing. I also ran farther today. I have a Nike+GPS app on my phone, but I don't use it, because that means I have to buy an armband, and I'm worried that spending $30 on something I will use only for running will take me out of the "Person Who Runs" category and put me firmly into "Running."
I'm not sure how I have gone from "NOIAMNOTGOINGRUNNINGWHATISWRONGWITHYOU" to "hey, are you coming over to run with me tonight?" I think it might have something to do with not wanting to give up while Brady is still truckin' away, like a jerk. It might also have to do with the fact that running is actually getting easier. I still do Jillian Michaels, and ever since I added her new "Killer Buns and Thighs" into the mix, I've found running not so painful. Thanks, muscles! So there's that. I could not run without Jillian Michaels.
So anyway, there you go. I am a Person Who Runs, pretty regularly, more than a mile. I've promised myself that if at any point, it hurts or I start to seriously loathe it. I will not do when I do not feel well, but I will do it even when I just don't feel like it. And I just checked Amazon, and it looks like a passable armband is less than I thought, so I might just suck it up and invest. Then you guys can check my distance and time on Facebook and cheer for me! You can validate me, but do not call me a Runner. That Nike and "up the pooper" thing applies to you, too.
So when my boyfriend announced he was going to get back into running, I decided I would run with him. After all, I worked out with my girl Jillian Michaels 4-6 days a week and I was no stranger to
Here's the thing. In addition to the physical challenge running presents for my short, weak, hyperventilating body, I also hate it. I loathe running. You know all those people who carry on about "runner's highs" and how if they don't run every day, they're just miserable and depressed? I want to shove those people's Nikes up their pooper. I definitely do not think of myself as a "Runner," nor do I ever plan to become one of Those. I call myself "A Person Who Runs." It's how I sleep at night.
So I'm not really sure why it is that I have decided I must do the running. I like challenges, but I also like not running. But to be completely honest, with no classes and no job, I need something to do. I am a person who picks some Thing, commits, and then does not give up on that thing, no matter what. For the past three years, that Thing has been school. Now that there is no more school, there is no more Thing, and I just can't live without a Thing! (That's what she said, Brady.)
Brady and I started Project Running around the middle of October. We started out running and walking up and down Rio Solado, then to a park near Brady's house. Mulder had been joining us, but after the third trip or so, it became clear his short little corgi legs were not going to be able to keep up, so he stays home and gets my glass of wine ready for me when I trudge in the door. Not really, but I wish.
We've been doing the whole increasing distance thing and acting like People Who Run. When I moved home, I was worried I would just stop running on my own. I've actually managed to keep it going, though. Brady comes over and we run together a couple nights a week, and when he isn't here, I challenge myself to run faster by doing faster/slower 30-second intervals. Counting keeps my mind off how much I dislike what I am doing. I also ran farther today. I have a Nike+GPS app on my phone, but I don't use it, because that means I have to buy an armband, and I'm worried that spending $30 on something I will use only for running will take me out of the "Person Who Runs" category and put me firmly into "Running."
I'm not sure how I have gone from "NOIAMNOTGOINGRUNNINGWHATISWRONGWITHYOU" to "hey, are you coming over to run with me tonight?" I think it might have something to do with not wanting to give up while Brady is still truckin' away, like a jerk. It might also have to do with the fact that running is actually getting easier. I still do Jillian Michaels, and ever since I added her new "Killer Buns and Thighs" into the mix, I've found running not so painful. Thanks, muscles! So there's that. I could not run without Jillian Michaels.
So anyway, there you go. I am a Person Who Runs, pretty regularly, more than a mile. I've promised myself that if at any point, it hurts or I start to seriously loathe it. I will not do when I do not feel well, but I will do it even when I just don't feel like it. And I just checked Amazon, and it looks like a passable armband is less than I thought, so I might just suck it up and invest. Then you guys can check my distance and time on Facebook and cheer for me! You can validate me, but do not call me a Runner. That Nike and "up the pooper" thing applies to you, too.
Mulder: Not a Runner. He's a Prancer.
Thursday, November 3, 2011
Favorite/Least Favorite
Welp, whether I am ready for it or not (I am not ready), the "holiday season" is upon us. I firmly don't believe that Christmas decorations should be sitting on shelves while Halloween candy is still on sale, but I am apparently in the minority. It's not that I don't like Christmas! I do! I really like Christmas. But there are a lot of things that I don't like about it, too, and two solid months of the things I hate makes me build up resentment for the holiday as a whole and the things I like are usually crushed by all the things I hate about the 12th time I hear Feliz Navidad.
Favorite Things:
- Cute Christmas crafts
- Candles
- Fires in the fireplace
- Coffee Christmas morning while gazing at the tree all lit up in the dark (with the dog fence around it because we still don't trust those beasts not to ruin everything while we sleep)
- Decorating
- Christmas lights
- Watching "A Year Without a Santa Clause," "A Christmas Story," "Christmas Vacation," and the claymation "Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer" while baking Christmas cookies with my mom.
- Eating all the Christmas cookies.
- Putting Christmas clothes on the dogs "to keep them warm." Not because it's cute as heck! That's not why at all.
- Making gifts, keeping in mind things I am good at - cooking and embroidery. You will receive no oddly-shaped scarves from me.
- Eating and drinking with my family members all afternoon.
Least Favorite Things:
- Christmas music everywhere.
- Christmas music starting any point before Thanksgiving, although I wish it were only played the week before Christmas.
- Inflatable characters in front yards. It drives the poor dogs crazy.
- When it looks like Christmas had a stroke and then puked all over someone's house.
- Finding gifts for everyone, but mostly people I know well enough to buy them a Christmas gift but not well enough to know what's perfect for them. Uuuuuugh, so stressful.
- How everyone behaves in public. I thought it was a time for CHEER, not shoving your shopping cart towards my car after you unload all your crap, having meltdowns over whether some stupid toy is on sale, or storming through a store like a tornado and literally mowing people down when they wander into your path. I pretty much hate leaving my home during this time of year.
- Wrapping gifts. If this is your favorite thing, I hate you. Maybe if you got stuck wrapping everyone's gifts for everyone but you on Christmas Eve night, you wouldn't love it so much, you jerk.
- How Thanksgiving totally gets the shaft. It's only the best holiday of the year, because it has all the fun of family and food and drinking but it's not nearly as expensive or stressful, but all of the turkeys and squash and pumpkin pies get trotted out in the middle of all the baubles and sequins and buche de Noel of Christmas, totally don't fit in, and then just kind of sulk off into the cardboard box from whence they came while everyone is making turkey and cranberry sandwiches the next day. Poor Thanksgiving.
So? Am I big communist jerk for the things on this list or what? What are your thoughts on the holiday season?
Friday, October 21, 2011
The Scariest Thing I Could Imagine Happened to Someone Else
A funny thing happened a couple weeks ago. The Arizona State Bar posted a PDF to their website. It had the names of people who passed the Exam I, along with 75% of my friends, took in July. My name was on the list. This made me happy. Really happy. I was so happy I cried. I was also really happy because my boiyfriend's name was also on the list. We were a very happy little couple of attorneys.
But then, once we had calmed down, we looked at the list again. There were a couple names I didn't see. I tried using the search function to look for them, wondering if maybe they had a different last name I didn't know about, possibly because they were fugitives, or in witness protection. I still didn't find them. At first, I was surprised, and then I was sad. I was really, really sad. It made it difficult to be happy, because every time I would think "yay! I passed!" I would think "but..."
I didn't really know how to handle this. I decided not to say anything to anyone until they contacted me. But even when I got a text message, I didn't really know what to do. I had studied with these people, conferred with them, eaten very late dinners with them in a study room that was starting to smell. We had complained about BarBri together (the website went down about a week before the exam and I think we all nearly had heart attacks). We had all practically lived together for a couple of months, in a very tiny room, and I just assumed that if one of us had passed, it meant we all did, because we were all so close and had done the same work. When it turned out that wasn't the case, I kind of felt like it was my fault. Had I asked too many questions and distracted them? Had at some point I said something incorrect and they used it on the test? Had I chewed my food too loudly when I snacked?
No. We all put in as much work as we could, we did the best we could with what we had on a very particular couple of days. The truth is, it isn't my fault someone else didn't pass. I blamed myself because it helped me accept what happened. I couldn't believe that they would fail, so when they did, my brain had to create reasons. I knew they had studied as hard as I did and I knew they cared as much as I did, and I knew they deserved to pass, but it didn't make sense that they didn't pass like I did, and because I don't know what was going on their brain or in their off time, but also because I always assume other people are doing more, working harder, or are smarter than I am, my instinct was to think that I was the one who someone made them fail. I felt guilty because someone else didn't pass.
But the truth is that it isn't my fault. The truth is that we all have days when we are on and days when we are not. But every day we try our hardest. On July 26 and 27, their hardest wasn't their usual hardest, probably by only a little bit. And the important thing is that I REALLY hope they know that those two days do not define them. I hope they are able to see this as a set-back, another challenge. I really believe God does not give us any more than we can handle, so if they have to do this test again, it must be because they can handle it.
I have great plans for January. I'm going to bake treats, make dinners that they can eat as leftovers for lunch, and write supportive notes. Not because it's my fault they didn't pass, but because they're my friends and I want them to know they'll always be my friends and I will support them even more than I did the first time around.
But then, once we had calmed down, we looked at the list again. There were a couple names I didn't see. I tried using the search function to look for them, wondering if maybe they had a different last name I didn't know about, possibly because they were fugitives, or in witness protection. I still didn't find them. At first, I was surprised, and then I was sad. I was really, really sad. It made it difficult to be happy, because every time I would think "yay! I passed!" I would think "but..."
I didn't really know how to handle this. I decided not to say anything to anyone until they contacted me. But even when I got a text message, I didn't really know what to do. I had studied with these people, conferred with them, eaten very late dinners with them in a study room that was starting to smell. We had complained about BarBri together (the website went down about a week before the exam and I think we all nearly had heart attacks). We had all practically lived together for a couple of months, in a very tiny room, and I just assumed that if one of us had passed, it meant we all did, because we were all so close and had done the same work. When it turned out that wasn't the case, I kind of felt like it was my fault. Had I asked too many questions and distracted them? Had at some point I said something incorrect and they used it on the test? Had I chewed my food too loudly when I snacked?
No. We all put in as much work as we could, we did the best we could with what we had on a very particular couple of days. The truth is, it isn't my fault someone else didn't pass. I blamed myself because it helped me accept what happened. I couldn't believe that they would fail, so when they did, my brain had to create reasons. I knew they had studied as hard as I did and I knew they cared as much as I did, and I knew they deserved to pass, but it didn't make sense that they didn't pass like I did, and because I don't know what was going on their brain or in their off time, but also because I always assume other people are doing more, working harder, or are smarter than I am, my instinct was to think that I was the one who someone made them fail. I felt guilty because someone else didn't pass.
But the truth is that it isn't my fault. The truth is that we all have days when we are on and days when we are not. But every day we try our hardest. On July 26 and 27, their hardest wasn't their usual hardest, probably by only a little bit. And the important thing is that I REALLY hope they know that those two days do not define them. I hope they are able to see this as a set-back, another challenge. I really believe God does not give us any more than we can handle, so if they have to do this test again, it must be because they can handle it.
I have great plans for January. I'm going to bake treats, make dinners that they can eat as leftovers for lunch, and write supportive notes. Not because it's my fault they didn't pass, but because they're my friends and I want them to know they'll always be my friends and I will support them even more than I did the first time around.
Sunday, September 18, 2011
Top O' the Morning!
I'm not usually functioning this early in the morning. But today I've been wide awake since 5:30, lying in bed reading blog comments on my iPhone. This past week it came out that a well-known blogger in the Anthro community had been taking people's money for her personal shopping service and then not delivering on her promises. Apparently everyone who was involved just kind of suffered in silence, thinking it was just a long string of mistakes, and that they were somehow at fault, and probably also a little scared to say anything, because of how well-known this blogger is. Then on September 13 one person had enough and chronicled her personal ordeal on her blog, and then all of the sudden there are like 100 other people with thousands of dollars being (hopefully) refunded. It was most likely criminal action, and I really hope someone pursues it legally, because the more you read, the more evidence there is that the months and month of lies, deception, and "lost" email, packages, tracking numbers, etc., amounted to more than accidents and mistakes. Now there's also talk that this particular shady blogger has a shopping addiction that fueled her lies, and possibly also was the motivation to start a "service," given her past behavior. Consumerism can make you do crazy things. Scratch that. She did crazy things because she is (probably) (a little, at least) crazy. Consumerism was the conduit for her crazy.
I wasn't involved in any part of this, except as a spectator, which is how I like my drama, anyway. You know me- I love stories that don't involve me. Anyway, even though I'm just a comments-reader in the whole ordeal, it has really got me thinking. The girl calls herself, essentially, and Anthropologie addict, and really, isn't that sad? Don't get me wrong - I have a very addictive personality, which has manifested itself in my work and in working out, and to some extent, shopping, but I'm happy to say I can definitely cut back/go cold turkey when needed, when it comes to spending money. Anthro is pretty and all, but really, most of it is not much better quality than, say, H&M or Urban Outfitters (the UO thing makes sense, since they're owned by the same parent company), but at multiple-times the cost. I'm also been outsized several times, especially in dresses, and I had recently fallen in love with a couple different pencil skirts, only to find some disturbing fit issues once I tried them on. I had a couple hundred dollars in gift cards I accumulated from birthdays and prior returns, and I'm down to about $50 and having a really hard time using it up. Between fit issues, quality issues, disenchantment with the "image," and now this whole scam thing, I just kind of have a bad taste in my mouth when it comes to all things Anthro (not that Anthro was involved in the scam at all, but given their involvement with that particular blog, I really hope they take a stand and cut off ties). I definitely have a handful of skirts from the store that I still love, but it's really hit or miss, and really, even the better quality items are suitably priced when they're on markdown, and it takes a lot of time to weed through all the items that are not worth even their second-cut price. I don't know, maybe part of it is also that I'm more focused on nesting, for some reason. I feel more pull toward coffee table books and candles than turquoise pencil skirts that turn evil on you as soon as you put them on and striped maxi dresses I could find at F21 for $100 less than Anthro wants for them. So, long story short, goodbye, Anthro. It's not you; it's me. Well, it's kind of you.
The other reason I have been wide awake for so long is that I am a sad panda. The tagline for this blog is about being the person I want to be, and I am really sad to say that I failed to be the person I not only want to be, but the person I thought I was. I pride myself on being reliable and responsible and doing the right things, but at some point, several times, over the past week, I made the same mistake. I dropped the ball, and now I have lost something I actually really liked. Everyone who knows the story insists I didn't do anything wrong, and really, I don't know what I could have done to avoid this. I was conscientious and thorough, I checked, double-checked, and triple-checked, not one day but 2 days, and I missed something really important. And now I'm embarrassed and disappointed. I don't blame anyone else, though the people who know the situation maintain that someone else messed up and I took the farr, but I can't do that. Even if I wasn't wrong, then karma will work out someone else's mistake, and if I am, then the best thing I can do is own up to it and accept the consequences. I'm just sad that I feel like I let so many people down. And that's why I can't sleep. But I firmly believe that regardless of the how, the why is that there is something else I need to do. I don't know what that is yet, but when the door opens, I'll jump up and run through it, because it has to be good.
So, that brings us to 8:30. Got my coffee, got my puppy on my lap, getting ready for a Sunday Funday of... I don't know! Brady has people coming to look at his furniture (did I mention he decided he wants to change up his furniture and decor style? as someone who does not currently possess a penis and thus does not find comfort in cube-y black leather couches and maroon and hunter green accent walls, I am very excited about this. I know I have my own living room to decorate, but I really do spend a lot of time in his living room, and I'm excited to see Brady put his personal spin on his home - with some gentle nudging from me, of course). We'll also stream the Jags game - Brady's brother in law is starting today, and Brady wants to wear his jersey! Hope Craigslist shoppers are not Jets fans.
I wasn't involved in any part of this, except as a spectator, which is how I like my drama, anyway. You know me- I love stories that don't involve me. Anyway, even though I'm just a comments-reader in the whole ordeal, it has really got me thinking. The girl calls herself, essentially, and Anthropologie addict, and really, isn't that sad? Don't get me wrong - I have a very addictive personality, which has manifested itself in my work and in working out, and to some extent, shopping, but I'm happy to say I can definitely cut back/go cold turkey when needed, when it comes to spending money. Anthro is pretty and all, but really, most of it is not much better quality than, say, H&M or Urban Outfitters (the UO thing makes sense, since they're owned by the same parent company), but at multiple-times the cost. I'm also been outsized several times, especially in dresses, and I had recently fallen in love with a couple different pencil skirts, only to find some disturbing fit issues once I tried them on. I had a couple hundred dollars in gift cards I accumulated from birthdays and prior returns, and I'm down to about $50 and having a really hard time using it up. Between fit issues, quality issues, disenchantment with the "image," and now this whole scam thing, I just kind of have a bad taste in my mouth when it comes to all things Anthro (not that Anthro was involved in the scam at all, but given their involvement with that particular blog, I really hope they take a stand and cut off ties). I definitely have a handful of skirts from the store that I still love, but it's really hit or miss, and really, even the better quality items are suitably priced when they're on markdown, and it takes a lot of time to weed through all the items that are not worth even their second-cut price. I don't know, maybe part of it is also that I'm more focused on nesting, for some reason. I feel more pull toward coffee table books and candles than turquoise pencil skirts that turn evil on you as soon as you put them on and striped maxi dresses I could find at F21 for $100 less than Anthro wants for them. So, long story short, goodbye, Anthro. It's not you; it's me. Well, it's kind of you.
The other reason I have been wide awake for so long is that I am a sad panda. The tagline for this blog is about being the person I want to be, and I am really sad to say that I failed to be the person I not only want to be, but the person I thought I was. I pride myself on being reliable and responsible and doing the right things, but at some point, several times, over the past week, I made the same mistake. I dropped the ball, and now I have lost something I actually really liked. Everyone who knows the story insists I didn't do anything wrong, and really, I don't know what I could have done to avoid this. I was conscientious and thorough, I checked, double-checked, and triple-checked, not one day but 2 days, and I missed something really important. And now I'm embarrassed and disappointed. I don't blame anyone else, though the people who know the situation maintain that someone else messed up and I took the farr, but I can't do that. Even if I wasn't wrong, then karma will work out someone else's mistake, and if I am, then the best thing I can do is own up to it and accept the consequences. I'm just sad that I feel like I let so many people down. And that's why I can't sleep. But I firmly believe that regardless of the how, the why is that there is something else I need to do. I don't know what that is yet, but when the door opens, I'll jump up and run through it, because it has to be good.
So, that brings us to 8:30. Got my coffee, got my puppy on my lap, getting ready for a Sunday Funday of... I don't know! Brady has people coming to look at his furniture (did I mention he decided he wants to change up his furniture and decor style? as someone who does not currently possess a penis and thus does not find comfort in cube-y black leather couches and maroon and hunter green accent walls, I am very excited about this. I know I have my own living room to decorate, but I really do spend a lot of time in his living room, and I'm excited to see Brady put his personal spin on his home - with some gentle nudging from me, of course). We'll also stream the Jags game - Brady's brother in law is starting today, and Brady wants to wear his jersey! Hope Craigslist shoppers are not Jets fans.
Thursday, September 15, 2011
I'm Back, and I Have Something to Say That is Not About Law School or the Bar Exam
I have opinions. Sometimes they are not popular opinions. Sometimes they make other people angry. I have a feeling this might be one of those times.
This is about September 11. I don’t know if you were aware, but last Sunday was the tenth anniversary of the terrorist attacks on the World Trade Center. Oh, you knew? Okay. Just want to establish a context.
If you knew about that, and then you were anywhere near the internet that day, you probably also read about a gazillion people’s documentation of “where they were” that day. People who were dragging other people out of rubble or serving water to those who fled from the collapsing towers, people in the Pentagon, people in D.C., and then people in Oklahoma, and all the way out to the West Coast, everyone had something to share.
I was in Goodyear. It was about 5:30 in the morning and I was conked out in bed. I could have been farther away from the terror and agony the East Coast was witnessing. By the time I turned the news on, everyone was in agreement that this was, in fact, a terrorist attack and that the plane that landed in a field in Pennsylvania was actually intended for the White House or Capital. I watched this from the safety of my living room. I knew no one who was in danger, no one I was worried about. The only thing I really cared about personally was how the possibility of us going war was going to affect my education, especially if they were going to start a draft that included women, because I am a small person and I only run if someone is chasing me and there is a very real threat of death. Yes, I know. Selfish. Like I said, I felt no connection to what was happening.
It’s not as if I didn’t worry for the people who were actually dying or scared of dying. I watched those towers fall over and over again, and every time, my breath caught in my throat and I wanted to cry. Family members, someone’s best friend, someone who had fought with their spouse that morning, not to mention all the people who would die of the injuries inflicted on their lungs in clean-up efforts years later – so many people dead and lost. It’s tragic; one of the most tragic things this country has experienced. I know you know this. I just want to make sure you know that I know this, because I’m about to become unpopular.
Over the next ten years, “Never Forget” became just as much a national motto as “Land of the Free and Home of the Brave.” You can get that slogan emblazoned on bumper stickers or across the back windows of your truck, or buy it on a shirt or on a sign to stick in your yard. “Never Forget.” I know we’re talking about the importance of remembering that there are people out there who want to kill us because we live in a republic and believe in a democracy and we let blacks and women vote and we are all allowed to have opinions – people who hate us because we have that freedom. But I think “Never Forget” has done more harm than good.
Can we ever forget about all that when we’re reminded every day by the escalating war debt and our omnipresence in Iraq, and the number of people who died there and are still dying there. I don’t think we’re in danger of forgetting any time soon.
You know who really loves “Never Forget”? People who want us to keep living in fear. People who advise against going to large public events because you never know when someone is going to fly another plane into something big. People who want you to keep relying on the government to protect you.
People who run the security at the airports.
You know those cancer machines that every tenth person lucks into and then gets to choose “cancer or molestation”? Never forget. We give strangers x-ray vision under our clothes, or permission to touch us in ways that we tell kids only mommy and daddy and your doctor should touch you. We decide the chance of cancer is less important than the chance of another yahoo taking over a plane with box cutters again. And apparently the nearly naked visual check/invasive “pat down” is the best way to find these would-be box cutter wielders. You never know – it could be that 3-year-old in the Elmo shirt.
We should be safe. Definitely run everyone through a metal-detector. But a knee-jerk reaction never works out well. Case in point: The Patriot Act. People were clamoring for some kind of “protection” immediately after September 11, and now the government can listen in to your phone conversations and monitor your computer searches and emails. And we all agreed that this was necessary ten years ago. Because of The Terrorists. We let the government monitor our personal effects and willingly sacrificed our privacy and the Fourth Amendment. Did any of that actually make us safer? Did the government being able to scan internet use prevent terrorist attacks? Maybe it did, but I’m willing to bet it didn’t. What it did was make us FEEL better. The backscatter machines are the same knee-jerk, dog-and-pony show. We refuse to forget that at any second, The Terrorists could come and steal our planes, so we let the government herd us into machines that dose us with unregulated amounts of radiation, or touch us inappropriately. Those machines are called “virtual strip searches.” A strip search! Of people who are not suspected of doing anything wrong but desiring to board an airplane. Why? So we all feel safer. But still people wear “Never Forget” shirts.
In a way, we shouldn’t forget. One of my dearest friends was on the Hill September 11, and if that downed plane in Pennsylvania had reached its destination, she might not be here today. I chose to write this after I read, on the tenth anniversary, her recounting of the events, of her fear and apprehension as for all she knew, another plane was headed her way with a huge target on the Capital. It means the world to me that she is here. I mean no disrespect to those who died or those who lost people, and no disrespect to the American principles that inspire so much hatred in others that they would want to destroy our country. I’m not saying we should move on and forget. Those who lost people in terrorist attacks should continue to mourn their dead as long as they need. We should continue to fight for the health benefits for the people who become ill cleaning up the rubbish. We should appreciate those who lost their life fighting the war. And we should always remember that people will try to take our freedom away from us. I am saying that the Fourth Amendment is slowly dissolving before our eyes, and before long, we will not only lose our freedom, we will have handed it over on a flag-draped platter.
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